Chapter 7: The Jarl

The castle or keep or what have you was not quite what I expected, granted that I had never been in a castle other than in something like a videogame or movies or something, but I was starting to think that perhaps they got it wrong. For example, I would have thought that the inside was going to be all exposed stones with wall sconces holding torches and perhaps a banner or two on the wall, after all, that was exactly how the inside of all the castles looked like.

This however looked nothing like that, for one the walls were not bare stone, rather it looked like they had been covered with mortar and then whitewashed. I could tell it was mortar because the walls had trowel marks where they had applied it and smoothed it flat over the stone. The whitewash alone really brightened up the interior of the castle and made it feel much more finished and lived in. There were even designs painted on the walls, from the looks of it the designs were only in red and orange, both of which I remembered being some of the earliest colors and paints. Blues and greens were likely harder to make and thus would be more expensive. The designs showed stylized roses and other vining plants and were painted rather well.

And as for drafty and cold, well it was hard to judge that seeing as we were in the height of what I imagined was summer, but from what I was seeing, what with the walls sealed and painted as well as the rugs and other cloth around and the fact that there seemed to be at least one fireplace per actual room that I was able to see I sort of doubted the assertion. I think perhaps such ideas of castles exist because we have no actual experience with them as they were used, instead practically every castle one can see today is a ruin, as such things like render, whitewash and other aspects would have disappeared over time. After all, people were still people, and no one liked being cold, damp, and in the dark, as such why would they make their places of dwellings that way?

Hrofdaal led me into the great hall and I looked around in appreciation, the hall itself was not the largest of rooms I had ever seen, it wasn't even as big as say a gymnasium, it was perhaps ten or so paces across, and three times that in length. The ceilings were stone and were arched all the way down, but there were darkened wooden beams that followed the same curves and ran across in rows. On one side of the long wall to our left, there was a great big fireplace, and even in it now there was a decent-sized fire going. And on the opposite wall were three large windows around the size of a man that were recessed into the wall enough that there was a bench where people could sit. They let in a truly impressive amount of light and when paired with the whitewashing of the room it really brightened the place up. Well, I say windows, but seeing as I could feel the breeze blowing through them as well as the smell of something growing it was apparent that there was no glass in them. From what I could see it looked like there were some shutters that they no doubt closed when the weather got bad. The room itself had a table in it, a little closer to fire than to the windows. Several people were seated both in the window seats as well as on the table’s benches.

On the far side of the hall was a man seated in what looked to be a regular chair, there was no ceremony, no real pomp but it was obvious that this was the Jarl. His clothing was of much better quality than what was seen around town, it wasn't decorated in gold thread or anything like that but it did consist of a brown tunic that went down well past his knees and was split from the crotch area down. Along this hem was a pattern in tan that filled the edge with a curving knotwork as well as smoke embroidery of the same style creating designs along the bottom of the tunic, the knotwork was also present around the neck and covering the shoulder area. He wore this over bright red brais that tucked into tall leather boots. Cinched around his waist was a thick tooled leather belt that was studded with brass pins from which an antler seax hung, I was willing to bet the material that had made the handle of that seax was in fact Brvost.

He leaned forward in the chair, one hand on his knee and his chin resting on it as he listened to the man standing in front of him, nodding with what the man said. I couldn't quite make it out, the acoustics of the chamber bouncing the words around so that it was hard for me to hear them properly. He was probably in his fifties, early fifties, with gray hair and a gray goatee, well mostly gray, the area around the mouth was still yellow, but the further it went down his chin the whiter it got. His hair was pulled back, the sides shaved down and he looked more like a Jarl than any image even I would have ever been able to mentally conjure up in my mind.

As we approached the two of them, passing by the other people who apparently were just there to listen to the appeals, which I guess made sense, after all, this was a small town, and people wanted to know what was going on, so what better place to learn about it than here? I began to be able to make out the actual conversation. The farmer, or rather he seemed like a more prosperous or wealthy farm owner, was appealing to the Jarl for additional troops and guards to patrol farther afield apparently they had been having problems with bandits and brigands and the like and had even had to fend off a raid that was intent on stealing their Saudr, whatever a Saudr was I had no idea, but apparently they had been forced to fight five men over them and apparently one Ceorl had died.

“Ceorl?” I asked leaning in close to Hrofdaal.

“Ceorl,” he said, “I am a Ceorl, and if the Jarl grants you leave to live here so will you, all free men are Ceorl, we have the right to bear arms, attend the courts like we are doing now, we are required to pay dues and taxes to the Jarl, and should we die in defense of the Jarl or the Jarl’s items he will pay the wergild,” I gave him a confused look and he continued to explain. “A wergild is a sum of money, money owed to the family either by the killer and their family should the killer be another Ceorl, or in a case like this, by the Jarl.”

