Domstolland [New York State, New Jersey, Pennsylvania, Connecticut]
Ooof, thought Folkhagi Sebbi Ağalbertson as something gurgled alarmingly in his gut, I should not have eaten all those lampreys. Damn foreign food ... Guğrún is going to hear about this when he gets home. Always trying to get him to eat new things, no matter what it does to his insides. He blinks a couple of times and shakes his head. The supplicant's Rodd [FN23.01] was still speaking, but Ağalbertson had lost the thread of the plea, so he interrupts.
"So, these 'Jews,' they worship the same god as the Christians, but they are not Christians?" He did not bother to keep the skepticism out of his voice. He glanced out into the great hall of the Logretta. It was a large timber feasting hall, with long tables and benches beneath the great roof. It was very deliberately designed to evoke the Norsemen's vision of Valaskjalf, Odin's hall in Valhalla. The Folkhagi sat at a small dais at one end. If the Logretta was in session, the hall would be booming with the querulous - and generally drunken - voices of Domstolland's legislature. The Logretta were not sticklers for parliamentary procedure, and tended to drink, eat, and generally carouse while conducting the business of state. But this evening it was empty, except for the petitioner, his Rodd, and those contesting the petition, as is their right under the Jonsbok [FN23.02].
"The father-God of the White Christ," said Abraham Abulafia [FN23.011], Ağalbertson noted he was careful to use the Norse term, "is the Jews only God. The Christians have grafted two additional incarnations onto this God ..."
Ağalbertson interrupts again. He knows some of the rudiments of Christianity, but not many of the details. And those lampreys are really, really, not sitting well, so he would just as soon get this over with. "So, that is why the Christians hate the Jews, because they do not believe in the White Christ and the other one, the Spirit?"
"Partially, Your Excellency, that is the reason," Abulafia looked back at his client. To Ağalbertson, Abulafia seemed very cool and collected, but the English Jew looked very uncomfortable, as though he was fit to burst. In fact, he looked like Ağalbertson himself felt. Perhaps he had some lampreys as well. Ağalbertson's gut spasmed again, more sharply this time, as Abulafia continued to explain, "The Christians also blame the Jews for killing the White Christ ..."
Ağalbertson cut him off again and turned, somewhat reluctantly, to Lífsteinn Önglison, Coifi [high priest] of the Temple of Thor, and asked him if this was indeed true. Ağalbertson vaguely wished Freyr or Freyja's priests could be here instead. They were much more reasonable. Önglison seemed to be against anything that did not mean more money or power for the priesthood, and every non-Norse settler in Domstolland is one more person who will not be contributing to the upkeep of the Temples and the priests. But he was a fundamentally honest man, so he scowled and said, "According to the Christian sagas, the Jews encouraged the Romans to kill the White Christ. That is why the Christians hate the Jews, even though the White Christ himself was a Jew."
Ağalbertson gave that one some thought. The whole thing seemed kind of suspicious. Perhaps it was an excuse to be rid of these Jews, rather than a reason. So he asked.
"Master Rodd, are these Jews burdensome to the King of England, that he would expel them. Do they drain the royal fisc, subsisting on charity?"
"No, Your Excellency. Since they are prohibited from many other pursuits, they are gainfully employed in the crafts, in money-lending and in trade. Many have done well in their vocations and become quite wealthy. And although it is the King's seal on the order of expulsion, he is powerless. The real authority in England is a group of barons, led by Simon de Montfort, who despises Jews."
Aha, thinks Ağalbertson, money-lenders! This Montfort scoundrel has become indebted and seeks to expel his creditors! Shameless! Debts are rigorously enforced in Domstolland as part of the overall favorable attitude towards trade, and money-lending bore no stigma. But at least more comprehensible than this tale of Christians hating Jews because of something that happened 1200 years ago. After all, if what Önglison said was true, and the Coifi has studied the Christian faith [FN23.021], if the White Christ was not killed, the Christians would never have atoned for their offenses. Why would a king, or even a not-king like this Montfort, drive well-off subjects from his lands, for something that had to happen anyway? Then something else hits him. It is an article of Domstolland's republican faith that Christians are not capable of governing themselves, which is why they need kings. If the English King has ceded power to his earls, it is no wonder they are pursuing such foolish policies.
