Thorfinn and the Witch's Curse

by Jay Veloso Batista

  Yeru nodded knowingly, “My gift was lost to fire and I was left a pauper’s widow with poor Mae at my breast. Protect your morning gift, it is the only insurance you hold.”

  “You can in times of war still lift your shield, but once you are married you must follow his lead in peace and war. As long as he is a good reputable man, tradition compels you to obey him and keep his household,” Gurid continued. “As a man his concerns will be of manly things, and yours should be his hearth, his household, his fortune and of course, birthing strong children, boys and girls. A good wife shows allegiance and compliance in public, but in private you owe him your opinions, your wisdom and your guidance. I am lucky, as your Father has always had an ear from my thoughts and guidance.

  “That doesn’t mean that you can’t chide him or rein his baser instincts,” Yeru said.

  “True,” Gurid placed her hand on her daughter’s sweaty shoulder, “Willa, most find the marriage bed a joy, but should you find it a chore, you can allow him to take a bed slave or two and give you peace to sleep.” Yeru chuckled. “But know that a skillful woman leads her man, not only through managing desires, but through the quiet, private moments after he is spent, when his heart is open to your touch and quiet words. If he be a good man, words whispered in those quiet times are planted deep in his heart and in his mind.”

  “A little skillful withholding will keep him returning to your bed, as a dog to a bone,” Yeru stood, stepped into her damp skirt and tied it to her waist.

  “Men, they never get enough,” Gurid laughed. “Yeru, it’s time I spoke with my daughter about her wedding night, what’s expected and the secrets of the sheets.”

  Yeru smiled and picked up her woolen wrap, “Aye, it’s time for me to go check the guests and see all is arranged for the morrow. Willa, practice those runes while your mother is by your side. They are the most important mystery.” She quickly slid open the door, stepped out and pulled the door shut behind her. The air felt chill after the steamy room. Tree frogs peeped and whistled in the evening. Yeru took a deep breath of the fresh night air, an early summer’s evening and a clear sky. Smoke from the cook fires drifted among the buildings, a hazy fog reminiscent of spices, chicken grease and roasted goat.

  The courtyard clattered with noisy traffic. Tormod and his entourage arrived while they huddled in the sauna, she overheard the ruckus their horses and attendants raised as they unloaded their wagons. Grooms wiped down the horses, too many for the barn, lined along the inside stockade wall. Mog spotted her from the gate where he stood with two of their men, each with a long, ceremonial spear in hand. They had strung a long banner across the top of the gateway, more a festive dressing than a family crest, and it dangled limply over their heads. He gave a wave and pointed at the hall.

  The doorway stood open wide, Inga Hansdatter, Tormod’s wife standing on the threshold, with two ladies of her household beside her, sour, disapproving looks on each face. Guests and family swarmed the hall, no room at the long table and little space along the back walls. Instantly she recognized that the packed room afforded no place to sit, and certainly no honored place for the mother of the groom. Agne, Tormod, Espen and Karl hovered over the fire pit, some joke reddening Espen’s cheeks while the rest laughed at his expense. Mostly guests, many of these people known to her by name only, the room choked with a confusion of voices, all speaking louder than the next, some shouting to be heard. Tima stood by the table, chatting with two of Karl’s shield men, oblivious to Inga’s predicament.

  “Please,” she gave a slight bow to Inga, “Let me pass and I will arrange the proper seats for you and your guests….” The ladies looked down their noses at Yeru, her wet clothes and face florid from the sauna. Inga inhaled deeply to speak, annoyance written across her brow. Not waiting to hear her reply, Yeru purposefully elbowed her way into the crowd.

  “Tima!” her bark carried over the sea of noise. Tima looked up from her conversation as Yeru pushed her way to her. Grabbing her by the arm, she hissed into her ear, “Frigg protect us, don’t you see Inga there in the doorway like some angry bull, ready to charge?” Tima, open mouthed in surprise, started to speak but Yeru cut her off, speaking directly to the men at the table.

  “Galant warriors and friend of the family,” Yeru grabbed two by their shoulders, “Have you finished your evening meal? Yes?” As the men answered, she continued without listening, “We need to make way for others, Tima here will lead you to the men’s dormitory where we will open a new keg of ale. Tima,” she looked pointedly at her, indicating with pushing hands that she should leave and take these guests with her. “Get Mog at the gate to give you a hand with the barrel.” In fine spirits, the happy prospect of a newly tapped cask lifted the diners quickly to their feet. A group of six followed Tima past the scowling women at the door.