“And how much is the wergild?” I asked, curious. “It is lower for an Esne-” he saw my look and smiled a wry smile. “We are going to have to go over the structure of society in better detail with you at some point later, the short of it is there is Esne, then Ceorl, then Thane, and finally the Jarl himself in that order.”

“I am guessing by the fact that you said a Ceorl is a free man that an Esne is not?“ I asked and he nodded.

“Esne’s are slaves, prisoners, in fact, should you or I or any man commit a crime that is severe enough but is not punishable by death we will be Esne as punishment, the period of Esne is dependant upon the crime’s severity, and while they are Esne they can be sold to anyone, Ceorl or Thane or even Jarl, their wergild is paid to the owner of the Esne for the cost of the loss of work for a year, often it is two or so Kuuls,” I filed the word Kuuls away for later lines of questions if I had to guess I would say that word had something to do with money and perhaps was a name of one of the types of coins I had.

“And these Esne have no rights?” I asked, I really wasn't caring much for this.

“They are murderers, or thieves, or rapists,” Hrofdaal said to me. “But they are still men and so they still have some rights, should an Esne be killed by his owner without reason then the owner shall become an Esne, should the owner abuse his Esne, either through neglect or by beatings the Esne will be taken away from him without compensation and fines shall be levied, and should anyone rape, be they Jarl down to the lowest of Esne castration is the punishment. I am not saying abuse does not happen,” he said honestly, “but when it is found it is swiftly dealt with.”

“And thieves are Esne as well?” That one seemed a little harsh to me, the other two, well, I didn't really care for rapists or murderers myself so…

“Only if the theft is high enough, and often they are Esne to the Thanes or the Jarl himself, where they have less hard work, though it is still a punishment and they still have to serve a year as an Esne. Both rapists and murderers are Esne for life, however. But back to your original question, a Ceorl has a wergild of fifteen Kuuls.”

“And if these Esne are murderers and rapists and the like, what exactly warrants the death penalty and not becoming an Esne?” I asked because in my book those two things were something that should be punishable by death.

“The killing of a man makes you an Esne, but the murder of a woman or child will visit the headsman axe upon your neck, as does raping a child, though we don’t chop their heads off, we give them to the mercy of the mountains.” I was about to ask him what the mercy of the mountains was but it was our turn and the two of us stepped forward. I followed Hrofdaal’s lead and bowed as he did, hoping I wasn't supposed to do something more than that due to me not being a Ceorl, but everything seemed to go well.

“Greetings Jarl Ulfheer, I would like to present to you Erik, Son of Gunder who hails from the distant lands of America,” he said indicating me, and to my surprise the Jarl stood up out of his chair, pushing himself up on the arms and took a step forward to meet us, his arm outstretched. Out of reaction alone, I grasped his offered forearm and shook it, as I had with Hrofdaal when I first met him.

“Greetings Son of Gunder,” Jarl Ulfheer said with a smile, “It is not often that we get visitors from other lands, and even less often that it is from lands I have not even heard of.” He said it as a statement but I heard the question in it and decided to answer him.

“It is indeed a distant land, so distant that I do not even know the name of this land we are in now,” I said in reply.

“You are on the edge of Vaalarian,” he said, the smile still in place as he looked up at me. This was going to be something to get used to, sure I had become used to being tall, but never five or so inches taller than literally everyone. “And this is of course Vessimir,” he spread his arms wide and indicated the castle, as well as the town down below. “How did you find yourself in my territory? And in such esteemed company as well I might ask?” He looked between me and Hrofdaal, but it ended up being me who answered after all the questions had been directed at me.

“When my father passed the property was seized and I was informed I was to leave, and so I found myself here,” once again, not quite the truth, but also not a lie. I shrugged, “as for how I met Hrofdaal, I got a ride from his brother-in-law Tovold and helped him unload the hay at Hrofdaal’s, since then I have been helping him around the stables.” The Jarl looked at Hrofdaal who nodded his agreement with what I had said and then turned back to me.

“And why have you come before me?” he asked, somehow when he said it it didn't seem rude, rather it felt like an honest question and curiosity to him.

“Hrofdaal informed me that there was a vacant house that I might acquire and that you were the man to talk to about it.” I said, “I rather like the area, and do not wish to be traveling for all my days.”

“Did he now,” he said, his hand going up to stroke his beard. “Yes, we have an available house, and since you came here with Hrofdaal I will grant it, he is a man that I trust implicitly, you couldn't have come with better company.” He smiled at me. “Be aware however that as a newcomer to the town the guards will be keeping a close eye on you,” that was understandable, all small towns were like that, though in my experience no one really said it out loud like that, it was normally just implied. It was honestly refreshingly straightforward. “I grant you the rank of Ceorl and hope you bring prosperity to you and those around you,” He intoned the last sentence like it was a formal announcement and he held out a hand to once again shake. “Hrofdaal, will you show Erik to his home please?” The Jarl asked, the smile real and genuine.

“Yes, of course, Jarl,” Hrofdaal said with a smile in return...