by Jen Black
“A few years ago it would have been blood. The godi would have sacrificed a sheep to ensure good fortune for the newly wedded couple.”
Emer shuddered. Flane regarded her speculatively. “This must be very different to the way your people marry?”
Emer nodded. “We have a man of the church, and he blesses the union. We also use rings as a symbol of marriages, because a ring has no beginning and no end, so it is everlasting. The marriage is blessed, the bed is blessed and we believe we are married in the sight of God. The one God,” she added with a smile. “We don’t believe in divorce.”
As they talked, the bride and groom walked separately back to the hall, which Emer thought rather odd, and everyone followed behind them. Only the children raced ahead, and even they stopped at the hall door when they saw Snorri place his shining sword across the threshold.
He stood there, arms folded across his wide chest and waited for his bride. Katla approached slowly, watching him warily. He bounded forward, scooped her up in his arms and stepped with exaggerated care across the threshold board. Katla laughed aloud, and people laughed with relief as the bride and groom vanished into the gloom of the hall. Flane laughed, too.
Emer turned to him in frustration. “Why did he do that? Why is everybody laughing?”
“The bridegroom’s supposed to take care that she does not stumble as she crosses the threshold. Snorri certainly made sure there would be no bad omens.”
A frown wrinkled Emer’s brow. “Why would there be bad omens?”
“A doorway is more than just a doorway. Spirits gather there and in the old days the first homesteader used to be buried beneath it to defend the home against evil influences. It’s a portal between the real world and the spirit world. It represents the change in the bride’s life and status. From maiden to wife, you might say.”
Emer sighed. “Am I going to see any more strange customs today?”
Flane guided her through into the hall and pointed. “Look there, Snorri’s going to thrust the sword into the main roof beam. If he makes a good deep scar, then the marriage will be lucky. Then, once they’ve drunk the bride-ale, we can all relax and enjoy ourselves.”
A little later, Emer sat, sipped her mead and listened to the speeches and jokes bandied back and forth across cloth-covered tables. Snorri answered most of them, and seemed satisfied with his bride. He toasted her looks, her dignity and her pleasant nature, at which Emer spluttered and tried to hide her laughter.
“Does he know her at all?” she demanded.
“It’s doubtful,” Flane said, frowning as he caught sight of men carrying large coils of rope outside. He got up and peered through the doorway. “What’s going on?”
The elder of Skuli’s two brothers roared out the answer. “The crew of the Wave Walker challenge the men of Skuli Grey Cloak’s Steading! We need a champion swordsman for the two settlements!”
Flane scowled. “No one told me about this.”
“But your back,” Emer said quickly. “They know you cannot fight.”
He ignored her. “I’ll see Skuli Grey Cloak,” he snapped, and strode off.
Emer found it hard to believe he intended to fight. When she glanced at Skeggi, he merely lifted his shoulders in a shrug. When Flane strolled back across the hall a little later, he was grinning.
“What have you done?” she demanded.
“That’s a fine greeting.” Flane adopted an injured air. “I told Skuli I’m ready to fight.”
Concern for his safety overrode everything else. “But you’ll get hurt, Flane—please don’t do this!”
He pulled her to him and held her so close their bodies touched all the way down to her knees. His breath warm on her face, he said quietly, “Be quiet and don’t shame me! I’m not fighting every round. I’ll come in at the end. Most of the men know I’m Skuli’s champion, and they won’t object.”
“But I object!”
“You don’t count!” He looked down into her worried face, and grinned. “Don’t worry. I’ll be all right. I’ve beaten most of them before today.”
But Emer couldn’t help it. She watched the early rounds with little pleasure and flinched at every blow, scratch and scarlet bead of blood. By the time Flane was ready to fight, she was sick with fright. Oblivious, he dropped a kiss on her brow and left her.
Oli scampered up, his cheeks and chin greasy from sucking on a bone. Skeggi wandered along behind him, a horn of ale in his fist. “Is Flane going to fight?”
When Emer nodded, Oli clapped his hands. “Oh good! He’ll beat whoever they send!”
