The clamour was great indeed, with all shouting Eirik’s name, and I saw a shadow pass over Gunnolf’s face.
Eirik, however, played no more the fool, kneeling rather, before the Jarl. “My victories or losses are in the hands of the gods. If I have strength, brother, it is through their grace, and I offer it in your service. Send me where you will, upon any mission, and I’ll bring glory to your name and to that of Svolvaen.”
It was a speech delivered from the heart; when Eirik lifted his head, his eyes were bright with fervour. Once more, the men received him with thunderous approval and it required the Jarl’s raised hand to gain the quiet he needed to reply.
“I accept your service, which I know is given in good faith. May you be an example to all men, in your allegiance to your jarl.”
Gunnolf called Eirik forth and placed his own drinking cup in his hands but there was a tenseness to his jaw. I didn’t wish to see the day Gunnolf believed Eirik’s loyalty to be in question.
We lifted down trestle tables from the rafters of the great hall, for a midday repast of smoked ham and cheeses, fruits and flatbread. The ale flowed and there was no man or woman whose belly was not full and whose spirit lacked contentment, for those hours at least.
I went to help in carrying jugs of mead but Eirik beckoned me to sit beside him. “There are others to serve,” he assured me. “Today, everyone should see the regard I have for you and know you’re mine.”
Never before had he accorded me such public recognition; I was his consort, rather than his wife.
“You’re worthy of their respect,” said Eirik, placing his hand about my waist.
We fell to discussing the wrestling and I commended him on his performance, for it was as much that as a show of physical prowess.
“Aye, I won’t deny it,” he said, sharing his smile with me. “There’s little need for me to prove myself among my own men. They know my strength already.”
“And what of Gunnolf’s strength?” I sliced an apple. Its tang went well with the goats’ cheeses before us. “Does he fear it would be his face pushed in the dirt, were he to take part?”
Eirik looked at me askance.
“Bold talk for such a little mouse under the Jarl’s roof.” He took a piece of apple from my plate. “We’re different, he and I, but no man had a truer brother. He would give his life for me, as I would for him.”
I lowered my eyes, choosing not to answer. It seemed clear to me that Gunnolf might well be jealous of Eirik’s popularity and his prowess. As Jarl, he had authority but I doubted he had the men’s love as his younger brother did.
The meal being taken, horses were brought, Gunnolf mounting an elegant, dappled grey, that shook its white mane as he took his seat. Eirik’s was a golden roan, solid of leg and girth, with a deep barrel. There were perhaps twenty in all and Eirik led a mare for me to climb, chestnut in colour with a blaze upon its nose. It was Asta’s, though I’d never seen her on its back, her condition preventing her from taking such exercise.
“You’d like to come?” he asked. “Join our hawking?”
It had been many months since I’d ridden and even longer since I’d joined in falconry, but I took my seat without difficulty. I looked back, to see Lady Asta waving. She’d want to hear all the excitement, later, and I’d no wish to disappoint her.
Of course, Helka was among the riders.
“The men will race on, in pursuit of the birds,” she told me. “Stay close. Though the best hunting will be in the fields south of the forest, our ride may take us near the clifftops, where there are fissures hidden in the grass. A wrong footstep and your sweet mare would break its leg or fall. Some chasms are large enough to take a horse whole, and the unfortunate rider.”
I shuddered at the thought.
“You’ll be safe with me,” she promised. “Keep by my side.”
Gunnolf took his falcon with the air of one who knows he is master, unhooding it and settling the bird. Its claws clutched the leather of his cuffed arm.
“Are you ready, brother?” he called, looking to Eirik, his eyes as wild and unfathomable as those of the dark-plumed peregrine.
“Aye, always,” came Eirik’s returning shout, taking his own bird, brought to him tethered on its leash. “Your hunter may be more powerful but mine has been with me since she was a chick.” He stroked its soft, speckled breast and cocked his head to look into the hawk’s amber gaze. “She’s the better trained, I’ll wager.”
