Lord of Raven's Peak

by Catherine Coulter

  “You don’t understand, Cleve. When I have enough, I will purchase all of us from Merrik and we will go home.”

  “Home?”

  “Aye, my home.”

  He just looked at her, then shook his head. “How would we get there? Where is your home? Have you people who would take us in?”

  She kneaded more quickly. “I don’t know. First I must have enough silver. Then I will worry about what comes next.”

  “You will gain even more silver tonight. I fancy that Erik will call for you to speak. He punished only himself last night. I, like all the others, want to know what will happen to Grunlige the Dane.”

  “Actually, I don’t know myself much of the time until the words just pop out of my mouth.”

  He gazed at her in some astonishment. “You speak truly?”

  “Aye, Grunlige is a wily man and sometimes he does things I never plan.”

  Cleve thoughtfully spooned the porridge into his mouth. “I begin to think of him as a real man when you speak of him. To realize that he is naught more than a figment of your mind depresses me.”

  “Don’t tell the others, all right?”

  “Nay,” he said, grinning at her, “I shan’t.”

  “Most of the time he is very real to me as well.”

  She worked in silence now, and Cleve stood there eating. She chanced to look up. He was staring at Sarla. There was such tenderness in his eyes, she wanted to weep.

  “Oh no,” she said.

  He turned and smiled down at her. “Nay, Laren. I am no fool. Do you know that she doesn’t seem to mind the ugliness of my face? Sometimes when she smiles at me I don’t even think she sees the scar. There is only gentleness in her and kindness. And a liking for me, not that it matters. It is a great shame. She is wedded to that foul bully and I, well, I am not worthy to dry her tears.”

  She looked at him and saw his pain and reminded herself yet again that life held little enough joy, and that any joy at all that came should be savored to the fullest.

  11

  LATE THAT AFTERNOON, there was a great commotion outside the longhouse. Men were shouting, but it wasn’t in fear or the kind of shouted orders before an attack. She went outside to see that visitors had come to Malverne.

  “It is the Thoragassons,” Sarla said at her elbow. “They live to the north in the Bergson Valley, some three days’ journey from here.” She paused a moment, then added, “Before Merrik’s father died, he negotiated a marriage contract with Olaf Thoragasson between his eldest daughter, Letta, and Merrik. I do not know if Merrik will honor it. It is expected that he will do so. Perhaps he wishes it, I do not know.”

  “Oh,” Laren said.

  Sarla gave her a quick look. She looked off into the distance, at the vivid green of the thick fir trees that covered the mountains on the opposite side of the fjord. “I know Merrik took you to his chamber last night, as well as the night before. All know of it, Erik as well.”

  “Aye, Merrik made no secret of his intent.”

  “Erik was furious. He ordered me to remain in the outer hall. He took both Caylis and Megot into his sleeping chamber with him.”

  “He doesn’t deserve you, Sarla.”

  Sarla shrugged. “He is a man and now he is the lord of Malverne. Whatever he wishes he can have. Me included. Other women included as well. I am glad he left me alone.” She paused a moment, then added, a touch of surprise in her voice, “I speak so frankly with you and I do not understand why I do so. Many of the women here are my friends, they welcomed me here two years ago when I arrived at Malverne as Erik’s wife, and yet I say nothing to them about, well, I speak of nothing save household matters. It was the same with Tora, Merrik’s mother, and she was very kind to me.”

  “I will not betray your trust. I was not raised to do that.”

  “I never thought that you would. Somehow, I sense it. Perhaps you will confide in me. I doubt I can help you, but perhaps it would be possible. Did Merrik hurt you?”

  “No.”

  “Ah, you are not like me. No, don’t apologize to me, Laren, it doesn’t matter. You are used to being alone and having no one save a child to share your confidences. Merrik is a man to trust. Perhaps you can bring yourself to confide in him.”

  “No, that would never gain me anything. He doesn’t want me, Sarla, I will tell you that. He does want to protect me from Erik, and he has the last two nights, as I think he will continue to do. He does this because he loves Taby, and he feels he wouldn’t be keeping faith with the child if he allowed me to be raped. He doesn’t think of me as a woman, which is fine with me. As for trust, who can say? He is a man and a Viking and I have always known that Vikings seek profit, and that they only hold faith and honor amongst themselves, not with outsiders or slaves. Aye, I know this very well.”

