A day came when the herds and flocks were brought in from the outpastures and Erling and his foreman looked over the cattle and the pigs. The foreman marked with tar the ears of those least worth feeding through the cold months, and the next day thralls took axes and knives and did the winter slaughtering.
It was my job to gather all the children, free and thrall, and lead them down to Somme, where the slaughtering was done another day, and keep them occupied. Halla came with me. For luck, it did not rain while we walked, and we got a dry place in a guest house.
We played games until I was tired, and then I told stories with good success, for of course Irish stories are better than Norse, and they were new to the children. I was getting well along when Halla, who had disappeared a moment, came inside dragging two screaming children by the ears.
One was a bullyboy's son, and the other was Soti's daughter, Freydis.
"Guess what I found these doing?" Halla cried. "They were in the hay, with their clothes off, playing with each other."
"Take your hands off me or my papa will skin you alive!" shouted Freydis. She looked less pretty than usual, with a red face and stalks in her hair.
"No such talk," said I. "What will your father think when he learns what game you were playing?"
She shook herself loose and crossed her little arms. "He knows I play the game. He says I may do anything I like, because I am the gods' gift. You play the game with Steinbjorg, and you'd like to play it with Halla. That's what my papa says."
My face felt hot and I could not look at Halla, and all I could think of to do was to swat the boy.
"What's happening to the sun?" I asked Erling one evening in the hall.
"Don't tell me you never noticed winter nights are longer?" Erling replied.
"Within reason, yes. But as late as the dawn is coming now, there'll be no day at all left by Christmas."
"Be comforted. We never lose our day altogether. They do lose it farther north, up in Soti's country. The night lasts months on end up there."
"Christ have mercy," I sighed. "I've come to the gate of Hell. No wonder there are so many devils in Norway."
Erling said, "I've seen good men from Lappland, and wicked men from Arabia. And the other way around. Tell me, are North Irishmen wickeder than South Irishmen?"
"Ireland is a blessed land, hallowed by the bones of ten thousand saints," I said. "Devils fear to approach Ireland."
"Then we Norse are mighty indeed," said Erling, "for we fear not to attack where devils quail."
"Only a Norseman would be proud of out-deviling the devil," said I.
* * *
I haven't said much about Erling's sisters. It's not that they weren't charming and lively lasses, darting in and out and chattering at the tables, but their lives turned on things that mattered little to me, and I rarely spoke with them except in confessions, and of course I couldn't tell you about those even if they'd been memorable.
The older one was called Thorliv, the younger Sigrid. They were both fair and tallish, as I've said, and almost like enough to be twins. Thorliv had a rounder, merrier face, though she was dreamy and quiet by nature. Sigrid had a longer, graver face, masking a devilish humor.
Sigrid came to me one day while I was shooing out some chickens that had got into the church through a door left open. She sat on the bench fidgeting, with the face of Cleopatra forced to wait for her dinner while the slaves cleaned up a spilled kettle.
"How long is this going to take?" she sighed.
"It'll be quicker if you help me," I said, waving my arms and trying to herd the squawking birds toward the door.
"No, I'll watch you."
"Very wise. Good for your education."
"Maybe it would help if you made noises like a dog."
I ignored her advice and finished the exorcism. "All right, darling, what's on your mind?" I asked, sitting down.
"First you have to promise me you'll never, never tell anyone we talked about this."
"I think I can do that."
"Do you think Erling will become a jarl?"
"I think he can be most anything he wants to be, and a jarldom is what he's after."
"How long do you think it'll take?"
"That's hard to say. From what I hear, there are big changes coming, and soon."
"Would you marry a man and woman without the blessing of the bride's family?"
"Never, unless she'd lost her family, like the thralls."
She scowled. "Even if they'd die if they were kept apart?"
I said, "What's this all about? Do you want to get married?"
She sighed. "You won't tell anyone?"
"Not a soul. Unless you run off with him. Then I promise I'll tell the world, and lead the hue and cry after you."
"I want to marry Halvard Thorfinsson."
I paused. "He's a good lad, one of the best in the bodyguard, but he's only a bonder's son."
"But he could marry a hersir's daughter! That's not impossible. What I'm afraid of is that Erling will become a jarl, and then I can never marry Halvard."
"Have you talked this over with your mother?"
"How could I talk to her about it? She'd promise me to a king's son if she could." She made a face as if that were a fearful fate.
"What about Erling? He might understand."
"Halvard says no. He says he wants to do great deeds and earn me."
"That's probably the wisest course."
"But what if he gets killed?"
"I think a girl like you isn't likely ever to choose a man who'd die in bed."
"No," she said. "I've thought about it. I think we should all do what the Gospel says, and turn the other cheek and love our enemies, and never fight a battle."
"If you really feel that way, perhaps you should be a nun."
"I'll become a nun if I can't marry Halvard."
"Well, you're not yet fifteen summers old. Perhaps you'll feel differently in time."
"That's what I'm afraid of!" she said. "I want to make my life before I get old and stupid, like the rest of you."
Title: | The Year of the Warrior |
Author: | Lars Walker |
ISBN: | 0-671-57861-8 |
Copyright: | © 2000 by Lars Walker |
Publisher: | Baen Books |