On the other hand, blood-feuds were something Ağalbertson could understand. A big part of any Folkhagi's job was keeping the peace by mediating between quarreling families. But the White Christ was a Jew! Ağalbertson's curiosity was at war with his desire to excuse himself and eliminate the source of his present discomfort. But the Jonsbok was adamant, once a petition is presented, it must be decided before the Folkhagi can depart the throne. As far as Ağalbertson could discern, the rule was proof against long-winded argument. And speaking of wind, his guts twisted again and he bit back a groan. If he did not get this done with soon, something very embarrassing was going to happen.
"Is it not possible that this Montfort merely seeks to evade his debts and the Jews of England could simply go elsewhere?"
"Your Excellency, there is no place safe for Jews in Christendom. The peasants hate them and believe that they brought the Tatars down upon them to destroy their Church. Even in the Tatar-ruled lands, where Jews are guaranteed protection by law, mobs murder them in the streets of the cities and burn them to death in their homes. They could flee to the Saracen lands, but many fear that they will be next to fall. The realm of the Norse is the only safe place."
Ağalbertson shook his head. These Christians must seek trouble, to invent such absurd tales. It was the Venetians who helped the Tatars ravage Christendom. Everyone knows that. He genuinely admired the Tatars. Gods, what he could do with such an army! He would blot the cursed Vinlanders and the contemptible Wessexmen off of the face Ultima Thule, to begin with, then march against the Cathayans in the West and seize their great stores of treasure. Another spasm in his abdomen brings him back to the here and now. He makes a silent vow to eat nothing but pork, apples and bread from here on out. The tale that Abulafia tells for his supplicant, who bore the strange name of "Cok" [FN23.03], makes on sense. But so much of what the Christians do makes no sense. After all, did they not drive the Domstollanders themselves from Vinland. "I have decided that since that the Christians, without a strong king to keep them from doing absurd things, would truly drive away valuable subjects of their kingdom, for supposedly doing something that had to be done for the Christian sagas to even exist. The fact that it is so utterly foolish merely makes it more believable. Fools do as fools are."
He looked over at Abulafia, who was smiling mildly.
"I would not debate Your Excellency's logic."
"That is wise."
All right, now that it was resolved, he really needed to excuse himself. "It is the decree of the Folkhagi that the petition is granted. Persons of the Jewish religion will be permitted to settle in the Commonwealth of Domstolland forthwith, provided that they designate representatives to guarantee their good behavior, renounce the White Christ thirteen times at the Dohmring, as is provided for in the Jonsbok, and submit a tithe of their personal wealth to the Commonwealth upon their arrival." He starts to rise, and Abulafia starts to bow, when suddenly the Englishman, Cok, speaks to his Rodd. Abulafia turns to Ağalbertson.
"Your Excellency, he wishes to know if his people will be required to settle in any particular portion of the Commonwealth."
Ağalbertson gave that a thought for a moment. He had a brother who owned some land near the mouth of the river. No, it was his wife who recommended the lampreys to Guğrún. He is not doing his brother any favors.
"No, they can live wherever they wish to purchase land." He is still trying to extricate himself when Cok speaks to Abulafia again.
"Pardon, Your Excellency, but he wishes to know if they will be required to wear any kind of marking or badge on their clothing."
What kind of nonsense is this, thinks Ağalbertson, his roiling insides telling him that he really, really needs to be elsewhere. "No, no," he says in a somewhat strained voice, "They can dress as they see fit. Now I must ..."
Once again, Cok, who looks like he is about to start crying with excitement, speaks to Abulafia, who appears somewhat embarrassed. "Your Excellency, he wishes to know if they will be required to cut their hair or their beards in any particular fashion."
Ağalbertson struggles to control both his temper and his tract. Cut their beards? Ridiculous! Is this Englishman vexing him deliberately? Ağalbertson has enough trouble with the Balts and their cursed hair cuts. "No! Do not be absurd. How could I order them to cut their beards or not cut their beards? Now be gone before I change my mind!" And with that, somewhat doubled over, one hand across his belly, the other one waiving off the thanks that follow him, he stomps out of the great hall.
***
One brief, well somewhat prolonged, trip to the necessary, and one equally-prolonged row with his wife Guğrún, Folkhagi Ağalbertson, much relieved, does the only thing that a civilized Norse would do, if he had a day like his. He takes a steam.
