The short cloak I'd worn at the funeral feast I folded and placed on the bed. It was a garment designed more for appearance than usefulness, and would provide little protection from wind and rain on a sea voyage. The fancy silver brooch I'd worn to secure it at the feast I added to my pile of silver coins and treasure that I intended to leave here. I preferred to fasten my cloak with the much simpler ring brooch I had been using ever since my journey north to the Limfjord with Harald.
The next item my hands pulled from the chest caused me to suck in my breath in surprise when I realized what it was: a small sealskin pouch, containing the scroll whose writings, about the White Christ, my mother had used to teach me Latin. I'd thought it long lost.
"Sigrid kept it, to remember Derdriu by," Astrid said.
It was all I had left now of my mother's, besides the small comb she had given me. I was glad the scroll had not been lost. I was glad Sigrid had kept it.
The rest of the chest's contents had belonged to Harald. There was much less than I would have expected: a small knife, a comb made from walrus ivory, and a pair of short but sturdy leather boots. I tried them on. They were a little large, but if I wrapped my feet with rags or stuffed dried grass in the toes to fill the space, they would do, and would provide far greater protection from winter weather than my own well-worn shoes. I added them to my sea chest.
When I picked up the knife to examine it, Astrid volunteered, "Sigrid gave that to Harald, as a gift." Its blade was short—no longer than my forefinger—and its handle was formed from a piece of deer antler. A dark brown leather scabbard encased the blade and half of the handle. I remembered that Harald had sometimes used this knife to cut his meat with, at meals. It was a handy size. The dagger I wore at my belt—a gift from Harald, given to me on the night he had died—had a long blade that could be unwieldy for delicate work. I added the knife, too, to the contents of my sea chest.
"Is this all?" I asked. I remembered a silver cup Harald had often used. Where was it? For that matter, what of Harald's inheritance, his share of Hrorik's treasure? And what had happened to Sigrid's share? Was their treasure what Toke had dug up the floor of this chamber looking for? Had he found it?
"Sigrid gave most of Harald's things to his closest comrades, after we learned of his death. She kept just a few to remember him by." Astrid answered.
I looked at her. "Do you have anything that belonged to him—to Harald?" She had shared his bed, and although as a thrall she'd had no hope he would marry her, she'd still visibly cared for him.
Astrid shook her head.
"Take this," I said, and gave her the comb. "To remember Harald by. I am sure he would have wanted you to have it."
She held the comb in the palm of her hand, saying nothing, just staring at it. I could not see her expression—her head was hanging down, and her braids hid her face—but after a few moments she sniffed, wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand, and tucked the comb into the small pouch on her belt.
The folded clothes Astrid had stacked on top of the chest had all belonged to Harald. Sigrid had, I supposed, not yet found appropriate recipients for them. One of the pieces she'd kept was the fine linen tunic, dyed a deep crimson color, that Harald had worn for the somber feast when he'd addressed the folk of the estate and the village, that first night after he and Hrorik and the others had returned from their ill-fated voyage to England. It was his feast tunic, and was a fine one. Its color was remarkable. No doubt the dye for it had been costly. Harald had worn the tunic on the night of Hrorik's funeral feast, also. Saying nothing, I folded it and placed it in my sea chest. It would be my feast tunic, now. I would think of Harald whenever I wore it.
There was also a gray tunic of especially thick, heavy woolen cloth. I recognized it as Harald's winter tunic that he wore when venturing out in harsh weather in the coldest months. As a slave, I'd often admired it. It, too, I folded and added to my sea chest. It would be useful in the coming winter.
There was still another tunic, and a pair of trousers. They were more clothes than I could use. Even if I'd wanted them, my sea chest was almost full already.
"Give these to Fasti," I told her. "Tell him they were Harald's. Tell him they are a gift from me."
As she turned to go, she said, "You must find her. Sigrid—you must save her. You must save her from Toke," and then she hurried away.
After Astrid left, I returned to my preparations for the coming voyage. I finished filling the leather sack with coins, knotted the cord around its neck, and tucked it in the bottom of my sea chest. The other, smaller chest—the one than had belonged to Sigrid—I filled with the remainder of my treasure: the two bags containing Genevieve's ransom, the loose coins, and the silver chalice, candlesticks, and brooch. The latter pieces I wrapped in the short cloak. I weighed adding my gold torque and the fine, silver-trimmed drinking horn which Hastein had given me to the little chest, and leaving them behind, too. But they both could be useful in making an impression. They were the kind of items a high-born noble or a renowned warrior might have. They made me feel more than a former slave. I decided I would keep them with me.
I had earlier found, in the boathouse down on the shore, a number of large sacks sewn from sealskin. Such were useful aboard a ship, because they kept their contents protected from water and the elements. I had taken one, and used it now to wrap Sigrid's chest in. Then I heaved it up onto one shoulder, and strode through the longhouse and out to one of the small work sheds, where tools were kept. Taking a wooden spade from inside, I turned and headed toward the hill that rose behind the longhouse.
As I began climbing the hill, Tore saw me and called out, "Where are you going? We must ready the Gull for departure."
