Sinric the Wanderer

Sinric laughs. "Oh no, men wash. Perhaps not as much as they should during the festivals but in buckets and hip-baths. Not in great bathes like this." He splashes happily.

"But the baths in Nippon! Oh beloveds, they are... amazing! Great outdoor hot-springs like small lakes. With houses built over them so one may step from indoors, into beautiful courtyard gardens and into the springs."

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Athelstan nods eagerly.

"There are places like that - few and far between, but some - in England. Natural springs where the water comes warm from the ground, and though the shelters over them aren't so grand, it's the same idea. They used to be held as holy places."

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"We get them, too," Ragnar says. "But mostly, we have to heat our own water."

He leans back and submerges himself as far as he can.

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"The Romans held them as holy, didn't they?" He asked, resting a hand on Ragnar's thigh, guiding him into the water. "Before Christianity came."

"Some of the hot springs are considered holy too. Something the emperor uses to his advantage. The imperial family claim right to rule by birth, being descended from gods themselves. It means the emperor can claim the best springs for use solely by the imperial family and their guests."

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"And the people who were in Britain before the Romans came", he says with a nod. "The Romans made the buildings over them."

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Ragnar lies back in the bath, stretching into Sinric's touch, and gives a content sigh. "Of course they're a gift from the gods," he says. "Hello, hot water straight from the ground, in a handy pool ready for bathing it? What else should it be?"

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"And that always flows hot and clean." He gesture to the chrome taps of their bath. "Must be the gods." He laughs warmly. "Those who tend the bathhouses, especially the imperial ones certainly carry themselves as priests. Such utter focus to service and perfection."

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Athelstan nods.

"It must be hard work to keep them clean, with all those people passing through."

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"It must be the gods if it just comes up from the ground," Ragnar says. "But still hard work tending to it. That can still go together."

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"It must be hard. But the Nippon people never shrink from that. When they turn their hand to a thing, it is with so dedication that would shame even the craftsmen of Byzantium. The master sword maker of Nippon makes only one sword every ten years. Got each take ten years to make and to make to perfection. I have never seen a blade so sharp, or so strong and to watch him work was like watching an artist create."

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Athelstan listens, impressed.

"They make their swords only for the emperor himself?"

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"What do they live on during those ten years?"" Ragnar asks.

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"More or less. There are few but the imperial families who can afford one of his swords. Each is worth a king's ransom and is paid for before the master starts. Those wishing to learn his art also pay to watch him work."

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"No one at that level of skill will ever go hungry."

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"But smiths on lesser levels can make more swords?" Ragnar says.

It would take a long time to arm a raiding party or army, otherwise.

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"Oh yes. There's are plenty of sword smiths who supply the army, or any man who can pay for one. But those of rank and stature will pay dearly to have a master's sword."

"Saga's father celebrated his birth by ordering one for him. that it might be ready when he was old enough to wield it."

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"How many masters are there?" Athelstan asks. "You spoke as if there's only one."

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"There would have to be lesser masters below them," Ragnar muses.

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"Of that level, only one. But he had four apprentices that study under him and four more who have each made three swords with him and can call themselves masters in their own right. But none match him yet."

Three swords translates to a thirty year apprenticeship.

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"How does a man prove himself worthy to be an apprentice to such a great master?"

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"Must he pledge his life to the master?" Ragnar guesses.

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"To be honest, I don't know. But I know they dedicate their lives to learn the art - to take no wives, nor family. To focus utterly on the art of it. Even though they earn well for their work, they donate most of what they make to the temple, to avoid the temptations of wealth."

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"They live as monks, then?" Athelstan says thoughtfully. "But in the service of their art, not of any god."

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"And the work is its own reward?" Ragnar says. "Just the way Floki builds boats. I suspect he wouldn't mind if all his reward would be boats existing."

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