Manannan Trilogy

by Michele McGrath

  “Stand up for yourself. Make a decision and don’t be argued out of it by anyone. You’re the wife of Atli’s eldest son. You stand second only to Drifa among the women in this place.”

  “But what if I make a mistake?”

  “You won’t be the first and you won’t be the last. That’s how everybody learns. If it’s something important come to me or to Kolla. Neither of us will lead you wrong, if only for Mabil’s sake. Make the small decisions yourself. Even a bad decision is better than no decision and hesitating over everything will only make you unpopular in the end.”

  Taking Blin’s words to heart, Emer began to make progress. She expected opposition and grumbling but unexpectedly she found very little of either. She did make mistakes and she tried to learn from them. Most of the women were helpful or, at worst, indifferent. Only Drifa, Halla and their friends looked on, offering no help and speaking critically of her occasional blunders. She stayed away from them as much as she was able.

  “How am I really doing?” she asked Freydis, after once such incident, when they were in the bathhouse alone.

  “Better than you did at first.”

  “Gabbi keeps grumbling at me.”

  “Gabbi grumbles at everyone. Pay her no mind. Kolla says you’re doing well.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “I overheard her telling Blin.”

  Emer smiled. “Thank you for telling me. You’ve made me feel much better.”

  “I’d better warn you though…”

  “About what?” Emer felt a pang of dismay.

  “Drifa thought you’d get into a terrible mess, that’s why she left you alone and gave you no advice. You haven’t and she’s not pleased. She wanted to nag Atli about the bad bargain he made and keep chortling about your lack of skill.”

  “Modir taught me well. I hope I get a chance to tell her so one day.”

  “You will. Hari will take you if you ask. He seems smitten with you. I’d never thought he would be interested in any woman after Kata.”

  “Did you know her?”

  “I did.”

  “Tell me about her.”

  “Little to tell. A beautiful face and an empty mind. She’d have driven Hari mad if he’d married her. He’s not the one to tolerate his wife messing around with other men and that was her favourite pastime. He had a lucky escape when she ran off with Dagfinn. I never thought to say it, but he’s changed since he’s been with you and for the better.”

  “I’m glad you think so,” Emer said with a grin. “What do you think Drifa will do now I’ve disappointed her?”

  “Drifa won’t do anything; that’s not her way. If anything nasty has to be done, she gets Halla or one of the others who toady up to her to do it. Halla’s clever in a twisted way, so watch out for her.”

  “Thank you for warning me. I will.”

  That night, Emer mentioned to Hari the things Freydis had said.

  “Kolla’s right. You’re doing well. Even Fadir has noticed it. He is very pleased with you.”

  “I’m glad, but do you think Freydis is right about Halla?”

  “Probably. Halla thinks she’s better than she is, because Drifa confides in her. They grew up together in Myl and Halla came here with her when she married Fadir. Both of them are nasty women but there’s a limit to what they can do. Neither of them likes me, yet I’ve managed to survive all these years in spite of them.”

  “Why doesn’t Drifa like you?”

  “The obvious reason. When Atli dies, part of his property goes to me. As his eldest son, I would expect to inherit more than her precious Rolf. She begrudges me every piece of silver or plot of land. Fortunately, Fadir is a healthy man and likely to live for many years, especially if he stops going on trading voyages.”

  Emer turned away, so he should not see the sudden emotion on her face. She changed the subject rather abruptly, asking him about what he had been doing that day. He looked startled but answered her question and their talk drifted to other matters.

