Powerful Destiny

by Tricia McGill

  “Are you growing excited?” Astrid asked. The girl was still timid, despite that she now served Brigid daily and knew all her needs and dislikes. “I am sure I will be if the day ever comes when someone chooses me for his wife.” Brigid felt sorrow for the girl, as without parents or close kin to barter for her, it was likely she would be given to the first man who decided she would suit him and would have no say in the matter.

  Brigid said nothing. Truth was that she also expected to look forward to her wedding day, as she would have done when she was a virgin going to meet her chosen husband, but all she felt was a deep sadness that this jubilation had denied her. Astrid explained that often with Norse marriages the haggling between the close kin of the man and woman before their wedding went on for many moons before both parties were satisfied that each came to the wedding with a good dowry. There was also the fact that if a Norse woman was dissatisfied with her new husband she had every right to ask for her freedom and could leave him with the wealth she brought along with her.

  This was also something that saddened Brigid. There would be no thought of leaving Rolf, so regardless of whether her future turned out a disaster or a success, she was forced to stay with the Norseman until death, or until he chose to throw her out.

  They both looked to the door as Rolf entered. Astrid quickly took the basin away and nodded to him. About to leave, he stopped her saying, “Stay.” He then looked behind him where Brigid noticed a woman standing as if waiting on his call. He beckoned her inside and shut the door after her. The room was dim as the sun had not risen to its full height yet and there were no lanterns lit. Because of her earlier sickness, Brigid had lain longer in bed than usual.

  When she stepped forward, the look of the woman stunned Brigid. Hers was not the beauty of a young goddess like creature, but more that of a female who had lived long and well. Standing tall—almost the same height as Rolf—locks the colour of wheat flowed down her back in rich wavelets. Another thing Brigid learned from Astrid was that Norse women valued their hair beyond their looks. Brigid knew that her own hair pleased Rolf, for often while lying in bed he caressed it as if it was treasured.

  “Helga will assist Astrid with preparing you for our ceremony,” Rolf said as he waved a hand toward the woman.

  “But, Astrid and I will manage well without assistance,” Brigid argued. She did not wish to have a stranger aiding her, and considered she was quite capable of dressing herself.

  “You need someone with more experience. Helga has been chosen for that reason.” With a nod in her direction he stepped back.

  The woman called Helga came further into the room. She possessed an aura of knowledge, which made Brigid feel like an untutored girl. But she straightened her spine. She was the soon to be wife of Rolf, their leader, so best remember that.

  Bowing her head as she stood before Brigid, Helga said, “I am honoured to assist you.” Her voice was sweet and low, and she gave Brigid a smile to match its sweetness.

  “I will leave you now, and see you before our ceremony,” Rolf said. He had not moved from the place by the door. Startled, Brigid looked across to him. Why was he leaving her with this woman she neither knew nor wanted? With a small salute of the hand, he went out and closed the door after him.

  Helga gestured for Brigid to sit and she then sat on a stool at her side. “I will explain what is required of you,” she said.

  This explanation took some time. Most young Norse women it seemed prized their virginity and came to their marriage bed as virgins. This was why so much bargaining went on before the contracts between families were signed. As Helga explained all this, she looked to where the babe lay in the body of Brigid. It was clear by now that all the women of the village knew of her condition, and Brigid wondered how many of them also knew of the dire prediction of the oracle. “Of course, as it is our chief that you wed,” Helga explained with care, “There will be changes made.”

  Brigid had a feeling these changes had little to do with Rolf but would involve casting out all parts of the tradition meant only for virgins. She began to wonder just why Rolf insisted they be wed, and before the birth of the babe.

  * * *

  Brigid tossed in her sleep. Something disturbed her, for even though she knew it was a dream it was so vivid that she almost cried out when the woman Helga pulled her baby from her body and tossed it into the sea.

