Sarum - Edward Rutherfurd [212]
Port fitted the ring on the little finger of his left hand. Then he, too, rapped on the table for silence. As he did so, the merriment ceased; for although the stiff and solemn sheep farmer was regarded as something of a joke, the pledge he must now make in reply to the ring-gift was a serious matter which must be heard with respect.
“Thane Aelfwald is my lord,” he replied solemnly. “I have drunk his mead; I have received his ring. If any man attacks him, I will defend him with my life.”
There were nods of approval. The Saxon code of honour demanded that such oaths should be sworn, and Port, Celtic though his ancestors were, would be as good as his word.
Then Aelfwald raised the huge auroch’s horn to his lips and cried: “Port, we drink to you.” And the company drank the toast.
Several toasts followed. More rings were given and elaborate oaths sworn. Port sat flushed and happy, his wife smiling proudly beside him.
But as he looked around the great hall, the disquieting thought of that morning returned more strongly than ever.
Truly, he thought, it is a fine thing to be called a thane. And he remembered his four hides of land. For the hundredth time he made his calculations. Perhaps I could buy the hide and give Edith a silver cross, he reckoned. That would do. But he knew it would not. The image of his sister rose before his eyes, first angrily, then piteously. He tried to put her out of his mind, but without success, and he frowned with vexation.
His thoughts were interrupted by Aelfwald, who had risen once more to his feet. This time he gave the table three loud bangs, to signal absolute silence, and the hall waited expectantly. This must be the expected announcement and they wondered what it would be.
The thane’s face was now serious, and he looked slowly about him to convey this change of mood to his people. Even young Aelfstan managed to look grave for once. When he judged that the company was ready, he spoke.
“Friends,” he began, “we have eaten and we have drunk mead together. We have taken rings and given oaths. But there is something more important that we have not done yet.” He paused. “I am speaking of our duty to God.”
There was a respectful silence. It was right that a great thane should speak of such things. Did not King Alfred always spur his men on before a fight by reminding them of God’s ever watching eye; had not the king’s own brother won universal admiration for refusing to begin battle, when under attack, until he had finished the mass in his tent?
“This year,” Aelfwald reminded them, “our lord Alfred at last forced the Viking heathens, those wasters and destroyers, to leave our land. Not only that: their fleet was smashed and sunk off our coast. And for these events we must now thank God.” All around the table, those seated bowed their heads, while Aelfwald repeated the little prayer of which he was especially fond:
Greater than Thunor,
Greater than Woden,
Who for our sins
Hung bleeding and died:
To you we give thanks,
Lord Christ on the rood.
And suddenly moved himself, the thane went on:
“Our life on earth is short.” He glanced up at the rest of the great hall. High in the beams were several birds’ nests, and at each end through a small square ventilation hole, the birds were accustomed to go in and out. “It is like a sparrow that flies through the hall. It comes from outside, and flies away again, no one knows where. And so, friends, we travel, from darkness to darkness. For the few years of our life we live in the great hall.” He paused, unable to find more words to express the transitory nature of life. “But there is a greater hall,” he went on, “where life is eternal.”
Port nodded slowly at the thane’s words. They expressed exactly his own feelings, though he could never had spoken them himself.
“Today I have an important announcement,” the thane continued. “For when my mother died, I swore an oath