Gunther the Viking
Black Pool
During the several days they were at sea, Gunther
worked tirelessly and practiced combat every chance he could. One morning they
sighted the coast of
When
the stockade was complete, in addition to his sword, Gunther
donned a helmet, wore chain mail under a quilted jacket and carried a shield.
After he lined up with the other men, they marched through heavy brush to the
town which was protected behind a high stone wall. The Celt warriors, however,
came out to meet them in a clearing before the gate. The Vikings lined up in
rows in a tight formation, so that their shields formed a wall. As they
quickstepped forward, Gunther’s heart pounded.
This was it. He was really going to war. He felt proud, but also somewhat
fearful, mostly because he did not know what to expect, from the enemy -- nor
from himself.
Celts
on the wall fired arrows. These were mostly ineffective as they bounced off the
Viking’s shields. A few got through though, hitting men in the throat,
face or chest. Gunther cringed as he saw men near him
fall from this deadly rain. Meanwhile, the main body of Celts charged forward,
screaming their war cries. Moments later, all was chaos. At first Gunther fought defensively, fending off the Celt’s
weapons with his shield and sword. But as he saw men he knew being spitted and
sliced, and even received slight wounds himself, his Norse temper flared. He
whooped out a great war cry and wielded his sword as
he had so long practiced. His strength was such that he was able to hew men’s
head and limbs with one blow. Others he knifed through their guts, stomach and
chest, at times needing to use his knees against the falling body to yank his
weapon out. All around him were the screams of the dying, the wounded, and the
hollering of men in a frenzy. Soon the roar triggered
something in his brain that made him charge forward killing and maiming like a berzerker.
After
a while he realized that the Celts were in retreat. It became a great race to
see whether the Vikings could reach the great gate in the city wall before the
Celts could close it behind themselves. Gunther ran
so fast he passed Celtic warriors. These would never make into the city as
other Norse and Danes cut them down from behind. When Gunther
reached the great gate, only the width of two men could pass through before it
was completely closed. With his great strength, he held it for several moments
against the Celts trying to shut it, enough time to allow his fellow Vikings to
pour into the city.
Eric
was not far behind. He called a halt and got the men back into formation. As
they formed a semicircle with their shield fending off the remains of the
Celtic army, men were handed lit torches. When many had burning brands, Eric
gave the command to charge. The Vikings spread out in all directions, throwing
the flaming torches onto the straw-thatched roofs of the houses. As people
emerged they were slaughtered. Soon the entire town was ablaze. Most of the
Celts were dead, captured, wounded or fled. Young women and children were
escorted back to the ships to be sold into slavery. Some were raped or
tortured. Any living male over eighteen was beheaded. Gold, silver, jewelry and
weaponry were thrown unto carts and hauled away.
Gunther was horrified. He had steeled himself to the
killing of armed men in combat, but he was not prepared for this ruthless
slaughter of innocent civilians. When the fighting was over, and the men were
celebrating their victory, he approached Eric. “Must we kill and maim
helpless people? I no longer feel like I want to be a warrior when I see men
doing such things.”
Eric
patted him on the back. “I do not like to see such things either, Gunther, but Amlave has ordered
us to destroy the city and teach these cursed Celts a lesson. These Danes are
not so kindhearted as we Icelanders. They have
received worse from the Thule Celts and wish to avenge their kin. Believe me, if you continue in my service, you'll see much carnage.
Perhaps Jorn was right. You're not cut out for this
life.”
“No.
I wish to remain. I'll shut my eyes to those things that are not to my liking
and keep my mouth closed. I know what discipline is.”
“Good
boy. I want to congratulate you. I was watching you. You handled yourself
heroically. Holding that gate against the Celts was a feat worth much praise.
Someday, bards will sing about it.”
Gunther lowered his eyes. “It's a thing that any
strong man could’ve done. It was simple luck that I reached that gate
before it closed.”
“Aye. You are favored by Odin. As a reward, I wish to
take you on a special mission, one for which only a few men will be needed. I
want only volunteers.”
“Of
course I'll go. What is the mission?”
Eric
pointed at a great hill that overlooked the town. “Up there is a
Christian monastery. Monks always have treasure hidden somewhere. I wish to
loot the place. But you must not speak of this. I do not want the Danes to know
what I am about. I have no wish to share with them. Besides, they are
Christians and may not like the idea of attacking a monastery.”
“I
understand. When do we go?”
“Soon,
I or one of my men, someone you know, will come to your tent in the night.”
