Time to Remember

by Susan Firman

CHAPTER 9

  Thor’s day was selected for the Althing. Most of the main decisions that affected the small settlement were made during the Althing which was held two or three times during the year. Næmr had never attended an Althing before, so she was quite excited when Yalda announced they would go. As this would be the last meeting before the next winter began, several of the neighbouring settlements had also sent people to it. Consequently, this Althing was one of the most important events in the calendar.

  Thor’s day was fine. Strips of thin, white clouds lined the sky and a slight breeze rustled the top leaves every now and then, just enough to remind everyone that there was the hint of coolness in the air. Early that morning, a slight mist had covered the water and the tall animal prows of the arriving boats glided like sea creatures above the haze. One by one the hulls were secured to the land and the boatloads of people and goods soon cluttered every spare space of shoreline. They had travelled from settlements further around the coast, from the north and the south, bringing with them their animal-hide shelters and wares to trade with the people of Sleggvik. A constant stream made its way up the low rise to where the mighty ash, Yggdrasil, stood in his golden splendour showing an early Autumn change.

  Næmr now felt as though she belonged, as though she had been in the village all along. She had learnt much about the settlement: of how the four elderly jarls ruled over their lands, and how each freeman swore allegiance and loyalty in return for protection and the right to farm a small plot of land for his family. The lucky ones would even share in captured slaves brought back from the summer raids. Then there were the thralls, the lowest group of all, who like Heggar, were forced into work with nothing more than food and shelter and a dream that one day they might be able to buy the freedom that others had been lucky enough to have been born into. She had been instructed in both history and the culture of the settlement, and had learnt a few of the sacred chants Vestlasa had taught her. She had helped Yalda gather and prepare the different herbs that could ease pains or repair the bodies of those who felt unwell and by watching Heggar, she had learnt what things to put in the thick broth and how to knead the dough or how to prepare the different fish that were caught in the fjord.

  Hers was the right to know, for had she not come to the village from a world beyond the snows? Had she not given Yalda the skill to make soap such that their bodies and clothes would smell fragrant and clean? Did she not get the smithy to fashion the utensil she named ‘fork’ which would pick up food and let a person eat without fear of cutting themselves? Not that the villagers had taken much interest in the unusual object, for the majority had become so used to eating with knife or spoon, the new implement seemed of little use.

  As long as Næmr had the protection of priests and Council, her strange ideas were tolerated. Anyone else would have been called a witch and would have been drowned or stoned to death. But hers was a privileged position; for the time being.

  Yalda had found that the cakes of soap had become extremely popular and were in great demand. It had certainly given her another skill with which to barter. Having Næmr around had certainly improved her own prospects.

  “I hope the men make a good decision about the captives this year,” Yalda commented as she added some of the herbal oils into the soap mixture which was bubbling in the large metal pot.

  “Why?”

  “Well, I could do with a couple more thralls but even one would do. What do you think my chances are, Næmr?”

  “I did mention it to Halldorr.”

  “That was good of you but last year all the captives were taken to the through to the market at Hedeby and sold. The Althing said we needed honey, grain, and cloth more than we needed slaves. It was the same the year before, too. It’s about time our luck changed and the men bring back treasure as well as captives. Do you think I’ll get my thralls?”

  She raised her voice as though by doing so, it would conjure up that extra slave she wanted so much to have.

  Yalda already had four slaves she could call her own. She was not a rich woman, for those better off than she was had as many as ten or even twelve slaves to work their lands and gather their firewood. Yalda needed more time to gather and administer her herbs and she had been trying to teach Heggar all about weaving, so she really did need another thrall to take over the household duties that Heggar had previously been doing.

  Yalda poured the soap mixture into the moulds ready for setting. She would cut them into smaller blocks in a few days time.

  Meanwhile, Næmr began gathering up the items Yalda had put out to take with them up the hill to where the Althing was to be held. After the free-men had discussed the important issues, then the rest of the day would be free for entertainment and markets.

  Næmr noticed that Heggarl was no longer sitting at the loom.

  “Where’s Heggar?”

  “I’ve had to send her to the well for water,” answered Yalda. “See, that’s the problem I have.”

