Powerful Destiny

by Tricia McGill

  “I will visit you later,” Brigid called as Rolf took her arm and led her away. “Am I not to be allowed to speak to my friends?” she snapped.

  “Of course, you can, but we have other things to do.”

  Brigid sulked for a while as she walked on beside him. “And who are we going to see that is so important?” she asked, as they left the town behind. Pulling the cloak tighter around her neck, Brigid felt grateful he thought to bring it along for her. Although the days were becoming warmer as a weak sun peeped through the lowered clouds, a chill wind still blew down most days from the mountains looming beyond the village, at times menacing. She began to wonder if spring ever fully arrived in this somewhat bleak land.

  “You will see,” was all he replied.

  The ground became stonier, hurting her feet through the soles of her thin boots. “Who could possibly live this far from the safety of your settlement?” she wondered.

  “We are here.” He waved towards a small opening in the hillside that Brigid realised was a cave.

  “Is it a holy man?” she asked, her curiosity roused. Back home there were men of God known to dwell in odd places, at times in caves such as this one.

  “We are expected.” Taking her by the arm, he ushered her inside. For a moment, she could not see anything, but as her eyes adjusted to the dim interior, she saw a figure sitting at the rear of the cave. No fire pit threw light or warmth into the darkness and Brigid shivered as Rolf put a hand on her back and gently pushed her forward. She worked spittle into her mouth that had gone dry. This creature before her was no holy man and the truth hit her, this was a Norse oracle. She had heard it said that he knew all there was to know about everyone, the future and his or her past.

  He was the ugliest person, man or woman, she had ever seen, with a mouth that looked to be slashed by a knife from one side of his cheek to the other. In fact, a scar that appeared set there by a blunt knife ran from his brow to his chin. A hood covered his head and the rest of his body was draped in black so that he blended in with the back of the cave until she could not see where he ended and where his abode began. Hair as white as freshly settled snow hung down each shoulder. It almost reached his middle and seemed out of place on a man with such horrendous features.

  Brigid turned to Rolf for reassurance, but he was not there. How could he leave her alone with this creature who was worse than any witch she ever encountered?

  “Come nearer, woman.” For such an ugly beast, he possessed a remarkably mild tone of voice. He beckoned with a bony finger and, stiffening her spine, Brigid moved forward to stand in front of him. “You are not afraid of me.” This was not a question, and she realised with a start that he was right. What was there to fear, he was just another Norseman, albeit a strange one who lived in a remote cave far from the village.

  “Why would I fear you? she asked in a clear voice. “You are no threat to me. I have suffered being captured, and dragged from my homeland, and then forced to become the property of a Norse. What more is there to fear?”

  “You are correct.” He placed his scrawny fingers on her cheek and for a moment a small tremor of fear did race through her, but when he said, “Not only should you possess no fear you should also feel jubilant that you have captured the attention of a great man. Has this man not treated you with kindness since your arrival in our land?”

  Brigid had no argument for that, but had to say, “Nevertheless, I was brought here against my will and wish.”

  “Search your heart, and your mind. I sense you are a brave woman with more knowledge of right and wrong than most of your kind. You worship far different gods than the people you find yourself among, but deep down in here…” his bony hand went to her breast, before he added, “…you know that Fate decides our future, good or bad.”

  Silently she stared at his distorted face, and when his hand moved lower to settle on her belly, she moved back a step, ready to run if his touch went lower. But when after a moment of saying nothing, he muttered, “You are with child,” she almost collapsed in a swoon to the dirt floor of his cave.

  “It can’t be,” she whispered. Nevertheless, something told her he was right. It was well known that oft creatures only needed to be covered by the stallion or bull once to become with young, so why should she be different. A warm glow settled where his hand had been on her lower body. A child to call her own—something that no one or nothing could take from her was a joy she welcomed.

  Brigid turned at a small sound behind her. Rolf stood just inside the entrance to the dim cave, haloed by the light so she could not see his face. How would he welcome the news of a child? As he stepped further inside and came towards her, the oracle said from the shadows, “This news comes with a warning. Beware—there is someone who holds malice in their heart.”

  The warmth that settled after his announcement disappeared instantly. Facing him, Brigid put a hand to her mouth as she said low, “But who would wish me or my child harm? I have hurt no one since my arrival in this strange land.”

  Rolf now stood behind her, his hands on her shoulders, as the oracle said in a dreadful voice, “Foolishness, woman. There will always be one who wishes harm—it is the nature of mankind.”

  “But, can you give me some sign of who it might be—so I can be prepared.” Brigid lifted her hands in a plea. Rolf remained unusually quiet, which unsettled her even more. Why did he not argue with the oracle that no man or woman would dare harm the woman he intended to marry at the earliest possible time? A marriage that would no doubt now be a matter of urgency.

  After a moment of eerie silence while the oracle seemed to search into her soul, he said, “I see danger in the form of a child. That is all I can forecast.” With a wave of his scrawny hand, he dismissed them.

  Brigid stumbled out into the daylight. Her feet felt as if they were not part of her body. “What does it mean?” she demanded, when Rolf came to her side.