“And what do you wager?” Gunnolf called in return.
“Whatever you wish.” Eirik grinned. “All that’s mine is yours, after all. I can deny you nothing.”
Gunnolf threw back his head and laughed to hear it. “Spoken well, brother. I shall think on it…”
With that, he let fly his peregrine and Eirik kissed the sleek head of his pretty hawk, before casting her to the wind. The Jarl gave his mount a swift kick and set off towards the woods, leaving the rest of us to follow.
With the wind in our faces, we skirted the trees then dropped down towards the open meadows and the straw-blown fields.
The birds flew high, hovering to scan the ground then soaring and chasing one another. The peregrine darted so close, at times, I thought it would wing Eirik’s hawk, but they flew on, swift and agile.
Gunnolf’s bird was the first to catch sight of its prey, and he cried his delight to see it dive, talons outstretched at the final moment. The peregrine sat upon its prize, tearing fur and flesh with its razor-beak before Gunnolf’s sharp whistle summoned its return.
Helka and I had been to the rear of the party, my own mare being less fleet than the others, but we now drew alongside.
From the peregrine’s claws hung a hare, limp and bleeding, its neck broken, its eyes glassy in unexpected death. With a shake of feathers, the bird deposited its prize, resuming its place on its master’s forearm.
“You’ve coddled your little hawk, brother.” Gunnolf rewarded his own bird with a chunk of raw meat. “She seems not the mighty huntress you believe her to be.”
Eirik held out his cuff, inviting his hawk to alight there.
“And what do you wish from me, my Jarl?”
“Only the pleasure of an initiation.”
Eirik frowned but bowed his head, and Gunnolf turned, looking about, until he found what he sought.
The Jarl brought his horse so close that I felt the heat of its flank. My mare tossed her head away from the intruding muzzle of his dappled grey but I held her steady. Whatever was required of me, I must comply. I was a guest of Svolvaen and of the Jarl’s home; Eirik’s promise was as good as my own. I could not break it without shaming him.
I’d never been so near to a falcon. It was a handsome creature, stately and graceful, but I felt myself shrink from its crimson-stained beak and its unblinking gaze. One of the men threw the hare to Gunnolf, who caught it in his free hand and pressed his thumb to the wound. The blood bubbled from the jagged tear at its throat, running thick.
“You may skit as swiftly as the hare but you can’t escape.”
Speaking low enough that no other could hear, he daubed my forehead before dropping the pad of his thumb to my lower lip, smearing blood there. The intimacy of it startled me. Instinctively, I licked the moisture away, finding it bitter upon my tongue.
“The first time is sweetest.” Gunnolf’s eyes lingered upon my lips, his own parting, full and sensuous. I found, somehow, that I’d bitten myself; he saw it and laughed, tossing the hare away again.
Gunnolf raised his arm and gave a soft whistle, sending the peregrine back into the sky. Eirik, too, released his hawk, and the two took the breeze under their wings, circling and swooping, lifting on the wild currents of the wind, daring one another higher.
The birds disappeared into the clouds while, down below, we craned to see them. The hawk emerged with the other on its tail. It was a game of chase, it seemed. However, the falcon’s pursuit was relentless. The smaller bird skittered low over the field while its
rival hovered above. As the hawk struggled to rise, the peregrine seized its chance. It dived, rearing up its claws at the final moment, knocking the air from Eirik’s huntress, sending it tumbling.
The bird hit the earth upon its back and lay unmoving but for the flutter of one wing. Eirik rode to the spot, dismounting to take the hawk in his arms.
It trembled briefly, then lay still.
9
I’d long ago put away the garments I’d brought with me, for they marked me as an outsider. Helka most often wore tunics and trousers but gave me some of her aprons, woven from flax and dyed in shades of russet and green. They suited me well enough; engraved bone brooches fastened the straps over each shoulder.
She berated me for lack of skill in weaving cloth. Even she, whose time was spent more in hunting, knew how to work a loom. Her fingers were nimble but, when I tried, everything tangled. It had always been so.