  “Couldn’t one of the other’s go?”

  “No, they’re all busy outside. I’ve told Heggar to be quick and when she gets back, I’ll set her weaving again. Then we’ll go to the Althing. Heggar’ll probably enjoy a day without me at her all the time, don’t you think?”

  Næmr nodded. Heggar liked it best when she could sit and chat away to Næmr for she found that Næmr did not judge her, nor laugh at her silly ideas. And just sometimes, something Heggar had said, would rouse some sleeping memory deeply hidden in Næmr’s mind and then Næmr would tell her of strange and wonderful things, no-one, not even the most travelled of men, had ever been fortunate enough to know.

  As soon as Heggar returned and Yalda had made absolutely certain there was sufficient yarn for her to weave, the two free-women left for the Althing. This was the day thralls were not permitted to attend, not even the market part. Yalda packed some of her medicines and soaps in her basket which she had made earlier in the week. She hoped to exchange them for grain, apples and furs. Such items would be useful as the autumn days moved closer to winter.

  Mid-morning, Yalda and Næmr trudged up to the hill in the direction of the sacred ash, carrying the large basket of goods between them. Næmr was amazed at the number of people and tents, tinkers and tailors, carvers and food-stalls, wagons and horses that had already assembled on the grassy slopes around the mighty ash tree.

  “Come away from that!” An exasperated mother reprimanded her three children. A group of youths pushed their way in towards the game that had been set up near one of the larger trading stalls.

  “Didn’t you hear me? Are you deaf?”

  The woman boxed the ears of the closest child and then dragged her well-scrubbed children away.

  Næmr could hear the children moaning it was not fair that they had to do everything their mother said and why couldn’t they stand and watch? Næmr smiled, for their reaction seemed so familiar. She wondered where she had seen and heard it all before. She pointed out a small group of people who did not seem to be from the village.

  “Yalda, who are those people? I’ve never noticed them before.”

  “They’re from one of the neighbouring villages. They often arrive when the Althing and Market’s held. They join our dragon boats for the raids so some of the goods brought back this year will go to them. Their men join ours for the Althing.” They rested the basket on the ground. “This looks a good spot. Give me a hand to set out our wares and then I suggest you have a wander round.”

  Yalda laid out one of her woven cloths and began removing her goods from the bag and arranging them ready for selling. Næmr helped a little and as soon as everything had been neatly set out, she left Yalda and wandered slowly around the stalls looking at other merchandise for sale: cloths and trinkets, an abundance of clay pots, various foods and furs ready to be made into blankets or cloaks. Small stalls of hand-crafts were sandwiched between other more impressive stalls that offered goods not normally found around the fjord settlements. It was a m
ish-mash of strange fishy smells and fruits; a tempting rainbow of colours and textures. Waves of excitement, laughter woven like threads brought life and gaiety to the day.

  Næmr wove her way between people and stalls as she moved closer towards Yggdrasil. Small areas of open grass had been set aside for entertainment. She paused to watch a trial of strength between two well-built men as they charged each other, trying desperately to wrestle and throw their opponent onto the ground. Struggling and grunting, they staggered back and forth around the small enclosure that had been formed by the noisy audience. Næmr stood on tip-toe for a while, stretching her body as she managed to catch only a glimpse of what was causing all the excitement.

  Suddenly, part of the crowd broke away and began running in the direction of much snorting and squealing. Loud shouts and cat-call whistles pierced the air, drowning out all other noises around. Næmr was intrigued. She made an effort to follow the crowd and found herself being propelled along as people charged and hurled themselves towards the hullabaloo.

  “What’s going on?” she asked someone.

  “It’s a stallion fight! I’d better get my bet on before it’s all over!” shouted the voice next to her.

  “Make way! Make way!”

  An excited man tried to elbow his way closer to the action. He was a big man, broad shouldered and extremely well muscled. Næmr took advantage of the pathway he had opened up and managed to slip through the crowd before the gap closed up again.

