He paused for breath, mopping the sweat from his face and panted at the slaves to move faster. Then he continued: ‘The chief difficulty which we doctors have to put up with in this country is that we have no relics to help us, not even so much as a single one of St Lazarus’ teeth, which are irresistible healers of the toothache and are to be found everywhere else in Christendom. For we missionaries to the heathen are not permitted to carry relics with us, lest they should fall into heathen hands and so become sullied. We have to rely on our prayers and the Cross and earthly means of healing, and sometimes these are not enough. So none of us can heal by spiritual medicine here among the Danes, until we have relics to assist us; and the time for that has not yet arrived. For although three bishops and innumerable minor priests have been killed by the people here, and some of the bodies of these martyrs have been recovered and given Christian burial, so that we know where to find them, yet the Holy Church had ordained that no bones of bishops or martyrs may be dug up and used for medicine until they have been dead thirty-six years. Until that time comes, this will be a difficult country for doctors to work in.’
He shook his head and mumbled sadly to himself, but then appeared to perk up again.
‘However,’ he went on, ‘now that God has seen fit to allow this great miracle to take place, things will become easier for Brother Willibald and me. True it is that I have never seen any reference in the Holy Scriptures to any special efficacy of St James as a healer of the toothache; but in his own bell, fresh from his blessed tomb, there must surely reside much power against evil of all kinds, even including bad teeth. Therefore, chieftain, it cannot but be that you are God’s messenger to myself and Brother Willibald, and to all of the Christian faith in this land.’
Orm said: ‘O wise sir, how can you cure toothache with a bell? My men and I have been in distant lands and have seen many marvellous things; but this would be the most miraculous of all.’
‘There are two cures for the toothache that we who are skilled in the craft of healing know of,’ replied Brother Matthias, ‘and both of them are good. Personally – and I am sure Brother Willibald will feel as I do in the matter – I am of the opinion that the ancient prescription laid down by St Gregory is the most effective. You will soon have an opportunity to witness it in operation.’
By this time they had reached the rampart with its surmounting stockade, and the great outer door was opened for them by an old porter, while another man blew on a horn to signify that visitors had arrived. Brother Matthias placed himself at the head of the procession, and began exultantly to chant a holy song: Vexilla regis prodeunt. Behind him marched Orm and Toke, followed by the slaves drawing the bell, with the other men urging them along.
Within the stockade lay many houses, all belonging to members of the King’s household. For King Harald lived in greater pomp, and with a more extravagant show of power, than his father had done. He had had King Gorm’s huge dining-hall enlarged and had added to its splendour, and had had longhouses built for his servants and followers. The completion of his cookhouse and brewery had been celebrated by poets; and men who knew said that they were even bigger than those of the king in Uppsala. Brother Matthias led the way to the King’s own sleep-house; for, now that he was old, King Harald spent most of his time there with his women and his treasure-chests.
The sleep-house was a lofty and very spacious building, though nowadays it was less crowded than it had been of old. For, since Bishop Poppo had repeatedly warned King Harald that he must take good care in every respect to lead a Christian life, the King had dispensed with the services of most of his women, retaining only a few of the younger ones. Such of the older women as had borne him children now lived elsewhere within the walls. On this particular morning, however, there was a great bustle of activity in and about the house, with many people of both sexes running around in anxious confusion. Some of them stopped to stare at the approaching procession, asking themselves what all this could mean; but Brother Matthias, breaking off his song, cantered like a drunken man through the crowd and into the King’s chambers, with Orm and Toke following him.
‘Brother Willibald, Brother Willibald!’ he cried. ‘There is yet balm to be found in Gilead! Royal King, rejoice and praise God, for a miracle has been performed for you, and your pain shall soon be driven away. I am as Saul, the son of Kish; for I went out to seek blood-leeches, and found instead a holy thing.’
While Orm’s men were, with great difficulty, contriving to bring the bell into the King’s bedchamber, Brother Matthias began to recount all that had taken place.
Orm and his men saluted King Harald with great respect, gazing curiously upon him; for his name had been in their ears for as long as they could remember, and they thought it strange to see him, after all these years, in such a sick and sorry state.
His bed stood against the short wall of the room, facing the door. It was stoutly timbered and lofty, and was full of bolsters and skin rugs; and it was of such a size that three or four people might lie in it without crowding each other. King Harald sat on its edge, surrounded by cushions, wrapped in a long robe of otter’s fur and wearing on his head a yellow knitted woollen cap. On the floor at his feet squatted two young women, with a pan of hot coals between them, and each of them held one of his feet on her knees and chafed it to keep it warm.
The most ignorant of men, seeing him there, would instinctively have guessed that King Harald was a great king, although the circumstances of royalty were absent and an expression of unkingly misery was upon his face. His big round eyes goggled with melancholy anticipation of imminent agony as his gaze wandered around the faces in his chamber and finally alighted on the bell as it entered the door. He seemed unable to register much interest in the sight that greeted his eyes, and panted in little gasps, as though out of breath; for the pain had temporarily gone, and he was waiting for it to come back and torment him anew. He was heavily built and of powerful appearance, broad-chested and huge-paunched, and his face was large and red, with shiny and unwrinkled skin. His hair was white, but his beard, which was thick and matted and lay down over his chest in tapering tongues, was a greyish yellow; though, in the middle there was a narrow ribbon, coming down from his nether lip, which had retained its full yellowness and contained no grey at all. His face was wet all round his mouth, from the medicines he had taken for the pain, so that both his blue eye-teeth, which were famous for their length as well as for their colour, glistened even more brightly than was their wont, like the tusks on an old boar. His eyes stood goggling from their sockets and were bloodshot; but an awful majesty lurked within them, and in his broad forehead and great grizzled eyebrows.
Bishop Poppo was not present, for he had been keeping vigil by the King’s bedside throughout the night, offering up prayers for him, and had had to listen to frightful threats and blasphemies when the pain had grown especially violent, so that in the end he had been compelled to retire and get some rest. But Brother Willibald, who had also been up all night experimenting with various medicines in company with Brother Matthias, had managed to remain awake and was still in cheerful spirits. He was a little, shrivelled man, with a big nose and pursed lips and a red scar across his temples. He nodded eagerly as he listened to Brother Matthias’ account of what had taken place,