The public steam-baths of Jarnborg are immense, a warren of long-house sized rooms made from unfinished logs. The tenders of the baths keep fires blazing all through the winter, heating the rocks for the steam. In the baths, Ağalbertson is just another Domstollander, but tradition has it that the Folkhagi goes through some glad-handing when he enters, but he is then left to his thoughts unless he summons someone to speak with. The Norse realize that the leader of a nation cannot be on all the time, and needs rest from the affairs that beset him throughout the day.
So he does a bit of convivial flesh-pressing as he strips out of his clothes in the changing-room and makes his way through the clouds of steam and the crowd of ruddy, heavy-bearded Domstollanders relaxing on the benches closest to the entrance. Towards the back of one of the steam-rooms, he sees Abulafia, sitting apart from the Norsemen. Ağalbertson parks himself on the bench opposite, leans back, and sighs.
Ağalbertson opens his eyes, and starts to rise, "Your Excellency, pardon me, I did not know -" Ağalbertson waves at him to sit down.
"In here, Abulafia, there is no 'Your Excellency.' Just Ağalbertson, a farmer from up-river."
Abulafia considers that for a moment. "That is very sound, to be able to walk among your people as one of them."
Ağalbertson laughs. "They are not my people, Abulafia, they are their own. That is the difference. No King of Christendom could wander into a sauna and talk idly with his subjects of the going price of sows or barley, but I can because I am just as they are."
"What about the Vinlanders?"
Ağalbertson snorts derisively. "The Vinlanders? They have no Folkhagi, just a collection of godars, petty men with a few more furrows than the rest, who lord themselves over the common folk like they were Earls in France." He leans forward, "It is the priests, you see, who tell the people that their God has ordered things this way, that they should toil and their betters should recline. No God made Sebbi Ağalbertson the Folkhagi! Only the people of Domstolland, who have sworn loyalty to me, and I to them."
"And the slaves ..." Abulafia says, somewhat hesitantly.
"Captives, taken in war. They are nothing, as they always have been and always will be."
Ağalbertson decides to change the subject. "Your friend, Cok, appeared unwell. Is he better, now that he is out of the presence of the fearsome overlord of the Northmen?"
Abulafia smiles, "He is not my friend. I happened to be in Domstolland because my ship stopped here to pick up cargo on its way back to Grenada. I wanted to return directly, but the captain swore by Allah that it would be the only way he could make a profit from the voyage. I encountered Cok and his party, and they implored me to champion them, since their only Norse-speaker died on the voyage from England. But he is better. The sea makes him suffer."
Ağalbertson doesn't comment on that last bit. Sea-sickness is viewed with disdain among the Norse. But Abulafia seems to read it in his face.
"He is a brave man, Cok. Travel on a ship makes him gravely ill, but his party told me that he did not hesitate to volunteer to come to Jarnborg from England to petition you. He will himself return to London with the news, no matter how sick it makes him, since he is going to sell all his possessions to pay for as many of his fellows to come here as he can. Many other merchants and prominent men are doing the same, with no or scant hope of repayment. After you granted his petition, he told me that he would rather be a penniless beggar in the streets than see one of his people deprived of the chance to breathe the free air of the Commonwealth."
Ağalbertson is impressed. The Norse have a strong sense of mutual-aid, and the epics of the flight from Vinland are familiar to every Domstollander, but he has never heard the like. "Are you going to remain, as well? Cok and his people will need your assistance. The priests will view them with suspicion and seek to turn the people against them."
"I am no Englishman," Abulafia says emphatically. Ağalbertson figured as much. He did not look like any Englishman he had ever seen. "It was only fortune that caused me to be in Domstolland when Cok and his people arrived. I must return to al-Andalus to continue my work."
"Coifi Önglison tells me that you are a scholar of the Jewish sagas."
Abulafia hesitates, "Yes, I study the kabbalah."
"The kabbalah," Ağalbertson carefully repeated the unfamiliar word. He liked learned men and was very proud of the fact that he could read and write, and that his grandfather had been taught by the great Snorri Sturluson himself, who had spread the written word among the Domstollanders. "And that brought you to Ultima Thule?"
"I needed to discuss some matters of common interest with the Pure Ones [Cathars] in Isle de Foix, but unfortunately they were not interested, so I boarded the first ship back to al-Andaleus and wound up here," He leaned back and made a contented-sounding sigh. "Much to my great satisfaction."