“You’re too impatient, Elswyth,” she chided, showing me how to use the heddle rods to separate the threads of warp. She passed the weft through on its shuttle. “You desire to have all you wish without applying yourself to the labour of the task. All things worthy of attaining require our constancy.”
I didn’t deny the reprimand, knowing myself well enough to see the truth of it. I’d always been reckless, inclined to impulse and hastiness. I wished for action, not the monotony of hours at the loom. My stitching was little better, whether my needle was bone or wood. I preferred the dyeing of the cloth, knowing well which leaves and tubers produced the brightest colours.
Of course, I had one skill which rivalled these womanly pursuits, as taught to me by my grandmother: my healing knowledge of plants and herbs. However, I still hadn’t found a cure for the sores which plagued Ylva.
The salve I’d made from elm bark, with sage and yarrow, had curbed the spread of the poison. The sores had become less aggressive but the skin refused to heal. Astrid told me that she heard Ylva sobbing through the night, for the loss of her young man. Though my treatment had prevented the blight on her cheek from becoming an open sore, the skin remained red and swollen, the infection lingering beneath the surface. I feared to lance it as I would a boil.
Not for the first time, I wished my grandmother were with me. How I longed to bury my head in her lap and seek her guidance. She always seemed to know the answer, even where the situation was most difficult. In likelihood, she was already dead and her home cleared of its simple possessions. If I returned, I’d find some other family living there, in the home I’d shared with her.
I attempted to put these thoughts aside, for they served no purpose and I wished to keep fair spirits, those being of best use to myself and to those around me.
The weather was full of the north wind now, and the first snow flurries had come to Svolvaen. “We’ll soon be contained indoors. If the winter’s hard, the harbour may even freeze over. We shouldn’t waste this time,” Helka urged. “Come; we’ll go fishing.”
Asta insisted that I take the opportunity. Her belly was growing fast but she still wished to attend herself in most matters. Faline would keep her company in my absence.
It was with some excitement that I sat in the rear of Helka’s vessel. I’d not been upon the water since the great journey that had brought me to Svolvaen. I couldn’t help a degree of apprehension but Helka assured me that I’d be safe in her care.
“Only move as I direct you,” she commanded, “Or we’ll find out how well you swim.”
The air was fresh and the wind brisk, and I understood immediately why she liked to sail. There was an immense feeling of freedom, and it was beautiful, the sunlight quivering on the water. She took us between the cliffs and I gazed upwards, wondering at the height of the sheer rock.
“The men collect auk eggs in spring, climbing down from the top, attached to ropes.”
The very thought of it made my head spin. It appeared too steep to climb. I could see no obvious footholds.
“You need a head for heights. It’s not for everyone,” Helka admitted.
“And you?”
“I prefer not to.” She looked up at the whirling seabirds. A gannet dived not far off, emerging with a silver fish in its long beak. “The life of the chicks is precarious enough without us eating those eggs.”
The tide was with us, taking us out towards the open sea, although the wind blew inland.
“The fishing boats go out in all but the worst weather. Mine too, although only as far as the mouth of the fjord. Beyond that, the waves are too strong.” She patted the side proudly and pointed to the net folded at our feet. “You throw it out and let the wind take your sail, then pull it in afterwards.”
“As easy as that?”
“You’ll see.” Helka nodded for me to take up the net. We fastened it to the rear of the boat before casting it a good distance behind. ‘Now, we move the tiller and turn the boat so the wind is behind us. Our net will swell out as we move through the water, and the fish will be trapped inside.’
We spent the next few hours sailing back and forth, letting the wind carry us, the net filling with four or five fish each time, until we had quite a haul.
When Helka turned us back, she took us close to the cliffs, that I might peer into the caves. The opening of one was lower than the rest, and wider.
“I used to hide here when I was younger. There’s a flat space, where it’s possible to sit or lie down, and you can take a small boat right inside if you bring down the mast. You can tie it there, out of sight.”
