by Susan Wright
“I will speak to Gudren about this,” Alga assured me.
That night, I was sent to service one of Alga’s brothers. He was my own age, and he spent himself far too quickly. I should have prolonged his delight, but my mind was with Alga and Gudren. They were discussing my request, and in my preoccupation with that, I could not attend properly to her brother. But he was too young to know any better and was pleased with his prowess. He boasted of it a bit as he took me again the next morning.
When I returned to their house, I waited for Alga to broach the subject. In this case, a show of subservience would serve me well.
Gudren was preparing his gear to travel south on a business trip to Hop. I thought they had forgotten about my tale of love. But before he left, Gudren bade me good-bye, grasping me by the chin. “Alga tells me of this silly passion you have, Marja. But that man isn’t worthy of you. If your father only knew the state you were in when I found you, he would agree. You are much better off here with us. So let’s have no more talk of leaving.”
My mouth opened in a protest. “But I belong with him.”
“You belong with us now,” Alga insisted soothingly. “What do you expect us to do? Send you to Tillfallvik and drop you at the marketplace to look for this brute? Surely you can see how impossible it is.”
“Why he abandoned you in Brianda, I may never know,” Gudren added with a shake of his head. “But he does not deserve your love, Marja.”
He turned away from me to kiss Alga farewell. He would be gone for a handful of days, and I knew he had brought me to the estate to help keep his wife from pining for him. Of all the men in the Sigurdsson family, he was the one who most often traveled to their trade destinations, perhaps because they were the only couple who didn’t have children. They were kindly folks, and I had relied on that in telling them my story, only to have it turn against me in the end. They truly thought they were doing what was best for me.
But I was no longer the gullible girl who had given Finn my coins. I kept my churning feelings hidden from Alga as we went with Gudren to wave from the dock. It must have worked because she never mentioned it again during the days that followed. Sometimes I ran down the road to the docks to look longingly at the boats, wondering which ones were sailing north to Markland. The oarsmen were too busy to pay attention to me, but I could never sneak aboard one of those open ships without being detected.
One day, I even ventured into the woods around the compound, finding that they were much the same as those on Fjardemano. I longed to set off, ready to strike out on my own and walk all the way to Tillfallvik, but the Nauga Sea lay between me and my destination. It would be impossible to swim that far.
So I settled into my place in the Sigurdssons’ estate. Gudren returned from his trip, and everything went on as usual. Soon it seemed that I had known nothing other than this soft way of life with plenty of pretty clothes and a respected place in their home.
Then I got a friendly hint from one of my favorite olfs. I was leaving the communal hall in the gloaming when I saw the moon hanging just over the treetops. Its pregnant shape was waxing, looking much larger than usual, tinted a rich yellow color.
As I gaped at it, wondering what the moon god sought to be so low, the olf appeared beside my head. This one often let me see its tiny hands as it tangled the yarn Alga dyed, leaving her scolding the cat as the olf laughed. This time it spoke to me. “Midsummer summons!”
In that instant, I remembered how I had danced around the huge bonfire in celebration of the Norogods in Tillfallvik. I could almost see Silveta in the role of Freya, slicing the snowy dove’s neck and spilling crimson blood on the altar.
“Midsummer,” I murmured. I had forgotten it was nigh, and now the moon said it was only a few days away. It had been a year ago that Silveta had asked me to help her and I had been raped and beaten by Birgir.
With that vivid memory on my mind, I wasn’t surprised when Gudren brought up Tillfallvik when we three were alone by their fire. “Now, Marja, you’ve given up this wild idea of finding your paramour, have you not? Tillfallvik is no place for you to be alone. Why, it’s far more savage than Brianda!”
“She never speaks of it,” Alga assured him.
“I am happy here with you,” I admitted honestly if not fully.
“The Sigurdssons have been invited this year to Markland’s midsummer feast.” Gudren paused, gauging my reaction.
I silently blessed the olf for its warning, or I’m sure my eagerness would have been clear. Now I simply gazed back at him as if it mattered little to me.
