Dyflinarskiri 2


 * Dyflinarskiri 2
 * by Gavin Weare
 * 3 November 2001


 * Is acher in gáith innocht
 * fo-fuasna fairggae findfolt
 * Ni ágor réimm mora minn
 * dond láechraid lainn ua Lothlind.

"Vikings!" FN1

He ran at top speed back to his village, which was soon almost empty of villagers.

Everyone inside the dark, smoky room had their eyes fixed on the door. It was flung open. After a moment's silence, the mountainous blond man in the doorway said in a loud voice:

"We've come because we heard about the harp!"

"So your man beat his skull in with it?" asked Ivarr.

The Dane did not answer. Instead he asked, "What did he call me?"

"Dub-Gaill. It's what they call you.  The Black Foreigners.  It's not an insult -- I think it's a hair color thing.  So it's true that your man killed the Yrlander with his own harp?"

"The scum was playing it while singing the words of Ragnar!"

"Well, killing him was a solution."

"It is blasphemous to treat the words of the Prophet as ... as music!" FN2

"The Yrlanders are a musical people."

"You are going to allow this?"

"Look, he wasn't here in Dyflin. He was one of the Mac Dúnlainge, and in case you haven't managed to understand what he's saying, Cerball here is not a happy man."

"He should be. Had he truly Submitted, he would have killed the blasphemer himself.  He would have strung him up by his intestines on the tallest tree in the land so that all could see..."

Ivarr tried to interrupt, but the Dane had hit his stride.

"...Thórgestr, peace be on his memory, yes, what would he think, what would he feel to see how you of Dyflin behave, just these scant years after his glorious martyrdom. You allow, no I think you welcome it, this disgusting sham of Submission.  And more, you are friends with this Flann person, and he has not even Submitted at all..."

Ivarr managed to get in a word.

"Flann may not have Submitted, but he has killed two thousand of the Uí Néill. He is a reliable ally.  He hates Maél Sechnaill as no-one else does.  Maél drowned his brother..."

"In a lake. Yes, I heard.  But he is no Submissive.  Next you will have the Vinéill themselves drinking on the Thingmote!"

"As it happens, I am expecting word from Aéd mac Néill quite soon, and perhaps he will visit some day. But in any case, you will hand over the man who killed the Yrlander to me so that Cerball can see him dead, and then you will leave."

"You would do this! You would turn on your brother in Submission!"

"There are more of the Yrlanders than there are of us. And there are a lot more Dyflinar than there are your men.  As I was saying, you will go away, and you will not go to Vikingaló, or Veigsfjörthr, or Vethrafjörthr, or..."

"You would have us leave Yrland entirely!"

"No. You can go to Hlymrekr."

The Dane glared at him for a moment, then stomped out. Ivarr bent down to scratch his favorite dog behind the ears, then muttered to himself before turning back to Cerball mac Dúnlainge.

"Foreigners!" FN3

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