The Varangians vs. the Goose (Part 1)

6th Feb 2022

Listen! The skalds have sung of many a quest or mighty labour undertaken for duty or for love; yet you have never heard a tale the likes of which I tell you now, where a band of brave Vikings went to battle with a goose. So, pull in your chairs, top up your cups and listen well to Sten who sailed to distant lands aboard the ship Vegr under Heidir the Bold.

You all know Heidir and his crew travelled first to the east, over the mountains, carrying their boat upon their shoulders; well - we actually pulled it with ropes, resting upon great trunks of birch and larch, but the shoulder image seems to have stuck - I blame Rune who told his wife Tove that we carried it, and she went and wove that huge tapestry that adorns the wall of the Great Hall, which is all anyone can think of when they think of Heidir’s crew - where was I…? Ah - the mountains. So we crossed the mountains with Vegr and set her down on the river beyond, and from there we went south, to the great city of Miklagardr, which is called the Queen of Cities or Constantinople. And you have certainly heard the tales of adventure that awaited us there in the service of the Emperor. But you may have heard less of what it took to get there, for on that river winding warily southwards there was danger at every turn and strangeness indeed to be found.

Shut up Thyra, I’m getting to the bit with the goose.

It was near nightfall, a peaceful and clear evening which promised sweet lies about the night to come, that we sighted a house on the southern bank atop a hill. Here the Dneiper is wide and placid, curling in lovely loops left and right, having grown beyond the steep-sided mountain stream but not yet into the hungry rapids that we already dreaded reaching. To each side golden wheat fields stretched almost to the horizon, the peasants who tended them gone to their dinners and their families. But this house - even from a distance we could see it was grand. Not tall like a mead hall, but wide like a farm, wings and outbuildings outstretched every which way. And there were fires lit which twinkled merrily in the twilight. We all looked at one another and said, well, someone is up there who’s important, and if they’re important then we should go pay our respects.

“Perhaps they’ll have beef,” said Grautr, who had spent so long complaining about the food we ate that we had forgotten his actual name and just called him Grautr - Porridge.

Now I know at this point you may be thinking we set off roaring with our swords and axes to raid and pillage - but no! Heidir was a gentleman and his crew were gentlemen all (under pain of long shifts at the oars or having to clear out Smelly Bergrisi's sleeping pallet). So we moored the Vegr under the leaves of a sprawling linden tree and settled in for the night, while a hand-picked party of the cleverest of the crew set off up the hill towards the house of whatever lord ruled these lands.

Of course Sten was among them, for he was wise and learned, and spoke many tongues including the rough language of the Kievan Rus which sounds like a horse sneezing. Also was Gufa who despite his youth had proven himself wily and able. Also Torsten and Birger. And ahead of them all went Heidir the Bold.

As we drew closer to the house three senses greeted us: first, the sight of wide gardens and terraces full of strange vegetables and fruiting vines we could hardly make out in the twilight. No fence or wall greeted us, just food as far as the eye could see, ripe for the picking. Second, the smell of roasting meat. Nothing smells as good as meat if you've lived on fish for a month and more. (And not juicy big fish either - bony little river fish with bitter innards and covered all over in fine scales that get stuck in your teeth. Ugh.) And third, a sound: quiet at first, hardly distinguished from the croak of crickets, but growing louder. Not the sounds of feasting and festivities, nor even the simple sounds of a household - chatter, bustle. This was a scratching, wheezing, chittering sound which grew louder and louder as we got closer.

Torsten said, “What is that sound?”

“A monster of some sort, maybe,” said Birger. “A giant who lives in the house.”

“Ha!” said Heidir the Bold. “Come off it - no monsters in the riverlands. Right, Sten?” Sten had no time to reply. “If we just stay quiet I'm sure we'll be at the house in no time.”

Still the sound grew louder. Gufa jolted and pointed into the darkness, muttering something nobody could hear. “Speak up, Gufa!” said Sten.

Gufa said quietly, “Ghosts. Big white ones.” Heidir and the others peered but could see nothing.

Torsten ran his hand over the vines, which were heavy with something like apricots.

“Hey, Torsten, I'm sure they won't be ripe,” said Sten.

But still Torsten plucked a fruit from a vine. He took a big bite which made a CRUNCH sound like he'd bitten a pebble and immediately spat it out.

And then with a mighty cacophony came forth from the darkness a horde of angry, shrieking monsters! Screaming, shuddering, rushing towards us faster than a cavalry charge, sending Birger over on his arse and everyone else yelling and running and scattering across the fruit terraces in a panic. Torsten dropped his fruit and turned tail. Gufa rolled into a bush and hid. Only Heidir drew his sword and levelled it at the attackers, shouted a prayer to Odin, and prepared himself to do battle with -

Geese!

For as Heidir realised, these were nothing other than a flock of angry white geese. Three had surrounded Birger and were pecking him viciously as he cowered on the ground. Several surrounded a tree and were honking up at the unfortunate Sten, who had taken refuge in its branches. Heidir slashed with his sword to keep the geese away, who circled warily, cawing and croaking.

One by one the geese snapped at Heidir but were driven back by his blade. One in particular with a mottled grey head seemed to have no fear of death and would thrust its sharp beak right at his shins before retreating. But Heidir was beginning to tire and the geese could tell they were wearing him down. He was totally surrounded by flailing white feathers whose attacks, strange as it may sound, seemed almost coordinated. Faster and faster they pecked, but Heidir's defensive motions were getting slower - one goose landed a hit which drew blood, then another - it seemed the warrior had met his match - until:

“Off, away! Ge on!”

A figure waving a lantern was coming towards us. “Svarl! Pliama! Piaro! Get off him. God in heaven. Stupni, so help me, come here. Stop! Stop, ye bird brains.”

It was an old woman with her hair bound in a shawl, speaking Rus. And sure enough the geese were obeying her command. They backed away from Heidir, who stood panting in a feather-strewn mud patch. Sten gingerly lowered himself down from the tree, Gufa crawled out from the hedge, and Birger rolled around onto his back to look at this strange newcomer. Torsten had run off, but would be found later hiding in a ditch.

“Look at the sorry state of yer. Who are you come sneaking in my garden in the night and setting off my geese?”

We were amazed, for even those that couldn’t understand Rus could tell the power this woman had over her feathered instruments of death. Heidir said, “Tell her we’re looking for food and shelter.”

Sten spoke. “Fair lady, ruler of - er - these geese, we are travellers who are voyaging down the Dneiper southwards. We saw your house and sought to trade.”

“In the middle of the night? Hmph. How many of you are there?” The woman shifted her lantern.

Sten said, “She asks how many of us there are.”

Gufa said, “See her embroidered shawl. She’s rich.”

“And we should not antagonise such a woman of high standing with lies,” announced Heidir. “Tell her we are Vikings and we have a ship with fifty of our finest warriors moored at the river.”

“We are six,” translated Sten. “One ran off when your geese attacked and one guards our boat on the river.”

The woman sniffed. “Well, ye’re strong-looking and brave if ye’ll face my geese. I can work with that. There’s roast beef and ale in my house, but ye’ll have to work for it.”

Sten was translating as she spoke, and at hearing this Heidir leapt forward to clasp the woman by the hand. “We accept your kind offer, o Lady!”

“Heidir!” hissed Birger from the ground. “You don’t even know what she wants us to do!”

But the old woman understood Heidir loud and clear. “Good, good. And I think I have just the job for ye…”

Part 2

1555 words