14
Niamh came back one day to find Olaf at the grindstone putting a new edge on his weapons. She looked at him fearfully.
“Why are you sharpening your axe?” she asked.
“We’re going on a raid. Do you remember Alff telling us about it when we came back from Ragnar’s?” Niamh nodded. “Brunn wants us to leave tomorrow or the next day at the latest. He thinks that this weather will hold and the wind is favourable.”
Niamh felt a sudden icy shudder run through her body. “Must you go?” she asked.
Olaf looked at her as if she was mad. “Of course I have to go, if I want my share of the spoils we’ll bring back. Why? Will you miss me?” He leaned over and stroked her hair.
“Yes, I always do so when we’re apart, but...”
“But?”
“I have a strange foreboding about this. A coldness, as you said the words. Something bad is going to happen to you.”
“The soothsayers told Brunn the raid will be successful. Do you want to argue with them?”
“No, but their predictions are for the raid. I’m anxious for you. That’s different.”
“I’ve been on many raids and I killed my first man before I was fourteen. I’m not yet so old I can’t look after myself. You dishonour me with your doubt.” He frowned.
“Never that! The best fighters can be killed in battle, not even heroes in the tales always survive. I fear you may be hurt or die. Don’t go, I beg you.”
Olaf laughed and reached out a hand to stroke her hair. “Silly girl. Nothing will happen to me, I’m one of the lucky ones. I’m going whatever you say. I can’t draw back, even if I would. I won’t have any man call me a coward and useless. I’m glad that you care for me, but let’s say no more. Speak to no one else about this matter. That’s an order, Niamh.”
No more was said, but Niamh continued to have a sick feeling in her heart. When the day came for the ships to leave and they parted, she hugged him close and whispered, “Come back to me.”
He laughed. “I will and fill your apron full of silver.” Ever afterwards, she kept the picture of him in her mind, striding away from her, strong and fit, with the sunlight glittering on his mail.
Niamh watched the dragon ships slide slowly across the bay and hoist their sails. They went south, towards the island’s tip, where they would turn and head for the mountainous green land to the east. When the headland hid them from view, she turned away with the other women and the men who were too old to go raiding. She had not gone far when Eithne came up beside her. Her man, Mar, had also sailed away on the same ship as Olaf.
“Now is the time for you to be on your guard,” Eithne murmured, so low only Niamh could hear her. “This is the moment Kolgrimma has been waiting for. She will strike soon.”
Niamh glanced around, looking for the blond woman but she saw no sign of her. Niamh had not remembered Eithne’s prediction, absorbed in her parting with Olaf and her fears for him. Eithne’s words brought her back to the immediate future with a shock. “Thank you for warning me. I’m prepared.”
“I hope so. You will need to be.”
“Whatever happens, thank you for being my friend.”
Eithne smiled. “You helped me when I needed help. I wish you well, but others will not.”
“Will they aid Kolgrimma?” A sudden fear gripped Niamh. One woman she thought she might be able to fight, but not several.
“Unlikely. She’s not well liked and certainly not respected. Most people have felt the edge of her tongue at one time or another. But neither will they help you. You’re a stranger and a slave. They don’t care what happens to either of you, so they’ll just stand aside and watch what happens.”
“I see.”
“Don’t kill her. No one cares if you injure her in a fair fight, but if she dies, there might be trouble. She has distant kin who may make a fuss.”
“And if she kills me?”
“Olaf will avenge you — little good that will do you though.” She grinned. “End it soon, if you can. Wound her, but don’t kill her and try to avoid being killed yourself. I’d miss my friend and I’m too lazy to find another.”
Niamh laughed in spite of herself. “I’ll try,” she said, “but I hope it happens soon. This waiting is dreadful.”