"You should stay in Jarnborg," Ağalbertson said, suddenly very earnest, "and continue your studies here. There are not many men of learning in Domstolland, you could begin a library or university ..." But Abulafia was already shaking his head.
"There are great things happening in the world, and I must be a part of them. Unfortunately, I cannot do that from here."
Ağalbertson could see that. Domstolland was isolated - thankfully, in his mind - from what was going on across the seas. He smiles, "You must, of course, do what you think is best. For my part, I must attend to my duties ..." He glances significantly down the steam-room at the crowd of impatient-looking Norse who had gathered, clearly eager to get a word in with their Folkhagi, but constrained by tradition from approaching him until beckoned.
Abulafia gets his meaning. Time to get going. He stands up and extends his hand. "It has been a pleasure, Your Excellency. You have my gratitude for allowing the Jews of England to settle here."
Ağalbertson shakes his hand and says, dismissively, "It is nothing. I have no doubt that they will prosper as good citizens."
As Abulafia turns to leave, something catches Ağalbertson's eye and he starts. Then he remembers what Önglison had said about the Jews' covenant with their God.
And they were worried that he would make them trim their beards.
******
By the mid- to late thirteenth century, Domstolland in on the trailing edge of a great transition. The pagan Norse religion, the reason for the Commonwealth's existence in the first place, has moved from essentially a private cult, sponsored by magnates in their private frohargs, to a public religion sponsored by the state. The change was perhaps inevitable, since one of the primary functions of the Domstolland government it to preclude the encroachment by Christians. Also of critical importance was the arrival of Snorri Sturluson in the 1220s. Sturluson, a Christian convert to paganism, writes down and organizes the stories of the Norse gods, thus laying the groundwork for the development of a formal, literate priesthood, sponsored by the state. The movement towards an official religion is largely supported by the smaller farmers and townspeople of Domstolland. With the development of a strong central government, the grip of the magnates' authority had been further weakened, as they were no longer permitted their own courts and armed bands (in competition with the elected local courts and organized militia) to enforce their will. One of their few remaining avenues of control was through their construction and monopolization of the frohargs. In the late 1240s, the Logretta, which is dominated by smallholders and their allies, moves decisively to abolish private control over religion and establish state sponsorship.
The change is not without its bumps, some of which changes the political map of Ultima Thule. In 1255, shortly after its completion, civic strife erupts in and around the temple of Freyr, the God of Plenty, in Tivrhofn. Skári Valdisson, a magnate of some substance, was outlawed by the Logretta in a move of very questionable legality, since the legislature was stripped of much of its judicial authority when it was founded. While the controversy surrounding his conviction continued, but before his sentence was executed, Valdisson showed a ceremony at the Freyr temple, accompanied by an armed escort. A recipe for trouble - since both outlaws and weapons are prohibited in the temple. The hrafnsmal, wolf-coated temple guards, attempted to remove Valdisson peacefully, but a brawl ensued that spreads into the street. Both sides summon reinforcements, and Domstolland teeters on the brink of civil war between the magnates, who are using the incident as a pretext to reassert their power, and the supporters of the government. Now there is no question but that Valdisson must go - the Logretta outlaws not only him (again) but all of his followers and allies. As the fighting continues, the governmental forces gain the upper hand. Valdisson calls for a truce. It is agreed - he will be given safe conduct, and he and his people will depart.
And so they do. This time it is by land - most of them have flocks and herds, so they are trooping west, beyond the boundaries of Domstolland [FN23.04]. The wild is, of course, not devoid of human settlement. Others who have been exiled over the years - Christian and pagan - are there, but Valdisson shows up with the biggest and most organized group, so by a small amount of force, a large amount of negotiation, and a few strategic marriages, he winds up in charge of the area now known as the Hrafenmark [Old Norse "ravenwood," roughly speaking, Ohio]. The setup is basically Icelandic a small number of powerful families holding the basic allegiances of the settlers, but with a religious mix that generally defines the political rivalries between clans. They do the usual thing - farm, hunt, fish (on Lake Mardolc [Lake Erie]). They do a fair business in ivory and furs - not as good as they would have done in earlier years. It is good news for the husbandrymen and bad news for the hunters that decades of hunting have cleared out a lot of the megafauna (great cats, dire wolves, mammoths and mastodons) from the area. What they find, they export up the Mikill River [St. Lawrence] that divides Domstolland from Vinland, and some of which they export down the Thiazis [Ohio] and Afon Ganol [Mississippi] rivers, to trade fairs in the Welsh settlements on the southern coast.