“The chieftain is ready to expand their trade and has asked me to come negotiate terms with him,” Gudren explained to Alga. “I think you would enjoy it very much. And I’m loath to leave our Marja here alone for that many days.”
“Let’s take her with us,” Alga agreed. “She will be a great help to me.”
They both looked at me expectantly. “I would be glad to go with you.”
Satisfied, they began to make their plans to leave. I had to tamp down on my excitement to keep them from suspecting. Instead, I feigned interest in the dresses Alga chose for us to wear during the festivities and which gifts would be best to take to the chieftain.
But deep inside, all I could think about was Lexander. I only hoped it was not too late. I had spent nearly a moon with the Sigurdssons, and half that long in Brianda. What if my master had already gone to Tillfallvik and had given up hope of finding me?
When we finally set sail, it was a relief to allow myself to become entranced by the sea spirits. Gudren remembered I had been similarly enthralled on my way from Brianda, with glazed eyes and a faint smile on my lips, replying to no one’s inquiries. He assured Alga that I was merely beguiled by the rhythm of the waves and would return to myself once we landed.
Indeed, when we passed the islands that speckled the mouth of the narrow bay of Tillfallvik, I broke away from the spirits. The town looked small and drab after all I had seen in Viinland. The buildings were low, and most were sunk underground with sod walls and dirt floors. The town covered the hills near the waterfront, and the woods on the taller hills beyond looked barren compared to the lushness of Djarney. But I never could agree with Sverker that it was a place of little importance because it was the living heart of Markland.
From the moment I set foot off the boat, Gudren clasped one hand around my arm, keeping me close by his side. Our boxes were carried by the oarsmen through the open marketplace that lined the waterfront. It nearly rivaled Brianda for the energetic bustle of its merchants. But this town was dirtier, with trash left to rot where it was flung and livestock living in rooms beside the townsfolk.
I had no urge to try to get away from Gudren and Alga. My goal was the same as theirs—Ejegod’s estate. But they didn’t suspect that. Once we were through the gates, which closed behind us, Gudren relaxed and finally released me. I felt a deep pang of guilt, knowing that I was not telling these good people the truth. It wasn’t right, but my goal was to reach Lexander despite all obstacles, even the most loving ones.
As we walked through the estate, I was nearly bowled over by olfs. Gudren and Alga were busy with their porters and finding our lodgings, so I waved my hands at the olfs, grinning at their welcome. They were such a merry crew and had entertained me mightily during the last midsummer celebration. One of these olfs had used me to save Silveta, though she knew it not. I had not felt betrayed when it lured me into trouble. But I had been sorely hurt when the olfs hadn’t appeared to comfort me while Birgir beat me, or when I had to face the chieftain. I had hoped that they approved of my service, and now by their joyous flips and flourishes, I was sure of it.
We were taken to a different longhouse than the one in which I had stayed the first time. We were quite a distance from Silveta’s closet, and under Alga and Gudren’s watchful eye, I realized it would not be easy for me to reach her.
I didn’t see Silveta until that night, seated at the table raised on the dais. In
the center was Chieftain Ejegod, somewhat shrunken in his imposing chair made of walrus tusks and cushioned by snow-lynx fur. I did not remember his legs and arms being so slight, though his belly swelled just as grandly. He was fretful, picking at his food, his hand shaking as he downed cup after cup of wine. His bleary eyes stared out into the hall, but seemed to recognize no one.
Silveta sat erect beside him, never looking at her husband though they ate from the same trencher. Her garments were lovely, as always, but the sheer white veil couldn’t hide the stiffness of her shoulders. The last time I had seen her thus, she had radiated a graceful reserve. Now she seemed ready to bolt at the slightest noise. Her fingers were clenched tightly around her mother-of-pearl knife.
