explained that they were house thralls, of course. They had to turn the roasts and serve them and pour the ale and carry out the scraps all night. But wasn’t it more pleasant to have clean house thralls that didn’t stink? And they would all be dressed in clean linen after the bath; at Arnas they produced much more linen at present than they could sell.
Kristina shook her head. She couldn’t hide how absurd she found this method for treating thralls. It might give them ideas, she said. They already
had
ideas, Sigrid replied, with a smile that Kristina had a hard time understanding.
But when the feast commenced that evening it was a lovely sight when all the clean-scrubbed house thralls entered the hall in procession, clad in their white linen clothing, and carrying the first round of meat, turnips, white bread, and a soup made from leeks, beans, and something that Sigrid called red roots.
In the Norwegian high seat adorned with the winding dragon arabesques sat Magnus and Erik Jedvardsson. To the left of Magnus sat his brother Birger, his sons Eskil and little Arn, and beside them Erik Jedvardsson’s son Knut, who was the same age as Eskil. To the right of the high seat sat Kristina and Sigrid. Along the walls the tar torches burned in their iron sconces. At the long table where the twenty-four retainers sat arranged by age, expensive wax candles burned as though in church, and from the stone wall behind the high seat the heat radiated, although it was less warm farther down in the hall. The youngest retainers at the end soon pulled their cloaks around them.
The spit-turners had begun to serve the tenderest morsels from the roasting house, succulent piglets to awaken the palate. After that would come heavier meats—veal, lamb, and young wild boar—and also the old-fashioned coarse rye bread for those who didn’t like the newfangled white bread. Ale was brought to the table in large quantities, either unspiced strong ale or the kind that was given to women and children, spiced with honey and juniper berries.
In the beginning everyone behaved well at the feast, conversing easily about insignificant things, and Birger, smiling as ever, had another chance to tell the story about his journey the day before when he shot a wolf.
Erik Jedvardsson and his men drank a toast to their host. Magnus and his men drank to their guests, and everyone was in a good mood and without rancorous thoughts or harsh words.
Erik Jedvardsson praised the beauty of the hall once again-- the new method of building with horizontal logs, the beautiful dragon designs looping around the high seat, and above all the beds, arranged in a row of compartments along one wall, stacked on top of each other with plenty of quilts and pelts so that several people could fit in the same bed without it being too crowded or too warm. This might be something to think about when he built his own new house. Magnus modestly ex plained that this method of arranging the beds was customary in Norway; every Norwegian knew that it was easier to escape the cold if the bed was up off the floor.
But as Erik Jedvardsson quaffed more ale his tongue began to grow sharp, though at first it was hardly noticeable. He joked about King Sverker, the only king in the North who could win a war by being a coward; he joked even more about monks and how troublesome they were. He then returned to the cowardly King Sverker and made fun of the old man for marrying an old crone like Rikissa, who had been the wife of a Rus, Volodar or whatever his name was, on the other side of the Eastern Sea.
“But my dear guest, by doing so he saved the country once again from war and devastation, haven’t you thought about that?” Sigrid put in with a merry expression on her face, as if the ale had also gone to her head and she could therefore loosen her tongue with less responsibility than otherwise. Magnus gave her a stern look that she pretended not to see.
“What! What do you mean?
Kristina shook her head. She couldn’t hide how absurd she found this method for treating thralls. It might give them ideas, she said. They already
had
ideas, Sigrid replied, with a smile that Kristina had a hard time understanding.
But when the feast commenced that evening it was a lovely sight when all the clean-scrubbed house thralls entered the hall in procession, clad in their white linen clothing, and carrying the first round of meat, turnips, white bread, and a soup made from leeks, beans, and something that Sigrid called red roots.
In the Norwegian high seat adorned with the winding dragon arabesques sat Magnus and Erik Jedvardsson. To the left of Magnus sat his brother Birger, his sons Eskil and little Arn, and beside them Erik Jedvardsson’s son Knut, who was the same age as Eskil. To the right of the high seat sat Kristina and Sigrid. Along the walls the tar torches burned in their iron sconces. At the long table where the twenty-four retainers sat arranged by age, expensive wax candles burned as though in church, and from the stone wall behind the high seat the heat radiated, although it was less warm farther down in the hall. The youngest retainers at the end soon pulled their cloaks around them.
The spit-turners had begun to serve the tenderest morsels from the roasting house, succulent piglets to awaken the palate. After that would come heavier meats—veal, lamb, and young wild boar—and also the old-fashioned coarse rye bread for those who didn’t like the newfangled white bread. Ale was brought to the table in large quantities, either unspiced strong ale or the kind that was given to women and children, spiced with honey and juniper berries.
In the beginning everyone behaved well at the feast, conversing easily about insignificant things, and Birger, smiling as ever, had another chance to tell the story about his journey the day before when he shot a wolf.
Erik Jedvardsson and his men drank a toast to their host. Magnus and his men drank to their guests, and everyone was in a good mood and without rancorous thoughts or harsh words.
Erik Jedvardsson praised the beauty of the hall once again-- the new method of building with horizontal logs, the beautiful dragon designs looping around the high seat, and above all the beds, arranged in a row of compartments along one wall, stacked on top of each other with plenty of quilts and pelts so that several people could fit in the same bed without it being too crowded or too warm. This might be something to think about when he built his own new house. Magnus modestly ex plained that this method of arranging the beds was customary in Norway; every Norwegian knew that it was easier to escape the cold if the bed was up off the floor.
But as Erik Jedvardsson quaffed more ale his tongue began to grow sharp, though at first it was hardly noticeable. He joked about King Sverker, the only king in the North who could win a war by being a coward; he joked even more about monks and how troublesome they were. He then returned to the cowardly King Sverker and made fun of the old man for marrying an old crone like Rikissa, who had been the wife of a Rus, Volodar or whatever his name was, on the other side of the Eastern Sea.
“But my dear guest, by doing so he saved the country once again from war and devastation, haven’t you thought about that?” Sigrid put in with a merry expression on her face, as if the ale had also gone to her head and she could therefore loosen her tongue with less responsibility than otherwise. Magnus gave her a stern look that she pretended not to see.
“What! What do you mean?
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