Daughter of the Wolf

by Victoria Whitworth

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’m leaving soon. I’ve been planning this for weeks. Months. There’s nothing for me here.’

  ‘Where will you go?’

  ‘Back to my kin. North. It’s not so far. Three days. Other side of Pickering marshes.’ But he could see that the name meant nothing to her.

  ‘Have you told them? Elfrun? The old bitch?’ But she bit her lip when he frowned.

  ‘I’m heading to the minster now.’ He frowned. ‘I wanted to tell Elfrun, but she’s gone to Illingham. There’s something odd about it. She didn’t take Gethyn.’

  Saethryth was not remotely interested in whether Elfrun took her dog for a walk or not, and her face said as much. ‘Are you leaving straight away?’

  ‘In the next day or two. Why?’

  ‘I’m coming with you.’

  ‘What makes you think you’re welcome?’

  Her face had gone quiet, thoughtful, though her colour was still high. She said, ‘If you wanted to hide a bag of silver, where would you put it?’

  ‘Round my neck.’

  She shook her head. ‘Not that. Maybe bury it, but I haven’t found it.’

  He made a wry face and shrugged. ‘Thatch, then? Rafters? How big a bag?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Then, ‘Help me.’

  His eyes narrowed, he gave her a long look. She stared back, defiant, and after a moment he nodded. As with the chickens, it was a quick job with two of them. The rafters were low, and it was a matter of moments to run their questing hands along every surface, into the corner of every beam and purlin. She was just about to move on to the underside of the thick-packed eaves when she heard him grunt. ‘There was a hollow. Inside.’ He was clawing with his fingers at the further edge of reach, hauling down a little bag. ‘By... there’s some wealth in here. Thirty – forty coins, maybe.’ His fingers tugged at the fastening thong, and he groped inside, tipped the little discs into his palm. ‘And all good silver. Where’s this from?’

  ‘It’s what my father’s stolen from Donmouth.’ She held her breath. This was the gamble. Would he purse his lips and march to Elfrun, either from honesty, or from a desire to see her father brought low? She thought to herself that if it were the latter she would understand, although she might not be able to forgive.

  Or would he simply stuff it in his own pouch and walk out?

  She said, ‘It’s my way out of here. I’m sick of him lamming me every time I turn round.’ Which way would he jump? She watched the way his fingers tightened around the leather purse, and she took a deep, silent breath, slow in and slow out.

  ‘You, and the silver, to come north with me? Is that the deal on the table?’

  ‘There’s more.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Kiss me.’

  He scowled at her.

  ‘Come on. I need to know what it’s like.’

  ‘You’ve kissed me before.’

  ‘Things are different now.’ Her cheeks were blazing but she held his gaze. ‘You’re scarred. And I’ve more knowledge of kissing.’ There, she had said it. He could just turn round and go, and take the silver with him, and there wouldn’t be a blind thing she could do to stop him.

  But instead his eyes met hers, and ducked away, and came back, and he took a step towards her. ‘If I kiss you,’ and his voice was thick, ‘there’ll be no more abbots.’

  She nodded, and he pulled her hard against him.

  69

  Elfrun drifted up out of sleep and dark, muddled dreams. There was someone there, hands, body pressing close against her. It was dark and the air was thick, and so perhaps she was under her father’s cloak, but she was warm and comfortable, so she couldn’t still be on that bitter hillside where Finn was lying bleeding, and the body whose warmth and weight were pressing against hers smelt wrong.

  She was fully awake in a moment, sitting bolt upright, shucking off the warm folds of cloth and shoving herself away backwards with hands and heels. The room was dark except for the glow round the edges of the banked fire, but it was enough to show her Thancrad, kneeling by the place where she had been lying, his eyes hidden in the shadow thrown by his cheekbones.

  ‘What are you doing?’ he asked.

  ‘What am I doing?’ She pulled her knees close up against her chest and looked wildly around the dim space.

  He patted the blanket. ‘Come back here and lie down.’

  She shook her head at him, speechless, her face stiff, brows tugged into a frown.