  She sat up and peered into the darkness. The bed covers at her side were cold and she shivered. For the past two nights Rolf had slept elsewhere. It seemed he was determined that this part of the wedding tradition must be carried out, and they would not come face to face again until the ceremony, which was to be held on the morrow. Brigid was surprised how much she missed, not only his warmth, but his hands and also his mouth on her in moments of passion. In fact, she simply missed him and failed to understand why he would choose to live apart from her even though it was clear to all that they had shared his bed for some time now and she was no virgin bride. Would she ever understand the strange traditions of these people?

  “What is it?” The woman Helga stood at her side, a dark shape above her, and Brigid stifled a cry of despair, the terrible dream still vivid in her mind.

  Rolf had given orders that the Norse woman must stay with Brigid while she explained all that was required of her as the wife of their Chief. Despite Brigid’s arguments to the contrary, it was his command, so therefore must be obeyed.

  Astrid also stirred and sat up from the small pallet she had prepared on the floor nearby. Brigid was thankful the girl was also ordered to stay close by should she need her, for even though she would not admit it aloud, and although Helga had shown her nothing but kindness, she nonetheless found the woman threatening and could not give a reason why this should be.

  When Brigid asked her on the day of her arrival, “Will not your family be missing you?”

  Her reply was, “No, I have but the one daughter who is quite able to care for herself. And it is only for a short time.” When Brigid went on to ask her about this daughter of hers, she shrugged her shoulders, as if she found the matter tedious.

  Brigid later found out from Astrid that the daughter had a son. The three shared a hut with other women on the far side of the village, and the boy was at an age when he could run about with the other children. What puzzled Brigid was why she lived with her mother and not her husband, but Astrid could give only a brief answer to this—this being that he was likely slain in battle.

  “It was merely a dream,” Brigid said, preparing to rise from the pallet.

  Helga put a hand on her shoulder, saying gently, “Do not stir, what do you need? I will fetch it for you, it is my duty.”

  “My mouth is dry. Please bring juice. Or water, I do not mind which.” In fact, Brigid felt quite ill, and added, “And fetch the basin. I think I will need it.” If this was what carrying a child meant, this endless sickness, then she decided right then that she did not like it at all.

  Helga went to fetch the juice Brigid preferred, and although Brigid could not see her clearly, she heard her pour the drink.

  Astrid held a moist cloth to Brigid’s head as she spewed her last meal of the day into the basin. “It will not last much longer my lady,” the girl soothed as she wiped Brigid’s face again with the cloth.

  As she turned to take the basin away, Helga returned with the goblet, agreeing, “Of course it will not.” She handed the drink to Brigid, who waved it aside, so she placed it on the small bench near the pallet. With hands across her middle, she said, “My daughter had no sickness at all, some women do not suffer so, you will see, when next you carry a child perhaps you also will not suffer.” How Brigid prayed she was right. Helga walked over to the door, saying, “I must go to relieve myself. Drink your juice and you will feel better, you will see.”

  Brigid picked up the goblet as Helga closed the door behind her. About to take a sip, she said with disgust, “The stupid woman has given me mead. I have told her I hate the drink, so
why does she insist I must grow used to it because it must be drunk at the wedding ceremony.”

  “She is right, mistress.” Astrid had turned to light one of the lanterns and Brigid saw her smile as she turned back to her. “It is the custom.”

  “Custom or not, I refuse to drink it, and that is an end to it. Take it away and pour it somewhere, and then please fetch the juice I asked for. Or have it yourself if you wish, but hurry, before Helga returns to badger me.” Bridget lay back with a sigh.

  “Can I really drink it mistress? I like it, but Ingrid refuses to let me have it. She tells me I am too young and must wait until I reach her age, but she has lived many moons longer than I.” She sighed.

  Brigid waved a hand. “If you wish. But you live in the house of Ingrid so should abide by her rules.” Sickness washed over her and all she wanted to do was lie back and sleep until it passed. As she closed her eyes, the thought crossed her mind that Helga had not returned.