The olfs tugged at her gold-embroidered skirt and plucked at the cord that held her purse to her belt. But they couldn’t rouse her interest. I wondered at that because the olfs had claimed her for their own. Yet there were not as many otherworldly creatures frolicking in the hall compared to last midsummer. I saw only a few among the colorful banners decorated with bulls that hung from the rafters.
There was no one from Vidaris in the hall. Likely the exile still held, and they had received no invitation this year. Until that moment, I had hoped peace had been made and Lexander would be seated here waiting for me. Even if Helanas was by his side, I would have been overjoyed. But I had no such luck.
I sat with Gudren and Alga, unafraid that I would be recognized as the slave accused of sorcery by Birgir last midsummer. Who would associate that wanton, naked girl with me in my long plaid skirt and demure braid? The only one I feared would see through my guise was—Birgir.
Birgir strode into the hall as if he owned the place, his long ax hanging at his waist. Men called out to him from every table, and the dogs came running at his whistle. Everyone watched Birgir as if the chieftain himself were arriving. It made me cringe in shame to see him claim the chair of honor next to Ejegod as if it were his right. His wool shirt was finer than I remembered, but the large links of the silver chain and the fat, knotted cross were the same. He was paler, having lost the windblown redness he had gained from fighting in Danelaw with his warriors. In comparison to Gudren, Birgir was as coarse as a burly peasant while the Sigurdssons looked like the true jarls.
I cowered down behind Alga, letting her plush body hide me. How could I go up there to speak to Silveta when Birgir was near?
So I endured the feast, listening to the talk that swirled around us. Gudren was ever eager for the news because it could give him an edge in his trade negotiations. From what was said at the table that night and discussed later in their bed, Birgir Barfoot was now the power behind the chieftain. His warriors had settled all over Markland, giving him a foothold in every thriving settlement. There were even rumbles that Birgir would make a better chieftain, stronger and more able than Ejegod. Gudren acknowledged that Birgir had conducted their trade discussions while Ejegod simply sat nearby. He thought it a smart tactic at the time, but now he doubted whether the chieftain truly held the reins of Markland.
I thought of Silveta’s guarded eyes and wondered if she had managed to keep Birgir from her bed all these seasons. It seemed impossible, yet the balance of power was unchanged. A bondsman stood behind her, watching everything with suspicious eyes, so likely that was the source of her safety.
I tried to catch Silveta’s attention, but she hardly glanced down the hall. She was an island of stillness in the midst of the merriment. When Silveta left early, while the wine was still being poured, I gave up hope of reaching her that first night.
The next evening, Silveta played her role as Freya in the ritual sacrifice to the Norogod of fertility. She still seemed unusually withdrawn. I saw her speak to no one, though one of her bondsmen always stayed close. It was reassuring to see the two strong men who cleaved to her. I was more convinced that all was not well with her, but at least she appeared to be protected from Birgir.
I was growing frantic, afraid that the celebration would end and Gudren would take me back to the Sigurdssons’ estate. I couldn’t leave now that I was so close! Yet Silveta seemed as far away as when I was in Djarney, with the sea separating us.
After the blood was spilled, Silveta stood at the altar and watched expressionlessly as torches were lit from the fire to start bonfires all over Tillfallvik. Her green robes flowed around her, pooling at her feet, a symbol of her fertility though there were numerous comments this night about her lack of child.
I danced among the others around the bonfire, desperately trying to reach out to Silveta, trying to penetrate her head-blindness. The olfs skipped beside me, agitated at my frustration.
Silveta gathered up her skirts to leave the hilltop, undoubtedly to retreat to the fire hall, where she would sit in silence throughout the meal. I knew we would be seated at the opposite end, while the Markland magnates and Viinland jarls were closer to the dais.
Panic shot through me. If I didn’t reach her now, I would lose my chance.
Two of the olfs darted away as if propelled by my anguish. They both leaped between Silveta’s feet, causing her to stumble. Her bondsman was there to make sure she didn’t fall, as I left the crowd and started toward her, hoping to catch her attention. One olf clung to her skirt until she turned to pull it free.