Emer kept her mouth firmly shut. She couldn’t trust herself to speak. If she said what she thought about the stupidity of men in general and in particular men who took part in sword fights when their backs bore raw, red weals, Skeggi might take offence.
Beside her, Oli gasped.
“What is it?” She whirled round. “What’s happening?”
“It’s Snorri Longnose,” Skeggi said, who was tall enough to see what was happening behind her. “It looks like he is going to fight Flane.”
Emer’s heart dropped with a sickening lurch and for a moment she thought she might faint. Snorri was Katla’s husband now; he might intend revenge on Flane for the insult to Katla. She put out a tentative hand and gripped Oli’s shoulder. Slowly, common sense asserted itself. There had been no time for Katla to persuade Snorri to do such a thing, and besides, she would be insane to tell Snorri anything at all about her previous love for Flane Ketilsson.
“Are you ill?” Skeggi’s voice brought her back to herself. “You’ve gone pale. It’s only an exhibition fight. You don’t have to watch if you would rather go back inside.”
She repeated the words inside her head. Only an exhibition fight, he won’t be hurt. She tried her best to smile and shook her head. “I’ll stay, Skeggi. I felt dizzy but I’m better now. Really! I’ll watch with you and Oli.”
The three of them went outside into the sunshine where ropes marked out where the sword fights were to take place. The designated area was much larger than that allowed for a hólmgang. Flane waited to one side. Tall, relaxed and with a slight hint of a smile lengthening his mouth as he waited for the next bout to begin, he looked so wonderful Emer could not help but feel a wave of pride at the sight of him. Skuli stood to one side, while Snorri approached Flane.
He bent his head in acknowledgement of his opponent and both men drew their swords. Skuli Grey Cloak dropped the swatch of cloth he used as marker, and the two men moved forward into battle. The heavy swords, roughly the length of a man’s arm, glittered in the sunlight.
Snorri lunged at Flane with a roar that shattered the peace of the valley and drew everyone’s attention to him. Emer’s stomach turned over. Both her hands flew to her mouth as she watched the man she loved spring back, his weapon in the air. The two blades clashed together once more, and then Flane retreated smoothly from the attacking blade. Snorri followed, and his sword flashed dangerously close to Flane’s left wrist.
Emer gulped and bit down on her knuckles. Flane frowned and backed off. The sunlight cast short moving shadows across the field as Snorri, full of confidence and energy, prowled after him. He lunged once more, and the point of his blade hooked into the collar of Flane’s tunic. Flane twisted and leapt aside. Snorri pursued him, and found, to his surprise, that the sun blinded him.
Instinct and training kicked in. Snorri skipped to one side, and Flane’s sword slid harmlessly by. Some cheers rang out but quickly subsided. The men were well matched; both skilled with the sword and if Flane was hampered by his sore back, Emer thought no one there would know it.
She could not watch. It was hardly fair for Snorri to fight an injured man, and her earlier liking of him diminished. If he hurt him, she did not know what she would do. She shut her eyes, and turned her back on them, unable to imagine a world that did not include Flane Ketilsson. The chime of sword against sword rang in her ears and above the noise of the crowd she heard the p
anting breath of the combatants.
When the crowd grew silent at last, she feared the worst and pressed her knuckles against her teeth in an attempt to stem disaster. She opened her eyes, swung around, stared across the level grass and saw Flane. He gasped for air, sweat streamed down his hollow cheeks, and his blue eyes were haggard, but he was on his feet.
Snorri looked exhausted. Pity poor Katla on her wedding night. The thought slid across Emer’s mind as swift as a trout through water, but her attention was all for Flane. Snorri, grinning, stretched out a hand. With a rueful smile, Flane took it.
The fight was over.
Relief exploded through Emer with the terrifying suddenness of a thunder clap, and she sank to the grass when her knees wobbled. With her face in her hands, she breathed a prayer of thanks and listened to the cheers ringing around the combatants’ weary heads. He was safe for another day. She could breathe again. The terrible constriction around her ribs lifted. The sickness disappeared, and she was able to get to her feet and smile.
He came wandering back some time later, pulled her into the curve of his shoulder and smiled down at her. “I need ale. I have a thirst like a salted fish.” He reeked of new sweat, but she said nothing. She could hardly think beyond the relief of having him with her, whole and unscathed.
