by Sandra Hill
“Well, she is a modern Viking woman,” Egil had pointed out, as if Hauk didn’t know that. If Egil had used the word “enlightened,” Hauk might very well knock him over the head with a nearby oar.
Actually, he was beginning to see how painful silence could be. He wanted Kirstin to forgive his clumsy efforts. He wanted her to like his home, even though he’d had no fondness for it himself, which would change now…he hoped. He wanted her to give him a second chance at…something.
“This is Haukshire land we travel through now,” he told her now.
She raised her chin and said nothing. But she was looking intently, her head turning right and left, then upwards to the land.
“Over there is where I shot my first deer with a bow and arrow I made myself. I was only ten at the time. Of course, my father proclaimed it a sorry excuse for a kill, scarce big enough to warrant butchering.”
She looked at him as if she had something to say on the subject, but still said nothing.
“I learned to swim in this very fjord, when I was three.”
“Yer father tossed ye in the waters, as I recall,” Egil said from Kirstin’s other side. “It was either sink or swim, and the bastard didn’t care either way, damn his sorry soul.”
Kirstin pressed her lips together tightly to prevent her voice escaping.
“I see plenty of fish down there, master,” Egil said, leaning forward to speak over Kirstin. “Once we are settled in, we must set lines and nets to catch what we can afore the fjord freezes over.”
Hauk nodded, adding fishing to the jobs to be done right off, although it was possible to fish through the ice betimes. It was not a pleasurable experience, though, in the ballocks-frosty air.
And then they arrived at the Haukshire wharf. He noticed two of his other longships still upended on the far bank to the left. Apparently, work hadn’t been done to caulk and waterproof the vessels after their last voyages. Someone would have to answer for that.
Once Sea Wolf was tied off and the anchor dropped, the crew began to disembark, carrying their sea chests on their shoulders. Friends and family were there to welcome them home with hugs, claps on the shoulders, laughter, and good cheer.
By the time Hauk and Egil were ready to leave the ship, with Egil leading Kirstin, and Hauk helping Bjorn to walk with an arm around his waist, he was surprised to see there was still a sizeable crowd standing by. He hadn’t expected this kind of loyalty from the people of Haukshire, especially after serving under the harsh hand of his father. There was Halfdan, the longtime steward, and Frida, the cook, along with some of the household staff he recognized. The longbeards had to have been here in his grandsire’s day.
But then, at the forefront, he noticed Zoya, his mistress, or former mistress. She was dressed in finery more fitting a royal event, certainly a sharp contrast to the others here.
“Uh-oh!” Egil said, and made quick work of changing places with Hauk so that Bjorn was being helped by Egil, and Hauk stood next to Kirstin. When Hauk tried to wrap an arm over her shoulder to show her importance to him, she shrugged him off and told him, “Don’t even think it!”
At least she was talking now.
And he was thinking, all right. Thinking it was time to put this woman in her place. He placed his arm around her shoulder again and this time he held on tight. “Behave thyself, wife. I must needs introduce you to my people.”
“Does ‘your people’ include that glowering, black-haired witch with the half-exposed boobs?”
He was fairly certain he knew what boobs were, and, yea, Zoya’s gunna was cut very low in front. She glared at Kirstin but then she smiled coyly at him, licking her lips in a manner meant to be seductive but only appeared to him as if she had dry lips. He had the good sense not to smile back.
He walked up to where Egil stood talking with Halfdan. Putting his free arm around Bjorn’s shoulder, whilst maintaining a hold on Kirstin with the other, he announced to the crowd. “Greetings, everyone. It is good to be back at Haukshire. There is much for all of us to do before winter, but tonight we celebrate.”
There was a loud cheer from the crowd.
“But, first, let me introduce you to my son Bjorn who fought bravely in Sweyn’s battle against the Saxons and sustained some injuries from which he is still recovering.”
There was more cheering, this time for the valiant son.
