Part 1: The Northmen
For many years now, I have thought that I should preserve an account of the things that I have seen and done. Many Christians see the Northmen as primitive, their ways worthless and irredeemable, but I have lived among them. I do live among them, and though I admit that I once thought the same, things have changed. What I have found is that the Northmen are human beings just like us, some honorable, some not, some great, and some cowards. The one thing of which I have been convinced is that cooperation and peace is the way forward for all of us. I understand this is not a popular notion on either side, but perhaps when you have heard the story I have to tell, you will understand why men like myself think this way.
The story I have to tell began with the events of the 12th of April in the Year of our Lord 793. AT that time, I was a Christian monk in North Umbria, born in one of the villages surrounding Lindisfarne monastery, then surrendered to it by my parents for my own good. We were a poor family and a large one. There was seldom enough to feed everyone in our household. Hunger was a constant companion during my earliest years, but with the monks I would be not only fed, but protected and educated in a manner the likes of which my parents could not have dreamed to give me by themselves. That is why, at barely three years of age, my father brought me to the Abbot, Father Cuthbert, and begged him to take me and raise me among the monks under his charge.
When my education was finished, I was sent out upon the world to be a witness of God's mercy to those who had never heard before, of Him or His Son. As a result, I learned many of the languages spoken by pagans in the surrounding lands. Little did I know, that such a skill would be my salvation more than once in the coming years. Just shy of a year after my return, the day came that would set my life on its current course. That was the day I met Ragnar Lothbrok.
I was alone in the monastery library, transcribing a new copy of the Holy Scriptures, when the silence, and with it my concentration on the work before me, was broken as I heard the clanging on bells and the screams of villagers, most of them women and children, racing toward our gates in search of sanctuary. Like many of my former brothers, I immediately went out into the courtyard to see what was going on. That was when I was told, not by Father Cuthbert, but by one of my fellow monks, that a fleet of pagans had landed on our shores and were already making their way toward us.
At the time, none of us knew exactly what was about to happen, but due to the strangeness of our visitors and how heavily armed they were, we guessed the worst. We set about trying to hide ourselves along with the many sacred objects the monastery contained.
Just as the raiding party was pounding at our gates, I grabbed a copy of the Holy Scriptures and hid myself behind the altar in the chapel of the east wing. I crouched behind it, praying all the while that God would protect His house and His people from His enemies. I heard the carnage going on around me as the raid progressed deeper and deeper into the monastery. Finally, the man I would come to know as Ragnar Lothbrok, came into the chapel, flanked by two others. I could hear the thud of their boots and each corresponding creak in the wooden floor as they moved about the place, in search of treasures. I heard them speak to each other in a language that I understood, though it was different from my native tongue.
I knew that my only chance was to stay absolutely silent, they did not know I was there, and I begged God in that moment that they would not find me. Every second felt like hours, and every minute like an eternity. My whole body shook with fear. Afraid that I would hit the altar and I would be discovered; so I put my hand down on the floor to steady myself, my heart sank when it creaked loudly. In an instant, Ragnar had grabbed me by the shoulders of my robes, yanked me forward so that I knelt in front of the altar, facing him and the others, and felt the subtle dig of Ragnar's knife at my throat.
"Please! Don't kill me!" I cried in the language of the Norsemen.
"You speak our language…" Ragnar said.
I nodded.
"How do you speak our language?" he asked.
"I've traveled, we're told to travel to take the Word of God to those who have not yet heard it." I explained.
"What is that in your hand?" He demanded, nodding toward the Bible I'd almost forgotten I was holding.
"A book." I replied quickly. "I wanted to save it."
Ragnar took it from me and flipped through it, gazing without comprehension at the words and illustrations. "Out of all the riches and treasures I see in this place, you chose to save this?" He asked.
His piercing blue eyes stared into mine with genuine curiosity, he was not scoffing at me for my decision but wanting to understand that which he could not.
"Because, without the Word of God there is only darkness." I told him.
He seemed to ponder that for a moment, and that is when we were joined by a fourth man. This man shared similarities with Ragnar in his features, but his hair was darker and he was clearly less interested in knowledge than in plunder.