“I feared for you,” she said softly.
He laughed. “It was only an exhibition bout. We weren’t out to kill each other.”
“It looked dangerous to me.”
His large hand gripped her shoulder and pulled her closer. “Ah, but it paid off handsomely.” Genuine laughter lit his tired face.
Puzzled, Emer wondered what she had missed. “What is it? What has happened?”
“He offered me a boon, a prize, since it is his wedding day and we shared such a brave exhibition.”
Emer ducked from under his arm and spun round to face him. “Tell me! Don’t tease me like this!”
“I asked for passage to Pabaigh,” he said simply. Realisation of what his simple words meant for them both brought a wide smile to her face. For several moments, she couldn’t speak, then she tipped her head back, flung her arms in the air and shrieked. People turned and stared. She frowned suddenly. “Did he say yes? Did he agree?”
Flane nodded. “He wants a week for the wedding festivities, and then we’ll go. He even knows where it is.”
She flung her arms around his neck. He picked her up and swung her round. Emer suddenly remembered his back. “Put me down!”
Chapter Twenty
Emer gazed out over the waves, but she wasn’t thinking about them. Her thoughts centred on Flane’s brown tunic and the absence of decorative work at the cuffs and neck. Once they were settled at home on Pabaigh, she would design and make a braid to repair the deficiency. Her mother was sure to have red or green wool in her basket, and that would do well. A pattern of leaves, perhaps, for the hem, and an acorn or two. Rather like the green Skeggi was wearing, she thought, and smiled as her wandering gaze found him.
Skeggi and Frida stood side by side in a little world of their own, leaning against the opposite gunwale and staring out to sea. Emer had been astonished when Skeggi appeared on the jetty with the confident, cheerful girl beside him. It seemed Frida had astonished him by promptly agreeing to his hesitant suggestion that she might wish to accompany him to an unknown island called Pabaigh. Skeggi had gone around with a huge grin on his face ever since.
So now they were five, Emer thought. Plus Grendel, of course, which made six.
“Oli,” she said suddenly, reaching out to tweak his tunic. “You’ll fall over the side if you lean any further.”
The boy dropped back to the wooden deck, turned and grinned at her. “I wanted to see if I could catch the wave in my teeth.”
“The wave is more likely to catch you.”
“Are we nearly there yet?”
Emer stared over the boy’s head. A rugged stretch of mountains lay on the horizon, and the water ahead was littered with small islands. “Snorri’s steersman tells me Pabaigh is about an hour away, if this wind keeps steady. Two, at most.”
Oli’s face fell. At first he had been enchanted with being on such a vast ship, but half a day’s sailing on the Wave Walker had been enough. Now he was impatient to see Pabaigh. He turned back to the sea, hung his arm over the side and trailed his fingers through the green waves sweeping along the side strakes.
Chin on hand, elbow on the wooden gunwale, Emer frowned and stared out over the water. Her own feelings about returning home were mixed. She was glad, of course; but she felt some anxiety about introducing a Viking lover to her family. Her brother Donald would be fascinated by Flane, but her parents would almost certainly regard him with misgiving. He wasn’t even a Christian, which they would find deeply upsetting.
“Where are we going?” Oli’s voice broke into her thoughts. “I thought you said we weren’t there yet?”
Emer straightened, braced her arms against the gunwale and glanced around. One of the islands was considerably larger than it had been. She glanced over at Flane, who stood in conversation with Snorri Longnose and the steersman. “We can’t be,” she said briefly. “It isn’t Pabaigh. Why don’t you ask again?”
Oli went at once. He loved any excuse to talk to the men. He was back quite soon. “That’s Rodel over there,” he announced, pointing. “That’s where we’re going.”
“Why are we going there?”
“I don’t know. Flane didn’t tell me.
“I’ve never been, but my father has,” Emer said. “There’s a small settlement by a beach, a harbour, a church and not a great deal else.” She settled her cloak as a pad beneath her elbows and leant on the gunwale beside him. “We’ll just have to wait and see.”
