Thorgils looks to see that I am safe as the calm grows. After the storm it is cool and overcast and the men row the last part of the journey, scoring our path through the sea with a well-practised unison that the poor monks could not achieve.
The ship limps on for one more day and then we join The Crane at anchor in a small bay on Lundy Island, a high rock in the sea. The ripped sail is taken down and folded in a heap. The Crane has a patched spare sail and the men transfer this to The Orm. Thorgils looks at it frowning, ‘It will get us to Kelda Ey.’
‘Aina will not escape,’ I tell Thorgils and he nods and allows us to walk free on the island while the repairs are underway. We walk beneath gnarled branches of rhododendrons growing out of the cliff edge like an enchanted forest. Piping birds fly up before us. Wild ponies are grazing in tall grasses in the distance, and Aina points out to me the sudden black silhouettes of deer leaping on the horizon. The sound of the waves lapping is everywhere.
‘Thorgils says we are not going to Norway,’ I tell Aina and she looks crestfallen.
‘I would like to see the fjords and the midnight sun and the Nordrljos, the Northern Lights, and the white bears,’ she says and I know that some of this she has heard from Olafr rather than from me. ‘Where are we going?’
‘Thorgils says he has to lay up this ship to make repairs and he will hold you on Kelda Ey Island, which is off the coast of Bretland, one day’s sailing from here, waiting for the ransom to be paid. No point in taking you all the way to Norway if Guy can pay soon. I imagine he will pay fast, so that he can marry you.’
‘Don’t remind me of that,’ says Aina, crossly. ‘I hope Olafr has asked for an enormous sum and Guy can’t find it. I told him Guy was as rich as Croesus.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous, Aina.’ I am angry now. ‘If Guy can’t pay the ransom Olafr will sell you on to one of his men and you wouldn’t like that at all.’
‘He will not sell me on,’ says Aina confidently.
I frown at her. ‘Be careful, Aina. These are not boys but men who have raped and murdered. You do not know what you are tangling with.’
I see the stubborn set of Aina’s mouth that indicates she does not agree with me but will not say so. How often have I seen that in my time with her!
The men reloaded and readied the ship in the bay at Lundy a few hours ago but now we wait, sitting on rocks on the beach watching the seaweed pulled in and out by the waves, and Thorgils studying the water.
‘What are we waiting for?’ asks Aina.
‘Tidal gates and streams,’ says Thorgils abruptly, not wanting his concentration disrupted.
‘Gates?’ Aina shrugs at me.
Thorgils turns to her impatiently. ‘I need to concentrate on finding the right moment to set sail,’ he says, ‘so be quiet woman.’ Seeing her face fall he says more gently. ‘There is a tidal stream between here and Kelda Ey, our destination. If I judge the time right we’ll get there fast with no rowing. The tides will push us swiftly where we want to go, but if I get it wrong and we founder against a foul tide and big seas, this injured ship will take us down with it.’
Aina nods brightly to him but then turns to me with a frown. ‘Is it pagan magic?’ she asks in a whisper.
I lead her off a little way to stop her disturbing my brother and explain how the sea and tides work to aid the sailor for those who are wise enough and patient enough.
At last Thorgils judges the right moment has come and there is a flurry of activity as we embark and weigh anchors with two ships: Thorgils leading and Olafr in the second one following behind. I thrill at the way the ship rushes with the tide. ‘You judged the stream right!’ I call to him and he smiles, the breeze blowing his rusty hair from his face and his clothes flattened against the broad, lean front of his body. It takes us only half the day to reach Kelda Ey.
‘The island of the spring,’ Thorgils announces as the land comes visible on the horizon. ‘It will be your home for some months now ladies and then you must decide what to do Sigrid,’ he says to me. ‘When Lady Aina’s ransom is paid and we return her to her husband, we must find a Norse husband for you. I will look about me.’
‘As will I,’ I say crossly, ‘if it’s a husband for me.’
‘Of course,’ he says laughing, mollifying me.
Aina stares at me. ‘Sigrid, you would leave me?’