"I will be back soon," I told him, and kept going—up the hill, past the stone death ship that held the ashes of my mother and father, and into the woods beyond.
There was a place I was searching for, a place I remembered from when I had been a boy. During a storm one winter, a huge, old oak had fallen over. It had been weakened already, its core partially rotted out, and the storm's high winds, coupled with the weight of a heavy load of thick, wet snow that had filled the old tree's branches had brought the aging giant crashing down, dragging several smaller, surrounding trees with it as it fell.
As a boy, I'd found a secret hideaway up against the old tree's trunk, a small open area within the tangle of branches, broken and whole, that surrounded it. It had been a place I would escape to whenever I could, a place where I could hide from Gunhild's wrath, or Toke's torments. It had been a place where I could be alone, and where I would sometimes dream an impossible dream, that someday I would no longer be a thrall.
My memory of the woods did not fail me. I found the fallen tree, and within its branches, against the trunk, the hidden open area that had been my hideaway. Although much smaller than I remembered, it was big enough. I dug a hole there, against the trunk, and buried the sealskin-wrapped chest in it. As I refilled the hole, scattering the loose dirt that would not fit back in it, and spread loose leaves over all to hide that the earth had been disturbed, I wondered if I would ever return here.
* * *
Like the training, the task of preparing the two ships, the Gull and the Serpent, for the morrow's voyage did not go smoothly. The problem was that most sea voyages are planned weeks, if not months, in advance, so there is time to gather provisions for the journey, time to slaughter beasts and salt their meat to preserve it, and the like. Because the pursuit of Toke was being launched on such short notice, in order to provision their ships, Hastein and Stig had no choice but to draw upon the estate's stores. And even though they stocked the ships with less food than they felt comfortable with, not knowing how long this voyage might last—each ship was loaded from the estate's reserves with only a single small barrel of dried, salted pork, three barrels filled with barley, and a single barrel of storage vegetables: cabbages, carrots, parsnips, and rutabagas packed in hay—a number of the folk of the estate expres
sed concern that if the coming winter proved a long one, they might face shortages and hunger before spring arrived.
Gunhild was the most vocal of these. She even suggested that Hastein and Stig should pay for the stores they took—a proposal that came close to causing Hastein to lose control of his temper.
"We should pay for these meager stores we are taking?" he asked incredulously. "Will they not be eaten in part by warriors from this estate, who sail with us? And do we not sail to bring to justice one who has murdered a number of your own people, including your chieftain, Harald? While you stay here, we sail into danger, both from your treacherous son whom we hunt, and from the rapidly approaching winter, with its dangerous weather. We do this to help your own men-folk avenge losses that, if not redressed, might stain their honor in the eyes of others. And you complain that if the winter should be a long one, your belly might not be as full as you would wish?"
Those of Hastein's men who were near enough to hear the exchange growled their approval of his words. Gunhild blanched and hurried away to the hearth, where she kept her head averted, and avoided looking toward Hastein while she assisted in the evening meal's preparation. But several of the carls from the estate murmured angrily, too. From bits and pieces of their speech I happened to overhear, it seemed Hastein's words had offended their already prickly pride. I heard Floki mutter, "Does he think we are not men enough to avenge Harald without his help?"
Afterward, Hastein approached me. "This is a troubled household," he said. "It is not at peace. It is unfortunate that you must leave again so soon after returning. These folk need a guiding hand—someone other than that woman."
At least in part, I agreed with what Hastein said. The folk of the estate did need someone to lead them, to guide them. Someone other than Gunhild. But I did not believe now that it could be me.
That evening, as dusk was falling and all were gathering in the longhouse in anticipation of the evening meal, I called all of the folk of the estate to come together in the open center of the longhouse, around the hearth. Hastein, Torvald, Tore, and several others of the crew came also, no doubt curious about what I intended to do.
Stepping up onto the edge of the hearth so all could see and hear me, I addressed them. It felt strange to do so. It was like something that Hrorik or Harald would have done. But now they were both gone, and there was only me.
"I have some things to tell you," I began. "By now, all of you have heard that it was Toke and his men who killed Harald, up on the Limfjord."
When I said that, many of the carls, and some of their wives, turned and stared at Gunhild. She glowered back at them. I continued. "In the morning, at first light, I am leaving with Jarl Hastein and his men. We sail in pursuit of Toke. Many of the carls of this household, plus men from the village, are joining us on our hunt. I am grateful to all who are coming with us."
"And I am grateful that you and your high and mighty companions will be leaving," Gunhild muttered, loud enough for all to hear. "You have left those of us who stay behind sparse fare to make it through the winter."
I could feel that all eyes were on me, that all the folk of the estate were wondering what I would say to Gunhild, what I would do. I chose to ignore her. We would have words later, she and I. But now, I needed to speak to those who would come with us, and those who would stay behind.
"Ubbe, who was foreman here for many years, is dead. Someone who is remaining behind must take his place, must see to the running of the estate, and be in charge," I said, turning back and forth, scanning the upturned faces before me, as if trying to decide, although in truth, I had made the decision earlier that day.
"I have always managed this estate, whenever Hrorik was away," Gunhild protested.