  In the centre of a ring were two very angry stallions. Now that their wild animal instincts had been aroused, they roared and squealed at each other, their flailing hooves and snapping teeth ripping into the opponent’s flesh. Sweat dripped from their heaving flanks and fresh, red blood began to flow from their wounds. The grass was rapidly being churned into bloody mud. The more vicious the fight became, the more excited the crowd.

  Næmr could not watch any more. She lowered her head and pushed her way back to the outer edges of the crowd. Although, now more accustomed to the violent nature of these people, she still could not bring herself to share in their obvious enjoyment in watching two living animals ripping each other apart. She knew that there could only be one winner and that for the rest of that year, that victor would be worshipped like a god.

  She left and made her way closer to the large sacred ash. Hanging from one of its lower branches was the skin of a sleek black horse. Its lifeless head hung grotesquely from the end of the branch and its four black hooves swayed rhythmically in the slight autumn breeze. This animal had not suffered the slow and painful death that awaited the stallion defeated in combat. This had been reared as a sacred creature and then quickly slaughtered in honour of mighty Thor. Its hide was sleek and shone like black silk. She stood watching it, its huge immobile teeth seemingly grinning at her and its dull sunken eyes now blank and opaque. A silent beast. A noble beast, even in death.

  The Althing must have been opened with the horse sacrifice, she thought to herself. Thor will be pleased with such an offering as this.

  As she surveyed the sacrifice swaying from the tree, she accepted its presence and understood why its life had to have been taken for such a purpose. She grappled with the mixed feelings she felt: the abhorrence still of certain things and the acceptance for such religious protocols. What would have shocked her by its barbarity only a short time ago, she now found herself accepting. Had she become one of them? Is this where her destiny and identity now lay?

  “ . . . and this was the man I saw taking the knives.”

  A witness had been called upon to give evidence against a rough-clad youth who stood cowering, his hands tied firmly behind his back.

  “Who else can bear witness to this thief?” asked the booming voice of the elder who had led the questioning in the Great Hall where Næmr had first been taken.

  “I’m Menja, guardian of grains and salt. I will say.” Menja stepped forwards into the clearing. He was a small man with sharp features and deep set eyes. “I swear to the gods of the Althing, that this is the man who stole the knives. I saw him take them from the blacksmith’s bench. He hid them under his jacket. The blacksmith never noticed but I saw him.”

  And another came forward to also bear witness.

  “I swear, also, that it’s true. I saw this man slink away like a wolf from the blacksmith’s forge. Who would do that but a thief? His business with the blacksmith was not lawful!”

  The accused bent his head even lower, for to be brandished a thief, meant not only the anger of the citizens but the loss of his hand.

  “A punishment must be given. Only time will tell if any others here have learnt by this example!” The elder shouted to make certain all those around heard what he had said. “Take him away! He loses the hand that stole!”

  Næmr watched as two warriors dragged the protesting man away.

  “That’ll fix him, that will!”

  She turned as the gruff man’s voice spoke. She noticed his all-brown farmer clothing.

  “How will he be able to live without his hand?”

  Næmr thought the justice was too harsh and felt some sympathy for the man.

  “That’s his problem!”

  The farmer clearly showed that he had no time for such a thief and with a satisfied snort and a shake of his head, the farmer moved away.

  A woman nearby must have heard the comments, for as she came closer to where Næmr was still standing, she passed comment.

  “Should’ve thought of that before he stole those knives!”

  More discussions, complaints and the making of laws took up the morning and most of the afternoon. This was the main purpose of this Althing and it allowed grievances to be squared.

  Næmr returned to Yalda to see how she was getting on with the selling of her soaps and herbs. They sat on the grass in the mild afternoon sun, eating a couple of bread cakes Yalda had traded for a small piece of soap and talked about several of the cases that had been brought before the decision makers earlier on that day. Næmr thought about the harsh and cruel justice that had been dealt out to the petty thief. She thought about the woman who had been called witch, and who was now to die for her indiscretions. Something, at the back of her mind bothered her for why else did she find these laws so harsh and barbaric? Yet, who was she to judge the values of these people? Were they not the ones responsible for their own laws and codes of behaviour? Now that she shared her life with theirs, was she not also duty bound to obey those laws? Without laws to guide them, the communities could not exist at all.

