“Is something wrong?” Torsten asked in concern as she approached the building. He descended the ladder leaning against the wall and came to stand in front of her. “You look as if you have seen a ghost.”
“A ghost would be better,” she managed.
“Is it Fritjof?” he asked quickly. “He just left here. Did he do something to you?”
“No. But I saw him face-to-face and that was enough.”
“Did he speak to you?”
“No. But that is also worrying. I feel so silly but he sets me on edge. I know not what he will do next.”
“It is not silly,” Torsten replied. “He has treated you badly and your fear is real.”
“My mother does not think so,” Frida said. “I tried to tell her about it and she became angry. There is a wall between us now.”
“Kaarina has been telling me about your God,” Torsten said seriously. “Why do you not ask him to intervene for you?”
“I have. But sometimes it takes time to receive an answer.”
“I think I like the sound of your God,” Torsten replied. “I know of no other God who takes an interest in the affairs of men. If it were me, I would speak to him often.”
“I will,” Frida promised. “It helps me to feel calm when troubles come.”
Torsten looked pleased. “I am glad to hear that you have something that helps,” he said.
Frida smiled at him. “Thank you for listening to me,” she said. “It is good to have friends to talk to.”
“I am happy to listen,” he replied.
“Now, I must find Gerfrid and deliver Father’s message,” she said. “He will be awaiting the reply.”
As Torsten watched her go, he wondered how young men went about courting according to the customs of Frida’s people. His people usually relied on their parents to arrange their marriages but with both of his parents gone, it would be up to him to find a wife should he wish to marry. He made up his mind to ask Landwulf or Halvar.
CHAPTER 7
“The spring markets are almost upon us,” Alfonso said one evening as he came inside for the evening meal. “Fritjof came around this afternoon and we agreed that the final date for producing shoes is at the end of this week. Whoever has the most shoes by then is the winner of our race.”
“Well, I guess we will not be seeing much of you, then,” Minna teased. “You will be up late into the night making shoes.”
“It will be worth it,” Alfonso said. “Even if Fritjof wins, I will be happy to share what we have to help him get established again.”
“You have a good heart,” Minna told him. “Too good, sometimes. People take advantage of you.”
“Not this time,” Alfonso replied. “Fritjof is my friend. He will do what is right. I know it.”
By the end of the week, Alfonso’s shoes were stacked neatly against the wall of the workshop where they could be easily counted. Halvar and Einar had agreed to be the witnesses of the deal and they first went to Alfonso’s place. After counting the pairs of shoes three times to be sure they hadn’t made an error, they went to Fritjof’s workshop. Fritjof stood by anxiously awaiting the verdict.
“You have made six more pairs than Alfonso,” Halvar declared after they had added up the tally. “This means that you are the winner of the production race.”
Fritjof stayed calm. “Very well,” he said. “I require you to accompany me to Alfonso’s house so that I may claim my prize.”
The three men entered Alfonso’s workshop a short time later.
“Sadly for you, Fritjof is the winner of the production race, Alfonso,” Halvar said.
“By how many pairs?”
“Six.”
Alfonso’s face fell. “So close,” he muttered.
“So now I am here to claim my prize,” Fritjof said.
“What is it that you wish to take from my possessions? Three cows, as we agreed? Grain, chickens or sheep?”
“No,” Fritjof said, a triumphant look on his face. “I will claim as my prize your daughter Frida, as my wife.”
Alfonso’s face paled. “You cannot do any such thing!” he gasped.
“You agreed that the prize would be property to the value of three cows, did you not? And it was witnessed at the Thing, was it not?”
“My daughter was never in the agreement!” Alfonso said hotly. “She is my daughter, not my property!”
“I care not for your attachment to the wench,” Fritjof said loftily. “You must abide by the laws of the land we live in. Three cows are a fair price for a bride. She is worth that amount and I will have her. I am the winner. You owe her to me.”