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ he said. ‘This is what’s needed. We need to.’

  She stared, light slowly breaking in on her confusion, and panic coming in hard on its heels. ‘But I’m already promised.’ It was the first thing she could think of to say.

  ‘What?’ There was shock and anger in his voice, and he was on his feet suddenly, moving towards her.

  ‘A nun,’ she gabbled. ‘My grandmother says I’m to be a nun.’

  And he laughed.

  It wasn’t unkind laughter, or loud; she could tell he really thought it was funny, but he was trying to keep his amusement under control. Perhaps he didn’t want to hurt her feelings. When his face was straight again he said, ‘Oh, yes. Athulf told me all about that. Your grandmother, and her conviction that the Church is the safest haven for both of you.’

  ‘Athulf?’

  ‘Athulf tells me all about you.’ His face hardened again for a moment, and she wondered what unwelcome thought had crossed his mind.

  ‘So can I go now?’ She scrambled to her feet and started making her wary way past him and the hearth, towards the door, keeping a careful distance. If you threaten me with wild beasts, know that at the Name of Christ they grow tame... St Agatha’s words to Quintianus were rattling though her mind:... if you use fire, from heaven angels will drop healing dew on me... But the words seemed so sensational, fitting perhaps for a saint confronting all the pagan powers of Rome, but many worlds away from this dim room, this reasonable young man.

  As soon as she had her hand on the latch she knew that the door was as immobile in its frame as ever.

  They had been locked in together.

  And at that the whirlpool of panic she had navigated around successfully so far came swirling up from the depths on a flood tide.

  This had all been planned. That kindly, heavy-faced woman, with her honeyed bread and her soft words... Elfrun could feel her heart galloping, threatening to choke her.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘This is all a misunderstanding. I won’t be angry if you let me go. I won’t tell anyone. I won’t tell the king, or...’ She was fighting to keep the pleading note out of her voice, to keep her hands at her sides.

  ‘I understand,’ he said. ‘Don’t worry.’ His voice was kind and friendly, as it had been when she had ridden behind him on Blis, and she felt the tide of fear turn and flow away from her. He got to his feet and began walking towards her, smiling down in the dim light of the banked hearth. ‘My mother said it wouldn’t be easy for you. That you’d be afraid, that you might change your mind.’

  ‘Change my mind? About what?’

  ‘She said that girls are often afraid, the first time, but I shouldn’t take too much notice.’ And without warning he shoved her shoulders hard, and she sat down on the floor, winded and shocked. Before she could recover, he was down there next to her, and she twisted round on to her hands and knees, trying to crawl away, but Thancrad pushed her flat on to the pile of bedding, and then the weight of his body was pinning her down from above and behind. It was all happening so fast, and she couldn’t get air into her lungs, but air or no air she began to scream.

  ‘Stop it,’ he said.

  But she couldn’t stop screaming until she ran out of air, and had to stop in order to drag more into her burning lungs. Only then did she realize that the crushing pressure had eased. For some reason he had rolled away, and she was free. She could breathe.

  She clawed her way up on to her feet and spun around, ready for the next attac
k, but he was sitting with his back to her, his arms encircling his knees and head bowed. She could hear his ragged breathing, but he didn’t move. Her heart was thudding within her ribcage, and her eyes flickered to the door. What next? Would he call in his friends to hold her down?

  Still he didn’t move, and slowly her panic lessened. She would be on her guard, next time. No knife, but she could go for his eyes.

  ‘Come here,’ he said at last. ‘Sit down. Let’s talk.’ He turned, and she could see the pale oval of his face. He jerked his head, and she took a step backwards. ‘Come on.’ He got to his feet, and started walking towards her. She forced herself to hold her ground. What good would it do her to be backed into a corner? ‘We need to talk.’

  Elfrun swallowed the hysterical laughter that threatened. Her throat was so tight with holding it back that she couldn’t have spoken even if she had wanted to. But his hand was on her shoulder, and he gave her a little shake.

