The Realms Thereunder

2

As Freya and Daniel started down the twisting staircase, a loud and lively clamor drifted up from below them.

“I hope they have food,” said Freya. “I’m starving.”

“I think they do. Do you smell that? Smells smoky. But nice.”

They reached the ground floor and looked around. The noise, a pleasant rise and fall of happy voices, was coming from a wide doorway under the opposite staircase. They walked through it and found stone tables and benches ranked down a long hall. The benches closest to the door were empty, but there was a cluster of people at the other end making a respectable racket. Ecgbryt was one of these and was the first to notice them. Standing, he raised a horn-shaped object above his head and hallooed them in a bellowing voice. “Wes ?u hale, young Daniel and fair Freya!” he called out.

Cnafa approached Daniel and Freya and motioned them to follow. He led them to the table at the end of the hall. On one side of the table sat Swi?gar and Ecgbryt, and on the other, two broad, grizzled men, with the pale, dry faces shared by all who lived in Ni?ergeard.

The table was empty save for a large clay jug and oddly shaped cups in front of each person. Ecgbryt and one of the gentlemen had clay pipes in their mouths and were smoking a rich tobacco.

They slid onto the bench with the knights. “Did you sleep well?” Swi?gar asked.

Daniel and Freya nodded wordlessly. From a door in the corner two servants entered carrying several platters. They silently approached the table and laid the strange dishes before the new arrivals. One held a dried meat sausage as big as Daniel’s arm; the next contained a pile of thin, crispy bread; the last was a plate of orange and lime slices. Shallow clay bowls were placed in front of them, along with two very sharp knives.

Freya broke off a piece of bread. “How long were we asleep?” she asked, popping it in her mouth as Daniel picked up his knife and started to saw into the meat.

“Oh, not very long,” answered Ecgbryt as he drew on his pipe.

“Only five or six years.”

Daniel’s eyebrows shot up.

Freya nearly choked on the bread she was chewing. “What?” she gasped.

“As I said, not long, not long at all-” A smile broke Ecgbryt’s solemn face and he broke into laughter. The other men at the table did as well. Daniel grinned sheepishly and Freya muttered something under a frown.

“The boy’s eyes nearly fell into his plate,” hooted one of the other men.

“No,” said Ecgbryt, bringing his laughter under control with an effort. “Hours only. Hours, not years. Forgive me, but-but this is excellent ale.” He held his silver-rimmed horn aloft and clanked it against his neighbor’s cup. They both drank.

“Glad to see you awake,” said Swi?gar to Daniel and Freya. “You will not have met these men. I will let them introduce themselves.”

“Greetings,” said the man across from Ecgbryt, wiping his mouth. He had a squarish build and a large mane of dark, shaggy hair that stuck out at every angle. His face was blunt and puckered here and there with scars. To Freya it looked as if he’d been chewed up by some giant beast and spat out. For all she knew, she reflected, he had been. “My name is Godmund,” he said, slapping his chest with a fist. The fishscale armour that encased him clanked and rattled. “It means ‘good-hand,’ and was given to me by Ealdstan himself. I am Ni?ergeard’s Shield Thane-its protector.”

“My name,” said the man next to him, a bald and thin man with a pinched face, long moustache, and wiry arms, “is Frithfroth. I oversee the order of this magnificent keep. I am the Torr Thane. If ever you have need of anything on this side of the Tall Tower’s door, but mention it in my presence and it will be brought to you with all possible speed. I give especial welcome.”

“Hi. I’m Freya Reynolds.”

The heads at the table turned to Daniel, who smiled and announced grandly, “My name is Daniel Tully. I am a student of the Isis C of E Secondary School in the town of Oxford. My mother gave me my name, though I don’t know what it means.

I greet you!” He raised up the horn in front of him in a salute to the delight of the table. He put the cup to his lips and lifted the bottom up, up, and up until it was upside down over his face.

Nothing came out, to the laughter of everyone in the hall. Even Freya muffled a small snort behind her hand.

Swi?gar reached across and took Daniel’s cup from him. He poured a small amount of pale liquid from one pitcher and some water from another. He handed it back to Daniel, who completed his toast to a cheer.

Those around the table gazed gleefully at Daniel and Freya as they ate. Suddenly, Godmund’s pipe jumped from his lips. “I have it!” he cried. “It is an onion!”

“And not before time,” Frithfroth said, smirking. “Take your turn.”

“Very well,” said Godmund, laying his pipe carefully on the table and interlocking his fingers. Clearing his throat, he spoke slowly and deliberately:

“A deadly destroyer, divinely descended,

awakes only when warring,

stirring when silent objects are struck.

He is highly borne to battle by foe to fight against foe.

Though incredibly fierce,

and madly wild, a woman will wrangle him.

Though satisfying they who serve and tend him,

the more you feed him, the hungrier you make him.

He who builds this battler up

is doubly delighted, but death follows he

who carelessly lets this warrior loose.”

“Samson,” Ecgbryt answered immediately. Godmund shook his head.