‘Hush, Aina. I do not know. We both need to see what transpires and think on it. For my brother’s honour I cannot return to servitude.’ The prospect of regaining my homeland, of finding a Norse husband, my own homestead, children, hovers enticingly in my mind, but I would not abandon Aina until I know she is safe. I cannot make her happy with Guy, but I can ensure that she is safely returned to him and her mother. My spirit sinks suddenly. I cannot imagine being without her. She is the sister of my soul. We have been together now for sixteen years and no one in the world knows me or loves me as well as she does.
She is studying my face and her eyes swim with tears. ‘What is the outcome of the long Sigrid think,’ she says, trying to make light of things.
‘Don’t rush on so, with guessing,’ I tell her. ‘We don’t know what is coming.’
Thorgils had told us that Olafr has set Aina’s ransom at 3,000 pounds of silver and we had reeled in shock. ‘Guy can’t find 3,000 pounds of silver!’ Aina exclaimed.
‘He will try, no doubt, for such a wife,’ Thorgils said and Aina looked smug at his compliment.
The snekkja forges through the waves and the island before us grows larger and larger. Beyond it are scattered rocks, small islands and then the sweep of the mainland – Bretland – a great swathe of sandy beaches as far as the eye can see, and distant mountains rising far beyond, blurring blue with the sky and clouds.
‘Why here?’ I ask Thorgils.
‘Olafr and I made a base of it two years ago,’ he says. ‘We saw off the monks. It has a spring of fresh water, good defences, a water mill, good farmland, plentiful resources of food and fuel. We use the old monastery buildings as our longhouses, and look after the old monks’ livestock and crops. We keep a garrison of men here when we travel. The Bretar on the mainland have left us be, so it suits well, and if we need something the island cannot give us then we raid that mainland. There are thriving market towns across the way, and not far up the coast is a rich cathedral.’
Soon I have the opportunity to see for myself why they chose this island. The two ships beach in a sheltered bay and we disembark, the men dragging the boats up onto the pale yellow sand. Their anchors are dropped over the side to the dry land as a precaution against high tides and two men stay with each of the ships at all times. ‘A Northman robbed of his boat is worse off than if you robbed him of his trousers or his hair,’ Thorgils tells us as we observe these precautions. There are a number of other boats already beached there – one large ship and several small ones, which are in the process of being caulked with animal hair and wool.
A path winds up from the bay through woods on the left and farmland on the right. People are working with scythes in the fields and I spy a few more people in the woodland collecting sticks for the fire. ‘Captured slaves,’ Thorgils says, seeing me look that way.
‘How can you do to others, what was done to us?’ I ask, but he only shakes his head in response, not meeting my eyes.
‘Where from?’ asks Aina.
‘Everywhere,’ he responds to her, glad to avoid tangling with me. ‘Some from Bretland, some from the Frankish lands like you. Others from Frisia and Wendland.’
‘Why don’t they run away?’ she asks.
‘How? They would have to be mighty swimmers to make it to the mainland from here. Olafr and I did the swim once, and a few others of the crew can make it, but most of these slaves don’t know how to swim and none of them have the courage to attempt it,’ he says disdainfully, but then looks away from my angry expression.
Later Aina and I see other reasons why the slaves do not run. The majority are female and many have chil
dren with them, who labour alongside them. At night they are chained at the ankle and bedded down in a large barn. The slaves sleep in the loft and the animals and guards are below. They are counted in and out of the barn and accompanied by at least two Norsemen whilst working. They have to work hard but I see no whips or cruelties, beyond enslavement itself, which is more than cruelty enough it seems to me. I am haunted by the eyes of the thousands of slaves who had no one kind to buy them as I did, and the thousands more born to that miserable condition. I know I have been very lucky with Melisende and Ademar and now in finding my brothers. The Aesir have answered my constant prayers and granted me great luck, but others who are enslaved do not fare so well.