  Late in the afternoon, after Yalda had packed up the remnants of her goods, the pair sat and listened to the ‘calling of messages’. Freemen stood and shouted out, for all to hear, the misdemeanours of wives and husbands, masters and thralls.

  “My wife’s a shrew!” shouted one as he turned to face the crowd. “I’ll beat her until she learns to hold that wicked tongue of hers!”

  The crowd roared and clapped their approval.

  “I’ve two lazy, good-for-nothing thralls. They constantly spill my grain, forget the gates and I’m always finding them asleep in my fields. How can I get in my harvest with such loafers? I will not tolerate such idle hands. Tomorrow, I say I will slay them both!”

  Another roar of approval was readily given and the freeman seemed well satisfied with the support he had received. At that, Næmr understood why Heggar was sometimes so wary of offending either herself, or Yalda. Yet how lucky Heggar was to have Yalda for her mistress. In many ways, Heggar had taken the place of the children that Yalda had lost and Yalda had become quite protective of the girl.

  So far, no mention had been made of the captives brought home this year from the raids. The afternoon sun was sinking lower in the sky stretching the shadows in long, thin lines and shapes across the ground. There was a slight chill in the air and lower in the valley an early evening mist was beginning to form. Yalda didn’t want to stay any longer.

  “Come on, Næmr. Time to go. We’ll return tomorrow
. Maybe I’ll know about the captives, then. Decisions about them can’t be rushed.”

  They prepared to leave just as the sun began to sag down behind the hills. The sun’s blood-red rays stretched upwards into the sky as though trying to hold on to the day. The hillside began to glow and sparkle like a starlit sky from the countless small fires that had been lit outside each tent. The gods would be pleased this year by the large number of people who had come to pay homage to the strong and mighty Thor. Tonight there would be harmony and peace.

  For three days, the Althing had continued when it concluded, it had been decided that most of the captives and half the treasure would be taken south to the trading town of Hedeby, to be exchanged for things the four communities needed. Yalda did get her wish: a seven year old boy with light-brown hair and a slight-built woman, not much older than Næmr. Yalda was extremely pleased. The child was young enough not to remember much about his homeland and would, in time, make an excellent worker. The woman - well, Yalda would give her time. Meanwhile, she could be housed with the sheep and the shepherd boy whose mother had died last winter.

  This was one of the best Althings Yalda could remember and she had experienced many in her life. On the last day, a great feast was given in Thor’s honour. Thralls were called on to dig huge oven pits and fetch the rocks and wood that were needed to cook the carcasses needed to feed villager and visitor alike.

  “Here, mistress, have a taste.”

  Næmr was handed a slice of fresh cut meat wrapped in a cabbage leaf. She took it and drew the morsel into her mouth. The earthy, warm fleshy taste filled every part of her mouth, and as her body savoured its special flavour, she was reminded of a time when she was young.

  Hey, girl, have a taste. Good kai, eh?

  The voice was familiar but it did not exist in this time. She remembered the succulent, sweet taste of the mutton, the meat oozing and dripping with fat and soon she could taste everything that went with it; the strong taste of mint sauce, together with kumara, the yellow sweet potato; the green bitter taste puha and and the soft, succulent golden corn. But where were those flavours now?

  Use your fingers! Makes it taste much better!

  She did remember being able to lick the juices of the meat off her individual fingers with the thoroughness of a contented cat. She thought of the enjoyment the food had given her; the food that had been cooked under the soil.

  “I like hangi food, Yalda.”

  Næmr placed another piece of the smoky, earthy meat into her mouth.

  “What food, Næmr?”

  “Hangi. This! Food that’s cooked in the pit.”

  Yalda just smiled and shook her head. She was quite used to these strange sayings Næmr came out with.

  An entire week passed before Halldorr was able to pay Næmr another visit. He dropped in at Yalda’s shortly after the middle of the day. Næmr was helping to sort out the yarns Yalda had decided to dye with new dyes she had acquired from those who had brought their goods during the Althing. She was busy laying the carded wool in piles ready to be added to the various pots of plant mixtures that provided the colours. Every so often, Yalda got up and stirred the contents of each pot as its water began to boil and the dye extracts began to colour the liquid. Heggar was at the loom in the back corner, finishing the weaving of the last spun fibres. Beside the central fire Yalda’s new ambatt was busy preparing the day’s food in the largest pot that hung alongside the smaller dye pots. The young boy had been sent out for more wood.