  He stared past her into the distance, and a feeling of dread filled her. It was clear he had no wish for a child—had merely wanted her for the satisfaction of the flesh. Now he would likely banish her, send her to help with the livestock as the other Celts. Or worse, murder her and the child she carried—or send her to the slave market.

  “Come, we must hurry back, a storm is heading our way.” Taking her by the arm, he began to retrace their steps as if the devil were after him.

  Was this all he meant to say? Brigid became angry and pushed him away. “Why did you bring me here, if you have no wish to discuss his prediction? Surely you would have guessed what the oracle would say. You are a man who has known many women, and no doubt some of them would have borne your offspring.” Even as the words left her mouth, Brigid guessed the answer to her question. “You have sons, or daughters? Could that be the meaning of his words?” She stumbled over a small patch of rocky ground and he gripped her arm as he stopped her from falling. “I am right, am I not? So, do you have wives who could bear a grudge against me now sharing your hut?”

  “Hear me now, I have no wives. But there are women who could believe their child is mine.” He stopped and faced her. “This is something you need not fear. Believe me when I say, that these children are not mine.”

  “Not yours? Pray tell me, how can you be sure? I may be a simple Celtic woman, but I do know that any female would surely know who fathered her child. And why have you not claimed them as your own? Surely any man is proud to have offspring.” Stubbornly she glared at him. “And how old are these children you disown?” It occurred to Brigid that she was behaving like a jealous wife, so added hurriedly, “Believe me, I do not care if you have a whole tribe of children and women who make a claim on you. But if these women are likely to consider me their enemy, perhaps it would be better for both of us if I move back into the hut with the Celtic women.”

  “Do not speak foolishly.” Now he seemed angry, which confused her. Thunder rumbled across the mountains as he continued walking.

  Brigid trailed after him, pull
ing the cape closer about her neck as the wind began to whip her hair across her face. “Foolish? What is so wrong about fearing for my life? I cannot understand why you took me to the shaman if you did not wish me to hear his prophecy.” Was he hoping the oracle would tell her that his gods were on Rolf’s side, and that she should accept her fate as it was ordained that she was Rolf’s woman and should stand by his side without question?

  It was apparent he was not about to give her an answer, for he took her by the arm again and hurried her along without another word. The rain began to fall like icicles on her face. Any one of the women who sent her such looks of suspicion and hatred since he forced her to share his bed could be the one who despised her enough to kill her. As soon as she was able, she would find out who had borne a child that resembled Rolf. Perhaps Astrid would know. There were sure to be more than one, and he mentioned there were two at least he was aware of who claimed he was the father of their child. Brigid held no doubts that many women had shared his bed. Innocent as she was in the ways of men, she knew without being told that his knowledge of how to take and give pleasure was vast.

  For the rest of their journey he kept his mouth tightly closed. The howling of the wind made it impossible to speak anyway, and Brigid kept her eyes on the uneven ground beneath her now sodden footwear. When they reached his hut, he called for Astrid, ordering the girl to fetch hot water for Brigid to bathe and for dry clothing. Once this task had been accomplished, he left.

  Perhaps she was being foolish as he suggested, but it was her life that was threatened not his. As Astrid helped her out of her wet clothing, Brigid asked, “Are their women in your village who claim to have children their leader fathered?”

  Astrid stood biting her lip as she shook her head, and then busied herself picking up the soggy garments. Certain the girl knew just what she asked, but for some reason did not wish to answer, Brigid insisted, “I know there are children here who are his offspring, so you do not need to deny it. I merely wish to know the mother of these children.”

  “There was talk among the women and I heard whispers while they were preparing food.” Rubbing at her ear, she looked uneasily at the door.

  Taking her by the arm, Brigid said in the sternest voice she could muster, “You will not leave until you tell me what you know, Astrid. It is likely common knowledge. Women talk amongst themselves. I know they would likely not discuss such matters with a young girl like you, but as you say, you heard whispers, and you are not stupid.” Brigid chewed on her fingertip. “I need to know. My life may be in danger, so this is not a trivial matter of jealousy or dislike. One of these women has murder in mind. Do you believe in the power of the shaman who lives in the hills?”

  A look of horror flashed across the girls’ face as she put a hand to her mouth. Her head went up and down. “Did he warn you?” she whispered.

  Brigid pondered on what to answer, but there was no other Norse woman she could ask. They would all keep tight lips about such a threat against the woman who now shared the hut and the bed of their chief. “He told me I am with child, but with this news came a threat to my life, as someone, and this involves someone with a child, holds hatred in their heart for me.”

  “You are to have a baby?” That news seemed to have made more of an impact on the girl than the news that someone wished her dead, but then her smile changed to a frown. “No one would dare harm you, I am certain.” She glanced about as if someone could be hiding in the shadows. “Our leader would slay anyone who thought of such a crime. He has already warned the men what would happen if they dare harm you or any of your fellow Celts.”