As we climb the path we see two watchtowers on the cliffs to either side, and then a water mill, a series of ponds and a fast stream running downhill to feed the mill. I hear the distinctive hammering of a forge. In every sense it looks like an active homestead, except that most of the people labouring here have been stolen from their own homelands. Through the woods on the left we glimpse a stone building. ‘It’s one of the Christian chapels,’ Thorgils says. At the crest of the hill stands the Priory, with smoke issuing from holes in the roof. ‘If you keep going from here,’ Thorgils tells us, ‘you come to the high beacon point where there are excellent views of this whole island and then the mainland beyond and you can see Lundy where we came from this morning to the south.’
We enter the monk’s refectory which has been turned into a longhouse with a fire pit dug in the centre of the room and the smoke curling up. The long open hearth has a flat stone slab across one end where bread and oatcakes are baking and a pot of stew is simmering. A tapestry strip runs the length of one wall telling some of Olafr’s heroic adventures. Aina paces slowly along its length discerning the story.
The cooking smells are delicious and I hope we might be able to eat soon. The old monk’s tables have been reconfigured as a raised platform down each side of the room to sit and sleep on. Other tables are stacked where they can be placed in front of the platform for feasting, but they are cleared to the sides now to allow the women room to weave and cook. A number of slave-women squat near the fire preparing vegetables and kneading dough. I recognise soapstone basins that must have been brought from Norway. A woman works on an array of knives on the table in front of her, sharpening them with a whetstone. Two more labour with butter churns. From a large upright loom a long trail of woven textile spills onto the floor. They are making cloth for a new sail.
Thorgils introduces us to three Norse women who came with the crew from Norway: Ragnhild and Naerfi, married to two of Thorgils’ men, and Tofa Wisdom-Slope, who is the mother of another man in Thorgils’ drengir. They oversee the running of the household and supervise the work of the slaves. Tofa moves stiffly around the room. Her hips and hands pain her she tells me. I am excited to talk with these women in Norse and keep translating for Aina parts of our conversation. At first they look at her with disdain. She is one of the foreign prisoners, but after a while they see I am fond of her and they show her courtesy for my sake.
A dark, slender girl steps forward to offer Thorgils a bowl of water to wash his hands and a goblet of ale. ‘Welcome home, master,’ she says. She has lustrous black hair, dark blue eyes and olive skin. Her mouth is large, with full pale pink lips, and her chin is strong and dimpled.
‘Morag, this is my sister, Sigrid Thorolfsdottir,’ Thorgils tells her with an enormous grin at me. She bows her head politely and pulls Thorgils’ heavy cloak from his shoulders to sling it over her arm. ‘And this is Lady Aina who is a noble hostage belonging to Lord Olafr. Show these ladies to the best guest chamber.’
Morag beckons us to follow her.
‘Are you from here, from Bretland, Morag?’ Aina asks her kindly, but the girl looks nonplussed at her language. I try Aina’s question in Norse which she seemed to understand when Thorgils spoke to her.
‘Yes, lady,’ the girl replies in passable Norse. ‘I was taken by Lord Olafr when he raided the cathedral up the coast at Saint Davids. I was a nun,’ she says and when I translate for Aina she looks aghast.
‘I’m so sorry.’
Morag looks down. ‘Jarl Thorgils is a kind master. I am glad that Olafr gave me to him and not to one of the other men.’
‘Can you tell us something of the island?’ I ask.
‘In my language we call it Ynys Byr, Lady. It means Pyro’s Island, after an Abbot who fell in the well drunk long ago and drowned.’
I am surprised again to find myself being addressed as Lady, and when I translate for Aina she bends over, clapping her hands to her knees and laughing loudly at the Abbot’s mishap. Morag looks confused at Aina’s hilarity at first, but then joins with her infectious humour.
Morag pours water into a large bowl for us to wash ourselves. Our clothes are soiled from the violent abduction at Saint Michel en l’Herm and from the sea voyage so Ragnhild takes us to look through a chest for replacements. I find us each a white linen shift with sleeves and pleating at the neck and strapped woollen overdresses that look as if they will fit. Aina exclaims at the strangeness of the Norse clothing and laughs happily looking down at herself in this new attire, but I pin two oval shoulder brooches onto my dress straps and in a rush feel suddenly and entirely at home. Just so had I learnt to dress myself as a small child. The memories and feelings of those days flood back to me, when I had my father and a sure place in my world in Viken. I wish then that I had the colourful glass beads that Lord Ademar gave me in Hedeby long ago to string between my brooches, but for now this will do and in time I will acquire more decorations for my clothing.