In the end, she did not have long to wait. As she went to the well to fetch water, Kolgrimma attacked. A rustle and a change in light were Niamh’s only warning. Niamh flung herself aside and the blond woman surged past, her arms flailing as she tried to stop herself falling. Niamh thrust out her foot and Kolgrimma tripped, landing flat on her face in the dust. Remembering Olaf’s instruction, Niamh did not hesitate, linking her hands together, she hit Kolgrimma behind the ear with all of her strength. The blond woman gasped and rolled over. Immediately, Niamh hit her with the side of her hand right underneath her nose. Something crunched and Kolgrimma screamed. For a second or two she lay still. Niamh moved behind her and grabbed her hair. The woman twisted away but Niamh hung on grimly. As Kolgrimma tried to turn to face her, Niamh held her dagger to the woman’s throat.
“Yield and I will release you,” Niamh said. Pressing a little deeper so a tiny drop of blood ran down Kolgrimma’s throat.
“Never, you little slut. You took my man from me. Wait until I get to you.”
Kolgrimma had drawn her own knife and was making ineffective swipes as she twisted and turned, trying to break Niamh’s hold. Niamh knew that she would lose the fight if she let go, so she clamped her fingers even more firmly. She realised she could not keep this up for ever, though, so she drew back her arm and plunged her dagger deep into Kolgrimma’s shoulder. The woman squealed like a pig. Quickly Niamh withdrew her blade and stabbed it into her other shoulder. The woman fell to her knees, bringing Niamh down on top of her. Niamh scrambled to her feet and hurriedly got out of the way, but the woman did not move. She knelt in a shuddering, sobbing heap.
“Mark her — it’s your right. You’ve beaten her,” someone said from the crowd which had gathered round to watch. An old man strode forward, caught Kolgrimma by the hair and hauled her head back. “She’s marked enough others in her time.”
Niamh stared at the once pretty face, covered with spit and blood and anything but pretty now. She took a step backwards. Kolgrimma’s eyes were full of tears, but hatred was in them too. “I can’t,” Niamh said, horrified at what she had already done.
“Then you’re a coward, for all you won this fight,” the old man sneered.
“If you don’t mark her, she will be free to attack you again.” Eithne came to her side. “It’s their law. Mark her so all can see and she cannot fight you again. If she tries, she can be put to death. Elgr has told you truly. Do it now! Slash her across both cheeks. If you want any peace, do it!”
Niamh took a deep breath and drew the sharp blade across one cheek and then the other. She did not cut deeply, just enough to leave a scar and the woman only winced. Yet if looks could kill, Niamh knew she would immediately fall down dead.
Elgr let go of Kolgrimma’s hair and the woman’s head dropped forwards.
“It’s finished,” he said.
Eithne put her arm around Niamh and led her away. Niamh looked back and saw the blond woman still crouching where they had left her. She was alone.
“Why is no one helping her? She’s bleeding!”
“Only her friends will help her now and she hasn’t any left except Abi, who’s away on the ship. She’ll survive. She’s one who always will. Come along. Let me bind up your arm.”
“My arm?”
“It’s bleeding too. Didn’t you notice?”
Niamh looked stupidly at the long slash on her right arm. It was shallow and bleeding sluggishly, the bright drops falling down the side of her dress. Suddenly the world seemed to whirl and a grey mist surrounded her. For only the second time in her life, Niamh fainted.
After the fight, everything seemed to go back to normal. Niamh got over her shock and her arm healed quickly.
She went back to her daily tasks, but Eithne warned her to stay vigilant.
“Kolgrimma won’t attack you openly again, but there’s nothing to prevent her slipping something into your food. Either way, you’re just as dead.”
Niamh took this warning to heart and was careful only to eat food she had prepared herself and watched over every minute. At first it seemed an unnecessary precaution, because the blond woman hid herself away while her wounds healed. Eithne told her that she bribed some of the old women to look after her while she could not look after herself. She was biding her time and, no doubt, plotting her revenge. When she did emerge from seclusion, Kolgrimma wore a veil wrapped tightly around her face and held herself stiffly. Her eyes, when she looked at Niamh, were full of venom. They did not speak and she made no move for some time. Then Niamh realised the woman was hanging round the cooking place when the meals were being prepared, appearing to help with the work. Niamh became even more careful than before.
