by Joyce Holt
The emissary sounded sincere. Gunnarr treated him well, as befitting any guest, but Jorunn could sense the careful, guarded nature of Kvien's master. "Best to be wary of one you mistrust," she muttered, repeating the old saying, "when you see deceit in his mind. Humor with speech but hide your thoughts. Repay craftiness with cunning."
Gyda found a moment to speak with Eldi's man alone, and after that hushed conversation returned to playing her part as a proper young woman of high birth. She took up her embroidery and sewed with swift strokes, laboring long over her gift for the upcoming wedding.
Eldjarn's messenger bade a courteous farewell and set out again. Gyda appeared to give his leaving no notice, but Jorunn saw a brightness to her mistress' glance. She overheard her speaking to Aslaug in a low voice that evening. "Sooner or later I will be gone, wedding a man of my choice," Gyda said. "Our paths may not cross often, Mother, but I will always remember and cherish your words when all arrayed against me."
To Jorunn this sounded like a farewell, yet who was departing? What message had Gyda given Eldjarn's messenger?
"You have always walked your own road," Aslaug answered. "Not often the one I would have chosen, so I have rarely known how to take it. But I see it has become a grand path, and your heart's desire. I wish Frigg's blessing on every step of your journey."
"Oh Gyda," Jorunn whispered, longing for her own mother's touch. "Do you know how rich you are? Beyond gold, beyond jewels, beyond silks and furs. Rich in kin, the greatest of all treasures on earth."
41 – Not a Thrall
Gyda finished embroidering on Brynja's gown and set it aside. On wet days she paced in the hall or sat and flipped pages in her books. In dry weather, she took to riding the mountainsides. Gunnarr insisted she take one of his men along on every outing.
"Beste-Papa," she complained, "there hasn't been sign of a troll since winter's-end feast! You let Toli go out on his own."
"Not on his own. Other lads go with him."
"Then let me take Brynja. Surely your men are needed in the byre or the fields."
"Kings' sons and jarls are not yearning after Toli, nor does Brynja enjoy a day in the saddle like you do."
"Do you ride?" Gyda asked, turning on Jorunn.
"Nei, Mistress!" Riding was for the rich and high-born. What did a cotter have to do with horses, their saddles and harnesses and roles in the winter sacrifices? She had no desire to climb astride one of those heavy-footed clods.
Besides, she yearned for solitude so she could look for Svana. Now that the long days of the year lit all but the innermost corners of their father's hut, she could find her sister almost any time, day or night.
So Gyda would sigh in exasperation and ride off with a guard or two. Sometimes she took one of the falcons, though in molt, to keep it in training. Other times she brought back tidings from the high pastures, for the cattle and sheep would soon follow the goats to summer grazing.
Three days in a row Gyda took Ketill as escort, and he often returned with a bemused expression. The fourth day he led two horses from the byre, both saddled. Gyda beckoned to Jorunn. "No need for you to idle your time away while I'm out. I'll teach you to ride."
"I'm never idle, Mistress."
"I mean for you to ride with me from now on. So up with you."
Gyda nodded at Ketill, and he took Jorunn by the arm. "Not to worry," he told her. "Lazybones here is the mildest of the lot, glad to follow any other mare, never one to go faster than a walk unless whacked mightily. Just hold to the saddle." He boosted her astride.
Her skirts bunched in rumples beneath her, but Jorunn didn't dare let go of the saddle's pommel to straighten them out. She grimaced. Fjord horses stood no taller than her shoulder, but from this perch atop Lazybones' back, it felt as if the beast had grown to the size of Odin's magnificent eight-legged steed.
Gyda clucked at her mount, and set off.
Lazybones blew a noisy breath and followed. "Just the two of us?" Jorunn blurted. Her horse flicked ears at the outcry but did not break step.
"The menfolk are all needed for the calving."
"What if I fall off? How will I get back on?"
"I would put you back on. I'm not as dainty as I look." When one of the spisshunds came trotting along, Gyda sent it back. "Home! No hunting, just an amble."
Jorunn saw where bridle trails snaked up steep slopes, but Gyda took a roundabout route, never more than a gentle climb. Even so, Jorunn twisted and looked behind her. A horse's rump offered nothing to grab if she should slip off, nothing but the tail, and that would be too late.