Oli was beside himself with excitement as the longship rowed into the small harbour. At one point all the oarsmen lifted the wooden shafts in the air as the ship squeezed in through the narrow entrance, and Emer, as well as Oli, held her breath until they were safely through and into the harbour.
Snorri leapt ashore and strode off toward the small church halfway up the hill. By the time Emer got ashore, he was deep in conversation with a small, rotund man dressed in the rough homespun robes of the Celtic church.
As she and Flane drew near, she saw the churchman was of mature years. He blinked in the sunlight as if he did not often emerge from his stone cell, but nodded and smiled at whatever Snorri Longnose put to him. Snorri beckon Flane, who walked over and inclined his head politely at the introduction.
“This is Father Peedar,” Snorri said. “Flane Ketilsson, Father.”
Emer edged closer and listened while trying to look bored.
“So this man is the bridegroom?”
Emer wondered why the cleric thought Flane was the bridegroom rather than Snorri Longnose. She looked round curiously. Father Peedar tilted his head back and inspected Flane, who nodded briefly. “My lady stands ready, though this will be a surprise for her.”
Emer stood rigid, her eyes wide and unseeing on the seagulls circling above her. Behind her, she recognised outrage in the cleric’s voice.
“It is an abduction? Then I cannot—”
Flane’s voice broke in swiftly. “It will be a surprise to her, Father, but she will be happy about it. She is of your church, and I do not want her ever to regret our marriage. I want it to be done as she would wish.”
Mollified, but with a thread of suspicion still present in his tone, the cleric asked, “May I speak with the lady?”
“Of course.” It took all the willpower Emer possessed not to turn and face Flane until he touched her shoulder. Hoping her face showed nothing more than polite curiosity, she allowed herself to be led forward and introduced. Father Peedar took her arm, briskly led her around the corner of the church and came to a halt by the side of the sun-warmed stone where Flane and Snorri could not see them. The sharpness of his bright blue eyes surprised her.
“This man Flane Ketilsson wishes to marry
you here, today.”
Emer heard the words and could have thrown her arms around the little man and hugged him. Happiness bubbled inside her, and she could not prevent the smile spreading across her face, but the chilly authority in Father Peedar’s eyes did not lessen. She took a deep breath and gathered her thoughts together to make a coherent reply.
“That would make me very happy.”
Flane watched the corner where Emer and the cleric disappeared, his brows drawn together. Snorri nudged his arm. “Fear not. He will marry you in a little while. He has done this before, when a Viking and a Christian come together.”
“He seems to take a lot of convincing,” Flane muttered. “Either that or she’s changed her mind.”
Snorri snorted. “He simply likes to be sure. His conscience has to be clear.”
A little while later, Emer rushed back to Flane, her eyes sparkling in her rosy face. “You did this? You organised this? You and—”
At Flane’s nod of the head, she turned to Snorri Longnose. “Thank you, my lord chief.”
Longnose stepped forward, laid hands on her shoulders and saluted her cheek with his lips. Emer uttered a little gasp of surprise and pleasure. “The sooner it’s done, the sooner we can get to Pabaigh.” Snorri grinned. “And the sooner I can get back to that new wife of mine.”
Sunlight warmed the cool stone of the church and brightened the daisies growing in the grass by the door. Snorri watched the young couple and recognised a love match when he saw it. He wondered briefly if he and Katla might find love in the years to come. Their bedding had been achieved with satisfaction on his side, and he thought on hers too; but he saw the sidelong glances Emer and Flane exchanged and felt a twinge of envy. Emer looked ecstatic, and Flane’s mouth kept stretching into a wide grin. There was more than satisfaction between them.
The other couple were watching all that went on, and he saw the girl looked meaningfully at Skeggi, but the lad merely waggled his eyebrows in return. Behind them, his crewmen stood a little way back, chatting quietly while seagulls sailed above their heads, swooped down over the harbour and perched on the masthead of the Wave Walker. Green water moved gently into the harbour and rolled sluggishly up to the rocky wall below the church. The sound of the sea formed the background to the voices of the bride and groom as they made their pledges to each other and received the church’s blessing on their union.
