Lindisfarne Minus One

NOTE: I included a brief glossary at the end for those unfamiliar with Norse culture.

Lindisfaerne, 792 AD.

The oars bit into the frigid black water of the North Sea. The Old Man glanced up at the horizon. Ahead, he could see the destination. A scrubby patch of land jutted out into the sea, creating a sheltered bay. It wasn't big - a man could walk its length in a matter of minutes - but it had a hill, and atop the hill the locals had erected an enormous wooden building. The oak used in its timbers would have built an entire fleet. A belltower extended from the roof, almost piercing the sky, and high atop the tower the builder had placed a large silver cross, visible to every man in the valley; the symbol of the White Christ.

Nearby two men wearing simple brown homespun clothing worked a rocky field. As the ship approached, they put down their tools. One hurried up the hill to the building. The other stayed, watching.

The Old Man's crew skillfully rounded the point and beached the knarr on a small patch of sand. He filled his lungs with the salty smell of death which men associate with the ocean. Eager to work the stiffness out of his legs, he jumped out while the men made the ship fast. Men stowed the sail they'd used on the open ocean. Others made trade goods ready to offload. Others grabbed personal possessions from their sea chests or took one last sip of stale water from the barrel.

This must be the place, The Old Man thought. It fits the description perfectly. He adjusted the sword on his belt, gave a brief thanks to Odin for fair winds and calm waters, and walked towards the monk who had remained in the field. As he approached, the old man opened his hands, and turned his palms towards the monk in a gesture of peace.

"We seek to trade," he said in the coastal trading tongue.

The monk gave no sign of comprehension. He merely turned and began walking up the hill. After a few paces he looked over his shoulder and gestured for The Old Man to follow. The Old Man in turn gestured toward the knarr. Two men secured workmanlike axes in their belts and accompanied him without a word.

As they followed the path up the hill, The Old Man observed his surroundings. To the northwest, he could see the sea grew shallow; so much so that a man could walk from the mainland to the island at low tide. I wouldn't want to get stuck in there, he thought. A modest village seemed to have emerged on the mainland; presumably locals who made their living supporting the monastery. Marsh and bog flourished in that corner of the island. A source of bog iron, perhaps? He wondered. The lands on the northeastern shore took the brunt of the wind. The monks attempted to work the hardscrabble field but to little avail. The Old Man was no farmer but even his untrained eye could see how the vegetables struggled. Wind and salt spray made for harsh crops. In the southwest lay another field. The barley it held seemed to prosper much more than the vegetables. A man could land a small army in that field.

Lastly, he turned his eye to the monastery itself. A stone wall the height of a man's waist surrounded the monastery. The Old Man gave a quiet snort and thought that won't protect them from much. Inside he saw a few outbuildings - clearly dormitories - and the massive church which had guided him and his men from the sea. Outside the wall lay the inevitable hovels, inhabited by a flotsam of women, children, and various livestock. They didn't live in splendor, but the number and variety of goats, chickens, and even the odd pig and cow, revealed an underlying prosperity that the squalid huts disguised.

As they entered inside the stone wall, a small man emerged from the church. He stood erect in a gown of pure white, with a burgundy stole draped over his shoulders. Rich gold thread trimmed the stoles edges, and he wore a matching gold cross on a thick gold chain around his neck. The Abbott.

The Abbott placed his hands on his chest and while keeping his head erect and with a downward glance, he uttered a guttural sound which The Old Man could neither comprehend nor duplicate. It was intended as the Abbot's name but sounded like Loki had mixed pebbles in with his beans. Nonetheless, custom was custom, so The Old Man placed his hands on his own chest and with a slight bow of his head, he said "Brandr."

The Abbot gestured to them, and the group entered the church. One of The Old Man's men gasped. Even The Old Man had to marvel. He didn't understand the symbolism but clearly all of this was designed to exalt the White Christ. Everywhere he looked, he saw accoutrements of the finest silver and gold. Chalices and cups and candlesticks danced in the candlelight as did the facets of countless gemstones affixed to them. Even the furniture was adorned with gold leaf and emeralds. They left the main hall and entered a small side room.

Another man in simple brown wool entered and stood next to the Abbott.

"I am Brother [guttural sounds] and I am here to translate. Welcome to Lindisfaerne."

"Thank you. As I said on the beach, we come to trade. But perhaps first you could tell us about this place of yours. This Lin-dis-f..."

"Lindisfaerne. Yes. This monastery has stood for over one hundred and fifty years! Father Aiden, an Irishman of all things, wanted a place away from the world to worship God in peace and solitude. He found this place and built the monastery. Later, our patron saint, St. Cuthbert himself, served as bishop here. What a glorious time - to have an actual saint administering the monastery. Glorious indeed. Everything you see here comes from the hard work of the monks who have come here to live and pray and escape the temptations of the world. We take vows of poverty and chastity and some even take vows of silence. The brother you saw in the fields, for example, but not me. I could never succeed! May the almighty God in his everlasting mercy never ask such a vow of me!"

"I see the monks work in the fields when not at prayer. What does this place, this Lin-dis-f..."

"Lindisfaerne."

"Yes, yes, what does it produce?"

"Mostly barley. Enough to feed the monks, the little livestock we have, and even enough left over to brew ale. The ale tastes quite fine, if The Lord may excuse my saying. Across the sound in the village, we have some woodworkers whose skill rises far above mere carpentry. True artisans, they. Masters of their craft. Truly the lord looks with favor upon them."