  Locating Ursep and Mae in the back of the hall, she gestured at them. Must I do it all myself? she thought as she made hand signals at the girls, motioning for towels to clean the table and benches. Ursep nodded and worked her way across the room with cloths to wipe down the sticky wood. Yeru turned to a sleeping alcove and grabbed two pillows and a rolled blanket, fluffing them for the benches and calling to Inga to join her at the cleared spot on the long table. She placed the pillows on the bench and spread the blanket for a third seat, and indicated that Inga should sit, while Ursep wiped up the sloppy tabletop.

  “Mae, my daughter, will serve you this evening,” She nodded to Mae and as the ladies settled, Yeru pushed passed them, working her way to where Agne and Karl stood with a group of men.

  “Jarl Agne,” she tugged on his sleeve to get his attention.

  “Ah, cousin,” he turned to her, chuckling at some jest, “Oh, you look drowned. Just come from the sweat, eh?”

  Ignoring his snide comment, she leaned close, “Lord, take these crowds outside. I have Tima serving ale by the dormitory. Help me, please help me thin this room,” she insisted. She could feel loose hairs stuck to her forehead. Agne, still smiling, looked around and nodded.

  “I will move this outside,” and he turned to the men gathered around him and raised his voice, “This place is too cramped, lets outside for a drink in the air. Bring your bowls.” Tormod and Karl led the way, young men and boys tagging behind the men.

  Heat from all the bodies and an open fire made Yeru’s damp clothes stick to her sides. She brushed the hairs from her forehead and tucked them carefully back under her cap. It came as no surprise to her that half the gathering followed Agne and Tormod into the yard, clearing and quieting the hall. Mae served a platter of sweetmeats to Inga and her attendant ladies, and Ursep continued to wipe down the table, moving around the remaining diners. Yeru called them to her side.

  “Clear the table and prepare for more guests to arrive,” she gathered some wooden platters as she spoke to them. “We are still expecting Gurid’s brother and he will not arrive alone. We need to be ready to serve another round. I am going to change these damp things,” and she carried an arm load of empty platters to the back of the room. Setting the platters down, she noticed Ruinda sitting in the back corner, showing something to Dundle and speaking earnestly with him. No time to wonder at that, she thought, ducking behind her alcove’s curtain, and untying the drawstring at her waist. Kicking off the loose skirt, she dropped her wrap and tunic in a pile. She rummaged through her chest, found a clean dress, and toweled off her remaining sweat. Dressing quickly, she removed her damp headdress and made a quick and rough braid and tucked it into a clean hood, using a pin by each ear to hold her fillet in place. Her cheeks still felt flushed from the steam room, but she felt more presentable, less drowned and sticky. She pushed the pile of wet clothes to the back wall, pulled the curtain aside drew a deep breath and plunged back into the room.

  Yeru examined the hall. Tormod’s men lounged at the long table, Ursep poured ale from a leather pitcher for them. Two farmer’s wives helped serve loaves from the bakery, and the iron cauldron simmered with a chicken and grain po
rridge. One of the six betrothal witnesses, the red-headed one that Tormod had invited—she couldn’t remember his name—sat with his family near the fire. Ruinda held up small, silver medallions and explained something to Dundle as he slowly nodded, his pimply face pinched in concentration. Serving Tormod’s wife, Mae caught her mother’s glance and rolled her eyes. Evidently, Mae struggled to keep the ladies satisfied. Inga could be demanding. Yeru crossed to the table.

  “Is everything to your liking?”

  “I was told we would have a fine banquet tonight, this night before the ceremony.”

  “Well,” Yeru looked at the fare Mae had set before them, sweetmeats, some cheeses, nuts and bread. “This is just to start. We have had a number of unexpected guests join us these past few days, but I am sure we can…”

  “You just tell Gurid that when she is done in the bridal sauna, I expect to speak with her.” The ladies nodded in agreement.

  “We don’t need to bother…”

  “Listen, you,” Inga pointed in Yeru’s face, “I don’t need any of your sass. You tell your mistress I will speak with her and don’t dawdle, get us a real meal.” Mae’s jaw dropped at the insulting tone, her eyes wide. Yeru swallowed, nodded, grit her teeth and turned away, moving quickly away from Inga. Mae followed her, indignant anger flushing her face bright red.