  ‘Don’t be upset. Don’t worry. Things will get better. We’ll try again, later.’

  Get better? Try again? She had to stop this, now. She shifted away from his hand, then turned to face him, swallowing hard and wiping her damp palms down her skirts. ‘What do you think I am?’ She didn’t recognize her own voice, so flat, so hard. ‘One of your slave girls, who has no choice?’

  ‘What?’ He was shaking his head. ‘Don’t be stupid. You accepted the veil. You’re my wife.’

  It took a moment for the words to get through to her. When they did it was as an icy drench. ‘Is that what your mother told you?’ She drew herself up and squared her shoulders. There could be no possibility for doubt in this message. ‘I am not and never will be your wife.’

  ‘Of course you are.’ He was like his mother earlier: so reasonable, so assured.

  ‘How can you say that? You kidnap me. You – you try to violate me. No one has asked me. I told your mother, no. My father is dead. My uncle is dead. No one has the power, no one—’

  He was frowning. ‘Have you forgotten?’

  ‘What?’ She wanted to fly at him, flay him, claw that reasonable look from his face with her nails. ‘I haven’t forgotten anything. You – it’s you who’ve forgotten. I’m lord of Donmouth. Nobody can treat me like this.’

  ‘But you sent me your token, and your consent.’ He sounded blind, baffled.

  ‘My what?’

  He was fishing for a leather thong around his neck, pulling out a little, tight-fastened pocket, fumbling with the neck, tipping something out into his palm. ‘Look. I’ve been carrying it for weeks. Months.’

  She didn’t want to see, but he was coming close again, pushing whatever it was he held in front of her face. ‘You can’t pretend it’s not yours. Come on, Elfrun. Love. I’ve seen it on you.’ There was a puppyish quality to him now, insistent, like Gethyn when he knew he had done wrong and was trying to wheedle his way back into her affections.

  She folded her arms and turned her shoulder, not caring – more than not caring – dreading what he might have to show her. A bout of nausea hit her. ‘Leave me alone.’

  It did her no good. Thancrad pulled her back with one hand, thrusting the other, fingers cupped protectively, under her gaze.

  A little silver tag, decorated with a cheerful, prancing animal, black on silver. He tilted it to catch the glow from the fire. There was still a scrap of red wool trapped in the riveted end. Even in this dark room, it was as familiar as her own heartbeat, as her father’s face. The room reeled around her.

  ‘Where did you get this?’ But she knew the answer before he ever opened his mouth.

  ‘Athulf brought it, with your messages. All summer, you’ve been sending me word.’

  ‘Not me.’

  ‘You’re teasing me. Stop, please, Elfrun. This isn’t funny.’

  ‘Thancrad’ – she could hear the high note of rising panic and choked it back – ‘I never sent you any word. If Athulf said I did he was lying. That tag was stolen from me.

  ‘I don’t believe you.’ His mouth had gone square, corners tugging downwards, and for a dreadful moment she thought he was going to cry. ‘Those words, kind words...’

  She half stamped her foot in frustration. ‘Call him in. Ask him, see if he’ll lie to my face.’

  She watched his own face tighten. He closed his fist around the silver tag. ‘Well, no harm done. You’re here now.’

  ‘I never accepted the veil. I never said yes.’ She could hear her voice shaking and she couldn’t have said herself whether it was with fright or fury. She knew it happened, that a girl was taken and married by force, whether she and her family liked it or not. But she had never thought it might happen to her. Whose account of this dreadful night would be believed, when the world learned of it? She could see the avid faces, the gleaming eyes, the wagging tongues, at spring and harvest meetings. How they would relish this.

  ‘Don’t be afraid.’ He tried another smile. ‘I shouldn’t be surprised, I suppose—’

  ‘I’m not afraid, you oaf.’ She glared at him, her fists clenched in front of her. ‘I’m angry. Are you so stupid you can’t tell the difference? Athulf stole that tag. He lied to me, and he is lying to you. What sort of loyalty is that? And you’re surprised that I want nothing to do—’

  ‘What is wrong with you?’ For the first time there was an edge of anger in his voice too. ‘Do you think this was my idea? Flatter yourself that you’re my first choice?’

