Heresy: The Book of Mammon

Chapter 32

Chapter 32



Snorri wiped the sweat from his brow as he stoked the flames of the ovens. The smell of venison and bear wafted into his nose and he remembered how hungry he was. The little food he ate that morning had left him and a new found hunger came upon him as he busied himself with his duties. The kitchens of Dustaffnage were quite busy that day. The council of the Thanes

Titles granted by the King to rulers of provinces and city districts.

was near, and with the arrivals of King Hjalmar coming from the many provinces and districts of the city, the demands grew ever heavier.

Dustaffnage castle was always busy, but this was a matter of great importance, as the councils always were. The many Thanes that maintained order in the city and provinces of Xalimfal met here at the end of every season. Their arrivals were quite a spectacle, when he freed himself enough to watch them pour into the streets. Thanes were respected rulers and advisors. The people of Gjaalarbron cheered and applauded when they came as though they were the gods themselves. He never cheered. With each new arrival, he was tasked with cooking ever more food.

Being the head of the kitchens was difficult to say the least. Orders came and went, and they struggled to keep pace with it all, as they always did. When a council met, they often ignored sleep or hunger in order to keep up with the demands. Still, it was a better duty than many of the Ymirjar. Most of them were little more than whipping posts for the people of the city. Those that were fortunate, found themselves working in the castle. Even there, discipline was brutal and painful, but at least they ate every day. Most Ymirjar were lucky to eat once a week. Though the food they ate was far less lavish than what they prepared for the Thanes and the King, it was more than most of his people ate. Stale breads and occasional salted meats were the only things he tasted, but he welcomed them when he found time to eat, for he could be far worse off than the rest.

Ymirjar folk were not particularly liked in Xalimfal, especially in Gjaalarbron. Though the mistakes of their ancestors was little more than forgotten history, the people reminded them of their place daily. As such, they were often punished for things they did not understand.

He struggled to understand the natures of the Xalimfal peoples. They feuded with one another, and embraced war like a child, but the war that his people brought on them was viewed differently. He knew little of his ancestral history, but as fond as these people were of violence, he could only imagine what those before him had done to incite their vengeance.

Life as an Ymirjar was not at all pleasant. The people of Xalimfal were much larger than they, and their beatings often bruised or broke bones. Discipline came and went like the seasons. Often times, he didn’t know why he was being punished, but it was life. These people needed little reason to beat them, he’d learned that early. Whatever duties he was charged with, he held to the highest priority, and he prided himself in only receiving the most occasional of whippings. It had been quite some time since his last one, and he was long overdue. With the castle of Dustaffnage in an uproar, he knew that one would come eventually.

He drew in the sweet scent of spiced meats and vegetables and nodded his satisfaction. He always wanted to venture to taste the food, but he dare not do something so foolish. Snorri learned quickly that sneaking food from the kitchens was a painful trespass, and the eyes of the overseer were ever upon him.
He shut the heavy iron door and turned round on his heels. Overseer Bjorn scanned the Ymirjar that buried themselves in preparing food. His gaze fell upon him and Snorri quickly averted his eyes.

“Snorri!” The man shouted at him. “Don’t stand there, get to work or I’ll have you whipped!”

Snorri nodded and he stepped toward the table. The three other workers of the kitchen busied themselves with slicing and seasoning meats and vegetables. Mimir glanced at him and shook his head. He offered a playful smirk before returning to his work. His closest friend always found it humorous when the overseer scolded him. With the coming council, they became more frequent. Though he was more fortunate than most Ymirjar, he despised being yelled at. Bjorn rarely shouted at the others, though they were not the head of the kitchen, he was. If they failed to meet the increasing demands, the blame would fall to him as it always did.

He shot a quick glance at the overseer. His attention carried itself across the kitchen and he offered greetings to guards and others as they passed through. He hated the man, but he could do nothing. The overseer was a pompous man, despite his low position in the court. He knew that Bjorn resented his tasks, and he savored every moment of the man’s misery. He was a bulb of a man. Though he was well over a head taller than he, Snorri knew he could easily best him in a fight. Such an act would be punished with something far worse than a whip, but he could dream.