“Also, meet Kirstin, daughter of the great Magnus Ericsson…my wife.” He leaned down and kissed the top of Kirstin’s head, holding tight to her the whole time, as she struggled to be free.
There was a pause as his people digested the news, then loud cheers of congratulations. A few even cast gloating smirks at Zoya, implying that she would no longer be able to rule them. Zoya herself gave him a scowl, then spun on her heel and stomped back up the hill toward the largest of all the longhouses.
Bjorn was making his way toward an outbuilding with Egil and some of the men carrying supplies from the ship. Those of his seamen who had wives and children went off with them to separate longhouses that scattered about in the distance, creating almost a sort of village setting.
“Well, that went well,” Kirstin said when he removed his arm from her shoulder.
“Sarcasm ill-suits you, m’lady.”
She arched her brows with indifference.
“There is much work to be done, wife. Let us get on with it,” he said then, and smacked her across her bottom with the flat of his hand, pushing her forward.
Her jaw dropped with shock, as she put a hand to her arse.
As Hauk walked toward the back courtyard, he smiled to himself, not bothering to see if Kirstin followed him. In truth, she had nowhere else to go.
Betimes a man got the last word in without speaking a word.
Chapter 14
Where’re Molly Maids when you need them…
Kirstin had expected things to be bad, after all the years of Hauk’s or his father’s absence, but not this bad. She looked about the great hall of Haukshire and thought, Phew! It stinks!
Not only had the floor rushes not been replaced in ages…at least a year by her guess, when they were normally changed every season…but the trestle tables were covered with a layer of greasy grime. Some of the benches were broken. The hearth ashes were a foot high. Several flea-ridden dogs lay sprawled near the door leading to the scullery. And, even as she watched, a cat strolled onto the dais and peed on a tapestry that had fallen from the wall onto the floor.
Hauk had gone off to one of the barns with Halfdan, the steward, with the remark to Kirstin, “I’ll see how bad the situation is outside with the animals and hay and outbuildings. Can you check the inside for me? Make a list of what needs to be done and what we must buy from the market in Hedeby.”
“Me?” she’d asked. “I’m in charge?”
“Well, you are my wife.”
“And Zoya?”
“She will be gone soon.”
“Really?”
“Really.” He had been about to depart, but he paused and said, “Look, I realize that I might not have thought through this plan of mine, but—”
“You think?”
“More sarcasm. Tsk-tsk-tsk!” he’d said, tapping her on the chin with playful admonition. “What I started to say was…yea, I brought you to my home against your will to give us time, but the home I’ve brought you to is not in good order, not by any means. For that, I apologize.”
“You apologize for the condition of your home but not for bringing me here?”
“Well, yea, that is correct.”
“You’re a piece of work, Hauk Thorsson.”
“Thank you,” he’d said and gone off.
She glanced around the hall once again. In many ways, when she’d first seen Haukshire from the longship, she’d been reminded of Kattegat, that fictional village in the Viking TV series. A number of rustic longhouses and outbuildings surrounded the much bigger longhouse belonging to the king, or in this case the jarl. Even here in the great ha
ll, she could see similarities to the Kattegat royal residence, the layout, the dim light, and the intricate carving on the wood. But that’s where the resemblance ended. This place was a mess. She hadn’t even checked the other rooms yet or the food cellar. They would probably be just as bad, or worse.
And Hauk expects me to fix this? I’m an academic, not a Molly Maid. Not that there’s anything wrong with a cleaning person, but I work with my brain, not my hands.
With a sigh, Kirstin chided herself, So, use your brain, girl. Raising her chin with determination, she headed toward the kitchen. Many estates of this time period had kitchens separate from the rest of the timber-framed buildings, a safety measure in case of fire. This house did not, although the cooking area did appear to have stone walls.
She found the cook there, stirring something in a huge cauldron hanging over a fire in a hearth so big it could easily hold a side of beef. She’d been introduced to Frida earlier.
“Hello, Frida,” she said. “I need your advice.”