They worked their way higher. They passed rowans in bloom, snowy white against the forest's mottled greens. Birds twittered and flashed through the branches, though not a single swallow yet. At one point Jorunn thought she heard the sound of a flute. They must not be far from Valka's herd.
"How do your legs feel?" Gyda asked as they tromped through a birch grove. At Jorunn's grimace, she went on. "There is a reason for this, other than the men needed at calving. I will tell you, but you must speak of it to no one. Do you vow silence on the matter?"
Jorunn bit her lip. "An oath is a weighty burden, Mistress, to be making in ignorance."
Gyda wouldn't let her sidle away from the question. "I won't take you back to Kvien until you give me your solemn oath." Her glare gleamed like ice.
With an uneasy feeling, Jorunn relented. "I vow I will tell no one."
"So help me—" Gyda prompted.
"So help me Freyr and Njord and Almighty Odin."
"Very well. I must take a journey by horseback shortly after Brynja weds. You will be coming with me. As you can see, the first day a-horse is no time for a long trek. You will ride with me every day, longer each time, until you can bear it as needed."
"If you say so, Mistress," Jorunn said, gritting her teeth. No more long mornings where she could dash off and look for Svana.
"No questions?"
"Who am I to pry?" The truth was, Jorunn wrestled with the tidings, her thoughts dashing and clattering. A long trek to where? Leading along the path she needed to take back to Morgedal? Heading further away?
Gyda chuckled. "Odd it is, but I trust you. You have stood in my defense several times now. I will tell you as we go back." She turned her horse in a wide circle, and Jorunn's mare followed, nose to tail. "My Great-Uncle Eldi has offered me a place in his household while I await what comes. When his messenger next arrives with tidings, I will join his party. His men will give me safe escort north on the return trip. You will come."
"North? To Trondelag?" Jorunn's heart flipped with horror. Away from Morgedal – far, far away.
"Not to worry. Ketill will come, too. I know you are fond of him, and he of you. You will wed and continue in my service."
Jorunn gaped. Her throat closed up tight. She could hardly breathe, let alone speak. As if she had any words to utter. "I – I – I told you," she stuttered at last, "I mean never to marry."
"Nonsense. It suits my plans."
"I claim the bride-right," Jorunn blurted. "No woman can be forced to marry against her will, as you yourself have argued in your own cause."
Gyda turned in the saddle, stared at her housegirl, and huffed a disbelieving laugh. "You set yourself up as my equal?"
"I am freeborn, Mistress. I am a free woman of the North."
"You are a drudge. You are my drudge, and you will do as you are told."
Jorunn pressed her lips together to keep them from trembling. Her breath whistled through her nostrils. "I am a woman of honor," she said at last. "I will keep my vow of silence, but I never pledged myself to your service. I am not your drudge."
Gyda stared. Color rose in her cheeks, and her fair brows dipped in a graceful frown, then arched, as if she did not know what reaction to take. She settled on laughing in scorn, turned, and kneed her mount into a trot.
Jorunn yelped as Lazybones lurched into a faster pace to keep up with its herdmate. "Not a thrall, not a thrall," she muttered i
n time with the jarring pace. She managed to cling to the saddle all the way back to Kvien.
The next day they rode out again. Her legs blistered and sore, Jorunn winced with her horse's every step. Half the trek passed in silence. Once again she heard the far off trill of a flute. She gazed up the rounded heights, but saw no sign of goats or herder.
"Vel," Gyda said, breaking the quiet. "You've had time to think, oh free woman of the North. You see the wisdom and generosity of my plans, do you not?"
"I thank you for your thoughtfulness," Jorunn answered, choosing her words carefully. "You saw that Ketill has a gentle heart and has been kind to me. He is a good man. But I must go home to Morgedal."
"After we are settled in Trondelag, I will give you and your husband leave to journey south and fetch your sister. Great-Uncle Eldi will give you an escort, and you'll have safe passage through Harald's realms."
"You are indeed generous, Mistress—"
"Good, then. It's settled."
"Nei! I have not agreed, nor will I. I've waited too long already to go to her aid!"
