Viking Hostage

by Warr, Tracey;

  ‘I killed no one and took no slaves on this raid,’ Thorgils says. ‘But I wanted to remind Maredudd what could continue to happen if I am not satisfied with the terms he offers me. I have been an earth-stepper wandering the seas for a long time but now I have sent word to Olafr asking if he will release me from my fighting oath to him, so that I can settle and farm this land – make my own real homestead here.’

  I keep thinking my long think. Perhaps there is a life for me, a life of my choosing. A man of my choosing, a homestead here or over the narrow water on the mainland so that I would be close to Thorgils and Aina. I look down the long table at Thorgils’ drengir. Toki is a nice man but he is Ragnhild’s husband. Naerfi’s husband, Gormr, I don’t like much. He is given to moods and sometimes acts as if he has never grown from a child to a man. Skogi is a good-looking hot rabbit like Olafr, often flirting and teasing me about my ‘bonny hair,’ but I don’t want such a man, who would soon turn those attentions to another woman. Asbjorn perhaps, or Erra, might suit me. They are both large blond men and seem dependable; Asbjorn is the taller; Erra a little older. I know very little of either man and determine to observe them and seek out conversation with them, see how I think they would behave to a wife if they had one. Or perhaps Leif will return one day.

  ‘Thinking again, Sigrid?’ Thorgils asks and I snap out of it realising that I have been staring off into space for five minutes or more.

  ‘What has brought about your change in policy?’ I ask.

  Thorgils looks to Aina and she leans to whisper in my ear that she thinks she is with child. ‘You will be an aunt Sigrid!’

  ‘But Aina …’ I begin.

  ‘Don’t scold me, Sigrid. It’s done. I am Thorgils’ handfast wife.’

  Some days after they have returned from the raid I decide to open a topic I have been thinking of for some time. ‘Thorgils, I heard tell of a farmer who has a scheme to motivate his slaves and stop them sabotaging his yields.’

  Thorgils looks at me sceptically, knowing that freeing slaves is in my mind, beneath my words.

  ‘No,’ I answer his look. ‘It’s a good scheme. It works. He tells the slaves that if they work well and hard for three years he will free them at the end of those years. It gives them hope. There are always more slaves to replace them and anyway many decide to stay but as free peasants instead.’

  He nods. ‘We can try that Sigrid, if that is what you wish for. I wished to find you and here you are, so now I can grant your wishes too.’

  Aina and I are astonished to enter the hall this morning to find a messenger standing gagging in front of Thorgils, attempting to eat a large lump of sealing wax and shreds of ripped parchment.

  ‘What on earth is going on?’ Aina exclaims.

  ‘He is eating his message,’ says Thorgils, furious, his freckles standing out against his red face.

  ‘Stop it! Thorgils, you’ll kill the man.’

  Thorgils turns his back and faces the wall, his arms crossed and his shoulders vibrating with anger. Aina helps the man extract the undigested mess from his mouth and I usher him quietly to the door. Aina steps up and places her arms around my brother, leaning her cheek between his shoulderblades. ‘What’s gotten into you?’

  ‘It is a letter from Olafr,’ Thorgils says and his voice is a groan.

  Aina pulls him around to face her. ‘Yes?’

  ‘I am sorrow-clenched, Aina.’ He hesitates. ‘He commands me to give you back to your betrothed husband.’ Aina blanches. ‘Guy of Limoges has raked together the sum asked for and Olafr needs the money for his next invasion of England.’

  ‘Well you must go to Olafr and tell him no, despite the money,’ says Aina. ‘He won’t argue with you, surely. No man could have been as loyal to him as you. He is your brother, a knee-set child of your father. He has been a ring-giver to you and rightly so …’

  Thorgils holds up his finger to her lips. ‘Alas, I know Olafr much better than you and I assure you that my loyalty will weigh nothing with him against this money, but I will not give you up,’ he says, ‘not ever. The waves will cover the mountains before I do it.’ He engulfs her in a tight embrace and with his chin on her silky head, looks over at me with eyes full of grief and hopelessness.

  Olafr arrives ten days later with four ships loaded with warriors. He is here to oversee the conclusion of his orders regarding Aina. Thorgils attempts persuasion with him at first but Olafr holds steadfast and uninterested, and so Thorgils moves to defiance.