“Oh? For a certainty, m’lady, if I can be of help.” Frida was a middle-aged lady, maybe fifty or so, tall, and slim as an arrow, with gray-threaded blonde hair which was in two braids pinned into a coronet atop her head. The long, white open-sided apron, which hung over a plain brown robe or gunna, was clean, as was the kitchen, for the most part. Frida poured some mead into two wooden cups and motioned for her to sit on the bench on the opposite side of the table from her. “How can I help you?”
Kirstin took a sip of the mead, which was surprisingly good, cool and hearty with a distinctive honey tone. “Well, first off, I notice how clean and tidy your kitchen looks. I congratulate you. That can’t be easy, having to haul water and everything.”
Frida nodded her thanks at the compliment.
“But the rest of the building…the great hall…is awful. Just filthy.”
“Doan be blamin’ me. The kitchen is my responsibility, and that is all.”
“I wasn’t being critical, just pointing out the difference. Who is in charge?”
Frida shrugged. “Who knows anymore? I do not. In the early days, back when Hauk’s mother was alive, I was a mere girling but saw how she managed the house with efficiency. After her passing, the household reins passed to the other wives and mistresses, who took increasingly less interest. Until now only one person is left.”
“Zoya?” Kirsten guessed.
“Exactly. Oh, she keeps her bedchamber…the master’s bedchamber…clean enough, and occasionally she comes down to the hall, especially if a guest arrives…passing traders and such…and orders everyone about to clear a space for her to dine. She has a heavy hand, that one does, when her temper is riled. Me husband Efrim has a scar across his face from the whip she wielded when he could not find her flowers to arrange on the high table when she was entertaining one of her visitors. Flowers in November! Pfff!”
It took Kirstin a moment to digest all that Frida had revealed in her long discourse. So, Zoya was planted in Hauk’s bedchamber. Well, let him deal with that. And Zoya was in charge of the household. Hah! She doubted the diva would object to Kirstin taking over that duty. With that in mind, Kirstin asked, “How many servants do I have to work with here, inside?”
Frida thought a moment before telling her, “Twelve, including two old men, and three boys.”
Kirstin thought of something. “What about the steward…Halfdan? What does he do?”
“Not much,” Frida said, and folded her arms over her chest in an “Enough said!” manner.
Oookay. “Is there any woman who could act as housekeeper?”
“Housekeeper?”
“Um, the person in charge of supervising the overall daily duties inside a house or keep, like cleaning, laundry, cooking, weaving, scullery maids, food servers, whatever. Not here in your kitchen. I’m sure you can get all the help you need.”
“Signe,” Frida said without hesitation. “Signe is big enough and loud enough to order anyone about. Should have been a shield maiden.” Without missing a beat, Frida called out to one of the boys lugging in a huge pail of water that had to weigh almost as much as he did, “Gorm, go get Signe and tell her to come here.”
Gorm dropped the bucket with a thud, a large amount of the water splashing over the side, and stared blankly at Frida. He was covered with dirt from his bare feet to his calf-length tunic, which was tied at the waist with a rope. His stringy, once blond hair hung in dark swaths down to his shoulders. “Where be I findin’ Signe?” he asked, as he swiped an arm across his nose which was seeping blood. In fact, he appeared to have a blackened eye, though it was hard to tell under that grime, and there were bruises on his arms and legs.
“In the milk shed,” Frida answered the boy, “and wash yer face and yer arms like I told you do this mornin’.”
He looked at his arms and made a rude noise of dissent, then turned and stomped off, muttering something about, “Clean this, clean that.”
“Gorm? Is that the child who was born after Hauk’s father died?”
Frida nodded. “And bears a strong resemblance to that second son of Jarl Cnut who visited here at just the right time.”
“Why does he have all those bruises?”
Frida waved a hand dismissively. “Some of the older boys pick on him because he is so small.”
Kirstin gasped. “And you don’t intervene to protect him?”