As she straightened up, she noticed me. Her blue eyes widened in shock. I was almost relieved to see her face lose its stony reserve. Now she no longer looked like a polished marble statue.
Instantly she was by my side, watching for Birgir all the while. “You! What are you doing here?”
“Help me, Silveta, as I helped you,” I begged. “Lexander told me to come to you. I’m to wait for him here.”
“Do you know the danger you court?” she insisted.
“Yes, but it is of no matter! Gudren wouldn’t let me go, and I can’t speak of Lexander to them—”
At that moment, Alga arrived breathlessly by my side. “My apologies, freya! Our girl is simple and unschooled in etiquette. Come, Marja . . .”
Her fingers dug into my arm, but I frantically beseeched Silveta with a look. It took far too long, as Silveta judged the situation. She did not want to speak of the service I had performed for her, and there was Birgir himself to consider. Alga had dragged me a few steps away when Silveta finally declared, “No, stop. Marja must stay with me.”
Alga was astonished. “But . . . she belongs to us.”
“That’s not true,” Silveta said more firmly as I silently encouraged her. “She belongs here, not with you.”
Alga still didn’t let me go, but she looked over her shoulder for Gudren. “You must talk to my husband, freya.”
“Go find him, if you must. But Marja stays with me.”
Reluctantly, Alga finally released me. She must have realized that I was not going far under Silveta’s protection.
As soon as Alga was gone, Silveta asked, “Why aren’t you in Vidaris? Do you know what Birgir would do to you—to me!—if he found you here?”
“Lexander sent me. I told Gudren and Alga that I needed to come to Tillfallvik to meet my lover, but they wouldn’t let me. Am I too late? Has Lexander come for me?”
“He sent a message, asking about you. I told him that you had best avoid Tillfallvik if you valued your life.”
I gasped. “Send word to him, please, freya! He must know I am here.”
“Come, this is no place to talk.” Silveta kept a sharp eye out for Birgir as she took me to her longhouse, the one I remembered so well. One of her bondsmen was left behind to escort Gudren and Alga to her.
I began to tremble when I went through the door of her closet and saw the bed where Birgir had attacked me.
Silveta saw how it upset me. “I heard about the exile of Vidaris when I returned. What did he do to you?”
“Rape,” I gasped. “Then he beat me. I could not even stand on my feet.”
She nodded grimly, as if making up her mind. She went to a nearby casket and unlocked it with a ke
y from around her waist. I stood awkwardly to one side, afraid to sit on the bed in her presence, but weak at the knees with fear. I kept staring at the stone floor, remembering how I had lain there as Birgir struck me with his belt. I had never thought I would have to return here.
Gudren and Alga arrived quickly, brought by Silveta’s bondsman, who waited outside the door. The couple was anxious, I could tell, and Alga immediately joined me, taking my hand. I realized then how much she truly cared about me. I felt my throat tighten.
Gudren introduced himself, his elegant politeness strained. “My wife tells me you’ve laid claim on Marja. Can this be true, freya?”
Silveta turned, the candlelight sparkling on the garnets entwined in her crown of braids. She was all golden and shining, like the low-hanging moon, and just as distant and powerful. “I will pay you handsomely,” she said firmly, clinking a purple silken bag in her hand. It had a twisted cord and was filigreed with embroidery. “Please name your price.”
Gudren’s forehead creased as he glanced back at Alga. They were likely thinking of their important trade agreement with Ejegod, for they debated every issue of note with an eye to the consequences it would have on their business. The Sigurdssons were merchant princes indeed, with their wealth and life of luxury, but they were still merchants at the heart of it.
Finally Gudren ventured, “ ’Tis not a thing to be taken lightly, freya. We care for Marja, and would be loath to let her leave us.”
“You have no right to keep her.” Impatiently, Silveta gestured to me. “Tell them, Marja. You must stay here.”
Gudren looked at me as I swallowed hard. “You are both very kind, truly. But I must stay with the freya.”