  “But Taby—”

  “He loves the child. But how long will that last?”

  “I do not know him that well. But you are fond of him. You must sense something worthy in him. I have seen you look at him, Laren. Do you know that when you tell of Grunlige the Dane, you look nearly always at Merrik? Ah, say what you will, Laren, deny it until your tongue dries out with all your denials, but I will keep my own opinion.”

  “Your opinion is wrong, Sarla.”

  “We will see. Ah, I must greet the Thoragassons.”

  The Thoragassons had brought some dozen men and four women. They were a handsome family, Laren thought, but then again most of the Norsemen she’d ever seen and known were well made and pleasing to the eye, both here and at home. As for Letta, Laren thought she looked like a spoiled child. Oh, she was pretty enough, seventeen years old, with thick blond braids coiled atop her head, a full mouth that looked as if it pouted a lot, and breasts that were surely too large for such a small girl. Laren was only a year her senior, yet she felt like the girl’s mother. She felt ancient and cynical and bone-weary. She could scarce remember now the times when she was happy and a child and there was nothing more than playing and riding her mare, Selje, to concern her.

  Laren saw Erik eye those big breasts and quickly looked over at Merrik. He, too, was looking at the girl, but he wasn’t looking at her breasts. He merely looked harassed. No pleasure at seeing his father’s choice of a bride, just harassed.

  When the Thoragassons learned of the deaths, there was consternation, and it wasn’t due entirely to an overabundance of sorrow at Harald’s and Tora’s passing. No, it was because there were no negotiated ties now to hold Merrik Haraldsson to their family.

  Still, the elder Thoragasson, a bluff, hearty man with white threaded through his blond hair, slapped Merrik on his back, inquired, discreet as a wild bull, as to his current wealth after his summer trading, and pointed out with a sly wink the lovely attributes of his daughter. “Aye, she’s even more finely endowed than she was during the winter solstice when last you saw her,” he said. “Aye, more than a handful she would give a man.”

  Merrik agreed that this was true.

  Olaf Thoragasson frowned. “I wonder why her mother isn’t so, well, bountiful.”

  Merrik wisely kept his mouth shut.

  “You have reached your twenty-fifth year, Merrik,” Thoragasson said, his voice fraught with meaning.

  Merrik only smiled. “I am not ready to lose my teeth or my virility just yet.”

  “Ah, but to have children relieves a man’s mind, for there are his progeny to succeed him if he falls in battle of if struck by illness. Aye, a wife and children make a man’s life fuller and richer.”

  Merrik agreed that this was probably so.

  “A man needn’t just cleave to a wife,” Olaf said, lowering his voice, giving Merrik an understanding leer. “I know your brother Erik surrounds himself with women and enjoys all of them. A man may do whatever he wishes if he has the silver for it.”

  “My father was always loyal and faithful to my mother.”

  “He was, but he didn’t have to be. Heed me, Merrik, your father very much wanted to unite
our families. He himself looked upon my little Letta and chose her for you. Surely you admired your father, surely you trusted his judgment.”

  “In most cases, certainly,” Merrik said.

  “Is not my little Letta a gem?” Thoragasson said, his voice sharp now, pressing, for he scented that things weren’t going as he wished.

  “Surely a gem of more value than to be wasted upon a younger son who has no land.”

  “Aye, but my Letta is a Viking woman. She would follow her husband wherever he wished to settle. Besides, there is more than enough land for you near our farmstead. The Bergson Valley is rich enough to support you and a family.”

  Merrik hated the Bergson Valley. It rained too much; fog shrouded the fjord most days. He didn’t like the Thoragasson men. He looked over at Letta, who was seated next to Ileria, the old woman who had worked the loom for all his life. The soft gray tunic he was wearing she had woven for him during the spring from the finest wool. It was to be his lucky tunic for when he traded with the savages, she’d told him. Letta was helping Ileria, loading a shuttle with thread from a distaff. She looked competent doing it.