  Daylight rushed into the house as the heavy door was opened and the curtain covering was pulled aside.

  “Hello, Lady Næmr.”

  Halldorr stepped into the smoky, semi-darkness of the building’s interior.

  “Halldorr!”

  There was genuine pleasure in her voice. His beautiful strong, muscular body was silhouetted against the light.

  “How did things go with you during the Althing?”

  “Good.”

  “And your father? Was he pleased, as well?”

  “Very well, my lady Næmr,” he replied. He removed his cloak and walked across the room to where Yalda sat at the large wooden table. “And how are things with you, mistress Yalda?”

  “Good, thank you, my lord. Make yourself comfortable. You’re always most welcome.”

  Halldorr joined her on the bench seat. A young boy of about nine came in with an armful of wood.

  “You have a new thrall, have you?”

  Halldorr inclined his head towards the boy.

  “Yes, I have. I bought this one a few days ago. A good price and . . . ”

  She was about to say something else. Instead, she got up and walked over towards the pots to where a woman and the boy were adding more fuel to the crackling fire. Yalda quickly checked the quality of her dyes and declared that she was most pleased with the hue and texture of her mixtures.

  “It looks as if you’re well set-up here.” Halldorr cast a glance around the dimly-lit interior.

  “Thigs are improving. It’s been a few years since I lost my boys and husband but I’m coping.”

  “That’s good to hear.”

  Yalda picked up the spoon nearby and tasted the contents of the soup pot. She appeared satisfied with the culinary taste.

  “Tastes good?” asked the young warrior.

  “Best I’ve tasted for some time. One of the thralls killed an old sheep and I’ve made a broth with the last of the bones. Heggar’s made some fresh bread today so why don’t you join us and have something to eat?”

  “Thank you. I will.”

  Halldorr got up from the table and made his way over to the long side of the house where Næmr was sitting on the bed-bench talking quietly with Heggar and helping her card some wool ready for spinning

  “Come outside a little while,” he whispered. He laid his hand gently on her arm.

  “I . . . I really don’t know,” she answered hesitantly, glancing in Yalda’s direction. “She doesn’t like me going anywhere when she’s this busy. And it’s close to meal time.”

  “It’ll be for only a little while. She’ll not notice. Besides, if you’re worried, I’ll take the blame. She won’t show anger to me!”

  Halldorr indicated for her to follow with a slight flick of his head in the direction of the open door.

  Næmr put down the skein of wool she had in her hand and followed him outside. She expected to hear Yalda’s scolding but everything remained peaceful and quiet.

  The two walked out into the small yard. They walked beside the wicker-woven fence that led round the back of the house. Halldorr led past the stall at the back and a short distance away from the buildings that made up Yalda’s small household.

  “When I went away in the drakkar, I kept thinking of you.” His voice was low and soft. “I’ve loved you from the first time we met.”

  “Halldorr, are you sure? You could have the choice of any of the fair-haired noble women. I know any one would be flattered by your attentions.”

  “It’s not them I want. I want you with your lovely, soft, brown eyes and dark, dark hair. I’ve not been able to think of anything else. You’re my special jewel in a chest of a thousand silver things. The only fear that tugs at my heart, my sweet lady, is that another may have made advances to you while I was away and I fear I’m not alone.”

  A minute’s silence elapsed before she was able to answer him. For a moment she thought she could remember someone. But was he real? She decided not, for she had been so closely watched that there had been no other chance for her to have met with someone else.

  She could feel a pricking in her cheeks as they glowed and flushed with the excitement she felt flushing through her veins. She hardly had the voice to speak the words his ears longed to hear.

  “Halldorr, there is no-one else. I’d made up my mind the day you pinned this brooch on me.”

  She noticed that his face lit up as his shoulders swelled with pride.

  “Fantastic!�
� He slapped his thigh and jumped in the air. He laughed loud with joy. “You’ve made me the proudest, happiest man in the world!”

