was grateful when Gordon interrupted.
“It’s a ritualized exchange of insults,” the boy said. “Described in Beowulf and throughout Nordic literature. It combines poetry and quick wits, and the status of the bested can be seriously damaged during the exchange.” When Elie barely registered the explanation, staring at him blankly, he muttered, “it’s a wonder they teach you anything at that fancy preparatory school.” This would normally have earned him a smack but was instead greeted with more of the same inattention.
Seamus looked closely. Elie was drifting off to sleep with her eyes open. That explained her indifference to Gordon’s insults, and he suddenly felt it too: the cozy room, the hot tea, the run through the snow in the middle of the night, the excitement of being chased by oversized Viking zombies. And now that he thought about it, he was also finding it difficult to focus on Hannah and Erik as they talked strategy and discussed the key phrases, slights, and ripostes to use against Agathe.
His last conscious thought as he fell asleep was to note that he had stayed awake longer, at least, than Gordon.
It felt like just five minutes later that Pastor Erik was shaking Seamus awake. He was still sitting upright in the cushioned armchair in the parlor. Sun streamed in through the parlor's south window. The children were curled up at either end of the couch. Hannah, their host, was nowhere to be seen.
“She’s preparing for the morning,” said Erik. “There’s to be a send-off rally for State Senator Sogaard. If he is enthralled by Agathe, as we believe he is, she will be there. Maybe not in the open, but she will want to be there to charm him one last time before sending him to St. Paul.”
Seamus rose and rousted the children. It was nearly nine o’clock. Hannah walked through the room, wearing a heavy winter coat and a woolen hat, and stepped out onto the porch. Erik followed a half minute later, and Seamus watched them through the bay window as they talked. He saw a familiarity, dare he call it intimacy, that he rarely saw in couples, married or otherwise. What a star-crossed pair, he thought. One thing for a Lutheran and a Catholic, with their differences, to overcome the doctrinal gulf and marry. But Erik and Hannah disagreed on how many gods had created the Cosmos. Quite a dispute.
“A god by any other name would smell as sweet,” said Gordon, standing at his side.
“I’ve no idea what you mean by that.”
“It’s Shakespeare.”
“I know who wrote the blessed verse.”
“Romeo and Juliet.”
“Truly?” Seamus said in mock amazement.
“Separated by circumstances beyond their control…”
“You do realize that the eponymous pair dies at the end?”
“I had never gotten that far.” Now it was Gordon’s turn to mock.
They stood silently and watched Hannah attach a locket about Erik’s neck.
“What are we watching?” said Elie from Seamus’s other side.
“Pastor Erik and Hannah the Viking Witch,” said Gordon.
“Are they in love?”
“You tell us,” said Seamus.
“Looks like they are.”
“That will make Hannah less powerful,” said Gordon.
“Then let us hope Erik adds more than he detracts,” said Seamus.
The two looked in through the bay window and saw the trio watching. “Ready when you are,” called Erik, and Seamus and Gordon and Elie pulled on their winter coats and stepped into the frigid morning air.
Seamus marveled at how different the walk into town felt compared to how it had felt running out. The sun was low on the horizon – the solstice would arrive in less than two weeks – and the winter had driven most of the birds south. The walk was cold and quiet and altogether invigorating. Home in Boston, he relied on a sturdy cup of black tea to start the day, but when out in the field he could generally depend on excitement to get him going.
The rally had not yet begun, but a small platform had been built beside the train station, and on it stood State Senator Sogaard and, beside him, dressed in a fur-lined cape and matching hat, the woman who must be the witch Agathe.
She had raven-black hair and fair skin. She looked healthy and young, much younger than her 50 years. The cape and hat ensemble was a conspicuous display of wealth that seemed brazen among such humble folk, but Seamus considered that this might be the point: elevating herself, asserting her position, reinforcing her dominance.
Senator Sogaard then began his speech, as stilted as ever. Now, understanding the situation, it struck Seamus why he sounded that way: the politician was but a puppet, and he spoke haltingly because his puppet-master did not want the audience to see her lips moving.
