Far After Gold

by Jen Black

  They walked slowly away from the end of the jetty, and Flane spoke quietly into the night air. “He used to go down to meet his father returning from a voyage, but when Barni fell overboard one day, his body was never found. We all knew he was never coming back, but no one seemed able to explain to Oli that his father was dead. There was no body, so I suppose the boy thinks….”

  He ducked his head to glance at the sleeping child.

  Emer matched his quiet tone. “But what of his mother? Could she not comfort the boy?”

  “The same year she was brought to bed of a child that killed her. The child died, too. That was even harder to explain to the boy.” His voice was suddenly grim. “Come this way,” he added. “Avoid the stones.”

  Emer had the oddest sense that there was more to the child’s story than she had heard, but Flane, with his long legs, covered the ground quickly and was already very close to the hall. “So who looks after him?”

  Flane stopped just outside the door. “Everyone, and no one.”

  She couldn’t be sure in the dimness, but she thought he smiled down at her. “We look after him as best we can, but he knows he has no one of his own. In the daytime, you would not know it was a problem to him, but since that year he has walked in his sleep. Not every night, but often enough.”

  He pushed the door open with his elbow and stepped over the threshold board. The dog skipped by as Emer carefully shut the door behind them.

  Flane walked straight back to his own sleeping space, and waited until Emer scrambled in and lay close to the wall. He laid the sleeping child down and stretched out beside him. She saw the sense of it. If the boy felt their warm presence, it might be of some comfort to him. And at the very least, if he went wandering again, one of them would know it.

  She lay for some time, listening to the sound of breathing. Flane was soon asleep, and the boy Oli never woke at all. The dog curled up at the foot of the bed, yawned widely and tucked its nose under its tail.

  Emer could not get rid of the picture of Flane gathering the child to him. It caught at her heart strings for so many reasons, and brought tears to her eyes.

  ***

  Emer opened her eyes next morning and found herself eyeball to eyeball with a black and white dog. A pink tongue flicked out and licked her nose. Emer twitched and saw the sleepwalking child, now wide awake, lying beside the dog.

  “Hullo,” the boy said. He seemed unsurprised to wake up next to a stranger, or to find himself in a strange bed. “Why am I in your bed?”

  “It’s not my bed,” she said sleepily and turned over onto her back. “It’s Flane’s bed.”

  There was a pause. “Flane isn’t here.” The small voice was puzzled.

  “Oh, isn’t he? Oh!” Her mind cleared and she sat up so suddenly the boy stared open mouthed. She looked round the hall. People barely stirred, but of Flane there was no sign. She looked back at the boy.

  A pair of intelligent hazel eyes stared back at her from beneath a shaggy thatch of brown hair. “Flane wasn’t here when I woke up.” There was an accusatory note in his voice. “I think it’s your bed.”

  Emer rolled onto her side and propped her head on her flat palm. She opened her eyes wide and fixed him with an intense stare. “This bed space belongs to Flane Ketilsson. I am a guest here, just as you are.”

  Oli blinked. “You’re pretty.”

  Emer laughed.

  “You’re even prettier when you smile.”

  “You’re a very clever boy, but you seem to be missing certain clothes. Where are your breeches?”

  Oli looked down at his lower limbs, and then back at her. “In my sleeping space?”

  “I expect they are. Shall we go and get them before you catch cold?”

  Oli scrambled off the bed and offered her his hand. The dog leapt off and waited, ready to go wherever they went. Emer looked at the small round dent it had left behind in the mattress and made a mental note to check for fleas when she returned. Oli led her across the hall to a small sleeping space squeezed in the corner between two larger spaces, and Emer’s heart contracted.

  The boy needed to be with people, not shut away in his own small space. No wonder he had problems sleeping. She looked at the small mattress and the two indentations, one undoubtedly Oli shaped, and the other round hollow where his dog curled up beside him. There would be fleas and sheep tics and goodness knows what else in there. She made a second mental note to speak to Flane about it.

