Several days of travel took Leofric through only one small village, no more than five or six wattle-fenced enclosures scattered about the intersection of one tiny mud track which came from the east to join the scarcely wider lane he had been following generally southward. After spending the night in this 'town' of Ormceastre, he found himself once again on the road. He had passed only the occasional farmstead: one or two buildings at most, likewise enclosed with brush fences, most of which had seemed abandoned. As night and a last frost drew on, he thought seriously of finding his way back to the last abandoned farm he had seen, when the sound of lowing cattle caught his ear from up ahead.

Perhaps I'll once more sing for my supper! he thought with a laugh.

To the left of the narrow lane, the trees thinned out slowly, and a large meadow of rolling grass took their place. On the right side of the road, the forest thinned some, but not nearly enough to afford even a small clearing. In the meadow to the left, he saw a timber and sod structure had been built into the side of a large hill, with a small door in the near end, and a wider opening in the farther. Smoke came lazily through a hole set near the middle of the turf roof. In a field across the meadow, a man was following his ox-plow in its furrowing of the green grass. Nearer the house, an obviously pregnant woman seemed to be churning butter, while a boy of about 15 years, drove two milch-kine to the paddock at the house's far end.

Leofric's musings were interrupted by the strident honking of geese, and he saw several charging toward him at a good pace. Before he had reached the path leading from the road to the house, the scene had changed drastically: the boy had pulled a knife from his belt and stood ready, the churning woman had found a larger knife from somewhere, and the man was running from his plow with an axe in one hand. Leofric noted that it had probably once been used for more than chopping wood, though the handle had been cut down to make it more useful for this more mundane task. He halted just off the road, smiling at the people before him, and spread wide his hands, showing them to be empty, and also that he carried no sword beneath his cloak.

"Good morrow, friends. I seek lodging for the night, and am willing to pay or work for my supper!" Leofric hoped that his smiling manner and young age would stand him in good stead with these country folk. Despite his past experiences, seventeen seemed too young to end life yet!

Though the family did not relax their guard, neither did they attack...possibly a good sign! The man, who appeared to be about 35, raised his head a bit and spoke in a deep voice. "Snakkr de norsk?"

Heofonlices Got! They're Danes! Well, this was their section of England now, whether he liked it or not! And no viking would bring his wife and son along, so these must be settlers then--simple folk I can deal with, as long as they aren't raiders! Leofric shook his head, hoping it meant the same thing to them. "Nay.." he pointed to himself. "Seaxa from Deira." and pointed to the north. "I am a scop--" what was the danish word for it! He couldn't remember! He did note the tensing of their grips on their weapons at the word saxon!

Inspiration struck, and he slowly pulled forth his pack, and the harp contained therein. Despite his slow movements, the man clenched his axe with both hands and stepped forward a bit, so that the woman and boy were further behind him. Leofric set the pack down, and drew forth his prized possession. As he raised it to view, the man relaxed slightly, but not much. Leofric struck a few notes, and sang a few words from the epic Beowulf:

Hwaet, we Gar-dena....in gar dagum....

The woman whispered something to her husband, and he looked fiercely at the nervous young man before him. "Skald?" he barked.

Leofric nodded vigorously--that was the word for minstrel! He would make it a point never to forget it again! He smiled wider, and added another word..."Friend." and slowly extended his empty hand. A strong gust of icily cold wind caused him to shiver in his cloak.

The man noted the shiver, and looked him up and down appraisingly. At length, he lowered his axe, but did not extend his hand yet. "Frijond? Seaxa?" he snorted slightly. He motioned toward the house and added two words, one of which Leofric took to be 'sleep', and the other was hopefully...'eat.' Leofric followed them to the house where he set down his belongings gratefully.

The man went outside, and Leofric followed the other two as they likewise returned to finish their chores. He saw that the woman and boy needed no help, so he decided he might be of use with the plowing. As the man took up the handles of the plow, Leofric joined him. The man looked at him, then at his hands--which had not seen much manual labor, though they weren't soft. At his raised eyebrow, Leofric smiled and spit into his palms, rubbing them together and grabbing one of the two handles. The norseman nodded and resumed the pace he had been keeping earlier. By the time the light was gone, Leofric was sweating profusely, and his back was aching. While the oxen had not been fast, they set a steady pace, and the rocky soil made keeping an even furrow a tough chore indeed! From the condition of the soil, and the number of stumps near the house, Leofric guessed that this had been unclaimed land not more than two years ago.