* * *
It
was high summer. Thus it was late before it was dark enough for the raid that
Eric had planned. He came for Gunther, who was
quartered in a tent in the courtyard of the Celtic king who had reigned in Glendalogh before the Viking's raid, at twilight when the
world was in that hazy time of a summer eve between the heat of day and the
breezes of the night. Only twelve of Eric’s most loyal men were to go on
this raid. Gunther knew each by name.
To
reach the monastery it was necessary to hike through a dark
woods. They entered the forest with but one flare to light the way. This
was held by Hermod, the scout, who had an unerring
sense of direction. At a pace apart the others followed, Eric directly behind Hermod. Gunther brought up the
rear. Their pace was slow. In the utter darkness, it was easy to trip over a
rotted log or a sapling. From Gunther’s
position, he could barely see the man ahead, and the light from Hermod’s torch was but a moving star bobbing up and
down a long way off.
The
strange forest was weird with its gnarled twisted trees and mossy humps. An
eerie mist rising from the floor gave off had a musty, decayed stench and
glowed softly with a peculiar violet hue. All around fireflies flickered. Gunther could swear that out of the corner of his eye, they
seemed to be little flying beings carrying lanterns. He whispered to the man in
front of him, “Ole, I do not like these woods. There is something of the
supernatural about them.”
When
no answer came, Gunther picked up his pace. Suddenly,
he realized that the bobbing light ahead was simply another firefly, which
winked out. “Ole,” he called out in a stage whisper, not wanting to
holler in case an enemy should be near. Still no reply.
He halted, gazed all around and listened carefully. He heard not a sound. Panic
seized him. Somehow he had wandered away from his fellows and had become lost
in
He
took a deep breath to calm himself and tried to think of a way out of his
predicament. Although it was against Eric’s orders, he felt that he must
have light. He found a broken branch lying on the ground and using flint from
his pack, lit one end. He decided to choose one particular direction and march straight ahead, marking trees with sword so that he
did not go circles. Sooner or later, he had to exit the woods. When he did,
depending where he wound up, he could decide how to proceed.
As
he held the torch up, he noticed that the mounds seemed to have tiny doorways.
He was about to have a closer look when a person with a sword leaped out from
somewhere to challenge him. He quickly threw the torch to the ground and drew
his own sword. By the flickering light he saw that his challenger was a young
woman. She yelled something to him in the language of Celts. He assumed that it
was a curse as the one word he did recognize was Dubh
Gall, which was what the natives called the Danes. The next moment she was on
him with her thin bladed saber. He quickly fended her advance, and they began
to fence in earnest. Although he did not relish the thought of killing a woman,
he could tell that he might not have a choice, since she was quite skilled. He
wondered whether she spoke Danish at all. Perhaps he could reason with her. “Who
are you?” he asked.
Apparently
she was familiar with the language, for she replied, “Aoifa.
Prepare to die, Viking dog.”
“Look,”
he replied, “can’t we settle this peacefully, each of us going his
or her own way to join our respective friends and
fight later.”
She
laughed. “I would be a fool to let one such as you live. Look at the size
and strength of you.” She renewed her attack.
Soon
he realized that she was a better swordsperson than himself,
proved by the fact that he was bleeding from several cuts, yet she remained
unscathed. Gunther knew that if this kept up, he
would soon be lying on the forest floor breathing his last. Although he had an
aversion to harming a woman, he knew he must kill her or be killed. He feinted
to the left, avoided her next thrust and with a mighty swing toward her neck in
a manner that would part her head from her body. However, the moment his sword
struck, she vanished.
Gunther’s mouth dropped open in amazement. He gazed
all around expecting the woman to pop up from somewhere and attack him again.
But, she was nowhere around. What was even stranger, all the wounds that she
had inflicted on him were completely healed, not a drop of blood flowed from
anywhere on his body. “Sorcery,” he cried and became
terror-stricken at what else might befall him in these enchanted woods.
He
picked up the torch and pressed on, more anxious than ever to escape the
forest. After a time, he heard the voice of a woman singing. Ahead was small
clearing in the center of which was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.
She seemed about his age, with the face of an angel, scarlet hair to the small
of her back, a curvaceous figure and wearing a diaphanous gown that floated
about her like a cloud.
When
she spotted him, she smiled flirtatiously and greeted him in Celtic. Gunther was completely struck by her great beauty and asked
in Danish, “Who may you be, fair maiden?”
“My
name is La Belle Darne Sans Merci. And you are?”