  ‘I am your leader,’ says Olafr coldly, ‘and you will obey me.’

  ‘Yes,’ shouts Thorgils angrily, ‘and the Danes had the little dog Rakkae as their king for a while!’

  There are muted sniggers amongst the men and Olafr looks around himself furious and back to Thorgils. ‘You can obey me and convey the girl to Fécamp or I will take her myself tomorrow and I will sample her too, as you have done.’

  ‘I will take her,’ Thorgils says, with a face like thunder, his fists clenched.

  ‘No!’ Aina cries against my shoulder. ‘Oh no, Sigrid.’

  ‘And you will collect the silver from the Duke of Normandy,’ Olafr tells Thorgils, ‘and bring it to me at Benfleet. Duke Richard will not hand over the coin to you unless he is sure Viscount Guy will be satisfied with his restored bride.’ Olafr looks suspiciously at Aina. ‘Is there any reason why he shouldn’t be satisfied?’

  ‘No, Olafr,’ I say, before either Thorgils or Aina can answer. ‘I know Lord Guy and he will be well-satisfied with Aina and give you your 3,000 pounds of silver. He hankers greatly for her.’

  Olafr nods to me, and I see new lines of anxiety and tension in his handsome face that were not there before. ‘Thank you Sigrid. Look to your sister, Thorgils, and give me the duty you owe me.’ Aina looks at each of us in turn, her face pale and distraught, her hand held out, palm up, in disbelief. ‘Why did you say that, Sigrid? We have to tell Olafr I am pregnant and then he will call this off. I will be huge with your child by the time I reach Fécamp if you ship me there now, Thorgils.’

  Thorgils and I exchange anxious glances. ‘Telling Olafr of our dilemma is not any solution,’ Thorgils says. ‘When his sister refused a marriage he had arranged for her, he plucked all the feathers from her favourite hawk and sent the naked bird to her. She took his meaning and married the man the next day. His fury would break brutally against you, me, and our unborn child if I defy him. We must find a way to delay so that the child is born before I have to deliver you to the Norman court. Then I will have to expose the child,’ he ends miserably.

  Aina looks at him in shock. ‘Then you give me up?’ she says, ‘and you require me to give up my child and my true husband also? Is this always your way with your wives?’

  Thorgils winces at her angry words. He looks at her, his expression bleak and pleading. ‘I know no other solution, my heart.’

  Aina stares at him as if she has never known him. She sets her mouth, lifts her chin and stalks from the room. For sure she will not accept Thorgils’ suggested course of action and I fear what she will do – try to talk with Olafr probably, which will do her and Thorgils no good.

  In the night I think long on many things: my love for Aina, and for her parents who had been so good to me, my joy at being reunited with my brother, my hopes for a life and family in Norway or at least amongst the Norse, the restoration of my status as a free woman. I rise and creep to where my brother lies, his eyes open and Aina curled asleep in the crook of his arm. I gesture to him that we must speak and he gently untangles himself from her lithe limbs without waking her. We look down at her sleeping there. Around her neck is the lucky amulet carved in the shape of two duck’s feet that Thorgils made for her when he first heard she was carrying his child. In her nightshift it is plain to see the gentle round of her belly.

  Thorgils and I pad out in bare feet to a corner of the hall where we can talk without being overheard. ‘Sigrid?’

  ‘You stare unsleeping at the ceiling, brother.’
/>
  He shakes his head desperately. ‘She is like the young green leek to other grasses, Sigrid. My heart is fettered to her with the breath of fishes. I cannot think of a solution or a way to change Olafr’s mind in this.’

  ‘Take me in Aina’s stead to the Norman court and I will marry Guy.’

  Thorgils stares at me. ‘How could that happen? You speak nonsense.’

  ‘Aina and I are of an age, of a similar build and height and we both have red hair. Aina was heavily veiled when she was betrothed and Guy has never seen her face as a woman. He only knew her and me as children, many years ago. Besides he has bad eyesight. No man will know the difference between us.’

  ‘That’s ridiculous.’

  ‘It will work. I have been speaking the Occitan tongue since I was nine.’