“I will not allow my daughter to be treated as property!” Alfonso shouted.
“You have no choice,” Fritjof said smoothly. “Our agreement was legal and binding. It is a legal contract.”
Halvar stepped in, aware that Alfonso was dangerously close to losing his temper. “This matter appears to be unclear,” he said. “I have the legal right to step in and insist that it goes to the Thing.”
Fritjof looked mutinous. “There is no need,” he muttered. “The original agreement was very clear. I am permitted to take property to the value of three cows.”
“But not my daughter! She is not property!” Alfonso exclaimed.
“This is where the matter becomes unclear,” Halvar said. “Fritjof claims that she is property while Alfonso does not. The matter will be decided by the Thing.”
After the men had left, Alfonso walked inside with a heavy heart. He dreaded breaking the news to Minna; his own foolishness might have cost his daughter her freedom to marry as she chose and to make the best life she could. If Fritjof got his way, she would be his wife, something that Alfonso would never have consented to. His stomach clenched as he thought of all the times he had welcomed Fritjof into his house and his workshop, never dreaming that the man was only there as part of his scheme to claim Frida as a wife. He was far too old for her and Alfonso could see now that she would have little value in his eyes. A weight of dread and misery settled upon him and he felt as if it were crushing the life from his body. How could he have been so blind and so foolish? Why hadn’t he seen something untrustworthy in Fritjof before now?
“What is wrong with you?” Minna asked as he dragged himself to the table and sat for the evening meal. “You look as if you have the weight of the world upon your shoulders.”
Alfonso looked at her dully. “I have been a fool,” he muttered.
“You mean Fritjof won the production race? Surely it cannot be that bad. We can spare a few chickens and some grain. Or even three cows.”
“It is worse than that.”
“Why?”
“Fritjof has claimed Frida for a wife.”
Minna gasped. “He cannot do that!”
“He can. The agreement was legally ratified at the Thing; he is permitted to take property to the value of three cows.”
“But Frida is not property.”
“According to the laws of this land, she is subject to me. I made an agreement with him and because she is subject to me, he regards her as my property. As such, he says he has a right to claim her as his prize.”
“Surely not! Is there not something we can do?”
“Halvar is insisting that it go to the Thing since we are unable to agree. As married men, Landwulf and Halvar are entitled to sit on the Thing council to decide the matter. The best we can hope for is that they can convince the council to allow Frida to choose for herself.”
“So, if they rule in favor of Fritjof, Frida will be obliged to marry him?”
“Yes.”
Frida was listening to the exchange between her parents, horror on her face. “NOOOO!!!” she screamed before she crumpled in a heap. Farvald caught her before she hit the floor.
“She has fainted,” he said.
The news travelled fast. Torsten heard of it from Einar, who’d seen Landwulf. He went straight over to Halvar’s; he needed to know the truth of the
matter for himself.
“It is true,” Halvar said wearily. “Fritjof is as stubborn as a mule. He is claiming Frida as his prize and nothing else will do.”
Torsten was beside himself. “Surely there must be something they can do to stop him!” he exclaimed.
Halvar shook his head. “The best I could do was insist that it go to the Thing. There is a chance the council might agree to allow Frida to choose for herself whether or not she wishes to wed Fritjof.”
Torsten’s hands were shaking. “So, there is no sure way of escape for her?” he asked, fear in his voice. “You will sit on the Thing as a married man and village leader, will you not?”
“I will.”
“How will you vote?”
“I will do my best to persuade the council that Frida deserves to choose for herself. As you know, women have little say in these matters so the council could decide in Fritjof’s favor more readily.”
“Do you not believe the same way?”
Halvar looked at him, sensing a genuine need to know the answer. “Once upon a time, I would have,” he said. “But living among the Christians has shown me a few things. One is that everyone is happier when they have the freedom to choose for themselves. The women are certainly happier.”
“And what of Fritjof?”