  That news was heartening, but he could not be watching every one of his clanswomen or men from daybreak to sundown. Brigid carried on with her bathing and then Astrid assisted her with fresh garments. Once fully dressed, with dry leather boots on her feet, Brigid wandered about the hut. Astrid left, after telling Brigid that she would see what she could learn from Ingrid. Rolf still did not return, even when Astrid came back with food.

  As Brigid ate alone, a distant memory returned. Her parents were in the midst of a disagreement, which was rare. She recalled there was much shouting across the chamber where they slept. After her dear father left their home, it seemed to Brigid in a great hurry to be elsewhere, her mother came into her sleeping chamber and sat on the side of her pallet. At the time, Brigid took no heed of her face but now she thought back she was sure her mother had shed tears, another rare occurrence.

  Her mother pulled her close while she sang to her, and afterwards when Brigid asked where her father went with such haste, her mother replied, “My daughter, you will learn as you get older and you are, I hope, wed to the man of your choice that rather than face the truth a man will always walk away.”

  Brigid knew even as a child that her father was a strong heroic man so asked, “But why?”

  After laughing, her mother answered that question with, “Because men cannot understand us women, and rather than try they will always take the easy road out, which is to leave.”

  At that time, Brigid had no notion of the meaning of her words, but now she knew the truth of that statement. Her mother was a wise woman and to Brigid seemed content, but perhaps her father was not an easy man to live with. Of course, he returned soon after and life went on as before.

  Rolf did not come back until Brigid was in her night shift and almost asleep. Without a word, he cast his clothing off and lay beside her. He had bathed, for his hair was damp and his body free from sweat and grime. When he pulled her into his arms, she remained stiff, refusing to respond to his caresses, but this did not deter him. It was then Brigid realised the truth of her mother’s words. This man would accept no refusals from her. She could either fight him for the rest of her life or accept what Fate had decided.

  Chapter Seven

  “Fetch the bowl, Astrid,” Brigid cried. The girl obeyed and held it beneath her head as Brigid emptied her stomach once again. If this was what carrying a child entailed, she determined that she would not go through this ever again. Rolf seemed to be pleased at the proof that the oracle had been right in his prediction all those weeks ago.

  “It will pass, my lady,” Astrid said with a confidence beyond her years. The girl confided that she had seen many of her kinfolk go through the same torture and all had produced healthy babes. Brigid knew that women sometimes died during childbirth, and at times during the past days suspected that she would die long before the child was born.

  Knowing she must do something to fill her days, Brigid began to teach her fellow Celts the language of the Norse people soon after her visit to the shaman. It did not appear to bother Rolf that she went to their hut each sundown. Growing bored, she approached Ingrid, and at her bidding, a loom was erected in the hut. The large Norse woman seemed surprised when Brigid proved to be a talented weaver.

  When Margret and the other Celtic women learnt of Brigid’s condition, all offered words of advice. After their first days of unrest and fear of the unknown passed, all the women ended up less frightened, if not totally satisfied with the outcome. Most were given tasks similar to the work they did at home. One or two grumbled at the humiliation of obeying a Norse master or mistress, but then they looked at Brigid uneasily for they knew she had sacrificed herself to the leader to save them all from further outrage and misery.

  Their babes were thriving and the children all content. The Norse women cared for their children well, it was clear. One sunny morning, before her sickness began, Brigid visited Stella, the old woman who took care of the young ones while their mothers were away at their tasks, to ask after her welfare. She was outside the hut where the children were playing alongside the Norse children. All seemed to be enjoying the time together.

  Bjorn was content with his goats, only becoming distressed when one of them was taken away to be slaughtered for one of the strange ceremonial sacrifices the Norse people relished. Brigid swore to take no part in such activities, but then she thought back to
the Pagans of her homeland who often held similar ceremonies and ritual killings.

  One day, while alone, Margret asked Brigid, “Does he treat you well?”

  What could she say? Despite all her fears, Rolf did treat her kindly. Brigid knew her face deepened with colour for she felt the heat rising up her cheeks. She also knew well what Margret really asked of her. Brigid lifted her shoulders in a show of indifference. “I have no need to complain. When we consider what might have been the outcome of being enslaved and brought to this strange land we have fared well.”

  Now, Brigid sat back, and wiped at her face with the damp cloth that Astrid passed her. “The chief is pleased with the way your new dwelling is progressing,” the girl said. “It will be ready as soon as you are wed.”

  Brigid had been curious to know what Rolf did when often he was away for large parts of the day and only came back to share the evening meal with her. As leader, she guessed there were many roles to fill and many tasks such as her own father had to fill the day. When she asked him, he said, “As my wife you are entitled to have the best home in the village. I am building one to be proud of.” Brigid later learnt that the new hut would have more than this one single space but would have a separate place for the child when it arrived, and also a sleeping chamber secluded from the living chamber. She also learnt that she would not be allowed to visit the new house until after the ceremony, which meant she would have no say in its design or contents—a fact that riled her.

  “Ah, the wedding.” Brigid rose and walked across to the window. The sickness had passed, and she thought to walk over to the ceremonial house where this was to take place. It seemed that weddings in this land were no small affair and planned to the last detail. To her added annoyance, she was to take no part in any of these plans and would only learn what was expected of her closer to the day.