A bell sounds in the hall below and Morag says we are called to feast and should not delay for Olafr will be angry if we are late to take our seats. ‘His anger is swift and harsh,’ she says anxiously, obviously having witnessed or felt it herself at first hand.
‘The first meal on dry land for many months,’ Olafr calls out enthusiastically, raising his drinking horn to the company. There is plenty of meat and metheglin – a drink made from honey and herbs that I find tastes very well. As men grow drunk I feel anxious again for my mistress but I know that Thorgils will protect us and I hope Olafr will protect his investment.
Each of the crew members seems to have at least two personal female slaves – one for their bed and one to see to their needs – food, bathing, clothes and errands. Thorgils and Olafr’s personal slaves are more numerous. Olafr continues to look with lustful eyes to my mistress. I warn him off with my own eyes and he laughs at me. ‘Alright, alright, Sigrid. What fear you set in me with your furious glances!’ he says sarcastically. Then in a relenting tone of voice he tells me, ‘For our shared childhood and the love I bear your brother, I promise to bring no battering ram to your friend’s virginity!’ I see Aina swallow at that. It does not help that she is clearly fascinated by him and observes with interest which slave he intends to take to his bed each night.
‘Perhaps your Lady Aina would like to assist me in the bathhouse, Sigrid,’ Olafr says, half-teasing, half-serious.
‘You have slave girls for that Olafr,’ I respond sternly and he chuckles, while Aina raises her eyebrows in query to me. ‘The men wash in the bathhouse with water poured on hot stones, cleansing in the steam,’ I say quietly to her, ‘and sometimes other things go on there, so you stay away.’
I am intrigued to see that Thorgils does not bed down with Morag or any of the other slaves at night. ‘Are you married, Thorgils?’
‘No,’ he says shortly in a way that brooks no further conversation.
‘Why do you harry beyond your own lands?’ Aina challenges Olafr at our next evening meal.
‘It was your race that started it,’ Olafr responds, ‘when your Charlemagne cut down our holy tree Jormunr and Christian missionaries set out to plague us from Lindisfarne. That’s when we began our attacks.’
Aina says nothing for a short while. ‘I knew nothing of that first provocation. We have always been t
old that you Northmen raid because you are ravenous by nature.’
‘Oh we are,’ Olafr laughs, his eyes roaming across her face and breasts, following every curve of her body, until Aina reddens and I bang my spoon down hard on the table, deciding it is time we excused ourselves to sleep. Next morning I wake to find Aina’s pallet empty. It is unusual for her to wake before me. In the hall I find her staring into the fire, a crust of warm bread in her hand.
‘Come do not be a charcoal-chewer,’ I tell her.
‘A what?’
‘Someone who hangs around the hearth lazily when everyone else is out working. Let’s go and look at the view from beacon hill.’
We climb the hill in the direction Thorgils indicated. As we move up the path we alarm plump brown curlews with long curving beaks like darning needles that are nesting in the brilliant green bracken. Large dragon-flies fly towards us swerving at the last minute. Above us falcons and crows circle, watching our progress, on the lookout for voles and other prey. We pass several heaps of feathers around tangles of tiny bones and guts. From the top of the hill we can discern the rough diamond shape of the island, cliffs spearing out erratically into the blue sea on all sides and ravines full of white flowers. Our eyes crease against the brightness of the light reflecting from the surrounding water. There is an overwhelming sense of space. The grey cliffs are dotted with short bright green grass and yellow lichen. To the left comes the regular boom of the sea in a rocky blow-hole. The white foam of waves studded with black boulders looks like a thin necklace slung around the coast. Thick green and yellow seaweed rolls back and forth on the strand. The irregular patchwork of fields established by the monks where the thralls now labour, blanket the rocks and undulations of the island. Planes of colour are visible in the sea – greens, dark blues, grey-blues, grey-greens and blacks. Strings of other islands in the distance look as if they have been dropped out of the sky from a giant’s hand.
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