  “Even now, she seeks more knowledge to make your life comfortable,” Thoragasson said near to Merrik’s ear. “She is always learning, always asking her elders what is right, what is good. She is a fine girl. She would be submissive to your wishes.”

  Merrik doubted that, but said nothing. He even managed to smile. Thoragasson, pleased with himself, took himself off to speak to Erik. It wasn’t until after a quickly prepared feast that night that he sat back, patted his belly, and looked toward Deglin.

  “Well, Deglin, what say you? Have you a special tale for me this night?”

  Erik said in a loud voice that brought him everyone’s attention, “Nay, it is the girl here who is now our skald.”

  There was immoderate laughter from Thoragasson, his family, and his men. “Who?” one of the men shouted. “That thin little wisp of a beggar that I could crush with one hearty breath?”

  “Your breath could fell an oak tree,” one of his friends shouted.

  There was good-natured banter, until one of Erik’s men insulted one of Thoragasson’s men with too much eagerness, and a fight broke out. It ended quickly, but one man’s arm was broken and another’s nose was bleeding profusely.

  There seemed to be blood everywhere, not just from that single nose. Laren looked about the large room, at the havoc wrought in such a short time. Was it always so with men? Were they only content when they were eating, rutting women, or breaking each other’s bodies? They loved to yell and curse and strike each other. Then, suddenly, Erik rose from the floor, where he’d been pummeling one of his own men, reached for Megot and fondled her breasts in front of everyone. He kissed her hard, then smacked her bottom and told her to fetch him more beer.

  Laren watched Sarla oversee the bandaging, watched another woman, Bartha, tend to the bleeding nose. She watched Megot give Erik his beer. She watched him fondle her buttocks and smile at Thoragasson as he did it. She waited, silent, knowing that Erik would say something soon. She looked at Merrik, who had himself flattened several men, and had bruised knuckles. At least there was no blood on him. He was grinning hugely and had just taken Taby from Cleve and was hugging him then tossing him into the air. The child shrieked and laughed. He kissed him and held him close. She saw Thoragasson staring at him, and she knew he wondered if Taby was Merrik’s child. He might as well be his child, she thought, for the bond between them was strengthening each day. She had to get Taby away from here soon, or losing Merrik would break the child’s heart. No, no, she told herself, children forgot quickly, they adapted easily as situations changed.

  Laren looked away from him to the Thoragassons, and suddenly she saw them with new eyes. Now she saw them as a source of more silver pieces. She saw them as saviors. If they but knew it surely they would find it funny.

  When Erik called for quiet and told her to begin, she rose, smiled at everyone, and began once again at the beginning. In order not to bore the Malverne people, she embellished the tale, giving more details, small new twists. Then she paused, and said in a lower voice, infusing new drama, new mystery into her words, “Selina remained on her knees staring after her husband. As for Parma, as soon as Grunlige had disappeared over a rise, he rose and laughed, so proud of himself and his cleverness that he did a little dance. He took a step toward Selina, then stopped. ‘Nay,’ he said, ‘I will only take you when Grunlige is dead and I have seen his body and spat upon it. I will cut off your witch’s head so all your evil will die with you.’ He laughed again and left her there, her body racked with her sobs.

  “Grunlige felt filled with power and strength. Odin had saved him once and when he again proved his valor, Odin would reward him again, give him more power than before, and then he would slay all his enemies. He strode back to his farmstead and called his men together. They marveled at their lord who had come back to them whole and strong. But when he told them that they were voyaging to Iceland to trap furs for trade at Hedeby, they looked furtively at each other, fear scoring their faces. It was still winter; it would be dangerous, just as dangerous as it had been the first time.

  “But Grunlige was their master and they put their faith in him and in none other. Had he not come back to them, whole and strong? Aye, he was near to Odin, all knew it, and all trusted him completely. They left Norway and voyaged into the North Sea, past the Shetland Islands and the Faeroes, then straight toward the settlement of Thingvellir in Iceland.”

  Merrik stared at her. How did she know all these things? All these places?