Through the thirteenth century, official Domstolland proper maintains a somewhat indifferent attitude to the goings-on in Hrafenmark, although Domstollander hunting parties, which double as war-bands once they are beyond the borders of the Commonwealth, conduct frequent forays into their new neighbor's territory, resulting in the usual Medieval day-to-day, pillaging and murdering. As a result, those villages in Hrafenmark on the eastern region and near the coast of Lake Mardolc, are stockaded. The center of gravity of Hrafenmark's agricultural population shifts westward, settling in and around some decent-sized patches of prairie, where they prosper farming the excellent soils [FN24.05].
Domstolland's real fight is with its Christian neighbors, primarily Vinland. It is a strange relationship. Domstolland and Vinland fight nearly annual battles on Lake Heimdall and the Miskill River. And the great cod fisheries off the northeast coasts are ofttimes the scene of bloody confrontations between the rival states. But neither country has sufficient power to crush the other, and the Domstollanders soon refer to these fights as the Holmgaga, a form of ritual duel. Vinland has a greater population and overall wealth, but its ability to project force is hampered by its decentralized political structure. Individual godars can join or abstain from the fray as they see fit. Niwe Wessex has done some growing up since the bad ol' days, when it was a bone to be chewed by Domstollandic raiders, and is no pushover anymore. The young, the ambitious and the ruthless of Domstolland set their sights on farther horizons.
Back home, in Jorvik and Jarnborg and Tivrhofn, the English Jews settle in - some come directly from England, others from France after it issues its own expulsion decree, directed solely at the English Jews. At first, they are viewed with some suspicion, especially by the Norse priesthood. However, when it becomes clear that they are not crypto-Christians and they display no interest whatsoever in making converts, everyone relaxes a bit.
They bring a much-needed skill set with them. The Commonwealth fisc is, and always has been, a great mess, largely because the Norse have never ran a centralized state of this sort. Ağalbertson is determined to set things to rights, and the English exiles do yeoman service putting the Commonwealth on a sound financial footing. They are then publicly feted before a very grateful Logretta. England's loss is Domstolland's gain. And they could use it at the moment.
Right after Abulafia departs Jarnborg, a Mongol embassy arrives from Aachen, to demand submission of the Folkhagi. At first perplexed, then enraged by the temerity of the il-Khan to demand surrender from the other side of the Great Ocean, Ağalbertson tears up the written message before the Logretta, to general raucous acclaim, then he orders that two of the three ambassadors be sacrificed at the Temple of Odin. Whether he is fully aware of the consequences of murdering Mongol messengers is open to debate. He has the third publicly scourged in the center of Jarnborg and sent back to Aachen with his answer, which would be "no." He and the Logretta then move. The Venetian traders, widely seen as a fifth column for the Khan, are immediately expelled. Mobs storm the Hansa trading colonies - they are, after all, vassals of the Khan - and slaughter everyone they find.
So, commercially, Domstolland is kind of cut off. Their first stroke of luck is the arrival of the English Jews. Their second is the appearance of a significant number of expatriate Genoese. These two new communities essentially take over where the Hansa and the Venetians left off. The Jewish refugees have a major advantage - they do not suffer the same restrictions as their Christian Genoese counterparts and are fully welcomed into the Domstolland community. The word starts to spread - there is a place where Jews are not made to wear badges, not subjected to extortion, discriminatory taxation and periodic massacre. The Jewish population of Domstolland begins to grow, swollen with refugees who can scarce believe their good fortune.
Even Jehovah undergoes a bit of rehabilitation. At the ground-breaking for a new synagogue in Jarnborg, Ağalbertson gives a long speech hailing the new arrivals, and calls upon "the God of the Jews whose name is so mighty it would slay anyone who spoke it" to grant good fortune to the site, which just happens to be down the street from the temple of Freyja.
It is a match made in heaven ... Valhalla ... whatever. But it works.
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May 15th, 2005, 10:03 PM
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