“Anger,” answered Swi?gar. Godmund smiled and shook his fuzzy head once again.

The hall was silent as the puzzler looked smugly around the table. Each in their own manner either scratched his head, silently repeated lines of the riddle, or stared into nothing. Daniel and Freya looked on with interest as they continued placing meat and bread into their mouths.

Godmund smiled and tapped out a layer of ash from his pipe. Picking up a splint of wood about the thickness of a match, he held it to the candle in front of him and then brought it up to his cold pipe bowl. He puffed a few times and then held it away. His face appeared thoughtful, gazing at the flame as it traveled up the splint towards his fingers.

Ecgbryt, his eyes flickering idly across the table, saw him gently blowing on the flame rather playfully. He thought a moment and then his eyes grew wide. “Fire!” he exclaimed. “The answer is fire!”

Godmund blew out the flame and nodded as the table applauded the guesser.

It was now Ecgbryt’s turn. “At last,” he said, stroking his long moustache. “And I have a most excellent riddle for you all-a rare and wise riddle it is as well, for King ?lfred the Great himself did teach me this riddle from his own lips.” He cleared his throat.

“A river twice wet me

After woodframe had stretched me,

Once sharp knife had scraped me,

And a young man first cut me.

“Then the sun, it did dry me,

Now my hair had all left me,

And some cinders then rubbed me,

Before fingers had folded me.

“A feather has dyed me,

A reed also stained me,

Now two boards press on me,

And gold bands gird ’round me.

“What am I?”

Ecgbryt sat back, finished and very pleased with himself for a full three seconds until Swi?gar said, “I have it.”

“Hold, knight,” said Frithfroth. “You’ve answered your share-rather, you’ve answered your share and three others’. Let the rest of us try.”

With a twinkling eye, Ecgbryt poured himself a horn.

“Kippered herring,” Frithfroth answered, somewhat hastily.

“No, but a near guess.”

The table dropped into thoughtful silence a moment more.

“A fishing bark,” answered Godmund, “with oars and, hmm, feathers . . .”

“No.”

There was a further silence until: “Kippers,” Frithfroth insisted.

“Kippers or cod!”

Ecgbryt laughed and shook his head.

“If there are no more guesses beyond ‘kippers,’ ” Swi?gar drawled, “then perhaps I might be allowed . . . ?” The table assented.

“A book,” he said simply.

Ecgbryt reluctantly clapped his hands as the rest of the table nodded to themselves.

Swi?gar began his riddle:

“There is a strong, savagely bold house-guest

Who is the lord of my heart’s dwelling-place.

Hunger does not hurt my ferocious friend-

He thirsts, ages, but is not diminished.

Treat him honourably, and with respect,

And you will receive good fortune when you

Travel with him all the days of your life.

And at the end of the highway you are

Ensured a warm welcome into his vast family;

But misery rewards the servant who

Mistreats this most holy of visitors.

With him ahead of me, I will not fear

When this friend, kinsman, guest, travels onward

While I am forced to stay by the roadside,

Ever willing to part, as once we must,

Never again being able to meet.

Friends, if you please, speak the name or title

Of either this royal household-dweller,

Or my own name, both whom I have described.”

There was a groan from Frithfroth as he placed his head in his hands. “By the devil’s nose hairs, you’re a hard riddler.”

“It sounds like fire again,” Godmund grumbled.

“There are,” allowed Swi?gar with an agreeable nod, “similarities between the two, yes.”

The table was stumped. Ecgbryt scratched his head, Godmund kicked the table, and Frithfroth muttered oaths not heard in the British Isles for centuries. Eventually, Swi?gar was convinced to give them the answer. “The soul. The body is the host, the soul the guest.”

Frithfroth and Godmund insisted on a second reciting of the riddle and then sat in silence, rather morosely.

“‘Forced to stay by the roadside,’” muttered Godmund, and blinked his grey eyes slowly. A heaviness fell upon the hall.

Daniel and Freya, being adequately fed by their dry meal, sat in silence, amused and bewildered by the game.

“I have one,” Daniel piped into the melancholy. “What’s brown and sticky?”

Nobody at the table guessed; they just shook their heads.

“A stick,” Daniel said.

Everyone burst into laughter, as much in relief as in actual humor. Daniel himself laughed as hard as anyone.

“Here’s another,” he said. “Which room has no door, no windows, no floor, and no roof? No guesses? A mushroom! Now, what is-?”

“Enough, Daniel, enough. Give another a turn, or at least a chance to breathe,” Godmund said, his pallid face sweaty and bright with laughing.

“One more, one more-what’s red and sticky?”

“Beeswax.”

“Strawberries.”

“Earwax.”

“Honey.”

“Nope, all wrong. Give up?” Everyone nodded enthusiastically. “It’s that bloody stick again!”

This brought the loudest roar yet, and even tears to some eyes.

Which was why no one noticed that Modwyn had entered. Stifffaced, she waited patiently for the laughter to die down. Everyone sobered when they caught sight of her, and the bellows gave way to chuckles that died silently.

“Ealdstan will see you,” she announced.