Frida looked at her with surprise. “Intervene? Nay. He needs to learn to protect himself, like all Vikings in this hard place. And the bratling does very well most times.” Frida said the word “bratling” with affection, thus leading Kirstin to believe he got at least a modicum of care.
Just then a big-boned, tall woman with a long, brown braid hanging over one shoulder came in and said, “You seek me, Frida?”
“I did. Come sit down, Signe.” Frida poured another mug of ale and offered it to the new arrival who sat on the bench next to the cook. “This is Lady Kirstin, Master Hauk’s wife.”
Signe acknowledged the introduction with a nod, but a frown of confusion at the reason for her being called.
“I’ll let Lady Kirstin explain,” Frida said.
Kirstin did not like being called “Lady” but she let that go for now. “Signe, this jarl house is a filthy mess, and what it needs is a housekeeper or someone to supervise all the jobs that need to be done. Do you think you could handle that?”
Signe looked to Frida. “What about the dairy…the milking, the cheese and butter making?”
“Esme is young, but she helps you betimes,” Frida commented. “Methinks she could take over those duties, don’t you?”
Signe nodded, then straightened with pride, realizing she was being offered a sort of promotion. “Yea, I can do it.”
“Why don’t you two go into the great hall to discuss this? I have a side of venison to prepare for the evening meal and the gods only know what else for all these unexpected arrivals. I will have to see what we have in the storerooms.”
Vikings usually served two meals every day…one early in the morning, before the work began, and one in the evening, after the day’s labor
“Oh, that’s another thing,” Kirstin said, standing. “Hauk asked for a list of all the goods you have on hand so that he’ll know how much game and fish they’ll need to get, and what will be needed from one last trip to the market at Hedeby.
“Good, good! Halfdan kin handle that. He needs to do somethin’ to warrant his steward title.”
“And explain why so much is missing,” Signe added in an undertone.
Kirstin sensed a little hostility there.
Signe took a long draw on her ale and stood to follow Kirstin. Once inside the hall, Kirstin said, “I think the first thing that needs done here is raking up all these dirty rushes. If there are no clean rushes at this time of year to put down, let’s leave the floor bare.” She pushed some of the rushes aside to reveal a stone floor. It wouldn’t be comfortable in the winter but better than the filth, in her opi
nion.
“Ubbi,” Signe called to a young male who was passing with a pile of dirty mugs and plates, headed toward the scullery. “I want you and Toste to get some rakes and come back here to rake up all the rushes. Then push them out the doors,” she pointed to the closed double doors on the other side of the hall, “and burn them.”
“Yea, I will, Signe.”
Kirstin noticed how quickly the boy acceded to Signe’s command. That was good. “And take these dogs and cats out to the barn until they are house trained,” Kirstin added.
Signe and Ubbi both looked at her as if she was crazy, but she didn’t care. She wasn’t going to clean up after animals once the place was rid of their pee and poop.
“Next, I would like all the tables scrubbed down,” Kirstin said to Signe, “though I’m not sure even hot water will penetrate this built-up grease.”
“Ah,” Signe said and took a knife from a scabbard on her belt. Using the flat side of the blade, she dug it deep into the table, then scraped, taking it right down to the bare wood.
“That will work,” Kirstin said with a smile.
“I’ll have some of the youthlings work on this. They will consider it a game.”
Oh, great. Kids playing with knives, Kirstin thought, but decided to show deference to Signe’s ideas.
Hauk’s home was built in the longhouse style of the Vikings, although much bigger than most, being that of the jarl. At one end of the hall was a raised dais on which the “nobles” dined. At the other end, there were several private sleeping chambers, one of which was currently being inhabited by Zoya, she assumed. Three raised hearths ran down the center of the hall, which would be used for heat during the winter months, and occasionally some cooking. It would take a monumental amount of wood to last all that time, but that was Hauk’s and the steward’s concern, not hers. Fortunately, there were a number of holes in the high roof above those hearths which would help relieve some of the smoke. A number of bladder windows (stretched and scraped pig stomachs, rather than glass) let in a translucent light even on dark days.
