Page 56 of Viking Warriors: Vol. 1-3
Ylva gave her assistance, grinding the pestle in the mortar, releasing the seaweed’s healing juices. The plant had worked well as it was but how much more effective it would be once we’d prepared it.
“Soak your linen strips in the liquid and place them on each sore,” I directed. “Steep the rest of the algae in boiling water. Make a tisane and drink it down. Go afterwards to Torhilde and to the others. Act where I cannot.”
Astrid’s eyes shone wet as I borrowed her hooded cloak, drawing it close to my face to creep away.
I heard her as I closed the door behind me. “I knew you’d come back.”
30
Itook the path behind the main thoroughfare. Near the summit of the hill, the mist was creeping, emerging from between the dark trees of the forest, wreathing them, shifting and rolling, like a ghostly sea from which the ancient trunks rose.
No wonder that Svolvaen’s people kept to their homes, for the landscape had an eerie hue. One might believe anything, see anything, on such a night. I, too, was afraid, yet I continued. With my own eyes, I was determined to inspect Eirik’s bride—the woman he’d chosen over me.
Light glimmered from two low windows, where the longhouse roof met its walls. The skins had been partially hooked aside to let the breeze enter. At the main entrance, several men stood sentry, their voices carrying low. They’d rather have been inside, no doubt, imbibing ale.
There was one other opening to the rear and it was to this that I crept. Pressing close to the thatch, I knelt and raised my head, peering within.
The hall was full, with Gunnolf’s men and those who’d ridden out with Eirik; strangers, too, from Bjorgyn, I guessed.
Faline was wearing one of Asta’s robes, yellow cloth woven through with golden strands. It had suited my lady well. Faline’s skin appeared sallow against its tone. For all the finery of the gown, she had no place at the table beside the jarl. Instead, she carried a jug, her mouth pressed tight as she filled each cup.
Gunnolf barely looked at her, nor conversed with those on either side. Instead, his eyes, hollowed-dark, darted to the corners of the room. It gave me no pleasure to look at him. I’d been another woman in those days as his lover.
Helka was seated just beyond Gunnolf but her attention was all upon the man to her left. He wasn’t of the common build, being tall and slender. His arms were well-muscled but not in the way of Svolvaen’s men. His ear was keen to the words she shared with him and, when he leaned close, she closed her hand around his. She’d always kept men at a distance; this one, she did not. He was certainly attractive, with features fine-drawn, his jaw strong and his movements lithe. They would make a fine pair if that was what she wished.
I searched for Eirik. Would he appear different now he’d chosen a bride? There were many men with blonde hair loose about their shoulders, with eyes sparkling in good humour, wearing the same sort of leather jerkin Eirik favoured. There were many men worthy of a woman’s attention, but I didn’t see the most brave and handsome of them all.
And then my chest constricted. The girl sitting beside Gunnolf was new-bloomed in womanhood and of the same, slight appearance as the man on Helka’s left. Not yet ripe, as a woman should be on coming to her marriage bed, but with the promise of loveliness. This, surely, was Freydís, the daughter of Jarl Ósvífur—the alliance conceived by our jarl. The seat next to her was empty, though the place was set.
Helka rose, coming to stand behind Jarl Gunnolf, bending to his ear. Whatever she said, his expression remained distracted. He shook his head and waved her away, his thoughts seemingly on something beyond what surrounded him.
She frowned, looking uneasily about the room before resuming her place. Still standing, she lifted her cup and chimed upon it with her knife, to call attention for the raising of cups.
“Welcome, one and all, to the house of my brother, Jarl Gunnolf, and to Svolvaen—to the home of courageous men and comely women.”
I shifted a little, not wanting to miss anything, yet wishing also to keep myself hidden.
Helka’s merry aspect faded for a moment. “It seems my brother has some urgent business to attend to, but I know I speak for him also when I say we were too long absent from Svolvaen, from the home of our forefathers, for which we offer our regret.” Here, she looked warmly at the man beside her.
“I half wonder if it were not Eirik’s plan to be thrown from his horse, for our prolonged stay in Bjorgyn brought friendships which shall endure.” Helka tipped her head towards the young girl smiling tentatively beside Gunnolf, and the man to Helka’s left raised his cup to hers.
With eyes alight, Helka raised her voice to fill the room. “We look forward to the greatest of celebrations—the joining of our two clans through marriage.”
At that, there was a resounding cheer and stamping of feet. I sunk to the grass beneath the window. I’d no need to see more. I’d heard enough to pierce my heart.
I could never return. Svolvaen’s people did not want me; Eirik did not need me. Even were I to clear my name of the charges of witchcraft and poisoning, I could never bring myself to serve Eirik’s new bride as I had Asta. If Eirik believed my innocence, he might find some man willing to make me his wife, but how could I live under that yoke? I’d never love another; would never be content unless the arms that held me were Eirik’s.
I’d fought so long to prove myself worthy of others’ regard; fought to survive when all hope seemed lost. What had all my struggle been for? I’d helped others with my skills but I couldn’t heal my heart.
Perhaps contentment awaited me only in the next world. I thought of taking myself into the forest, letting the wild beasts find me, or of seeking the cliff edge—a quick end and no more suffering. But how could I do such a thing? I’d come too far to give up. Wasn’t I stronger than that? Didn’t I deserve my chance at happiness?
I wouldn’t succumb to the easy path. My story would not end here. But, I needed to leave Svolvaen. I pictured myself wandering from place to place like theskalds, offering my healing arts to the sick, until I found those who would welcome me to stay—where I would find a hearth, a house, and eventually, a husband. I was still young.
There was only so much torment I could bear, and to remain here would be my undoing.
* * *
The night fog had unravelled and was moving fast, racing to meet me as I rose to higher ground. Laughter drifted up from the longhouse, sounds of shouts and clapping, dulled by the drifting mist.