"Nonsense. You can't travel all that way alone and on foot. You can't do it without my help, so I am the one to decide when and how."
Jorunn stewed on Gyda's words all the rest of that ride. It would indeed be grueling and perilous to journey in summer – but she trembled at the horrid thought of waiting for winter.
Could she trust Gyda's promises? Would Gyda even remember this plan once she reached Harald's holdings in Trondelag? In any case, Jorunn would not wed at Gyda's orders. "I'm not your thrall," she muttered at her back as they took the downward path. "I'm not anyone's thrall."
That evening while Jorunn was running an errand for her mistress, Ketill drew her aside. "I have something to tell you," he said.
Jorunn glanced all around, then hissed at him, "So Gyda's taken you into her scheming? I'll not do it!"
"What?" He drew his head back, puzzled.
"Her plans. She told me."
"What plans? She hasn't spoken to me since I last guarded her mountain ramble, and barely a word then."
"She hasn't—? She's just decided without consulting—" Jorunn stammered into silence. Would he find it as disagreeable as she did, to be hustled into a marriage not of his own choosing? And how would he feel about orders to take a bent-nosed, mousy-haired, clod-footed girl for a wife? Her cheeks heated.
Ketill waved off the confusion. "This is the tidings you wait for. A band of young men from the next steading – third and fourth sons, all of them, and each with a sister or two – will shortly set off for Ringerike to seek their fortune. As soon as the calving and barley planting are finished."
"With – sisters?" Fully perplexed, Jorunn shook her head at his words.
"Honorable young men. Respectful. Not the kind to prey on someone else's sister, or any young woman. They'll be seeking service under bondes and nobles on the coast, hoping to gain an oarsman's seat to go viking come summer."
Jorunn still struggled to make sense of the oddities he was stringing together.
Ketill laid a hand on her shoulder. "They have agreed to take you with them and give you protection, as far as the coast. To set you on your journey home."
Jorunn's eyes widened. She grasped his hands. "They have?" she gasped in joy. "You did this for me?" She bounced in place. "How can I thank you? I know. I have a bar of silver. Chisel a chunk for you, and some for them—"
"Nei, nei, save it to buy passage in winter. We're all of the same station, and like I said, they all have women for close kin. They're glad to help. You'll be their sister for this trek. I've asked them to help you find service in Ringerike until winter comes when you can continue on your way."
"Balder's blessings on you, Ketill! How soon, how soon?"
"Another few days. They'll come to the byre, and I'll fetch you."
Her sight blurred with tears. "You don't know how much this means to me!"
"Øy, Jorunn girl, I've seen you fretting your heart out. Soon I'll be the one fretting, worrying about your safety. Take care. Take great care."
"I will."
* * *
"I see you warming to the idea," Gyda said the next morning. "The way you smile at Ketill. It will be a good match. You'll come to thank me for it."
"If you say so, Mistress," Jorunn said. She kept her eyes lowered, hiding the eagerness that surely must shine from her gaze. She helped sort through belongings as Gyda secretly planned what little to take with her. There was a spring to the young noblewoman's step, and graciousness in her words to uncle and grandfather, an apparent mending of the rift over politics. And extra warmth towards her cousin, now caught up in the planning of her wedding. Brynja didn't seem to notice the gleam in Gyda's eye.
While Gyda waited for a messenger from Great-Uncle Eldi, Jorunn waited for a nod from Ketill. Unlike her mistress, she had nothing to sort and pack for herself, except for scavenged food to go into her provisions sack. Broken flatbread bits. Hunks of cheese.
At one midday meal Jorunn filched slices of dried apple from a platter as she passed it to the kin of Brynja's betrothed. She thought she'd been caught when her mistress snapped fingers. "Hawking garb," Gyda ordered, for the visitors now made their farewells. "Thought they'd never leave. Toli, be so kind and fetch Shriek for me. Order the ponies ready."
Will her uncle's folk scurry to do Gyda's bidding, there in Trondelag? Jorunn wondered as she tucked the stolen treat into her pouch, ran to lay out the breeches, and helped Gyda change.
"A late start, I know," Gyda said as Jorunn laced boots. "But I don't want to damage Shriek's tender new feathers, so we won't stay out long. Fetch flatbread for us and meat for a lure."