“Gunther, son of Jorn, the Weapon Maker, from
“Come
closer, so that I may see you more clearly.” When Gunther
obeyed, she grasped his arm and said, “My, you are a muscular man. It is
not often that I come across one so handsome and strong.” She placed a
hand on his cheek, raised her chin, closed her eyes and pursed her lips.
It
was an irresistible temptation. Gunther leaned down
and kissed her. The moment his lips touched hers, he was lost, hopelessly in
love with the temptress. They went on this way until they fell to the forest
floor and did the inevitable.
Afterwards,
they walked to a small lake. Gunther was happy to see
the moon and the stars and open water. They sat on a rock and threw pebbles
into the water. Gunther reached down to kiss her
again, but she pulled away laughing. “I have had enough fun with you, Gunther. Now, I must leave. You will never see me again.”
“What?”
he cried. “I cannot live without you. How can you leave me?”
Somehow the female had taken his heart and crushed it in her hands.
Nonetheless,
without another word, she ran off into the woods.
Gunther was so heartbroken that he did not even have the
will to chase after her, but merely sat with his head in his hands weeping. He
stayed that way for a long, long time, mourning his lost love.
Suddenly
another woman rose from the lake. As she approached Gunther,
she shook her head and said in Danish, “I see that Darne
has been up to her old tricks.” She made a complicated motion with her
hands over his head. All at once, he felt better and wondered why he had been
so enthralled by the temptress.
“Thank
you, whoever you are, for disenchanting me. I'm in your debt.”
“I
am called, Nimue, Lady of the
“Nimue, can you tell me how to escape these enchanted woods?”
“You
cannot until daybreak. You are no longer in your world. This is Alban Hefin, one of the four times of the year that the Tir Nan Org appears on earth. Come, I will introduce you to
our queen, Aeval, Queen of the Midnight Court.”
She
led Gunther to a beautiful castle-like structure made
of the bows of living trees and festooned with flowers. They entered a passage
way of greenery and blooms lit by some unknown source. On every side were
strange creatures, tiny people with wings, squirrels and chipmunks with human
heads, people with the heads of animals, dwarves, elves and other unusual
creatures. Sitting on a throne was the beautiful Aevel
in her black velvet robe.
“I
see you have brought us a human visitor, Nimue,”
she said. “Welcome to my court.”
Gunther bowed and sank to one knee. “Thank you, Your
Majesty.” He was rather bedazzled by all that happened to him in the
fairy forest and could not imagine was next.
“You
are one of the Fin Gall. Why do you fight the Celts for the Dubh
Gall?”
Gunther felt he may as well tell the truth. “For
glory, land and treasure, Your Highness.”
The
fairies all burst into laughter. “And what treasure have you received so
far?”
“Alas, none.”
“Approach
my throne.”
When
Gunther complied, she waved a wand over his head. To
his utter surprise, he suddenly realized that he could now read the runes on
his sword, that he knew Latin and Celtic, and that somehow he had learned
mathematics and astrology. “What is happening to me?”
“You
are a fine and truthful lad. As a reward, I used the wand of learning on you.
It is a branch off the Tree of Knowledge. I will also bestow the Cauldron of
Plenty. Use your new knowledge and good fortune wisely.” She then
sprinkled him with fairy dust.
Instantly
he fell to the earth in a faint.
* * *
Sometime
later, Gunther felt someone shaking his shoulders. He
opened his eyes to bright sunshine and the homely face of Eric. “What
happened to you, lad?”
Gunther flushed. “I got lost. Somehow I became
separated from the rest of our troop.” He wondered whether he had dreamed
all the strange events that had occurred during the night that he was in the
woods, about the woman swordsperson who vanished when struck, the temptress
that made him weep, the Lady of the Lake, and the fairy queen. “I had a
very strange dream.”
“And
what is this?” Eric pointed at an ancient black cauldron lying at Gunther’s feet. Gunther
picked up and read the runes etched on its side. It said Cauldron of Plenty in
Celtic. How did I learn to read Celtic? he thought.
Perhaps it was not a dream after all and somehow I entered a strange land.
Nonetheless, he said nothing about what had happened to Eric, lest his mentor
think him mad.
“How
did the raid go?”
“Bah.
The place was empty except for one old monk. He told us that Celtic Druids had
sacked the place some time ago. He only escaped their wrath by hiding in a
fireplace. So we got nothing. I don’t expect much payment from those
cheating Danes either. At least you found an iron pot. I knew you were favored
by Odin.”