  “That’s great!”

  A more serious look came over his face.

  “I’ve already spoken with my father and says he will talk with the Council. So, now, I wish to ask you something.”

  She smiled and guessed what it was he was going to ask but she played with him and teased him.

  “It had better be good. Remember, I’m not free to make any decisions yet. I’m still bound by what the Council says.”

  He was taken aback. He did not expect such an answer. He already had come to the decision that women were strange creatures and this one was not only a young woman but also a goddess. And he had concluded that godessesss were no different.

  “Would you rather I not ask? It can be left for later.”

  “Later? No! Why should I wait?”

  She played with his emotions as a fisherman would tickle a trout. She waited a while. She laughed, but not at him. “Well, don’t keep me guessing!”

  “My father’s happy enough. He’s given his permission as long as Odin gives his. I’ve appealed to him through the priest.”

  “And what does Odin say?”

  Haldorr sought courage deep in his gut. This was worse than anything he had experienced before. He spoke quickly, for to hesitate would have made him stumble like a lame man over his words.

  “I have yet to hope.”

  “Yes. It’ll be yes. And so?”

  “With Odin’s blessing, would you consent to be my wife, to give me heirs, and keep my lands while I’m away?”

  “If I agree?”

  “I promise to lavish you with love and give you the keys to all my chests and as my wife, you will share in all the things I own.”

  “My heart agrees, Halldorr but . . . ”

  “I know I’m only but a man and that you are from the world of gods but think how great our sons will be. We could make the greatest warriors ever to live in Midgard. Think of that! What do you say to such a man who promises to worship you until the time of Ragnarok?”

  Næmr knew that the answer she would give would bind this brave warrior, this strong and handsome man, to her until the end of time. His fate would become woven with hers, and if his love that he had so freely been given was to die, then vengeance and wrath from the gods of Aesir would smite him down.

  “Will it be right thing to do?” she asked.

  “Yes, it will! It has to be! You’re in my mind night and day. Your dark eyes and strange thoughts haunt me like the calls of the whales. I remember once when I was a young boy trying to prove I was as strong as Thor. My mind could think of nothing but that I dreamed of being a great warrior. Then my father taught me how to fight, how to wield a sword, to pull a bow, to throw a spear. For years I have not thought of anything as pleasurable as the thrill of battle. But now. . . ” He stopped what he was saying and looked intently into her dark, brown eyes, his pale, blue eyes pleading for her to become his. “My life’s unfulfilled and empty without you. If only there was more time. If only we’d had time together before . . .”

  “I have no before,” she interrupted. “Not here! And before the mountain?” She recoiled away from him. It was not from him but from the memory of Bodvarr. The mountain had reminded her of the torment she suffered under Bodvarr’s hand. “This life I know began on Jotenfjell!”

  She looked beyond him to the imposing mountain that overshadowed the small peaceful settlement with its farm houses and fields and forests.

  “The mountain?”

  “Yes, Jotenfjell! What hold does he have on me? I feel him pulling me towards himself as if it is he who want to posses me. I have great fear which I cannot understand. What fate of mine does he know?” Her agitated voice rose to a high pitch like a pleading victim. “Are you sure, you wish to share in such an uncertain destiny, Halldorr?”

  “I’m not afraid of the Fates!” His words came through with force and conviction. “Your destiny will become my destiny! Let the Norns of Past - and Present - and Future weave our destinies together. Without you, I swear I will throw myself into Niflheim. Hel, the goddess of death, will then become my mistress.”

  “No!” she cried. She gripped his hand tightly. “I can’t let you do that!”

  “Then, join yourself to me!”

  “I wish I could! I can think of nothing better than to share my life with yours but would others accept it? Will the Council agree?”

  “They must! You must tell my father, jarl Sirgud, how you feel. The Council is weak. They will agree if my father tells them he knows how you feel. He’s been a great warrior in his time. He’s brought home many slaves and treasures in the past. The Council owes him much.”

  “Will the Council really listen?”

  “To my father?”

  “Or to me? Doyou think they’d listen to the words of a woman?”