  That night, with Hari sleeping beside her, Emer deliberately recalled her last dream. In it Atli was dead, ‘with no mark on his body’. Sickness often killed without leaving a mark, but so could poison. Did anyone have a good reason to kill him? Atli had led an adventurous life up to this point, but it was true he was leaving more things to his sons now, especially to Rolf. He did not go on every voyage, nor did he travel around Skuy, as had once been his custom. He seemed calm, expecting no danger. The only thing that had changed recently was her marriage to Hari. Atli expected their union to be barren, so nothing else would change, but what if she bore a child? Should the baby survive, he or she would be another person with a claim to Atli’s wealth. She rubbed her flat stomach. She did not think she had quickened yet, but her monthly courses were due soon and then she would find out. If she was with child, they would have to make some decisions about their future. Certainly they would have displeased many people, important ones, and she had little doubt that there would be consequences.

  As she became more adept in her tasks, Emer was able to finish them more quickly. This left her time for other pastimes. She often sat with Freydis and the other young women telling stories or playing at riddles. A girl called Romi taught her how to dance. Another girl, Tirsa, showed her how to sew in brightly coloured patterns. She liked both of them and a couple of others called Laara and Arla. Arla was said to be the best female archer in the settlement.

  “No woman has ever beaten her and few of the men. If she was stronger, they wouldn’t either.”

  “Can you shoot?” Arla asked Emer one day.

  “Yes, but I left my bow and arrows at home.”

  “No matter. I have several sets and you can borrow mine. Would you like to try your skill against me?”

  “Perhaps.” Emer could see Freydis shaking her head violently and mouthing the word ‘no’.

  “With a small wager against the outcome?”

  “Don’t do it, Emer,” Freydis said. “Arla never loses.”

  Emer smiled. “I have little to wager, as you probably know.”

  “The green stone from around your neck?”

  Automatically Emer’s hand flew to her neck and clasped the stone tightly. “Not that, it is all I have to remind me of home. I could never part from it. If I lose the contest, though, I will do all your sewing for a week. How is that for a wager?” Everyone laughed. Arla’s fingers were clumsy and she hated sewing.

  “And if I lose?” Arla asked but her expression said that it was not something she expected to happen.

  “Whatever you think the win is worth.”

  “Good. Shall we go then?”

  All the girls went outside while Arla fetched several bows and quivers of arrows.

  “You shouldn’t have agreed,” Freydis whispered to Emer. “Can you shoot at all?”

  “Certainly I can, although I am out of practice these last few months,” Emer replied. “No great matter if I lose. I like sewing.”

  “What’s going on?” Atli came over to them.

  “Arla challenged Emer to a shooting contest.”

  “And you accepted?” Atli’s eyebrows rose. “You’re either brave or very foolish. Which is it?”

  “We’ll see.” Emer smiled. She was a good shot. Olaf, who always told her the truth, had said so years ago. She had competed against few opponents, but she had shot hares and birds for the pot. She relished the chance to pit her skill against others.

  Emer tested the bows Arla offered her until she found one to her liking. Word had spread through the village and a small crowd gathered to see the outcome of the contest.

  “I’m ready,” Emer said.

  A row of posts had been erected permanently along the beach to serve as targets. They had marks painted upon them at various levels and it was at these marks that the girls aimed.

  “You first,” Arla said.

  “No, I am a stranger here. Show me how it is done.”

  Arla shrugged, stepped
forward, drew her bow and shot. The arrow hit the nearest post and stayed quivering, a little below the mark and to the right. Arla smiled and stepped back.

  Emer glanced at the sea, taking note of the slight wind that ruffled the waves. It was blowing from her left. She adjusted the way she stood, to compensate. Then she deliberately aimed at a post a little distance beyond the one which Arla had hit. The bow drew smoothly. She released the arrow and watched it as it flew straight, hitting the post exactly on the mark.

  “You’re good,” Arla said, frowning. She stared at Emer as if she was measuring her as an opponent. “Shoot another one to prove neither of our shots was lucky?”

  “Of course.”

  The girls shot again. This time Arla aimed at the furthest post and her arrow hit it in the middle but near the bottom. Emer drew her bow, whispering the little prayer that Olaf had taught her,

  “Odin, guide my aim.”