“There he goes again,” said Elie.
They had stopped at the back of the crowd to watch, but Hannah continued forward, pushing her way through the assemblage to the front. She stood before the platform with a confidence and assertiveness that was out of place among the humble Scandinavians.
“Stop!” she called. Sogaard did not register any reaction, intent as he was on finishing the speech. “Stop!” Hannah called again, this time in Agathe’s direction. The crowd gasped, probably shocked by such an overt display of emotion. Hannah climbed the three steps to the top of the platform and shoved – shoved! – Sogaard away from the front.
“Before our gods I call you forth to answer for your sins,” she called across the platform at Agathe.
Agathe stepped in front of Sogaard and shoved him a bit farther, pushing him off the back of the platform. The crowd gasped again and murmured for a moment. The two women stood eye-to-eye.
“By what authority, Volva?” she said to Hannah. Seamus thought about Gordon’s description of the flyting: ritualized insults. The crowd quieted, no doubt knowing the gravity of the moment.
Agathe took a deep breath and began. “You’re but a country witch / selling cough medicine and dog charms that insult the old gods, not venerate them.”
“To venerate them,” responded Hannah, “the gods instruct us to better the lives of fellow men / but the only life you’ve improved in this town is your own / while the rest of us have had to dance to your tune of chaos and greed.”
The women circled now. The end of round one, thought Seamus.
Agathe continued. “Better that we dance to music – whatever the tune – than listen to your braying, you lambless ewe / for how can Nininger take counsel from a naïve serving girl? / would that Freyja grant you the desire for the brisingamen just once.”
Seamus glanced over. Erik’s brow was furrowed waiting for Hannah’s retort.
“And would that Odin, the Allfather, grant the farmers of Nininger clarity of vision / for you are as an aged sow that survives the winter plump and firm / but when the slaughter comes is full of withered tendons and hollow skinned.”
The women circled again. The end of round two, and Seamus had no idea how the flyting had progressed. Both exchanges were full of deep Norse mythology and overt agricultural references, appropriate for a town of Scandinavian farmers, and if the witches were attempting to curry favor with the townsfolk themselves, then this seemed the approach to take. A more significant conflict of ideas than politics, in any case.
Agathe began again. Seamus noted that she had taken longer with this verse, perhaps struggling. “Your young colt is loose in the corral / best to tie him down / before you age like your moulding beliefs.”
Young colt, thought Seamus. She meant the pastor. For her part, Hannah looked shocked and took a step back, glancing into the crowd, looking for Erik.
The townsfolk shifted restlessly. Though the verse had struck home, it had done so by attacking the new ways, and the old ones, and offended the audience. But Hannah had been bruised by it and looked to be flailing, unable to take advantage of the opportunity.
Seamus willed her to look at him. He did not know much Norse mythology, but he had traveled the world and the first two rounds of the flyting had given him a taste of what could end this once and for all. Hannah, sensi
ng him, looked up. He concentrated on the verse and spoke it to her across the distance.
“The crop is not planted out of season / though the fallow field in turn is sown / night overtakes the unwary traveler / while yet the home hearth sits ever welcoming / like bone, your baubles and glitter turn to dust / heart and faith remain like stone / you offer shadow / I offer earth.” And with this last, Hannah flung a handful of black dirt onto the witch.
Immediately the long years appeared on Agathe’s face, and the veneer of her fur and gown fell away, revealing skin stretched over bone and covered in sackcloth.
As one the crowd gasped and Agatha staggered backward. The spell had been broken: Seamus felt the thrall lift from the crowd at once. Agathe turned and fled the platform, Sogaard following behind her. Erik pushed through the crowd and ran to Hannah, taking her hands in his.
One thing Agathe got right, Seamus thought: Hannah had tied down her colt.
The rest of the crowd pushed forward as well, surrounding Erik and Hannah, asking them for blessings, both traditional and divine.