  “Mother, how can…”

  “Hush, child,” Yeru sputtered, “She merely performs for her friends. This is Agne’s house, it is not our place.”

  “But she insulted….”

  Yeru took her arm and squeezed, “Now is not the time. There is a stuffed pheasant and quail in jellied aspic, and the chicken porridge was savory and it’s still warm there, see? And there may be some of the goat remaining, get that for them. And there is some mead from the honey water, not the best but clear and easy on the tongue, I have it saved in the jar in Agne and Gurid’s room, behind the door. Get that. Now hurry and keep your thoughts to yourself.” Mae nodded stiffly and rushed to her tasks.

  Ursep and the farmer’s wives met her and asked to help, and she set them on collecting all the dirtied platters to wash, but held Ursep aside and whispered to her, “Go see that the pit house we emptied for the bride is ready for her. Gurid should be finished with the sauna soon and we will need to secret Willa into hiding. I have some linens….”

  The room cooled now that many of the guests had left, the door wide to the night air. Picking up a loose towel, she cleared more places at the long table, wiping as she passed. Down the board, Mae poured from the earthenware jar into a small bowl for Inga, her ladies pulling the pheasant’s wings from the bird. Yeru hoped that Willa would be alright, living with Espen under that woman’s roof. “Freya preserve her!”

  Outside a new commotion erupted, more wedding guests arrived on horseback. Wiping her hands on her towel, Yeru crossed to the door, circling wide around dour Inga and her haughty friends. As she reached the doorway, Jormander the Skald entered, arm in arm with Agne.

  “Ho there, I know you! You are that Mercian skald’s daughter, aren’t you?” His ears beet red with drink, he poked her chest with his forefinger. “I remember you!”

  “Aye, tis her!” Agne laughed. “Whilst you’ve been a’viking, she has kept us satisfied around the hearth. Her skills improve with age, Jormander, she rivals you these days!”

  “Nay, lord, I am no rival to this great poet,” Yeru demurred, “I am only a storyteller.”

  “Only a storyteller?” A voice rumbled from outside the door, and a tall, bearded man thrust his head in under the lintel. “My cousin, a mere ‘storyteller!?’” With a laugh, the man jumped forward and grabbed Yeru in a hug, swinging her off the ground.

  “Cerdic!”

  “Ah, my cousin remembers me!” The big man laughed and set her down, placing a big kiss on her cheek. His black velvet cape draped over one shoulder and his tooled leather breastplate studded with silver buttons, Cerdic stood two hands taller than she, taller than Agne and Jormander as well. His bright smile peeked from his bushy black beard, his eyes a sparkling blue just like his younger sister. Yeru tittered at his boisterous greeting. Mae set her jar down before the ladies and hurried over behind her mother.

  “Well, I am glad my brother Agne has been feeding you, little cousin,” and he spontaneously grabbed her for another hug, embarrassing Yeru. “You blossomed!” Yeru chuckled at his tease.

  “Aye, cousin, did you ever know me to miss a meal?”

  “And who is this?” Cerdic caught sight of Mae behind her mother, “Is this my baby niece?”

  Yeru pulled her daughter forward, “Here is Mae.”

  Cerdic took her hand and kissed it. “Oh, lovely vision, just like your mama. Look how much you’ve grown little Mae,” his words heavily accented in the English way. Behind him, his soldiers and bannermen collected, Tormod jockeying to get past the crowd.

  “I hope you got drink, fair cousin,” Cerdic smiled widely with a hand on each of Yeru’s shoulders, “Although just seeing you makes this trip worthwhile. How long’s it been?”

  “Too long,” Yeru grinned back at him. “We have not seen you maybe ten years, little boar,” remembering her pet name for him as a child. Cerdic snorted at her and they laughed, Agne and Jormander joining.

  “We need weddings more often,” Cerdic told Agne.

  “Come, let’s sit.”

  “I will set the fare.”

  “No, no cousin, you sit with us and relax. Gurid writes me you are the power behind her throne, and I know you will manage every fiddly detail of this wedding, but tonight Yeru you can take time and sit with me, your cousin. For sake of our parents. Come talk with us.”