  ‘No, I don’t want this, Sigrid. You would be marrying a man you don’t want. Committing an act of deception that could be discovered and if that happened the consequences would be dire for you. Even if you were not exposed, you would be returning to another kind of servitude.’

  ‘I will not be discovered, and I have three reasons for doing it: you, Aina and my unborn niece or nephew.’

  ‘No Sigrid, you cannot. Perhaps someone else.’

  ‘No. I know Ségur and Limoges. I know everything that Aina knows. This can work.’ I look at Thorgils and think how, if he accepts, I must part with him again and never see him or Aina anymore. I will not have the Norse husband, homestead, children that I have been dreaming of; instead I will return to the land of my slavery, to a dangerous and uncertain future, but I keep my expression confident and clear of these thoughts.

  ‘There is one, apart from my mother, who has seen our faces and would tell us apart,’ says Aina the following day when we moot the idea to her. ‘Adalmode. Guy’s sister.’

  ‘She is wed herself now most likely,’ I say, ‘and will not be at the court to see me. If there is an Assembly and she is present I will feign illness and avoid her gaze. I will adjust to what I find. I’m resourceful,’ I say, boasting in a confident way that I do not feel inside.

  ‘I can’t lose you, Sigrid,’ Aina says. ‘I love you and I need you when my child is born.’

  ‘You will have Thorgils and he will have you.’

  ‘But what of you? Married to this Viscount Guy that Aina has disdained?’ Thorgils asks.

  ‘I may grow to like him.’

  ‘Yes,’ Aina turns to Thorgils, who is still shaking his head.

  ‘There is no other way, Thorgils,’ I tell him.

  Olafr is leaving with his ships this morning, confident that Thorgils will enact his orders. The hall is chaotic with dogs, men and slaves – looking for food, packing up equipment, saying goodbyes. I am sitting at the trestle, my porridge untouched before me, lost in a vacant daze at my own temerity, trying not to think of what will happen now. The trestle creaks and rocks as Leif sits down next to me. ‘Lady Sigrid.’

  I realise that the expression on my face is akin to horror and quickly change it to an anxious frown.

  ‘I was thinking to ask you again, lady …’

  ‘Don’t.’

  I glance up at the consternation on his face and look away.

  ‘I’m sorry Leif, truly, but don’t.’

  I can feel him silently studying my bowed head for some time, and then he pushes himself up swiftly from the bench, looks at me again, but when I say nothing and will not meet his gaze, he makes a low angry sound and moves towards the door. I watch his back and he does not turn to look again in my direction.

  Aina and I rummage through a great pile of stolen clothing that Thorgils has dumped onto the table, looking for Frankish clothing that Aina would wear if she were being returned to Guy and also for good, thick veils. ‘Will I see you again?’ she asks tears running down her face.

  ‘Yes, of course,’ I say although I know I probably speak a lie. ‘We will write news to each other but always be careful to disguise what you say so that our writing can never be used as evidence against us. You must address me as Lady Aina and I will address you as Sigrid.’

  She laughs mirthlessly and shakes her head.

  The following day I stand onboard Thorgils’ long ship, looking back at Aina on the shore in the embrace of Ragnhild, trying not to weep. Aina has written my name on the beach in huge letters: Sigrid. Thorgils has freed twenty slaves as a gift to me, including Morag, but she decided to stay with him and Aina, and I am very glad of that.

  Thorgils gives the order; the oars splash and the ship begins to move. I raise my hand to her, looking and looking until my dear Aina and the Island of the Spring have disappeared from view. I wipe my face and walk forward to the prow of the ship to look in the direction we are going. At least it feels good and right to be on the water again. As the island recedes behind me, we pass huge walls of water lashing the cliffs of the outlying rocks. The swell of the dark water calls to me and I think briefly of how it might be to drown. I feel a perverse desire to join with the water, as water drops desire to join one with each other. Trying to keep my mind from Aina behind me and the risk I am going to, I admire the water’s ability to be so diverse: glassily smooth or choppy and churning, light bouncing on its surface or beaming into its depths. As night comes on I watch the moon reflected in minature a hundred times on the bend of the waves like myriad drowned stars.

  Standing in the rich green gown Aina and I picked out together, I try to get used to masquerading as her. You are Viscountess Aina of Ségur, betrothed to Viscount Guy of Limoges I keep telling myself in my head, holding out my hand before me to look at the moonlight reflecting on the sapphire betrothal ring on my little finger that Guy gave to Aina and she to me.