  The boy took his breeches from a wooden peg hammered into the wall and shook them briefly before he climbed into them. He pulled the drawstring, fastened it and smiled. “It must be time to eat now.”

  “I think I’ll go outside and wash my face and hands first. Do you want to come with me?”

  “Ugh.” Oli shivered. “The water will be cold.”

  “I thought little boys like you were so brave they never noticed how cold the water was. You can stay here if you like.”

  He thought about it. “I’ll come with you.”

  “Don’t you want to put your shoes on?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t have any.”

  “Then you don’t have to bother, do you? Come on!”

  “You don’t have any either,” he said, eyeing her feet.

  “I have sandals,” she said. “Under the bed. I’ll get them later.”

  He took the hand she held out, and they headed out into the sunshine. In bright daylight, Oli looked a little older than she had first thought; perhaps even nine or ten. He followed her example at the water barrel, and clamped his mouth shut as the coldness of the water bit at his fresh young skin. He saw Emer shaking her hands dry, and copied her. She laughed. “I used to have a towel at home, but I don’t have one here.”

  “What’s a towel?”

  “Oh, a piece of strong linen too small to make anything else, usually. I use it to dry my face and hands every morning.”

  “Oh. I could use my blanket,” he offered. He looked at her shyly. “It isn’t really a blanket. I had it when I was a baby. I keep it because it reminds me of my mother. But it would make a good towel. Where is your home?”

  She looked down at him, caught by the simple way he referred to his mother. Her smile slowly faded. They had a lot in common, she thought. “A long way from here, over the sea.” She saw the shadow cross his face, remembered Flane’s tale of Oli’s father and hastily carried on. “An island called Pabaigh.”

  Oli frowned. “Are you not one of my people?”

  “I have no Viking blood. My father—” Her throat twisted, and her voice disappeared. She coughed to hide her difficulty, cleared her throat and smiled at the boy. “His family were here long before the Vikings ever found these shores. He came from an island further south, where there was a man of the church who taught him all about Jesus. Have you heard of Jesus?”

  Oli frowned, thought hard and shook his tousled head. “No,” he said at last. “Was he a king? Like Harald Fairhair?”

  Emer had heard the glorious harp tales of King Harold Halfdanarson of Norway who lived and died a hundred years ago. She also knew her father thought him a tyrant and the probable cause of the mass emigration from Norway that was still a huge problem for everyone in the islands.

  She smiled at Oli. “No, not like King Harald. I’ll tell you all about Jesus one day. But for now, let’s go and find something to eat.”

  Indoors, there was no sign of Flane. Women bustled about, but very few men remained in the hall. Porridge was available from the big cauldron, and she made sure Oli had a big bowl swimming in thick, creamy milk. They took it to the doorway and stood in the sunshine to eat. “Eat it all and you’ll grow up big and strong.”

  “Like Flane?”

  “Like Flane,” she agreed, and watched him dig the horn spoon energetically into the wooden bowl. The back of her neck tingled. She looked up, straight into the calm, considering gaze of a well-dressed young woman.

  Intuition told her it was Katla.

  Cha
pter Four

  Katla halted just behind Oli. Her question was blunt to the point of rudeness. “Who are you?”

  Emer handed her porridge bowl to Oli. “I’m sure you know where the bowls go,” she said with a smile. The boy took it from her, saw Katla behind him and pulled a face as he ran off towards the kitchen area.

  “Good day,” Emer said pleasantly, as her mother had taught her. “My name is Emer. My family lives on the island of Pabaigh.”

  Katla was more than handsome; she was beautiful. Perhaps a year or two older than Emer, and a little taller. Lustrous dark hair had been coiled smoothly against each cheek and swept into an intricate knot at the back of her head. Emer was struck by the perfect symmetry of the girl’s face, for the curve of her cheekbone was repeated in the curve of her eyebrow, mouth and jaw. Such perfection was rare, and almost unnerving.

  “What are you doing here in my father’s settlement?”