With an impatient look, the Abbott interrupted and said something to the monk.

"He asks what you have to trade."

"We have ivory. Ripped straight from the jaws of the sea monsters far to the north in the lands where the ice never melts. Our people risk death itself for it. Also, I have some fine, fine wool. You'll not find better quality. Of a more practical nature, I have casks of honey, and you'll not find sweeter honey than that from the bees of The North. Last, and I hesitate to mention it, for I have but a few pieces, but I have some very fine jewelry. The smiths in my land have no peers. If you journeyed all the way to Miklagaard you might find their equal in the great city. Might. But I suspect I will save this for a place where I can get a better price."

The Abbott interrupted.

"And what of The Lord?" translated the monk.

"What of him?"

"The Abbott would like to see this jewelry and wants to know what you would first offer to God in order that you might then trade with men."
"What use does your God have with jewelry?"

"Not use. We display it here to do glory to Him. To show the reverence all The Faithful have for him. That his house may stand as a place where all may marvel in his glory and worship with pride." The monk smiled. "God looks with kindness upon those who render unto The Lord that which belongs to The Lord."

"And who decides what your God will find suitable?"

"As Abbott, he interprets of the word of The Lord for all his flock."

"So, The Abbot wears sapphires and diamonds bought with your labor, and you all pretend he's doing it for God? This is no offering to God. Rather a bribe to the Abbott."

The Abbott's face flushed crimson and he clenched his fists under the table.

"In God's name, of course," the monk continued, "all of this you see may come from the hands of man but here on display, they bring glory to God."

"So, you toil in the fields while your abbot wears velvet slippers? Look at your hands, then look at his. Tell me how this brings glory to your God?"

The monk looked to The Abbott.

"I see I have touched upon a sensitive subject," continued The Old Man, "so perhaps another topic. Instead, perchance you can tell me what you know of my Gods? Of Odin. Of Thor. And Freya and Loki. All of them. What do you know of Yggdrasil? Of The Norns?"

"Enough!" The Abbott interrupted, no longer bothering with a translator. "You will NOT utter the names of false gods in a house of God! There is no god but God and you blaspheme in my house!"

"Which one, priest? Your house? Or Gods house? Your words reveal your heart."

He paused for a moment, pointed a bony finger, and with a wicked smile asked, "Jmunr, your so-called sacred tree of life... it was chopped down last year, was it not? Yet your Gods stood idle while it happened. Your gods are NOTHING!"

"Nothing?" replied The Old Man. "Your god is a lie. I see nothing here but lies. You say you need a translator, but you lie. You lie while seated in the very house of your God, no less. Clearly, he is weak. You say your monks refrain from sex, yet how many women and children live just outside the walls? Where do they keep warm at night? How many charge a coin? How many of those children look just like the monks? I know I saw at least two that look like you. Probably more if I looked closely. After all, as Abbott you have all the coins. Look at you. Each time you speak your vows you lie to God and to yourself. Then you dare speak of poverty? Your God has enough finery here to fund an earldom. And still, you demand more! You wear more rings than you have fingers. You know nothing of poverty. Rules for thee and not for me! You spit in the face of your God. And make no mistake. Thor comes. This place is marked. Not today, but The Norns already sit poised to clip the thread of this place. If your God waged battle with Thor, Thor would swing his hammer but once and smash this snake hall to the ground! YOUR GOD IS NOTHING!"

"Heathen! This conversation is OVER!" announce The Abbott. You come to a house of God and insult him, then insult me and my monks? Go! We make no trade with heathens here. God would reject the falsity in the heart of your gifts. Be gone! Because I am a man of God, I will give you a gift of Christian charity which you do not deserve. I give you until sundown to depart. Then I send for The Earl. Depart while you can, for if his men find you here, you never will.

The Old Man stood. He gestured to his two men. "We will go. We have learned all we need to know about this place. Clearly, we have come at a bad time. Since you don't wish to trade, we will leave..." Then with a wicked grin, he added, "...but we will be back."

Glossary

Jmunr - a holy tree of the Norse people. It is now known that Charlemagne ordered the tree cut down (and also the destruction of various shrines of the Norse religion), and sent priests to do the job, as they would be both less suspicious and protected by God during the desecration. For reasons of deniability, he sent priests from England rather than those of mainland Europe. Specifically, those priests came from Lindisfaerne.
Knarr - a wide, flat-bottomed trading ship popular in Scandinavia. Not to be confused with a Drakkar, which was their ship of war.
Lindisfaerne - A monastery on the coast of Northumbria, in present-day England. In 793, the Vikings burned the place down, killed the monks, enslaved the children, raped the women, and looted everything of value, ushering in the Viking Age.
Miklagaard - present day Istanbul, then the capital of the Byzantine Empire; the largest and greatest city in the known world at that time.
Snake Hall - Norse writings made use of Kennings, a form of imagery. In this case The Old Man calls the church a Snake Hall, which refers to Náströnd - a place in the Norse Hel populated by murderers and oath breakers.
The Norns - Three old women who weave the threads of life together. Each person has a thread, and the weaving symbolizes the seemingly random interactions of life.
White Christ - what the Norse called Jesus.
Yggdrasil - The symbolic Tree of Life. Discussing all its symbolism would be longer than the          story itself.