"What a strange place, there are no women here, only these strange men…" The new arrival told the others.
"They seem to be the priests of their God." Ragnar replied.
"Why have you not killed this one yet?" The other man asked.
I tensed, knowing his answer might well decide my fate. My breath caught in my throat and I begged the Almighty to soften the hearts of my captors so that I might live.
"He is worth more alive, to sell as a slave…" He replied after what seemed an eternity.
I exhaled the breath I had been holding, for if even one of them thought so, I might still have a chance, though weather to be a slave or be dead, I did not and still to not know.
"If you won't kill him Ragnar, then I will, there won't be room left on the boats.."
I shut my eyes, fearing that this new fourth man, Ragnar's brother, who I would find out later was called Rollo, would kill me; but just as he moved to do so, Ragnar stopped him by putting a hand on his brother's shoulder.
"I forbid it. I say he lives, so he lives." He told his brother, and with that, my fate was sealed in ways I never could have imagined.
It took a fortnight to complete the journey to Ragnar's home village. The thing that became most clear to me during the voyage was that Ragnar was the only one in this new world I was entering, who had any interest in protecting me. At the time, I had no idea why he would care for me at all, what reason he could possibly have.
In the years that have passed since then, having seen all that has transpired in them, I now believe I understand, Ragnar and I are the same in many ways, though it would be years before either of understood just how true that was, something in him recognized the kinship between us even then. This, more than anything, is what gave Ragnar Lothbrok reason to spare my life.
Once we reached our destination, it was obvious that this had been an unsanctioned raid, the Earl at the time, Earl Haraldson, was very angry that Ragnar and the others had gone without his blessing. He demanded, that all their spoils from the raid be set before him, that included myself and the rest of my brothers who were taken prisoner. So it was that we were taken to the Earl's Great Hall.
The hall was warm and dark, lit only by firelight in the form of a giant fire pit and countless burning lamps. I listened as the Eral claimed all the spoils for himself on the grounds that his warriors had gone without his consent. Ragnar responded by pointing out that the boat belonged to him, and that therefore surely, he and his crew deserved some payment for the raid. Earl Haraldson considered that for a moment and then decided that each man who had been involved in the raid, should take one thing from the spoils for himself. The thing about this exchange that most struck me was that there did seem to be at least a semblance of law and order, as rough and unrefined as this culture appeared, it became obvious to me in that moment that this world I had entered was not the amoral free-for-all that it appeared to be. There was a sense of what was good and honorable and what was not, though it was substantially different from what I had been taught.
I watched intently, wondering what each of them would choose, knowing well, that my own future was about to be decided, for if none of our abductors claimed us, we would either serve the Earl's household directly or be killed if no one in this strange place had a use for us.
Ragnar was the third, after picking up a few of the golden artifacts and then discarding them back on the pile, and then he turned back to face Earl Haraldson.
"I will take the priest." He told the Earl firmly. "For my slave…"
I breathed a sigh of relief and silently thanked God that I'd been claimed by Ragnar rather than killed or made to serve Earl Haraldson. It was becoming increasingly clear, from what little I could understand about what was going on, that Earl Haraldson was abusing his power a bit, and likely was not an honorable man even by Northmen's standards. Though it would be some time before I truly understood just what sort of man Ragnar was, at this point I was reasonably confident that he was not about to kill me at any moment. After all, if that had been his intention, he had, had multiple opportunities to do so before then and had instead protected me and shielded me from his less merciful comrades in each instance.
"The priest?" Earl Haraldson asked, giving Ragnar a questioning look. "That's your one thing?" He asked again.
Soon the Earl's wife, who was sitting next to him but who until then had been silent, started to laugh at the choice Ragnar had made, several others throughout the Great Hall, joined in mocking him, but Ragnar stood firm, utterly unphased.
"Granted." The Earl finally concluded, and with that, the need for Ragnar's attendance there ended.
Having chosen me, he tugged at the rope around my neck and led me away and with that, my new life began.