  20

  Fécamp

  September 991

  Thorgils took The Orm into the Narrow Sea that runs between the lands of the English King and the lands of the Bretons, Normans and Franks. As we approach the Norman settlement at Fécamp I look at the land rising up in a sheer wall of tall white cliffs topped with vivid green grass. There is a long slick of beach and then a narrow entrance to the harbour. The town is built on the steep hill rising up behind the beach and harbour. My stomach churns as The Orm slices towards the U-shaped structure in the harbour. The anchoring point is on the west side, and alongside that is the Duke’s palace. We approach the jetty under oars, Thorgils with a grim expression at the rudder, his sandy hair whipping up from his face in the wind. We have agreed that he will not come ashore with me, in case he inadvertantly gives me away, ‘Or in case I cannot give you away when the time comes,’ he said. So when the ropes are thrown and the boat steadied at the stone steps, it is Gormr and Eimundr who step out to escort me, who hold my elbow to help me off the ship. I take one last look at Thorgils and we raise our hands to each other. His eyes are wet, his expression an agony. I try to fix the sight of him in my mind: the sea-green of his eyes, the pale red of his hair, the boyish freckles on the man’s lined face. I turn away quickly before my own eyes fill and I betray myself by expressing a surprising affection for my Norse ‘kidnapper.’ The faces of many people crowding the jetty are turned upon me in eager curiosity and I have to carry off my role.

  ‘Lady Aina!’ The richly dressed man who steps forward to greet me who I recognise as the Duke of Normandy, is enormously tall, perhaps seven foot with the longest shanks I have ever seen. I trust that he will not recognise me from Brioude years ago, or at least that he paid scant attention to which red-haired girl was Lady Aina of Ségur, and which was her Norse maid.

  ‘My lord,’ I say, taking his offered arm although I have to reach up uncomfortably high to do so. Duke Richard is an elderly man but strong and upright, with a long white beard and thick white hair standing up from a tanned face.

  ‘Return to your ship and wait at anchor,’ he commands Gormr and Eimundr. ‘My wife and I will speak with Lady Aina, here. If we are satisfied we will bring the ransom down to the jetty in the morning.’

  Gormr and Eimundr glance to
me, and I nod to tell them to comply. I force myself not to turn for one more look at my brother’s face. The Duke leads me to the end of the jetty and the steps up to the palace where a party of finely dressed women are waiting. ‘My wife, Lady Gunnora,’ he says, passing my hand to a blonde haired woman, and I greet the lady.

  They lead me to a chapel newly built from white limestone, standing high at the very top of the hill. Inside they are gratified by my exclamations at the fresco covering the walls and the gold and gems gleaming everywhere. Huge golden lampstands tower over us. At the altar stands a Christian priest, as splendidly attired as his church, in a purple silk robe shot with gold thread and littered with green emeralds. He blesses me, giving thanks to their God for my safe return. I pray silently in my head to Thor to protect me from their Christian magic, to give luck to my endeavour and safety to my brother. After the blessing the Duchess takes my hand again and we walk to the ducal residence where a feast is in preparation.

  ‘Make a hole, Lady Aina! You are on your way home now and delivered from barbarians,’ the Duke shouts down the table to me, raising his glass, and meaning that I should drink down the small glass of burning alcohol in my hand, to make a hole in the substantial amount of food already consumed, so that I can eat some more. The drink is made by the monks here, a mix of brandy and herbs. It smells good but is no doubt exceedingly strong. I smile back to the Duke and put the drink to my lips but do not drink it. I need to keep my wits about me. The reference to barbarians is a joke since the Duke and his entourage all come from Scandinavian stock.

  Thorgils told me he could kidnap ‘Aina’ again when the time was right and everyone was satisfied – the Duke, Olafr, Guy … and not return her this time. I have a sudden rush of the same terrified bereftness I felt at the slave market in Tallinn, separated from Thorgils’ reassuring presence, but this will not do. I am a woman now, not a traumatised child and I can do this. I look around at the hall which is sooty with constant feasting on pork and goose, and at the guests who have come to gawp at me.