  “It’s not unknown for women of rank to express an opinion about such matters but with your standing, there can be no dispute.”

  “Then I will be the one to ask!”

  He showed his pleasure for her by touching her gently on her shoulder and smiling encouragingly.

  “You will?”

  “Yes, but I have no lands, nor wealth to offer you, Halldorr. There is no family to stand beside me. I have only myself. Is that enough?”

  “Yes, of course. You have all the gods! I ask for nothing more. Besides, you’re the only thing I want. I’ve lands sufficient for both of us. My father’s lands become my own for I’m his only son to inherit those lands. All I need is a promise of your love.”

  She had to think. She needed time for she still found it hard to think herself as one of them. There was still so much to come to terms with, so much she still did not understand. Would she ever really fit in and be accepted?

  “You realise I’ll have to talk it over with Yalda. I ask her opinion on many things.” Her voice was soft and soothing. She placed her free hand above his, running her silken fingertips gently across the back of his hand. “You know, I think of Yalda and Heggar as my family. They’re the only ones I’ve known since I arrived. It’s only right that I should consult with Yalda.”

  He was satisfied with that much for the present, for at least she had given him hope. They stood talking for several moments longer before Næmr reminded him that he had promised to share their meal before he departed.

  “Oh dear, I’d completely forgotten!” He pulled he by the hand. “We’d better hurry! I wouldn’t like Yalda to find any reason why I shouldn’t love you.”

  She had expected him to kiss and cuddle her. Wasn’t that what every young man did with his girlfriend? Everything seemed so formal and polite. Somehow she had expected a more intimate embrace and her expectations had made her disappointed. But Halldorr’s respect for her prevented him from treating her like any ordinary woman.

  The day dawned slowly as the milky white mist melted into a cool, grey, overcast sky. The valley trees, now clothed in reds and golds, stood mellowed in their autumn colours. The village sheds were full and many of the nuts and berries that had been gathered by the slaves had been stored away. Meat had been salted or smoked and hung from the rafters at the far end of Yalda’s house. Gone were the endless summer days when sunlit skies remained throughout the night. Now, the nights were drawing in and stormy days were not far away. Their small fishing boats sailed off with urgency to harvest the ocean’s offerings before the waters of the fjord became thickened with ice. The entire village was engulfed by the pressure of time.

  As the days passed, hoards of silver fish were constantly tipped out from the large woven baskets and any fear of winter starvation was soon forgotten. This year was a bounteous year and the villagers were grateful that their fertility gods, Frey and Frigga had looked so favourably upon them.

  The time had arrived when the dark-haired Næmr was to be given full recognition as a member of the village, for Sirgu
d had convinced the Council of Elders to give permission for Halldorr to marry the goddess-maiden who had been sent to them from a world beyond mist and snow.

  Stories had been told before in the Great Hall of goddesses who had chosen to love a mortal man. A child of theirs would be capable of great and powerful deeds. A union like this would make their own community more powerful than any other and settlements would soon beg for their protection. They would no longer need to fear the violent storms and heavy snows. Through her they would have protection from the gods. Their survival would be ensured. For this reason, alone, the Council had given its blessing.

  They decorated the Hall with berries and branches from pines, for this was a wedding like no other seen in Sleggvik before. Two beautifully patterned cushions had been set in front of the large, bulky table that stood at the far end, beyond the stones of the central hearth. Other long tables, their surfaces hidden under the lavish banquet, had been set around the interior walls. Fish, fruits, berries, cream, and cheese, wild game birds, pork, venison and ale covered them. Silver plates and golden horns, pewter jugs and copper vessels had been set amid the food. It was as fine a banquet to be found anywhere in the north.

  Næmr walked slowly towards the huge open doors of the Great Hall. It was as though she was the rainbow itself, for as a breath of wind rippled her silken gown, its iridian colours shimmered like a star in the night. Never had the villagers seen anyone so radiant, any woman so genteel. She entered the Hall, knowing that this time, she was no stranger. The people of Sleggvik had accepted her completely and were honoured that she was to live with her warrior husband. Standing in an oval arrangement, were the warriors of the village who had taken the dragon boats out beyond the safety of the land. As Næmr approached the pointed end of the human-made vessel shape, the warriors drew back to allow her to pass. At the prow end, stood a priest, and before him, with a knee resting on one of the cushions, sword at his side, was Halldorr, waiting for his bride.