His thoughts returned to his tasks, and the others offered him slight smiles as he scanned their faces. Sven and Leif, the other two of the kitchen workers, were good friends of his, but not the same as Mimir. They had only worked in the castle for a short time. Before their recent change, both of them were miners in the lands of Hunsvald.

Their muscles showed it. A life spent swing a pick against stone and iron had granted them a build similar to those of Xalimfal, but they like all Ymirjar were shorter. Sven motioned to the meats on the table, and Snorri stopped his wandering mind and returned to the work.

Snorri reached for the knife that lay in the familiar spot on the table. He always placed it there at the far corner on his side. He stood alone, the other three always worked with shoulders nearly touching. He found it better to supervise their own work, and stop or hide their mistakes. Though they rarely made mistakes, during the seasonal councils, they worked at grueling paces. Speed often sacrificed quality, and he saw to it that they put forth their best effort.
He sliced the meats in thin strips and set them aside as Mimir dipped them in a smooth concoction of spices and creams. Sven would place them on trays and place them in the ovens, while Leif sliced carrots and potatoes. Though all the vegetables were dried, boiling was easy enough to return their moistness. It was not at all an advanced system, but Snorri was proud of it. It was he that suggested their methods, and since they adopted the routine, their capabilities of seeing to the rising demands were far more efficient. Still, Overseer Bjorn was not impressed, but rather irritated. The man never praised him for his efforts. With each success, he was ever more abrasive.

A slab of deer slammed into the table, and Snorri jumped backward. It caught the bowl of spice and cream, and the white mixture splattered on Mimir from head to foot before dousing the floor. The metal bowl clanged as it bounced across the stone floor finally coming to rest in front of the ovens.

Snorri looked up, and the wicked smile of rotten teeth sliced across Bjorn’s face. “I thought you might need help. I saw that you were almost finished with that slab, so I brought another.” Snorri looked down at the venison and beneath it, sliced vegetables crushed into orange and white mash. They had spent all morning preparing the food for the night’s banquet and now half of it was ruined.

Bjorn gestured to the mishmash of carrots and potatoes. “Sorry about that. I hope I didn’t ruin them.” His voice was as deep and plump as his body. He cocked his head at Mimir and his eyes followed the white speckled trail to the ovens. “Clean that up before someone sees this mess.”

Snorri’s had sank as he turned to the spice mixture that splattered on the floor. He grabbed a rag from the table and knelt to the floor. He nearly rolled over himself as Bjorn kicked him in his backside. “Don’t use a clean rag you fool!”

“Overseer Bjorn.” Jarl

Title granted by the King, as the ruler of Lords. Second in command of Xalimfal, and head of the Thanes

Loki’s ragged voice called from the opposite side of the room as he strode toward them.

Snorri turned his head to the man as he grabbed a bloodstained rag from the table. It was the one he used to clean their knives. Bjorn’s eyes were wide as he turned to the man. He was deathly afraid of the Jarl and rightly so, for everyone answered to him with the exception of King Hjalmar.

“Tell me why you just kicked that man.” He pointed to him. He scrubbed the floor beneath him clean though his attention was on the Jarl and Bjorn.
“I – I feel that it keeps them in line.”

“Keeps them in line of what? They are kitchen workers Bjorn, not slaves. Tell me what purpose it serves to hurt the ones that prepare tonight’s feast.”

“I don’t think he’s hurt. You’re not hurt are you Snorri?” His eyes glared at him.

He shook his head.

“Perhaps he’s not hurt, but rather than preparing food he’s now cleaning the mess that you helped make.” Loki reached for a rag that sat on the table and pushed it into the plump man’s chest. “Perhaps you should clean it.”

Bjorn took the rag. “Jarl Loki, I must oversee the work here and keep track of the orders that come. I can’t stray from my duties.”

Loki’s brow folded and he scowled at the man. “Then perhaps you could help prepare the food, Overseer. These men will need help now that you’ve stopped their progress, you could afford to learn how to cook before you can properly oversee it.”

Bjorn nodded.

