Sisters of The Bruce 1292-1314 (Abridged Version )

Sisters of The Bruce: Part 2; Chapter 2.6 (cont)

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In the Great Hall of Akershus, the crowd gathered in high expectation. Among the guests were many of Norway's magnates and their wives; the Dukes of Sweden – Eric and Valdemar who sought sanctuary with King Haakon from their foes in Sweden and Denmark – and the bishops of Bergen and Oslo. Master Weland had sent his apologies; recent developments in Scotland kept him in Orkney, but he hoped soon to journey across the seas to Norway. The castle and all its outbuildings were spotless, having been cleaned from basement storerooms to the highest tower. A sheaf from the last crop of grain hung in the Great Hall – testament to the rituals of thanksgiving and renewal. All was in readiness to welcome the forthcoming year.

The nobles and their ladies were dressed in magnificent style. Tonight was a time of celebration and the guests looked forward to the feast and the lighting of the Yule Log: it now rested within a fireplace so large that several oxen could be roasted within its shadowy confines. The trumpeting of animal horns heralded the arrival of the king. With the figure of a warrior and a wild mane of fair hair, his looks belied his erudite mind. Haakon entered the hall accompanied by his blond queen and the dark-haired widow of his deceased brother. Along with the royal dukes and the bishops, they sat at the high table.

Effie arranged the seating so she and Isa might sit together. In wide-eyed silence, the pair gazed in awe at the sight before them. Guards lined the walls behind the trestles filled now with seated guests. Huge candles lined the centre of the tables granting the cavernous hall a festive glow. Greased rushes in their cressets smoked in the gusts billowing up from the nearby fjord. Guests dipped silver goblets into the bowls of warmed glogg, an infusion of wine and spices. The noise levels rose and in the far corner, a pair of hounds jostled and growled at each other. King Haakon motioned for silence and servitors kicked the dogs into submission. A huskarl came forward; a fiery pine branch held high in each hand. To great acclaim, he paraded around the perimeter and then lit the kindling around the log. When the flames caught and held, all cheered. It was a grand augury for favourable times ahead. Goblets were raised and hearty toasts made to the mighty Yule Log. The cheering reached a crescendo. Heralds blew their horns once more, marking the arrival of the feast.

From many doorways, servitors filed into the Great Hall. Platters were held high, loaded with ribs of pork, baked hams, sausages, massive chunks of roast venison and all manner of wild game. Others carried elaborate serving dishes with creatures from the sea: smoked salmon, crustaceans, poached sturgeon and the black flesh of whale. Next came smaller tubs of herrings with cauldrons of fish stew following. Later, bowls of almonds and candied fruits from the orient appeared to tempt the sated appetites of the guests. Before the next course, the bishops rose in unison and made a timely, dignified departure from the hall with King Haakon's blessing.

To great applause, servitors carried in a favourite treat on a broad platter. It was a large pig, the symbol of Freya, goddess of abundance, made with sweet white almond paste. When most of the food had been cleared away, the festivities could commence.

Jesters wound their way through the revellers accompanied by tiny, liquid-eyed monkeys on leashes. Squealing with excitement, the latter grabbed at the nuts and fruit and soon became a nuisance. One leapt upon the shoulder of an elegant matron, ignoring her screams as it plucked and pulled at the coils of silvered hair looped around her ears. When it let loose a series of noisy spurts, lumpy-brown and vile-smelling, down the front of her gown, she fainted into the arms of her irate husband, one of the king's administrators. Effie and Isa exchanged looks of horror, whilst the king and many others, suitably inebriated, roared with laughter. The chattering monkeys were captured and led away to the relief of the crowd and a space was cleared for the dancing bear, musicians and jugglers.

In time to the beat of a drum, the lumbering creature rose up on its hindquarters and swayed, lifting one leg then another. When a nimble jester ran at the animal almost knocking it off balance, the drunken crowd applauded. The monster roared and lashed out at its adversary with a paw that came dangerously close. Women gasped in fright. With a thick leash attached to its trainer's wrist, the black bear stumbled, growling with irritation, over to an exit en route to its large pit in the bailey. At his hindquarters, the king's hounds followed, nipping and yelping. The bear turned and with one swipe of a well-aimed paw, silenced a brindled hound, knocking it to the ground; its claws, which had been ground down, hardly drew blood.

Cymbals clanged – the signal for the revelry to become even more frenzied. Into the fray came a being so strange, women shrieked and men cried out in mock alarm. The creature was dressed in a goat's skin with a horned head upon his shoulders. Representing the totem of the powerful god, Thor, he butted seductively at the females in the crowd and then, when attacked by warriors, feigned death after a lengthy battle up and down the length of the hall. He lay upon the stone flags and was mocked by all, then leapt up, once again vigorous and strong. The crowd cheered. This rite, symbolising rebirth, was repeated each year to ensure a good year would follow the dark, cold winter with great fertility and abundance. Yuletide had begun in earnest.