  “I’m not sure,” Emer said, determined not to be rattled by Katla’s aggressive tone. She tried not to feel envious of Katla’s expensive gown, garnet-studded leather belt and the delicate silver bracelet tinkling gently at her wrist. “A young man called Flane brought me here. So far, we have not discussed—”

  “Discussed!” Katla’s eyes flashed dangerously. “Go on.”

  “So far we have not discussed if my place here is temporary or permanent,” Emer said, “nor in what capacity I will remain. If I remain, of course.”

  “I see,” Katla said slowly, letting her gaze travel slowly over Emer. The smallest hint of a frown appeared between her perfect brows. “My father told me Flane bought you for a few silver pieces in the Dublin slave market,” she said dismissively. “He said you were to be Flane’s bed slave.”

  It wasn’t hard to see why Katla might not be well liked by Inga and the women of the settlement. Emer ignored the derision in the expressive dark eyes, lifted her own brows, gritted her teeth and permitted herself three words. “Is that so?”

  Katla’s frown deepened. “Flane is to marry me. The agreement was made at the summer solstice.”

  Emer shook her head. “I know nothing of Flane’s plans.” She added nothing more. Let Katla make of it what she would.

  “I can speak for him.” Katla stared down her long, elegant nose at Emer. “We will marry soon, and when we do, I assure you he will have no need of you or any other bed slave. I imagine he only needs you now because he is impatient for our marriage. Has he bedded you?”

  Emer blinked. Instinct told her to ignore the last question, so she linked her fingers together and sighed. “You may well be right.” She wasn’t afraid of Katla in the same way she was afraid of Flane and the other men. Katla was a woman, after all. She smiled. “I’m sure I shouldn’t be able to resist him, if I were you.”

  Katla’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

  “Why, nothing.” Emer assumed an air of innocence. “He is such a handsome man! I don’t know how you can bear to hold him off at all! But then,” she added regretfully, “not everyone has deep feelings, I suppose.” With a blithe smile she turned on her heel, set off towards the jetty and did not look back.

  Emer crunched along the shingle of the loch shore, the exchange with Katla rattling around and around in her head. The woman had been so rude! It was not Emer’s fault that she was here. She tried to imagine how she would feel if her intended bridegroom brought another woman home and bedded her. She couldn’t imagine greeting her with smiles and hugs. No. She’d be digging traps for her at every opportunity.

  Emer pulled a face and kicked out at a stone.

  Perhaps she should have tried to make friends with Katla. But then, Katla saw her as an enemy, and making friends would not be possible. All she could do was try and keep out of Flane’s way so Katla would have nothing to complain about.

  Involved in her thoughts, Emer came to a sudden stop when a rocky outcrop blocked her progress. Water swirled in at the base, and the sheer wall reared high above her head. Reluctantly turning to walk back to the steading, she hesitated. The settlement was out of sight and no one knew her whereabouts. It would be silly to return and face more persecution from that dreadful girl. Emer wandered a little way along the beach, found a large smooth sheet of rock warmed by the sun, and sat down.

  If only she knew where to go to find help, she would leave in an instant. But the mountains enclosed the long narrow valley in which she sat, and though it was midsummer and the sun beat down on her head, pockets of snow remained on the shadowed face of more than one peak. Swathes of forest clothed the lower slopes and ran down to the water’s edge. There was no sign of any other settlement.

  A small boat caught her attention. Someone was working hard rowing from fish trap to fish trap along the loch, but it was no one she knew. Squinting against the sun, she saw more boats strung out on the sparkling water. The men would be hunting game, working on the land or baiting fish traps. Scanning the landscape for Flane, she saw no sign of him.

  When she felt calmer, she walked back to the hall. If she wanted food and a bed, she had no alternative but to stay at the steading. She entered the hall with some trepidation, and found the women hard at work. Some spun wool, others sewed and another wove cloth. The shutters stood open above the tall loom and shed light on the darting fingers of the woman who wove the cloth. The weaver worked with one ear cocked for gossip as she separated the coloured strands without conscious thought and threw an occasional comment over her shoulder to her companions.