“Do you think we should tell someone what she’s up to?” she asked Eithne,
“No. She has broken no laws as yet. We have only our suspicions to tell anyone and it would be our word against hers. Elgr is the lovsigemann or the law-reader-man. Even if he believed us, what would he be able to do without proof?”
So Niamh said nothing, but she ceased to share the communal meals. She sat in her usual place and pretended to eat, simply pushing her food around and drinking only what she brought to the table herself. She hoped that Kolgrimma had seen what she was doing and would realise she had no chance to poison her. So Niamh was horrified when, one night, some of her table companions fell violently ill with spasms in their bellies. They thrashed and writhed, vomited and shivered. Their skin was clammy and their eyes were staring and over-bright.
“You were lucky you were nowhere near the cooking place or the food, otherwise you could have been blamed,” Eithne told her. “Fortunately, this sudden illness has been put down to some bad mushrooms Nott gathered.”
“Do you believe that was the cause?” Niamh asked her.
“No, do you?”
“No. What should we do?”
“We will have to tell Elgr now and let him decide.”
So the two women sought out Elgr, the lovsigemann. He listened carefully to what they had to say but, as Eithne had predicted, he asked for proof.
“We have none,” Eithne told him, “but we are afraid Kolgrimma will try again and may kill someone next time. We hoped you might know a way to prevent any harm.”
The old man nodded. “I will think of what you have said and decide what is best to do.” He dismissed them, with the command to stay together and to stay away from the cooking place.
That night Elgr summoned Niamh to him as she entered the longhouse for the night meal.
“Bring your own food and sit with me,” he ordered her. She sat down beside him, understanding that he was sending a message to Kolgrimma that her plotting was known. The blond woman’s eyes followed them and it seemed for a moment as if she shrugged.
Niamh could not stop watching her and she was aware that Elgr’s eyes also strayed in her direction. They had almost finished the meal when Niamh realised that Kolgrimma had eaten little or nothing of the food in front of her. She opened her mouth to say something to Elgr when a shriek split the air, stopping everyone’s conversation. Svala, one of the women who usually ate with Niamh, began to writhe on the floor, screaming. Then Bara did the same.
Elgr rose and strode forward placing his hand on Kolgrimma’s shoulder, but his eyes never leaving the two victims. The blond woman started to writhe in her turn, but he shook her none too gently.
“Cease that nonsense. You didn’t eat. I’ve been watching you. Hold her,” he said to one of the other men. “Fetch Geirdis. She will know what to do.”
The wise woman knew, but she arrived too late to save Svala.
“She must have eaten more than the others,” Geirdis said, after she had examined the dead woman, “she was always fond of her food and ate too much. But look at her eyes.” Geirdis pulled back an eyelid. The brown of the woman’s eye could hardly be seen for the huge size of the pupil.
“I have seen eyes like this before,” Elgr said grimly, “when someone supped food with nightshade in it.” He put a little finger into the stew then lifted it to his nostrils and sniffed. Then he tasted it with the tip of his tongue. He spat it out on the ground and then swilled his mouth out with ale and spat that out too. “Svala has been murdered,” he said grimly. “The taste is slight but it’s there if you’re looking for it. Bring her.” He pointed to Kolgrimma.
She was dragged forward to face Elgr and Geirdis. Eithne and Niamh stood with all the others in a ring around them.
“These women say that you planned to poison Olaf’s woman,” Elgr said, nodding to Eithne and Niamh.
“And you believe those slaves over me?” Kolgrimma screamed into his face.
“I’m not...” Eithne started to say but Elgr stopped her with a gesture.
“There’s poison in the stew. Both the cooks are respectable women, who have no feuds with anyone.” Kolgrimma frowned at his use of the word. “Nevertheless, I will ask them. Kyi?”
The old woman stepped out of the crowd. “I put nothing in the stew. I swear it by the holy blood of Freyja.”
“Ranka?”
“Nor I, and I will swear the same oath,” the other cook said.
“No other feud has reached my ears, save yours with Olaf’s woman, Niamh. So I ask you the same question. Did you put poison in the stew?”
“I was nowhere near the stew pot,” Kolgrimma said.
