Theodore's story ( incomplete )

That leader's name was Theodore, from the Brord area; he was a landowner. He won most of that land in a dispute with Addrick, who was a famous beer-brewer and curmudgeon. That was a long case, not easily resolved. Oft, arguments came to fist-blows, all-out brawls in the law-house; it almost became a blood-case once, when laborers on Addrick’s land reported that they found runes drawn in dirt, unknown symbols that they couldn’t read; one was sketched onto the timbers of the bunkhouse with charcoal. One young chap among them took to pulling pranks like that, giggled in secret. He really riled those fellows up when one ugly man speculated that they were curse-runes, misfortune-causers drawn there by Theodore’s men; verily, those men stoked up their feelings with eldritch night-time tales, such as those of the Hag-queen and her human wizard-consorts, or those towering lurkers made out of broken bits and pieces of bones that sometimes spring up from grave mound soil and rattle along the loneliest outland roads, lurching about. Indeed, those laborers became fearful in the bunkhouse, slept fitfully while the night-watcher peered through the door-slats, kept an eye open for mischief bringers, wandering witches or spell-writers, listened carefully for the tell tale sound of rattling bone-limbs. At last, those ignoble chaps became bold; they resolved to head off that spell, find the miscreant author. One night, some of those folk rushed off to the border, that place where they were digging post-holes, strengthening the fence, delineating that property line with stout poles, thick cross-slats, stone heaps. They hoped to find Theodore’s land marchers, horse patrolmen out on duty; their intentions were to seize one of those chaps, beat a confession out of him, really let him have it; fortunately, at that time, those patrolmen were far off, and those irate laborers soon went home, as the hour was late and the night was cold; after that, those rune-sketchings disappeared, were not seen again in those parts. After a few days, those workers settled down, forgot about that whole thing—they were quick to forget such things, as quotidian affairs oft overwhelmed them with concerns. Soon thereafter, the local lawmen managed to arrange an agreement, settle that whole affair; both feuders were unhappy with the deal, had to swallow pride, accept terms; yet, they agreed to the deal, shook hands in the house of the Brordland thane; they drank beer together, and after that, they were cordial with each other. Indeed, that was a happy resolution, rare in those days; there was some celebration after that, and those two eventually became friends. Indeed, Theodore mourned when Addrick perished some years later, eaten up by the life-sucker, bone-disease; that sickness that eats men up, shrivels muscles, makes bones hollow, turns them brittle. Theodore came into Hiturwolf’s favor a few years after that when he vocally defended that new lord’s policy, impugned market place murmurs, contested bitter rumors that suggested dishonor, filthy actions on the new lord’s part. He really let those mockers have it in the plain market bustle; he lost his temper, shouted and sputtered words about honor and patriotism; indeed, when those market folk began to guffaw, he turned over a market stall, kicked spilled goods aside, stamped them into the dust—he showed great strength in his anger, instilled some measure of fear in those watchers. After that, those folk were more careful with words, though some were wont to mock him in private, recite doggerel around the popping hearth when there was no one to speak on his behalf, defend him against that slander. At length, those rhymes came to Theodore’s attention, hurt his feelings; some were vulgar, insulting to his stock; others were mere jest, mirth-causers. A short time after that, when Theodore brooded in his house, perturbed by continuing insults, stung by sharp words, a horseman came. That swift-rider bore documents, delivered them to Theodore’s door; they were thin scrolls wrapped up around old bones, tied up in skins. The message-bringer handed them over, recited words crafted by youthful Hiturwolf for the occasion. Theodore was emboldened at that; he accepted that gratitude, gift of the slightest title, a minor share of rank and prestige; indeed, he took to waving those papers about in the market square during the high hours, posted on the village board, declared his new rank publicly; in that way, he implored the people to cease the mockery, put an end to improper behavior. For some time, however, those ditties continued; indeed, the singers became more daring, oft recited those words in public, even during the Saturday market time, when farmers and husbandmen gathered, brought wares to the Brordan township square. For some time, Theodore took refuge in his home, became a hermit for more than 2 years; in fact, that guy was scarcely seen during a full season-cycle, oft sent his oldest son Durg to attend government meetings, mead-gatherings held oft at the thane’s house. At first, that lad was met with derision, was mocked for his age, thin limbs, gangly body; at long length, however, those folk grew to accept him, allowed him a lowly place near the toilet chambers. Those door-timbers were ill set, not sealed properly with pitch; that was an unpleasant seat, an ignoble place to be sure. Even so, Durg held his tongue, quietly accepted those circumstances, listened intently to the table-talk, thane’s declarations, rattling crocks, boisterous haggling about husbandry and other laws. One day, Durg met his fate near the end of one such meeting, when derogatory words piqued his ire, set fire to his limbs, caused him to leap to his feet, kick his stool aside, send it skittering along the dirty floor planks. Indeed, one conniving neighbor brought formal charges, filed a formal complaint against Theodore in that meeting, accused him of improperly expanding fence lines, land-encroachment in the northern-corner, where their land met in a thicket of old pine trees and cedar trees and jagged stones. At that accusation, Durg let his tongue slip, called that chap a liar, beneath contempt; those hall-folk burst out laughing, found mirth in his cheek; it’s true that the bad neighbor flushed, felt anger at that outburst, but the others praised him, applauded his balls, raised beer cups. Then, Durg demanded the floor, sued for the right to speak in his father’s behalf; his voice was too soft, squeaky; it could not be heard above the din. He approached the table, flushing; then he slipped on vomit and fell, skull-cracked his head on the hearth corner, suffered a grievous wound. At that, the Thane himself grieved, helped bind that wound, wrap that wounded boy up in blankets. After that, those men loaded him onto a wagon in the yard and that creaking vehicle bore the boy off, made that delivery a few hours thence, when his house was quiet, and the hearth-fire burned low. Although that boy lived some months thereafter, he was not the same; indeed, that blow caused deep damage, stole life-strength from his limbs, drained away the spirit; it left him drooling and gibbering, especially in the dim hours, when the world was not so clear. He was a half-person who could not care for himself the way that men should. Verily, those house-maidens who cared for him reported that he spoke strange words, made twisted faces; they said that he channeled spooky sources, let wandering ghosts speak into this world, lent those vaporous things his tongue. For those reasons, they soon became afraid of him, loath to attend to their duties; even the most kind-hearted of those ladies breathed out relief when Durg seized up and died during the early morning while deer sprang to and fro outside his window and early morning birds shook off sleep in tangled boughs. Theodore learned of those unjust charges at the time when the Thane’s errand-runners delivered that stricken boy, and soon thereafter, that furious father broke his solitude, came out of his house at last; sorrow and rage were apt medicine for his malady. He was a different person, thenceforth. At the next mead-meeting, he was assertive; indeed, he pressed that bad neighbor, demanded proof of those accusations; his voice was strong, certain. His jaw clenched tight; blood-paths showed on his forehead and neck. Those table-sitters were startled when Theodore took up speech out of turn, cut off another, overrode that man easily; indeed, that bad neighbor faltered at first, but quickly recovered. He sneered at that, responded with hollow words, useless things—even the Thane frowned at that. Because of Theodore’s boy, the Thane took up special interest in that case, resolved to see it through. Now, many years since his son’s mound-raising, Theodore was a minor war-leader; he wore good gear; a tightly linked mail shirt, an iron helm embossed with fierce defenders; his shield was linden wood, leather wrapped; that shield had been in battle once or twice before, was scarred and pitted in some places; that protector had been carried by _________, before it was sent to Theodore, a gift from the mead-house lord on some occasion