  Astrid said from above her, “I have left your juice here beside you.”

  * * *

  Brigid yawned as she opened her eyes. A ray of sunlight slanted across her bed. She pushed herself up and put her feet to the floor, thanking her God that the sickness had passed. “Astrid, I will bathe now. Fetch water please,” she called, stretching her arms above her head. It was very quiet. Neither Astrid nor Helga were in the room, which puzzled her. The lamp Astrid lit earlier was still burning, which was also strange.

  “Astrid,” she called again, louder this time, for although the sickness of earlier had left, another kind of sickness she could not name stirred inside her. Pulling her cape across her shoulders, she went outside and around to the small chamber at the rear. “Astrid are you in there?” She pushed at the door as she called out. It was closed firmly, and there was no answer, so neither the girl nor Helga were in there. Brigid knew that none of the other villagers dared use it.

  Turning to a passing boy she shouted, “Please fetch Ingrid, at once.” Why had Helga chosen this morning to desert her when not once had she left her side since Rolf brought her here?

  The Norse people were going about their usual morning tasks and a few paused to look her way as the boy ran off. One bent old man came towards Brigid, asking if she needed help as she glanced down to where something was touching one of her bare feet. It was a foot, also without covering, and she let out a cry as without a doubt she knew it belonged to Astrid.

  As she bent to touch it, Ingrid came at a run, gasping for breath. She pushed the old man aside and pulled Brigid upright as soon as she saw the small foot below the door, calling over a shoulder, “You there, fetch Rolf our Jarl, swiftly.” The lad ran off as Ingrid led Brigid back inside and pushed her gently onto the large chair usually occupied by Rolf.

  “What could have made poor Astrid so ill that she fell down and could not get up,” Brigid asked, as Ingrid handed her the juice Brigid left standing earlier. As the words left her mouth she remembered and said with a small laugh as relief hit her, “Ah, she drank the mead Helga insisted I should drink. The girl is likely in a stupor.” Brigid had seen many men in the past who, after drinking more than they should of strong ale or mead, then spent many hours regretting their foolishness. Even her dear father had been in the same state, so earning the wrath of her mother.

  At a noise by the door, Brigid pushed herself up and rushed over as Rolf entered carrying the still body of Astrid. She did not need to be told, for the look in his eyes told her that the beloved girl was not full of mead, but lifeless.

  With a cry of distress, Brigid collapsed to the floor and Rolf’s shout seemed to echo through a mist as darkness descended.

  * * *

  Rolf placed the body of the girl into the arms of Ingrid who lay her carefully down on the pallet on the floor. He then bent to pull Brigid up into his arms. “Fetch a wet cloth, and also a potion. At once,” he said louder when the large woman hesitated. She nodded and left at a run.

  By the gods what happened here? What would he do if he lost this woman who had become all to him. If he was never sure before, the days of absence from her company brought it to him clearly, if she died so would he. Perhaps he might not be going to be with his gods in Valhalla, but nonetheless without Brigid in his life he would be in a place where demons dwelt.

  Even the worry of her dying during childbirth brought about many sleepless nights since their visit to the Oracle. Sitting at Brigid’s side, he took her hand. It was warm, and he thanked his gods. When her eyes blinked open, he bent to place a small kiss on her brow. “You are awake? Please do not scare me so in future,” he chided with a small laugh of great relief.

  “Astrid? Is she…?” At Brigid’s question, he shook his head. Tears dampened her cheeks as she wept in silence.

  “Yes, the child must have become ill in the night and gone outside thinking to be sick, but fell and hit her head,” Rolf said, worried when Brigid sat up, her tears flowing even more.

  “No, she drank the mead meant for me. Where is the woman Helga? You must find her.” Taking his arm in a firm grip, she prepared to leave the bed, but he stopped her with a gentle push.

  “What do you mean? Mead would not take someone’s life. I will admit that there have been times in my life when I felt close to death after taking too much of it, but I have yet to hear of someone dying because of drinking it.”