She steered us closer still, being careful to avoid the jagged rocks on either side of the entrance, where the waves splashed and split.
“Did you have cause to hide very often?”
“No more often than my brothers.” Her lips twitched in a smile. “But not even Eirik knew where I went. It’s good, sometimes, to have a secret place.”
I conjured an image of the three of them as children, Helka playing with her brothers as I had with the boys of my own village. I suspected their rivalry had incited her desire for supremacy with bow and arrow, with sword, and upon horseback. I thought back to Gunnolf’s marking of me with blood from the hare. He would have been a greedy sibling, hungry to take ascendancy; he would have thought it his due, as the oldest.
There was a rising in the wind, sending the gulls wheeling from the ledges above, to glide white upon the air. “I had something similar,” I mused. “Part of the woods where the other children didn’t like to go, and a particular tree I’d climb. One of the branches was wide enough to curl upon. I stayed there all night once. I’d forgotten to shut in the chickens, and the fox came and killed all but two of them.”
“You were punished?” asked Helka.
“My grandmother smacked me, and I ran away.”
“And how long did you stay hidden?”
“Only until the next day. I came home ravenous and was given three bowls of soup, with another clout for making my grandmother worry!”
“Ah!” declared Helka, “I was better prepared. I used to keep food in the cave, in a leather bag, and a bottle of mead.”
I raised my eyebrows. How wonderful it would’ve been to have known Helka when I was growing up.
“I was a clever girl, yes?” She smiled in satisfaction, and I nudged her playfully.
“I still store some things there. We never know what may come… and a hiding place can be useful.” Her face was serious again. “Although I’m beginning to think I should stop running away from what frightens me.”
Her thoughts were evidently no longer upon childish things and I wondered what it was that Helka feared. She’d tell me, I supposed, when she had a mind to do so.
“If I ever need to hide, I’ll come here.”
“Except that I shall know where to find you.” Helka smiled. “Not such a good hiding place!”
“But I shan’t mind if you find me.” I squeezed her arm. “I’ll be waiting, knowing that you’ll come and make everything all right again.”
�
��Always, Elswyth, if it’s in my power,” Helka promised.
10
Winter’s dark crept closer until Svolvaen huddled snowbound, the world having shrunk to silence and the crunch of white underfoot. Thankfully, our provisions were stored and smoked and pickled. Our fires protected us from the frosted world beyond.
Gunnolf and Olaf spent many hours at a game in which counters moved about the board. I asked Helka to teach me but she asserted it was a pastime for which she’d never had the patience. She paced the room more even than Eirik, lifting the skins at the small openings beneath the roof, a frustrated captive gazing through the ever-falling snow.
I visited Astrid when I could, each time adapting my salve, changing the proportions of my ingredients, adding a dash of something new. I’d dried plentiful amounts of what I found useful, to aid me in my remedies. Nevertheless, though I arrested the spread of Ylva’s sores, they refused to heal.
Feeling an itch over my skin, I’d wonder if the blight had come upon me. As the weeks passed, I thanked the gods, old and new, that my flesh remained unblemished.
It was a cold, clear night as I pushed through the wind to reach Astrid’s hut. The snow had crusted hard and I was grateful for my goat-skin cloak to wrap about me, my boots of rabbit fur, laced to the knee. The harshness of the weather kept Svolvaen’s residents inside their homes, and perhaps it was for the best. I remained convinced that others were afflicted but had no means of knowing the extent of the hidden disease.
As soon as I entered, I saw that my fears had not been unfounded. There were four others before Astrid’s hearth: three children and their mother, each marked by the same sore as Ylva bore on her cheek. I wondered how many weeks their affliction had been festering, for the wounds glistened wet.
“Thank goodness you’ve come.” Astrid left the cauldron she’d been stirring, helping me remove my cloak. “We’ve been waiting, hoping you’d make it out today.”
Viking Wolf: dark and steamy alpha warrior romance (Viking Warriors Book 2) Page 5