  She aimed at the same post as Arla, waited for the wind and then loosed the string. She could not help holding her breath as the arrow flew. It hit the wood with a thunk right in the centre of the mark.

  “Good,” Atli said, “continue.”

  Both girls shot until their quivers were almost empty. Emer won every time except once when her arrow was deflected by a gust of wind. Arla was frankly scowling now and barely spoke to anyone. She loosed her last arrow, another good shot but not quite good enough. Emer stood still, holding her arrow and starting to draw her bow when she noticed a goose flying low over the water. Could she? It was a difficult target but she had hunted geese before and brought them down. The memories and the temptation were too much. She swung around and sent her arrow straight at the flying bird. It struck through the breast and the goose tumbled down into the water. A shout went up and a dog was sent to bring the bird to land.

  “A good addition to the cooking pot,” Atli said with a smile. “Who taught you to shoot?”

  “My father.”

  “A good teacher and a good pupil. Olaf must be skilled.”

  “He is. We often went shooting at home. My mother likes the taste of grey goose.”

  “They are difficult birds to hunt.”

  “But the shot was foul,” Arla cried. “We were shooting at the posts not birds. You did not hit the post with the last shot. I claim the victory.” She sounded shrill. She stood with her feet apart, hands on her hips, glaring at Emer.

  “Then you would be unwise to do so,” Atli replied. He turned to the other girls. “Was there any agreement made to shoot only at the posts?”

  “None at all,” Freydis replied.

  “It is the custom,” Arla protested.

  “Did anyone tell Emer this custom?”

  “No,” Freydis said.

  “You would say that, you’re her friend.”

  “Friend or not, it’s the truth.” Laara came forward. “I was there and no one mentioned any rules and customs.” She turned to Emer. “That was a wonderful shot; I have never seen a woman shoot as well.”

  “Arla.”Atli’s voice was stern. “You are a very good archer, but today Emer has beaten you fairly. Perhaps on another day the outcome may be different. Now have the grace to accept defeat, as you have accepted success in the past.”

  Arla’s voice was grudging as she said to Emer, “What can I give you as forfeit? You never said what you wanted.”

  Emer smiled and held out her hand to the girl but Arla did not take it. Emer’s hand dropped and she said quietly, “The loan of this fine bow and a quiver of arrows, if you would be so good.”

  “Take it then.” Arla turned on her heels and flounced away.

  “I will have a bow made for you,” Atli said. “Njall can make it. He is the best fletcher in the village. Njall?”

  “It will be my pleasure,” the tall blond giant who was Freydis’ lover and Kolla’s son said. “I shall make a bow worthy of the hand that draws it.”

  “So you have more than one talent,” Atli said as they walked away together. They entered the longhouse where Drifa and some of the women were sitting spinning by the fire. They had not bothered to join the crowd outside watching the archery but a woman had brought the goose Emer shot inside. She had obviously told them the result of the contest. They were looking startled and far from pleased.

  “A fine talent for a woman to have,” Drifa sniffed, “better to mind your needle than a bow. Leave archery to the men.”

  Emer’s nerves were already on edge, from the contest and the way Arla had taken her defeat. She felt her temper rise. “Why should I?” she snarled. “I can use a needle or a bow and both of them better than you. Or would you like to challenge me too?”

  Drifa’s face went bright red and she had opened her mouth to answer when Kolla, who was nearby, stood between them and said smoothly,

  “What need of a contest between two such talented women? We’re lucky that we can benefit from all your skills. By your leave, Lady,” she said to Drifa, “I have need of Emer just now.”

  Atli caught her meaning and nodded. “Go with Kolla, Emer.”

  Emer went out of the hall. Kolla, in fact, had no need of her but had simply wanted to remove her from the longhouse. Emer never knew what Atli said to his wife but Drifa did not take her to task for her rudeness. She was both surprised and relieved, because she knew herself to be at fault and had no wish to make matters worse or to apologise. It was as if nothing had ever happened. Emer noticed, though, that Drifa’s eyes could shine with exactly the same look of hatred as her son, Rolf’s.