Ketill had two horses saddled and waiting in the houseyard. He shrugged and shook his head at Jorunn's unspoken question. Not today.
She stashed meat and flatbread in a saddlebag, then gazed at the overcast sky, wondering if they should bring coats or cloaks. The air did not smell like rain. Jorunn was still studying the clouds and wind direction when Gyda strode up, Shriek perched on her gauntleted arm.
The young noblewoman frowned. "Only a foggy head would idle time away staring at an empty sky. Move along, Daggle-Tail. Don't keep me waiting."
Jorunn grimaced as clambered onto Lazybones. Not much longer would she have to endure such barbs.
Ketill helped Gyda mount and saw them off. Once they were well out of earshot, Gyda nuzzled at the peregrine. "One last time," she murmured. "I'll miss you, my dear one."
Something in the press of Jorunn's thighs must have spoken her barely-reined fervor, for her mare kept twitching ears back and tossing her mane. "Nei, nei, all is well," she murmured, daring to let go the saddle with one hand and lean forward to stroke the fjord horse's neck. "Just keep your nose to the tail. Go back to your walking doze." Her legs hardly ached anymore. Once she made it to the coast, Jorunn hoped against hope she could find a trader with pack horses heading toward Morgedal – a rare thing in summertime, to be sure, but she could ride now. She could hurry all the sooner to Svana's rescue, thanks to Gyda's own underhanded scheming.
At a high meadow, Gyda launched Shriek into flight. The peregrine winged along with heavy beats until it came across an updraft, then rode in circles high up against the cloudy sky.
"You head around that way," Gyda said, pointing across the grassy hillside. "Between the two of us, we'll flush out quarry for her pleasure."
Lazybones wanted to follow Gyda's horse. Jorunn wrestled with the reins, hauling her mount's head around. The mare stamped and blew, wheeling whenever Jorunn eased off.
The best she could manage was to hold Lazybones in one place while Gyda rode off. "Like my life," Jorunn grumbled. "Try as I might, I can't take a single step on the path of my own choosing. Get going, now!" She thumped her heels against the mare's ribs to no avail.
She sighed and dismounted. Lazybones was willing to follow if she led the way, so off they set, circling the meadow at an easy amble. Jorunn drew out he
r key to spy for Svana.
She found her sister naked at the bank of a stream, scrubbing her only gown. "Soon, Svana," she called. "I'll come for you. Truly! The plan is set. I'm just waiting word. And then, and then— We'll go herd goats, you and me. Somewhere. We'll find a place. We'll find safety."
Why did words feel so empty?
Gyda rode up the mountain meadow, a bowshot away, so Jorunn took time to hunt for Oddleif. He sat at an overlook high up the ridge above Morgedal, wind tousling his tawny-brown hair, a rounded wooden casket on his lap.
Lazybones grazed. The wind wafted the scent of pine and heather. It carried snippets of birdsong and the faint far trill of Valka's flute. Here on the crown of the world, the mild summer day spelled pure bliss for fjord horse, falcon and folk, those who had no burning need to be elsewhere.
The lull before departure. Jorunn would not go north with Gyda, knot or no knot, swallow or no swallow, whatever the Norns planned. She would go south.
42 – Lute and Bow
Oddleif sat on a ledge high above Morgedal, plucking at the strings on the lute. That's what his oldest brother called it. A very small lute, he said.
Neither brother knew what to call the other item Oddleif had found in the leather case, a long bent rod with horsehair strung tautly between the ends.
His next oldest brother had made three tiny arrows and tried to use the rod for archery. "Elfshot," he explained, but this flimsy bow didn't have enough spring. His twig-arrows flew no further than he could spit.
Oddleif's brothers had banished him from the fireside that first evening. "You're no fossegrim," they said whenever he recounted the tale of the haunting music at the waterfall. "La, la, la," they'd chant, mimicking the way he bounced between the three strings. "Take that plinky thing somewhere else."
Oddleif blessed the long days of summer. He had time to run his snares, then to sit and strum the lute. A thrill had run through him the morning he learned by accident that by pressing against a string high up the neck he could change the string's tone. Blisters on his fingertips halted that day's play, but not before he learned how to run notes up and down in the same small steps his voice took in song.