  Næmr smiled a shy smile as she knelt down beside him. She waited patiently for the ceremony to begin. Finally, the priest placed his hands on their heads.

  “Let it be known from this time, that our most courageous warrior, Halldorr, son of the noble Sirgud, powerful jarl and leader of men, has agreed to take this goddess who came to Midgard from a world beyond the mists on Jotenfjell, as his wife in law.” He raised his hands and looked up into the blackness above. “Let us honour Freyja who has shown these two how to love and ask that she bless this union so that many healthy sons will be produced.”

  Together, the newly-weds knelt side by side before the priest. Halldorr tied the set of keys around his wife’s waist to signify that she was now mistress of her own household.

  “With these keys, I acknowledge you as the keeper of my house, Næmr, Maiden from the Mists.”

  “With these keys, I respectfully become your wife, Halldorr, son of Sirgud, the jarl.”

  They placed their hands upon the large replica of Thor’s magic hammer, Mjollnir, and swore their allegiance and devotion to the god that would give them strength throughout their lives. Halldorr stood and offered his hand to his new bride. Together, the wedded pair turned, and hand in hand, they walked along the length of the Great Hall and outside, where a boar had been slaughtered in Freyja’s honour. Halldorr took his sword and severed the animal’s head from its body, offering it to his wife as a gesture of Freyja’s protection.

  “With this boar head, I call upon Freyja to take special care of you, Næmr, now wife of Halldorr. My mind shall worship you, my lands I do endow you and my body will love you. Let Freija bless this union and let us have many sons worthy to be called sons of ours.”

  Næmr grasped the bleeding head by the long curved tusks, and together they held it up so that all could see. The crowd that had gathered cheered, now certain that their settlement would become the most prosperous of all the northern region.

  Only one in the crowd failed to share in the joyful occasion. Bodvarr stood apart, anger and hate seething throughout his body. The woman had been delivered into his hands on the sacred mountain. Had he not already claimed her for his own? By rights, she should have been his. Only the laws of the Council had held him. He despised the handsome son of the jarl for having been the one to take the woman lawfully to his bed.

  “Wait, Halldorr!”

  Bodvarr had drunk too much and he stepped away from the crowd, angry and threatening. He had drawn his sword and he waved it high above his head.

  “Take you seat, Bodvarr the Bellower!”

  The shouts went unheeded.

  “There will be a time when I will take what should have been mine!” The voice was harsh and rasping. The threat froze the jubilant voices and a deathly silence shot like an arrow around the crowd. “Jotenfjell gave her to me! Jotenfjell will take her away from you!” He brought the sword down in one strong, wild thrust and slammed the blade point into the timbers of the floor. “I am no longer a blood brother of yours, Halldorr! Look you carefully when the heat of battle is on!”

  Bodvarr grasped the hilt of his sword with both hands, pulled the blade from the floor and stormed out of the building.

  Immediately, the priest seized the opportunity and grasped the severed animal head. He set it upon a plate, and, holding it aloft, called out:

  “Let the feasting begin!”

  “Let the feasting begin!”

  The echo reverberated around the hall.

  Villagers thronged through the wide open doors, laughing and chattering. Excitement filled the hall. Halldorr wrapped his strong arms around the waist of his bride.

  “Come, my wife! This is our day of celebration! Let’s eat, drink and be happy together!” Næmr hooked her arm under his and, as he led her to the bridal table, he whispered quietly in her ear so that only she could hear, “I’ll love you always - until the end of time.”

  She looked deeply into his pale blue eyes.

  “But Bodvarr.” She expressed her alarm. “His threats . . . ”

  “The gods will protect us. His words are brash. They are words that are blown away by the winds.”

  How she loved him. She smiled at Halldorr. She was contented.

  A soft glow flushed across her cheeks as she walked across the floor on the arm of her husband. For the first time she did not think of her past. Her identity lived now and was complete; she had found a place in which to live. She belonged. And she had all the time in the world!