“We both know how he treated his last wife. I do not wish to see him treat another the same way.”
Torsten was satisfied that Halvar would be an ally for Frida. “I have already seen Fritjof treat Frida badly,” he confided. “She is terrified of him. I am certain that her life with him would be an ordeal that would take its toll on her health and happiness.”
“You are right,” Halvar said grimly. “I will enlist the aid of Landwulf, although the council may reject his input on the matter because he is Alfonso’s son.”
“I only wish that I could court Frida,” Torsten said, aware that such confidence was risky.
Halvar looked at him with pity. “She would make a fine wife,” he said.
“I know not how to court a woman according to the customs of Frida’s people,” Torsten said, misery on his face. “I would not know where to start.”
“I understand, brother,” Halvar said. “I had no family to arrange a match for me, either.”
“But a love match has worked well for you,” Torsten pointed out. “Eira is a good wife and you are happy together.”
“I would not have it any other way,” Halvar said. “But it was difficult in the beginning to go about courting her.”
“And now I have missed my chance,” Torsten said glumly.
“It is not too late,” Halvar encouraged. “Let us wait to see what the Thing decides.”
“We could run away and marry elsewhere,” Torsten said, clutching at a shred of hope.
Halvar shook his head. “That would create more problems than it would solve,” he said. “You would forever be fugitives, living in fear and never able to settle and prosper. This situation needs to be settled legally.”
Torsten’s heart sank. “There is little I can do,” he said. “She will become Fritjof’s wife and that will be the end of the matter.”
“Do not be hasty. It is difficult to see how this can end well but be patient. All is not lost.”
As Torsten lay in bed that night, he was unable to sleep. Kaarina’s voice floated through his mind.
“I talk to the God of the Christians,” she’d said. “It helps me to feel better when things are going wrong.”
Torsten decided he would try it. What could it hurt?
“O God of the Christians,” he whispered, then stopped, unsure of what to say next. “You are Frida’s God also,” he finally continued. “She needs your help. She is in a desperate situation. I am pleading with you to have mercy on her and save her from Fritjof.”
He felt a weight easing from his chest after he’d prayed to Frida’s God. If this God cared about people the way Kaarina said he did, surely he would take pity on Frida. He finally drifted off to sleep, grateful to lay the problem in hands bigger than his.
Alfonso felt miserable as he looked at his eldest daughter. She was beautiful; no wonder Fritjof had wanted her. But now, she was looking at him through red-rimmed eyes ringed by dark hollows. Her skin was dull and blotchy and her lustrous dark hair was untidy. Alfonso knew that he was entirely the cause of her anguish. It was his duty to protect her and he’d failed.
“I am sorry, Daughter,” he said softly, laying his hand on her shoulder.
She flinched at his touch but said nothing.
“I had no idea,” he continued.
She looked at him then, her eyes swollen with grief and pain. “I tried to tell you, Father. But you would not listen to me. Fritjof mistreated me right here in this house, under your very nose, but you and Mother both preferred to listen to him than to me.”
“I am sorry,” he said again.
“It is too late for sorry,” she said. “You have sold me into a life of misery and hardship. Fritjof will treat me as little better than a slave. He already has.”
Alfonso looked stricken. “Perhaps the Thing …”
She cut him off with a withering look. “Do you really think the Thing will take my side?” she asked. “It is ruled entirely by men. They will rule in favor of Fritjof, of course. Women have little say in such matters!”
Alfonso opened his mouth to reply but nothing came out. There was nothing he could say. She was utterly right.
CHAPTER 8
Soft sobs broke the silence of the bedroom, long after the household was asleep. Sigrid slipped out of bed and went to Frida.
“Shhh!” she soothed, patting her sister’s hunched shoulders.
Frida rolled over to face her. “I am sorry. I did not intend to awaken you,” she sniffed.
“You poor thing,” Sigrid whispered, leaning over to hug her.