  His attempt at making her smile only seemed to upset her more and as she made to rise, this time he let her. She went over to kneel beside the servant girl and her howl was like that of a creature in pain as she touched the face of the girl. When she stood and began to pace back and forth like a wild woman, Rolf thought that the death of her servant could have had some strange effect on her mind. “Don’t you see? The mead…it was meant for me. Where is Helga?” Looking about as if searching, she screamed, “The woman has murdered Astrid with mead I was meant to drink. Do you not understand me?” At this question, her arms waved above her head.

  Rolf could do nothing but believe her. It was possible. “But why did the girl drink the mead?” As the foolish words left his mouth, the depth of what Brigid said hit him with the force of a hammer on the head. Already men were searching out the woman Helga after Ingrid passed on the words Brigid said to her about the mead being drunk in mistake by the girl. Until now, he put it down to foolishness, thinking she might have mistakenly swallowed one of the forest plants known to kill. Covering his face with his hands, he wanted to also howl in pain, for was not he the one who placed this murderer here with the simple task of teaching Brigid the wedding rituals?

  The wedding! This now seemed such a foolish notion. It was likely that Brigid would hold him responsible for the death of her servant and would not wish to look upon him again, certainly not wish to be joined to him for life.

  “The prophecy.” Brigid stood before him, her face now a mask of misery as tears dripped from her chin. “The woman Helga had one daughter who also had a child, am I right?” A hand went to her cheek. “Your oracle was right. You must also seek out the daughter of Helga.”

  “This will be done.” Rolf placed his hands on her shoulders as he looked into her eyes. “Both will suffer, I give you my promise.” He paced away from her and drew in a ragged breath. “I am sorry,” he muttered. Coming back to stand before her he repeated, “I am so sorry. This was all my fault. Helga was looked upon with fondness by the other women—I did not guess that within her a black demon dwelt, and do not think anyone in this town would think her capable of such a crime.”

  “Well you believe me or believe that, it is your choice. Tell me, why was she so sure that I must drink the ale. Not only once but many times she insisted it was part of your ceremony so must be drunk even though I told her often I hated it, and it added to my sickness. Also, why did she leave here and not come back? She never once left me alone before, apart from relieving herself daily. She sent Astrid to take care of her needs until I became so tired of her presence I wished her gone many times.”


  “Of course, it is you I believe.” Rolf ran a hand through his hair, turning when a knock came on the door. He went to open it. Ingrid stood there. “Has the woman been found?” he asked as he gestured for her to enter.

  “No. She was not in her home, so the men are now searching wide and far.” She also seemed to be suffering from shock that one of her fellow Norsewomen committed such a crime. Looking to Brigid, she asked softly, “Should I stay with her?”

  Rolf rubbed the hair on his chin. Could he trust this woman who had served him well? For the first time in his life, he had doubts about his own people. He put trust in Helga and she committed this terrible crime. “What of her daughter and the child, were they there?”

  Ingrid shook her head. “One of the women who lived nearby said that she saw Helga leave their home after darkness fell, and after the sun rose this morning her daughter also left with the child.” Ingrid put a hand over her mouth, her eyes showing horror. “That would have been after the news was passed around that Astrid was dead.”

  “Did this woman also say in which direction they travelled?”

  Ingrid seemed confused by his question. “I believe she told Elof, the one you left in charge of the search. The men headed towards the hills.”

  Rolf went over to Brigid, who now sat at the table with her head held in her hands. Kneeling at her side, he touched her on the leg. “I must go now and search with my men. I will leave Ingrid with you. You can trust her as I do.”

  Dropping her hands to the table she cried, “Can I? Can I now trust any one of your kinsmen or women? How I wish you had not brought me to this awful place.” Rising she walked over to the window, showing him her back.

  At a loss, Rolf knew not what to do. Going to her side, he asked, “Would you like me to fetch one of your Celtic women to be with you?”