  Arla started to avoid her company. If Emer approached, she would get up and leave. When Njall brought Emer’s fine new bow and she returned Arla’s, the girl took it and did not reply to Emer’s thanks. Emer realised she had made another new enemy. She wished someone had warned her that Arla was sensitive about her ability. She knew she had been showing off a little, just because it was something she loved and could do easily. Had she known, she might have acted differently, but there was nothing she could do about it now.

  11

  It was nearly two months before Rolf’s ship returned. In that time, Emer had reached an understanding with Hari and made more friends and enemies. She deliberately tried to forget her former life, for the memories caused her too much unhappiness. She was settling into her new home and she tried to be pleased about it. Atli’s other ships came and went in that time without incident, so she had almost forgotten the tensions that occurred when Rolf and his men were present.

  Emer had gone riding on the day Rolf’s ship entered the bay. The weather was fine, so she seized the excuse to explore inland in search of fresh herbs. The beast she rode had an uneven trot and she could not help but miss Vif and Thor, her father’s horses. Nevertheless, she enjoyed the exercise and seeing new places. It was good to escape for a time from the settlement and be alone. She felt good and almost happy as she roamed at will. The sun shone, the scent of the gorse was strong and the world seemed peaceful.

  She returned down the long sandy slope that led from the hills to the sea. She saw a figure sitting on a stone watching her and obviously waiting for her to ride past him. It was too far to see his face, but her heart gave a sudden thud of fear. At first she did not understand why her contentment and peace dropped away so suddenly. As she came nearer, she realised that she must have recognised some trait or characteristic of his bearing.

  Rolf stood up as she approached and walked out onto the path to meet her.

  “Good day to you, Systir.”

  “And good day to you. Welcome back. I hope you had a successful voyage.”

  “Very successful, thank you. Did you miss me while I’ve been gone?”

  “Of course. I missed everyone on your ship and I am glad to see you safely back.”

  He took hold of the horse’s bridle and walked beside her. “Ah, but it is a sister’s duty to miss her brother most.”

  Emer wisely said nothing. Then he continued, “I’ve been told that you’ve set people agog while I’ve been
away.”

  “How so?”

  “Beating Arla at archery, for one thing. No woman has done that before. They say you brought down a goose with a single arrow.”

  Emer nodded. “I often hunted geese and other birds at home.”

  “Have you ever beaten a man?”

  “I’ve only ever shot against my father and he usually won.”

  “Then we must have a contest, you and I, to see which one of us is better.”

  “If my husband allows, it will be my pleasure,” Emer answered, deliberately reminding Rolf that she could no longer make all her own decisions.

  He grinned but his eyes went hard. “How do you like married life, Systir?” he asked. “I hear that you are also a good housewife.”

  “Your informant has been busy,” Emer said. “Who was it? Brina?” Brina seemed more relaxed while Rolf was away but not very friendly. Although she had often been in the same room as Emer, she stayed among her own friends. They kept to themselves, a tight knot group of girls and young men, excluding outsiders.

  “Amongst others. Your fame goes before you.”

  Emer laughed. “I’m new, that’s all. Anyone different is interesting, until the novelty wears off.”

  “Ah but you would be remarkable, even if you had lived here for years. No one else has your dreams, no woman can shoot like you and few are such skilled seamstresses. Is that not true?”

  “Stop please. You are making me blush,” Emer protested.

  “You haven’t answered my question — how do you like married life?” He looked up at her.

  “I like it well,” Emer answered demurely, as she would be expected to.

  “You would like it even better if I were your husband. Fadir made a mistake and married you to the wrong brother.”

  “I cannot agree with you.”

  Rolf smiled. “If things were different, I would see your needs were fully satisfied.”

  “Hari satisfies me. I want no one else.”