This time I did answer her. "Aye," I said. "But now things are greatly changed here. And I want someone other than you—someone I know I can trust—in charge."
"Who are you to decide? Who are you to give orders?"
The voice came from the back of those who stood gathered in front of me. I did not see who uttered the words, but I recognized the voice: Floki.
"I am Hrorik's son, acknowledged by him before he died," I answered, in a voice that sounded more filled with confidence and authority than I felt. "I am, by right and law, now the heir to these lands."
More than a few of the carls of the estate standing before me shook their heads and muttered under their breath. It would seem that some of the folk here did not agree. This was not going well.
"Do you think your claim is stronger than Toke's?" demanded Gunhild, ignoring the fact that most of the warriors present in the longhouse would be sailing on the morrow with the intention of finding and killing him. "You are a bastard. Bastards cannot inherit."
"I was acknowledged by Hrorik as his son. And Toke has no claim. He was disinherited by Hrorik," I replied. "As you well know. As all here know," I added, hoping my words might cause at least some to feel shame, because they had accepted him as the heir. I could feel an anger growing inside me at these folk.
"As to who will manage the estate while I am gone, I have made my decision. Gudrod," I called, "come up here and stand beside me."
He stood motionless for a long moment, a startled expression on his face, then Gudrod pushed through the crowd and made his way toward the hearth. When he reached it, I held my arm out, locked wrists with his, and pulled him up beside me. Under his breath, he murmured to me, "Is this wise? I am just a carpenter. I do not know how to run this estate." I murmured back, "You will learn. You have lived here your whole life. You know how this estate, this farm, works. You need only keep things the same as they have always been." And I know I can trust you, I thought, and that is what matters most.
"Gudrod will be the new foreman of the estate," I said in a loud voice, for all to hear. Gunhild rolled her eyes and shook her head.
"There is one other thing I have to tell you," I continued. And you will like this even less, I thought. "Now that this estate is mine, there are going to be changes. All who live and labor here will be free. I will not have slaves on this estate."
"You are selling the thralls?" Gunhild exclaimed.
"No," I said. "I am freeing them."
A long silence followed. The carls of the estate and their women-folk looked at each other with stunned expressions. Torvald and Tore, standing to my right, close to the hearth, glanced at each other with raised eyebrows. Even the thralls looked taken aback.
Hastein stepped up onto the hearth beside me and leaned close to whisper in my ear. "They are your property now, of course. It is your right. But do you think this wise?"
In truth, I thought it probably was not. But I did not care. I did not know if I would return from the pursuit of Toke. And even if I did, I did not know if the carls who had known me as a slave would ever accept me as their chieftain. Those were all threads that the Norns had not yet woven into the pattern of the great tapestry of fate. But whatever might happen in days to come, it was in my power, here and now, to free the thralls of this estate. It was in my power to allow them to escape a life of slavery, as I had.
As the surprise from my words wore off, those standing before me found their voices, and a clamor of questions and angry exclamations was shouted at me. Most were some variation of "Who will do the work?" Fasti—whom I noticed was wearing his new tunic and trousers—cried out, "Where will we go? How will we live?"
I held up my hands for silence, but was ignored. Finally Torvald roared out, "Let him speak," and stepped out in front of me, glowering this way and that, as if daring anyone to disobey. An angry giant is a daunting sight. The hall quickly fell silent.
"Things here will not be greatly changed by this," I explained. "All of you here, free and thrall, have always done the work of this estate together. But from this day forward, this estate will be governed by two rules. No one may live here on these lands, no one may have the shelter of this roof over their head, unless they share in the work of the estate. And all who do live and work
here shall be free. The thralls will continue to live here, so long as they do their share of the work. But they—you," I said, looking Fasti in the eyes, "will live and work here as slaves no longer. You are now free."
And the carls? I did not say what I was thinking about them. When I returned—if I returned—at some point, there would have to be a reckoning. Those like Floki who refused to accept me would have to leave.
"It will not be as simple as that," Hastein said to me, in a quiet voice. "Free men will not so easily accept slaves as their equals. There will be strife."
I sighed. I was certain there would be. "Well," I replied. "As you have said, this is a troubled household."
* * *
We sailed the following morning, after the rising sun had burned the morning fog off of the sea. All of the folk of the estate who were remaining behind came down to the shore to watch us depart, and to say their fare-wells and safe voyages. Only two had any words for me.
Gudrod approached me as I was walking from the longhouse down to the shore, carrying my sea chest on my shoulder and my bow in my free hand.
"I suspect you may find a use for this," he said, and held out a bundle of arrows, bound together by a narrow cord wrapped several times around them. "These are all the finished arrows I had stored in my work shed, plus a dozen bare shafts that I have fletched and put heads on over the past few days. And this," he said, "is a sealskin case I have made for your bow. It will protect it aboard ship."
I lowered my chest to the ground, opened it, and lay the arrows inside. There barely was room for them. I unrolled the sealskin case and slid my bow into it. It was a useful gift which I greatly appreciated. The constant dampness of wave and weather aboard ship can be hard on a bow. "I thank you," I said. "Very much."
The Long Hunt (The Strongbow Saga) Page 6