“Get to work, Overseer.” He pointed to the table as he spoke. His voice was harsh. His eyes turned to the other men and then to Snorri. He beckoned him with his forefinger.

The eyes of the three Ymirjar followed him as he stepped toward the Jarl. Mimir shared a worried look with him before returning to his work.
“I’d like to speak with you, Ymirjar.” He motioned to the opposite end of the room. “In private.”

He nodded and continued to the back of the kitchen. Loki followed close behind. What could the Jarl possibly want with him? What had he done that roused his attention? Surely, no good could come from this. Beads of sweat trickled down his brow, and he clenched his fists to stop his hands from shaking. It had been a long time since he’d felt the wrath of the whip, he could only imagine what punishment he would receive this time. He deserved it. Thinking of beating the Overseer with his own hands had sparked the wrath of the gods. It was not his place to think of such things, and now he would be punished for it.

He stopped at the far end of the room. His eyes rose to the dried food stocks and barrels of wines, meads, and cream. He turned on his heels to face the Jarl, but his eyes never lifted from the floor.

“I understand that your name is Snorri, is that correct?”

He nodded.

“Do you fear me?” There was no harshness in his voice, but rather a gentle tone.

“Yes, Jarl Loki.” His own voice came between pauses.

The Jarl chuckled lightly. “Many people do, but you’ve no reason to, Ymirjar. I only come to ask you some questions.”

Snorri nodded and lifted his gaze to meet his eyes. Jarl Loki was quite a tall man, even for the sons of Xalimfal. He towered over him like a pillar. Regardless of his reassurance, he still feared him.

“You’re the head of the kitchens?”

“Yes.”

“I very much enjoy your cooking. You’re quite the expert. I see you do a remarkable job at handling the demands of the castle. Even in times like this, you don’t fail to disappoint.” Loki placed a hand on his shoulder. “How would you like a promotion from your duties?”

Promotion? Loki was promoting him? It was true that they handled their work well, but he was not the sole reason for it. The four of them worked well together. Surely, a promotion was not a terrible thing, but he wouldn’t be working with his three friends – his only friends. Mimir and he had known each other for as long as he could remember. He couldn’t imagine not working with him. Still, the further away from Bjorn he was, the better.

“How much do they pay you to work in the kitchens?”

He wasn’t paid at all. No Ymirjar was paid with gold. The only rewards for his work were the occasional slice of bread or mishmash of vegetables.
“I didn’t think it was much. This position will pay well.” He pulled a small pouch of coins from his belt. It bulged and jingled in his hand. “And you will answer only to me,” he added as he handed the pouch to him.

It was the first time he’d ever felt the weight of gold before. He never realized how heavy it was. It weighed his hand down as though the floor pulled at his arm. He felt like royalty. He fixed his eyes on the man, unable to find words.

“There will be no more beatings, or insults from Bjorn. You will be a man of importance. You will be my aid.” He smiled as he stared into his eyes.
Snorri nodded. He never thought in all his years of life, he’d be anything more than a cook. Even more, he never thought he’d be more than an Ymirjar slave. Now, he was something more. He was a person of importance; the aid of Jarl Loki himself.

Loki nodded. “I’m glad you accept. I’ll see you to your new quarters.”

Quarters? He had his own quarters? Surely, he was dreaming. The only place he’d ever slept was the rat infested hole of a room across from the kitchens. Little more than dirty rags served as his bed and blankets. Now, he would have pillows! He would have clean clothes rather than the filthy shirt and trousers that had clothed him for years.

He was an Ymirjar slave once, but now, he was a Lord. He followed Loki as he led him through the halls of Dustaffnage . He’d never before seen the regal corridors before. Now, they were his home. Whatever tasks were required of him, he would do so willingly. Regardless of payment, his rewards were more than gold. They were a new life.

Guards shot him hot glares as they walked through the arched halls of the castle. It didn’t matter, for they could say nothing to him now. He was the aid of the Jarl.

Thoughts of his first purchase filled his mind as they walked. He held the purse of gold in his hand trying to understand how their value was measured. Being a slave, he’d never followed the system of currency. It was a confusing whirl of mathematics and guile, both of which were among his many weaknesses. He’d watched Overseer Bjorn bargain with vendors, farmers, and hunters on many occasions. The art of sly speech and firm negotiations were a daily routine in the kitchens. If the lump of a man could do it, so could he.

