This piece is from the first novel in the series. Horstede is celebrating a betrothal, but some of the guests are not happy with the entertainment.
“Wulfhere, do you think you could have employed a better band of musicians? This lot are bloody awful!” Harold exclaimed, nudging Wulfhere’s elbow with his own.
“They were the best I could do given the time in which I had to organise it. Good musicians are hard to come by in these parts – and at such short notice. Perhaps someone else could take over the entertainment? Skalpi, I hear, is an excellent scop.”
Harold shook his head and said, “Not Skalpi! He will frighten the children with a face like his.”
Hearing his name mentioned, Skalpi turned and gave his master a rude gesture which Harold returned with infectious laughter.
Wulfhere knew Skalpi of old. He was one of Harold’s chief huscarles and an old war veteran. He was powerfully built, stocky and shorter than most of his fellow Danes. A leather patch covered his left eye and his deeply scarred face bore the evidence of many a past battle. He had acquired the scars as a young warrior serving with Harthacnut in his troublesome Scandinavian kingdoms.
“On second thoughts,” reflected Harold, “I do believe that he scares me just as much as he does the children. I’d better be careful. Skalpi does not like his feelings hurt.” He laughed heartily as the old Dane swore and scowled at him. Wulfhere chuckled, knowing that Harold’s easy-going nature meant that he could trade insults with his men and not be offended. This was a side of Harold that he loved.
“Hoy, Skalpi!” Harold called loudly.
The Dane looked round with mocking eyes. “Ah, Lord Harold, at your service.”
“Lord Wulfhere has heard that you have a fine singing voice. He wishes you to perform,” Harold called from the dais, cupping a hand to his mouth to project his voice above the din the tuneless musicians were making.
“My lord knows full well that my employment with him is that of personal bodyguard. If it is a skald that he desires, he needs to seek one,” replied the huscarle. Wulfhere noticed he used the Danish term skald instead of the Englisc scop.
Skalpi turned his back and Harold threw a silver coin that bounced off his shoulder.
“As you know, Skalpi, I pay well.” Harold laughed as Skalpi retrieved the coin from where it had fallen.
“One silver coin, my lord, does not make a generous and benevolent patron. Skills a good skald might possess cannot be bought for a mere silver coin.” he remarked, mockingly.
Harold sighed and brought out a small purse. “You want to ruin me,” he complained good-humouredly. “Is this your fee?”
Harold threw the purse and Skalpi deftly caught it. He felt the weight and appeared to be satisfied with the payment. Then he stood and said with a flourish, “It will do, so fetch me a harp. For tonight I am Skalpi, Lord of Skaldr.”
Wulfhere sent someone to fetch a harp and signalled to the musicians to stop. The Dane took the instrument and checked its tuning. Then the hall fell silent as he began his recital. He introduced the piece he was about to perform as a saga of his ancestors: one of men spending the last night before battle in their lord’s meadhall, feasting, drinking, and making merry with their women.
“Death stalls not, its bloody hand
From steel sundered vein they spill
Their heart’s blood
And their soul’s release
Upon the scarlet field of slaughter
“The span of lives lay hidden
The destinies of all good men
Fates woven from birth to death
When with sword in hand
Draw their last earthly breath
“I see my lord, I see my father
They call me unto them
We fight and drink freely
In the Lord’s golden halls, forever
Spared of the pains of mortal men
“Once again mail-clad and weapon fierce
When Armageddon calls to us
We mere black raven’s carrion
The Almighty’s angelic horde
Loyal shield companions of Christ our Lord.”
Photo c/o Richard Price
Skalpi’s song written by Robert Bayliss
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