Quoted By:
The delight the Chieftain takes, even from the infinite pains which his hospitality demands, can always be read plainly upon his face. Yet today his features are beset by an uncharacteristic gloom. Einar, in contrast, seems as if he might burst from enthusiasm. He is finally old enough to participate in the Thing, and though he has on former occasions trumpeted its tedium, he would not abandon this first proof of manhood for the world. His eagerness, however, makes him rather a nuisance to the surrounding hive and they soon demand his immediate removal, which desire his father corroborates with a stern but silent finger toward the door. Einar goes whistling. And you make ready to follow, slipping a roll of a cheese and a quarter of thick rye bread into your tunic as you pass, when the Chieftain calls for you stay behind a moment.
The Chieftain knows you well enough not to assume petty theft, and is not so mean, especially on these ceremonious occasions, to begrudge you a bit of bread and curd. Rather what you fear is that he also knows you well enough to guess the inheritor of your meager plunder: the old hermit of the hills, whose unpronounceable name and unnatural beard have earned him the epithet of Raudskeggi, Redbeard. Redbeard is indifferently tolerated in the village, for unlike other "men of his cloth" (a phrase he is quite fond of) he does not disturb the peace with loud sermons nor attempt to convert others to his strange faith, but keeps entirely to himself. Even so, the Chieftain, like many others in the village, regards him with distaste. You have often wondered if it is not so much the strangeness of his god but the perfection of his fidelity that so disturbs them. Perhaps it reminds them of their own distracted worship and thus makes them ashamed.
You, for one, have always found him to be a fount of novelties. The occasional provisions you supply are always rewarded with a marvelous tale or two, for Redbeard is well traveled and quite learned. But the confiscation of the commons (and by extension of the strange tale that might have followed its delivery) does not come to pass. Rather, as you approach, the Chieftain loosens one of the torcs he wears upon his arm--the thinnest among them, made of bronze rather than gold or silver--and places it in your hand. His instruction is brief, almost hesitant, but perfectly coherent. If not for that clarity, you would have doubted your own ears, for he has just told you to give the torc to Redbeard and by that gesture to invite him to the Thing.
>Bite your tongue and do as you are bid, perhaps Redbeard himself will explain this absurdity.
>Retreat and seek out Einar. He has a sharp mind and might know better what to make of this.
>Ask the Chieftain himself what he means by such a strange reversal, under the guise of misapprehension.
>Write-in