  “You know the futility of arguing with your cousin the alderman,” Agne pulled Yeru by the arm, settling her on a bench between Cerdic and himself. “He has grown too accustom to being obeyed without challenge, so he needs us, his family, to remind him how it is to be really ignored.”

  “Ho!” Cerdic guffawed and plopped into his seat. “Agne, it’s true, I forgot how a sharp tongue sounds!” Yeru snorted and hearing her loud sniff everyone joined in the laughter. A few Mercian guards stepped into the room and spread out to the corners, their hands on their sword hilts, vigilantly watching the room and their lord. Ursep stumbled forward with a pitcher of ale, her fingers looped with a handful of horns. Jormander took them from her and passed them around, placing one firmly in Yeru’s hand and winking at her.

  “A toast!” Cerdic lifted his horn, “to family!”

  “Aye,” Agne agreed, “to family!”

  Yeru glanced down the table and noticed that Inga and her ladies sat slack jawed with confused looks on their faces, ignored by everyone since the Mercians arrived. Karl entered the room, his arm on Cub’s shoulder, followed by his little brothers. Tormod slipped in through the soldiers at the door, explaining his position as father of the groom in broken English and after they checked him for weapons, the guards opened the way for him.

  “Cerdic, what news of Mercia?”

  “We ready for planting, and lambs quicken in their mothers’ bellies. That’s good for you, brother, and our wool and mutton trade. Our king called a witan council. Thanks to this wedding, I escaped,” He leaned across Yeru and whispered hoarsely, “It would have been another boredom of old men. Such moans and no decisions….” He sat up and held his mug for another filling, “Still, I am the rock under his kingdom and Ceolwulf knows my strength and treats me with respect and honor due. Ceolwulf and Alfred Wessex contest the south, and Alfred’s toady Ethelred brings forces to Mercia. He courts my strength for Wessex, this Ethelred. Rumors that Alfred intends to take Mercia for his own. And Guthrum. Guthrum is never satisfied, never. They all contest the Southwest,” Cerdic grumbled and took a long swallow.

  Agne waved Karl and the boys to sit down, and stood to pull Tormod to the table, “Cerdic, Alderman of Eddisbury, this is my Willa’s father-in-law to be, Tormod, Son of Tormod. You should know him, he is a neighbor across your frontie
r.”

  “Tormod, Son of Tormod,” Cerdic stood, and clasped arms with him, holding tight to his elbow and leaning close to peer down at Tormod. “Your name is known to me. Five hides of your land border my Delamere forest along the frontier. There is a peace between us. But we shall speak of this later. It’s your issue courts my sister’s bairn, eh? Be he stalwart, ready to join our ranks?” Cerdic gave him a serious look, knitting his brows and frowning.

  “Ranks? He is true and steadfast, sir,” Tormod sputtered, unsure of Cerdic’s meaning.

  “Aye, brother,” Agne rescued Tormod, “The boy’s brave and honest and he is committed to our Willa girl. As for joining the ranks of this family, none can prepare him for that!” That brought a laugh from around the table.

  “Don’t be frightening your future in-law, you old brute,” Yeru chided. “Give him a beer and salute his son for the fine man he is.”

  Cedric broke into a smile and pulled a surprised Tormod in close for a bear hug, then pushed him down on the bench between Yeru and Agne, who shifted and rolled, sloppily spilling ale. Ursep stepped in with a fresh pitcher, splashing as she poured into upheld horns and bowls.

  Jormander rose to his feet and raised his bowl, “Our toast should be… To the fruit this tree shall bear!”

  “To grandchildren!” Cerdic waved his horn at Agne, “What do you think of that, old man?” and they both led the hilarity that ensued.

  The farmers’ wives led by Tima, arms laden with platters, served a hot meal, clattering the platters on the table top and passing out knives. Someone pinched a server and she let out a shriek, which just encouraged more bawdy catcalls. Yeru stood, called over Cerdic’s two guards and passed them plates of the goat and roasted turnips. She noticed Finn lurking behind his brother. Karl ignored the small boy, his arm around Cub’s shoulders, talking earnestly to Agne’s eldest. Sorven stood in Jormander’s shadow, gazing up at the poet as he told some crass joke in highbrow language. The room filled with noise again, bursting with the sounds of a boisterous and happy reunion. Pressing Cerdic’s hand, she stepped over to the boys and called for Sorven to join them.