“You were. I saw you,” Kyi protested. “You stopped and gave the stew a stir. When I asked you what you were doing you replied that the fire was too hot and the stew was burning.”
“That’s right, she did,” Ranka confirmed.
“That bitch could easily have done it.” Kolgrimma pointed right at Niamh.
“She didn’t. I’ve been with her all day.”
“You would say that, she’s your friend.”
“I was by the fire when the stew was cooking,” Osk said. “I’m old and need the heat, as you know. Neither of these girls came anywhere near the pot, I’d swear to it by the gods.”
“Go and search Kolgrimma’s place,” Elgr ordered and two men left the group. They returned after some time, carrying a bunch of wilted flowers which they showed to Elgr.
“Nightshade. Where did you find it?”
“Under her sleeping furs.”
“You always were a fool, Kolgrimma,” Elgr said. “Why did you put the poison in the stew, knowing it could harm everyone who ate it not just the person you wanted to kill?”
Kolgrimma’s eyes flickered over the watching crowd.
“What do I care? They’re all slaves and chattels. I wanted to kill her and have my man back with me again.” Kolgrimma looked viciously towards Niamh and spat on the ground between them.
“Svala was no slave, but a warrior’s wife.”
“Then why was she sitting with this carrion?”
“Enough!” Elgr’s voice rang out, silencing all the whispers. “It matters not where Svala sat. She didn’t drink the poison knowingly or willingly and she wasn’t someone you could kill for your pleasure, whatever your reasons. You caused her death and you’ve just admitted it before us all. You know the penalty for murder...”
At his words, Kolgrimma began to wriggle like an eel, trying to get away from the hands that gripped her, but she was not strong enough.
“Take her!” Elgr’s voice echoed through the longhouse. “Throw her into the sea.”
“No!” Kolgrimma screeched, but no one listened to her. She was still screaming as she was dragged outside, most of the people following.
“Will they really throw her into the sea?” Niamh asked in a frightened voice.
“They’ll take her up onto the cliffs and fling her onto the rocks below.” Elgr told her, grimly. “A death for a
death. She cannot be left alive to kill again. It’s the law.”
Niamh felt suddenly faint and sat down hurriedly. Eithne put her arms around her. Neither stirred while Kolgrimma’s screams faded into the distance and then suddenly stopped.
15
It was no wonder Niamh dreamed again that night.
“What’s happening to her? Is she ill?” Eithne bent over and the look on her face was startled when Niamh’s eyes fluttered open.
“What is it?” she asked, slurring her words.
“You were writhing and screaming at the top of your voice,” someone told her.
“A dream, a nightmare. I’m sorry to wake you up.” Niamh closed her eyes, to blot out the faces gathered round her. Some of them looked angry, others fearful and a few showing concern. In the blackness of her mind, the visions lingered, unbearable visions, worse than the watching people. Her eyes flew open again.
“Go back to your beds. The lass has only had a dream. Go, I’m telling you,” Elgr shouted. Sleep was in his red-rimmed eyes. He put his bony hand on Niamh’s arm and gave her a tug.
“Come with me.” He turned to one of the younger women, who had still not moved but was watching with avid eyes. “Fetch Geirdis to me. Quickly!” he ordered and swung his stick at her when she did not walk quickly enough. She broke into a run.
Niamh rose and followed the old man. They went out of the longhouse and down the hill to the small dwelling which Elgr used when he wanted to be private. It was some time before Geirdis joined them and they sat in silence until she did.
“What is it?” she asked. “The girl muttered something about nightmares.”
“This one was dreaming.”
“What did you expect? She’s not used to our ways or what we do to murderers. She’s a weakling, just like the rest of her people.”
“It’s more than that, I think. That’s why I sent for you.”
Elgr stirred up the embers of the fire. He had flopped down on the sleeping furs and motioned Niamh to sit beside him. She had done so, trying not to wrinkle up her nose at the sour smell of the old man. Geirdis took a place opposite her.
Niamh of the Golden Hair (Manannan Trilogy Book 2) Page 9