  She stared at the floor, shocked at his sudden turn from coaxing to hostility.

  ‘You should be counting your blessings,’ he said bitterly. ‘There are other girls in the world, you know.’

  ‘Then why me?’

  ‘You call me stupid, and then you ask that question?’ His hurt was evident but she felt no urge to console him.

  They glared at each other for a long moment before Elfrun realized. ‘Donmouth.’

  He nodded.

  She turned away from him, hugging her arms around her body. This wasn’t about her at all. It hadn’t even been desire for her body that had fuelled his assault just now. It was the land she embodied, the reed-beds and the water meadows, the fields of barley and oats, and the sheep on the hills. And not only what, but where. Donmouth, the gateway to Northumbria. Hold Donmouth, and you have the kingdom in the palm of your hand.

  Hot tears burned her eyes but she had no intention of giving in to them.

  ‘Elfrun?’

  She ignored him. She was thinking too hard.

  ‘You should have this back,’ he said. ‘If it wasn’t a token from you, I don’t want it.’ He took her hand and she felt him pushing the little silver tag into her palm, curling her fingers about it. But as soon he released her she let it drop into the rushes.

  ‘Are you going to keep me here?’

  ‘This wasn’t my idea,’ he said. ‘Don’t blame me.’ He was looking beyond her. ‘I didn’t want it like this.’

  ‘Do you really think I care whose idea it was?’

  Thancrad stared at her, then pushed past her and headed for the door. He shouted a name and battered the wood with his fists, and there were muffled answering voices from outside. Elfrun heard the bar being taken down with a clatter and a thump. She had thought it was still this same endless night. But the long early-morning sun came in horizontal through the doorway, outlining Thancrad in gold, and beyond him the yard was full of people.

  And among all the strange faces, sharp and clear, was Auli.

  70

  Finn’s eyes snapped open.

  He had waited for a long time, and finally, somewhere in the midnight, still waiting, he had tumbled against all desire and good sense into sleep.

  Widia had been as good as his word, finding Finn a strip of cloth to tie around his neck and support his left arm, and the pain from his damaged shoulder had faded into a dull throbbing ache and a lingering nausea that he knew would pass. Eventually.

  Waiting for Widia to return, his thoughts had been more taken up with the linge
ring sense of bruising on his mouth, the memory of Elfrun’s clumsy, reckless kisses that had come out of nowhere in the half-dark of the heddern, her passion that had touched him and terrified him in almost equal measure. Why had he ever thought, even for a moment, that it was a good idea to ask her to come away with him?

  What could he ever offer her? Not just the absolute poverty of his pouch, but the poverty of his way of life, the poverty of his heart. Whenever Finn thought of what a priest might call his soul he had an image of one of those leggy beetles that run so fast, so lightly, on still water that their tiny feet only dent the surface, skittering this way and that. To stop would be to sink. So fast, so light, evading blows and attention equally. Passing across men’s awareness for a moment, and then gone, like the swallows, and forgotten.

  But Elfrun had looked at him. Him, not the trinkets and tat he peddled. She had turned that thoughtful, dark-brown gaze on him, eyes like pools of peaty water, and he felt that she had seen right down through the shallows and into the places deep down, where the monsters lurked. She had looked, and she had not flinched. He had a sudden tactile memory of her fingers, light as moths, on the old scars on his back.

  How on earth, after all that, had he slept? And it seemed he had slept for hours.

  Fully awake now, he was squatting with his back against a tree trunk, watching Donmouth coming back to life as the sky paled. It was a morning of mist and echoes, the call and response of the cocks on the dunghills, wild geese honking as they descended to the estuary. A child trotted past swinging an empty basket. He could hear the rise and fall of voices from the women’s house. Those girls would have no interest in him now that he had lost his pack. Gethyn sat at his side, and the dog-boy, his twin for silence and patience, just beyond.

  There was still no sign of Widia.