Perhaps he would buy a bottle of wine, or a slab of freshly cooked deer. Now, he could afford such things. He could purchase new clothes for his friends that remained under the eyes of Bjorn. Rather than tattered cloths, they could wear fresh tunics and trousers without holes or stains. He owed them at least some of his newfound wealth, for without them, Jarl Loki would have never noticed his work. The remainder of his wages could be saved for a horse. Surely, a man of his importance would have need of a horse; one strong like the warhorses of the northern clans.

Loki led him through winding halls and through arched doorways into the round room. He’d never seen something so amazing in his life. Great stone columns rose from the floor to the ceiling, and the same carvings that adorned the wooden buildings of the city, were etched deep within the rock. They stood parallel to one another, and a scarlet rug draped the floor below between the monoliths. Their peaks arched and met in the center in a sharp union of stone. Beneath the high ceiling, a chair of wood and gold sat upon a pedestal of rising stairs. The king sat here. He never before dreamed to find himself in the same room as the king. Though the throne was empty, it was an honor to be there.

He admired the elegant beauty of it all. Heavy, embroidered rugs hung from the ceiling to the floor and they spoke words to him. Pictures of strong men wielding swords and shields gazed upon him as they continued through the great room. They sat atop strong horses and guarded the throne. Crowns adorned their coifed heads and he knew, he was in the presence of those that once sat upon the throne.

He wished to remain here, but the Jarl continued through to an adjacent hall. Heads of beasts hung on the walls and looked down upon him as they walked. Wolf and bears alike snarled at him as though they were still alive, and deer gazed through the expanse of the hall like they still grazed in the wilderness.

Loki stopped at an arched wood door midway through the corridor. He motioned to it. “This is your office. You’ll find all of my orders here, but I’ll explain that later.” He turned and continued on.

He had his own office! This morning he was nothing more than a kitchen worker, and now he had an office. He could only imagine what was beyond the door. A desk and chairs, and gilded intricacies surely graced the room with regal elegance.

“You’ll have a staff of your choosing, to aid you in administering my orders.” He spoke with grace as he turned his head to him. “They can be the ones in the kitchen if you wish. We’ll find others to replace them, but I request that you wait until after the council is over to summon them. We can’t stop their work.”
Snorri nodded. He was ecstatic. His friends would be with him in his new position. No more would they be forced to work under Bjorn, and they would never again feel the sting of the whip. They would be under his eyes now, and they would live as lavish as he.

The Jarl stopped and he nearly continued down the hall without him, but he spun on his feet to face the man. Loki smirked at him and pushed the door open. “These are your new quarters. Your staff will be across the hall from you.” He motioned to the door opposite the one he faced. “You’ll find everything you need here. There are some clothes for you in the cabinet. Choose an outfit to your liking and once your ready, come see me.”

Snorri nodded.

“My office is through the door at the end of the hallway.” He motioned toward the doorway at the far end of the hall opposite the throne room. He pulled a gold necklace from his pocket and held it out to him. “This medallion will signify your new title. You are free to come and go as you please, but do not interfere with the guards, servants or king unless I request you to do so. If anyone questions you, tell them to see me.”

Snorri took the necklace and held it in front of his eyes. The gold chain shimmered as it spun around itself back and forth. The medallion dangled at the end and shined like the morning sun. Intricate carvings weaved in and out of themselves in its surface like the roots of trees. He lowered his head, and hung it around his neck. It was cold against his skin, but it felt magnificent. He was no longer a slave but a lord. His eyes rose to the smile of the Jarl.

“Enjoy your new life, Master Snorri.” He smacked the back of his shoulder before walking toward his office.

“Thank you, Jarl Loki.” Snorri bowed low and the necklace dangled nearly to his knees as he bent.

“No need to thank me. You earned the title.”

He raised his eyes from the floor and watched as the man vanished behind the door. He turned to his quarters, and stepped into his new life.