  Emer sighed. Without wool, spindle and loom, the gown she wore would be her only gown for the foreseeable future. She looked around. All the women wore good linen gowns and over tunics. Colourful embroidery decorated their hems, sleeves and sometimes the neckline. She thought of the three good gowns waiting for her in the big chest at home and could have wept. No doubt her sister would wear them. By the time she had grown to fit them, everyone would have given up hope of seeing Emer again.

  A small child, too young to be let loose outside, pulled a wooden horse on a leather thong straight across his mother’s toes. The young mother let out a screech of pain. The child turned, shocked and wide-eyed, and then ran to lean across her knees to ensure she was unhurt.

  Emer realised the women watched her, some covertly and others with bold stares; but none of them had been in the bathing hut and they all broke eye contact when she tried to engage with them. Heat crept into Emer’s cheeks. She made up her mind and walked briskly across the hall before she could change her mind.

  “Hello,” she said with a smile. “I see you are all very busy. May I help with something?”

  There was a long silence, long enough for Emer to regret her overture of friendship. Then the woman in the corner, still nursing sore toes, nodded towards the child. “You could take Steini outside, if you would. He’s bored.”

  Steini stared at Emer with something close to hope in his huge blue eyes. Emer stared back and then held out a hand. “Shall you come with me?”

  The boy trotted forward and his small hand reached up for hers. Emer smiled, and shot a glance at his mother. “We won’t be far away.”

  She guessed Steini was no more than two years old, but he walked well. His hair, so fair it was almost white, had been ruthlessly chopped and fell in a straight line above his small nose and curled silkily around his ears. Flane probably looked like him when he was two years old.

  Surprised at the sudden thought, Emer repressed a snort of laughter and grinned down at the chubby, upturned face. “Shall we go and see the ducks?”

  ***

  Emer, Steini and his wooden horse spent a splendid afternoon looking at ducks, geese, sheep, lambs, that summer’s calves and any other live creature that crossed their path. The child’s undemanding enthusiasm soothed Emer’s battered spirit.

  She delivered him safely back to his mother when appetizing smells announced it was time to eat, and was disappointed when her overtures of friendship met with nothing more than politeness. The woman gath
ered her child to her with a smile and a quick word of thanks, but did not linger to talk.

  Her glance flicked frequently to a point somewhere beyond Emer’s shoulder and when Emer turned, she found Katla watching the encounter with a frown. All at once Emer understood Steini’s mother’s restraint.

  Emer wandered across to Flane’s sleeping place, and found him stretched out full-length, hands clasped behind his head, staring at the roof beams. Surprised, she hesitated, unsure of her welcome. It was, after all, his bed place and not hers. He grunted at her arrival, got abruptly to his feet and stalked across the hall without a word.

  Emer stared after him, mystified.

  He chose to sit among the young men on the far side of the hearth. Emer perched on the bed he had vacated, and fought off worrying thoughts and fancies. It was clear he had thought better of bringing her to the steading.

  But what would he do with her now she was here? If he didn’t want her, then what would happen to her? A cold feeling of dread started up in the pit of her stomach. A slave was the property of his master and could be sold on a whim. That meant—she swallowed hard against a lump in her throat—that meant Flane could sell her whenever he chose.

  Emer took her food from the slave who brought it, and realised with a jolt that she was as much a slave as the woman who had served her. Maybe she was unwise to fight him so strongly. She looked around the hall, thinking she had not noticed another bed slave. The married women would not allow it, of course. The single men, like Flane, appeared to sleep alone. Perhaps they were required to keep their slaves elsewhere. It was a puzzle, then, why Flane kept her with him in the hall.

  She ate slowly, relishing the taste of the succulent meat and tried to think of reasons for Flane’s behaviour. Inga waved at her from the far end of the hall and she caught occasional glimpses of Thyri and the other women from the bath house. Once she caught a tentative and fleeting smile from Steini’s mother.

  Emer studied Flane from beneath her lids. He ignored her, but the young man sitting next to him smiled across the hearth, Emer signalled a question with her raised brows. The young man pulled down the corners of his mouth, shrugged and looked away. She did not know what to make of his gesture, and her anxiety increased.