  “All went well, almost miraculously well. Their voyage took only two weeks, the wind pushing them quickly westward, more quickly than any would have imagined possible. It was as if an unseen force were shoving them toward their destination. The men’s fear dissipated, for surely the gods had blessed this trip, and when they arrived at Thingvellir, they trapped more furs than they ever had before. The hold of the longboat was filled to overflowing. All were joyous. All would have died for Grunlige.

  “They left Iceland and all cheered Grunlige. As before, the wind blew up at their backs and shoved them swiftly eastward. Suddenly, without warning, a terrible storm blew up. The weather was so cold even the warmest furs scarcely sufficed. Just as suddenly, not one day west of the Faeroes, a huge ice field moved down from the north and directly into their path. They were trapped behind it. They couldn’t move forward. The men cried out that they must return to Iceland and they must row quickly for ice floes were breaking off the huge ice field and beginning to surround the longboat. They would soon be snared in the middle and they would die from the cold, far from home, forsaken by the gods. Grunlige said nothing. He smiled and then he laughed and spread his arms, shouting to the heavens, ‘Odin, I am here. Test me!”’

  Laren paused a moment, then said quickly, “Nay, this night you will all learn what happened to Grunlige the Dane, but first I must have mead to soothe my throat.”

  Erik grunted, subsiding in his chair. It was Letta, seeing that this girl had gained everyone’s attention, including Merrik’s, who said in a loud voice, “I am tired of this endless chatter. It is silly. You, my lord Merrik, never would you be so stupid as to venture out again onto an ice floe, as did this boastful Dane. I would that Deglin finish this tale, for it needs a conclusion worthy of a great man’s skills.”

  There was utter silence. Laren stared at the girl, wishing she could slap her, the insufferable little twit with her big breasts, but she said nothing. It wasn’t her decision. She thought of the silver pieces and wanted to cry.

  Erik said, “She will finish the tale, Letta Thoragasson. Continue, Laren.”

  In that instant she smiled at Erik, so relieved that she would have smiled at a stone had it had given her permission. He stared back at her, his eyes gleaming, and she knew that smile had been a mistake.

  She said quickly, looking directly at Merrik, “ ‘Test me!’ Grunlige crie
d to the heavens, his arms outstretched. ‘Aye, Odin All-Father, test me!’

  “Then he leapt from the longboat to the nearest ice floe. He was smiling, then laughing. He shouted back to his men, ‘Be not afraid, for I am not the fool I was before! Aye, I was vainglorious and thought not of myself as a man who could be hurt and could die. Trust me and know that Odin is testing my brain this time, and not my strength. Throw me the thickest of the otter furs!”’

  There was a huge collective sigh of relief. Merrik nodded, and grinned at her.

  “Grunlige shredded the ice floe, flinging the shards of ice wildly into the waters until, once again, nothing remained but slivers that wouldn’t hurt a fish. He climbed back over into the longboat. He said, ‘This is why I wanted so many furs trapped. I knew I would need them. I have demolished at least thirty of our stoutest furs in this battle. Aye, listen now closely, for I must speak softly. I didn’t tell Odin what I planned, for I guessed it was my wits he doubted and wanted to test.’

  “He then stared toward the sky. ‘Have I gained your favor again, Odin?’

  “There was a huge bolt of lightning that struck the center of the huge ice field that floated just off to the east. The ice field exploded, flinging shards of ice high into the air, causing the waves to swell and rock the longboat from side to side. The men fell to their knees, in fear and in awe.

  “When they returned to Norway, Grunlige saw his wife and hurried to her. He held out his hands to her and said, ‘I am not the fool you believed me to be. I am home and I am a man with new humility.’

  “There was much rejoicing, until suddenly silence fell and all looked toward the open doorway of the longhouse. There stood Parma, and he was smiling. ‘Do you come back with blackened claws again, Grunlige?’ he yelled into the chamber. ‘Come here and I will slay you this time and I will cut out your guts and throw them to the gulls that fly close to the shore.’

  “It was Selina who answered, saying, ‘Parma, you have heard aright. Grunlige is no more. This is his spirit, come to bid us all farewell. Come here and you will see what you have wrought with your guile and your cunning.’