Inside for the night, they heard the wind begin to blow through the trees...and the baying of a wolf somewhere in the distance. The farmer closed his eyes a moment in prayer to some unknown deity, then smiled. His stock were all safely penned in the far end of the house, so that they could share the shelter of its roof and fire. Gentle lowings and snortings were heard as the animals settled in; even the geese seemed quiet now. Introductions had been made, and Fritha ladled out bowls of a thin soup with root vegetables and a few pieces of meat for each of them while her husband Halvard broke a dark loaf of bread into pieces and passed them around. Ola passed out cups of beer, then sat on a stool near the central fire between his parents and their guest. This early in the spring, families everywhere would be stretching the last of their winter stores in the lean times before crop-sowing and the earliest harvest of the earth's naturally produced bounty. At least there had been butter and even a bit of cheese for the dark bread.

Leofric's eyes darted about the room, noting the sparseness of furnishings: a few stools, one small table and a few wooden chests. At the head of the house, a chair had been set near a newly-carven pillar and low stand--obviously the family altar with it's heads of the three gods, and Halvard's high seat for formal occasions. He saw no sign of an enclosed bed or formal sleeping benches--though a cleared area on the hill-side of the room had been covered with a layer of rushes and sweet grasses. His suspicions were confirmed when Fritha spread out several large furs on this spot, then set about cleaning the few dishes.

Though the language barrier was a problem, Leofric did his best at renderng Beowulf...trusting that the gist would get through; norse and seaxa shared a fair amount of words, though the sounds might be strange, and the usages could differ widely. If details got lost, at least the feelings got through--and clearly had; Halvard and Fritha were smiling as they settled into their bed, and motioned for Leofric and Ola to do the same. Leofric was not at all surprised to be sharing the furs with their son, only two years younger than he. In a poor household such as this, all resources were shared to provide even minimal comfort.

As the fire died down, the howling of the wind outside increased, and a chill draft managed to find it's way through the gap between the well-crafted wooden door and its frame. A small shiver worked its way up his back, and Leofric sighed contentedly as two strong arms pulled him closer into their warm embrace. Visions of the minster and his friends among the new acolytes there drifted through his dreams. It was on cold nights such as this that the boys had given comfort and warmth to one another in their cold dormitory...since the holy fathers allowed a fire only on the coldest of nights...and that only a small brazier! Leofric sighed again, and burrowed deeper into the warmth, feeling soft breathing on his neck.

A sudden crash caused Leofric to sit bolt upright, shivering in the cold! In the ember-glow of the coals he could see nothing at first...but the pounding of his heart told him there was danger! Had there been a scream?! Eyes and ears straining to their utmost, it took a long time for him to realize what had happened: a falling tree in the near forest had caused him to wake...the scream had been the splintering of the wood--not the dying screams of his brothers as they had been slashed by sword or axe! Or those of the abbot as the vikings had performed the 'blood eagle' to terrorize the remaining monks and acolytes being dragged off to slavery! Leofric shuddered in horror as he stared about him in confusion.

He could not guess how long he sat there--the cold seeping into his flesh, for he had removed his tunic and wore only his linen shirt beneath the furs--but eventually he realized that the shivering was now due only to cold, and not fear. A soft sound at his side caused him to look down into the sleepy eyes of Ola Halvardsson, a boy who would have been his friend in better times, a young man--and a family--who had shown him nothing but kindness upon taking this stranger into their house; a family who had shared what little they had so that a wanderer might not be cold and hungry in the night. Leofric saw the tentative smile as Ola said something which might have been 'please,' or perhaps just 'it's cold!'

Leofric looked around him once more...wondering at the differences between men--northman and saxon--and how pointless they seemed on a freezing stormy night. If only all men could live in such simple brotherhood! he thought, crawling back into the furs with his norse friend. It wasn't long before he once more found himself drifting off to sleep in the warmth of Ola's calming and comforting embrace.