Frida sat up. “My mind is made up,” she said. “I will not marry Fritjof and live in misery for the rest of my days.”
“Then what shall you do?”
“I shall die. I shall find some of Father’s poison and drink it. And then I will not have to endure marriage to Fritjof.”
“You cannot do that!” Sigrid gasped. “You are young! You have a family who loves you. You cannot be serious.”
“My family would not listen,” Frida pointed out. “And because of their actions, I have been betrayed into the hands of a tyrant. So please do not try to tell me they love me.”
“There must be some other solution,” Sigrid said desperately.
Frida laughed, a brittle, hollow sound completely devoid of mirth. “I cannot think of one,” she said bitterly. “I have not noticed any other potential husbands lining up outside my door, have you?”
“You could run away,” Sigrid suggested.
“To where? Once the Thing awards me as property to Fritjof, I will be hunted in every village in the land. Nowhere will be safe.”
“No one suggested that you run far away,” Sigrid said.
“What do you mean?”
“You can stay near the village.”
“How?”
“Do you remember old Adalbern’s barn, right on the edge of the forest?”
“Yes. When he died, his sons had no use for it and it is empty,” Frida replied.
“I would be surprised if anyone from the village even remembers it.”
“How would I live there? I would have no food. It is not a long-term solution.”
“I would bring you food at night. You are right. It is not a solution for a long time. But it might buy you some time until you can think of something else. It is better than drinking poison.”
“I would prefer to die than marry Fritjof.” Frida’s tears started again.
Sigrid was determined. “It looks disastrous now,” she agreed. “But will you at least try my plan?”
Frida was silent. “All right,” she agreed at last. “But I cannot live in the barn forever and eventually I will be forced t
o face Fritjof. It is a solution for a short time only.”
“Very well,” Sigrid said. “Tomorrow, we shall tell Mother that we are going for a walk. We will go up to the old barn and see what kind of condition it is in and start to clean it. When does the Thing meet to decide the matter?”
“In two weeks,” Frida replied.
“Then we have two weeks to prepare,” Sigrid said.
“You are a good sister,” Frida whispered.
Sigrid patted her back. “Sleep well, now,” she said. “Tomorrow, there is much to do.”
Minna watched the girls leave for their daily walk. They had become close lately, often doing things together and going for long walks each day. Minna felt bad about the situation that Frida was in, not least because she had refused to listen when the girl had complained about Fritjof’s behavior. Guilt ate at her as she thought that if they had taken Frida seriously, they wouldn’t have trusted Fritjof without question. Alfonso wouldn’t have made a deal with someone he considered untrustworthy and now Frida wouldn’t be facing a lifetime of misery and hardship.
Minna knew that she bore some responsibility for the outcome; Alfonso would’ve listened if she’d told him that she considered Fritjof unworthy of his trust. She wished she could turn back time and erase the damage that she’d done to her relationship with her eldest daughter. She would at least try to apologize to Frida before Fritjof claimed her. She was convinced that the Thing would have little regard for the wishes of a woman and would likely rule that Fritjof’s claims were binding. Time would tell … but time was slipping away fast.
“Are you ready?” Sigrid whispered as she lit a candle.
“Yes. Let us go now while it is the middle of the night.” Frida got out of bed and dressed quickly.
It was the night before the Thing was due to meet and Frida was not waiting around for Fritjof to march up and triumphantly claim her. She and Sigrid had slipped out every night to take supplies to the barn. During the day, under the guise of going for a walk, they had been at the barn cleaning and making minor repairs. Now it was ready. Frida took a deep breath, took one last look around the bedroom that she’d shared with Sigrid for their whole lives, and stepped out the door. She carried her clothes and bedding in a tightly-wrapped bundle under her arm. Sigrid extinguished the candle and they slipped from the house, as silent as ghosts. Frida refused to cry; she needed all her mental clarity to focus on learning to live alone.
Frida: Claimed (Viking Guardians Book 3) Page 5
