Her own concerns had taken first place, so far, though Fearn had not forgotten the news she had come to convey about the death of Thored, Clodagh’s one-time lover and father of her only child. She expected Clodagh to take the news badly, but time had mellowed her love and death had been a constant guest at the infirmary. Grief came more quietly, these days. They sat together on a bench in the sun, Clodagh being comforted in her daughter’s arms the way she had been doing only moments before at the possibility of a new life, rather than a death, as if one made up for the other. Both events were neither expected nor unexpected.
There were no tears as Clodagh spoke of it. ‘A pity we could never communicate,’ she said. ‘There are always things to be said that come too late and one wonders if they needed to be said at all when we thought each other’s thoughts. Perhaps he knew how I felt, the way I knew his mind. Time softens the sharp edges of pain, though I think there has not been a day when he was far from my thoughts.’
‘I regret,’ said Fearn, ‘that I left without his blessing, without being able to tell him I understood.’
Clodagh’s hand squeezed hers. ‘I regret that he will never know that you and I found each other. That would have made him as happy as it has made me.’
* * *
Later, walking towards home, Fearn compared her mother’s reflections with those of Aric, who had said much the same thing—that it was not always too late to tell them something, that we cannot always be in the right place at the right time. She saw now that Aric, like Clodagh, was probably speaking from experience and that, if he had opened his heart to her, he might have shared those regrets with her. She thought it unlikely now that she would ever truly know the man behind the façade. They had agreed, she and her mother, that it would serve no good purpose to tell Oslac of Thored’s death, for he might then feel obliged to show a sorrow he could not feel for the man who had stolen his wife’s heart.
* * *
As it happened, the timing of Fearn’s revelations to her mother, one of them unintended, coincided only three days later with a surprise visit from the Jarl Aric and the young man named Hrolf who was known to them. Having just stepped on to the jetty, Aric agreed with his companion that now would be a good time to introduce himself to the elderly Christian couple whose work with slaves and other unfortunates was of such benefit to Lindholm. The visit had another purpose. Aric had intended for some time to discover for himself if these two were in fact the parents who had deserted Fearn and, if they were, why she had not told him so.
Both Clodagh and Oslac had known that there would be a time when they and the Jarl would meet face to face although, now that it was happening, and despite a kind of mental preparation, they were rather unsure about how to greet him. He was, after all, the most important man in Lindholm and yet he was their daughter’s lover, too. And how did one greet the man responsible for bringing her back to them in this unorthodox fashion? Ought they to thank him while condoning their daughter’s reluctance to inform him of his good deed, such as it was? In the end, these issues mattered less when his manner was so courteous and not at all the picture Fearn had painted of him as arrogant and self-obsessed, as any jarl had a right to be. Leading Aric into their large and comfortable hall, they poured mead and allowed him to lead with his questions.
‘You are, I believe, the Lady Fearn’s parents? She has not confided in me, you see, so this is why I am here without her knowledge. I’m not even sure she wants me to know, though I don’t know why.’
Clodagh was the first to sympathise. The situation was delicate and without precedence. ‘We are,’ she said, ‘but Fearn knew we would have to meet, one day. One cannot govern a place the size of Lindholm without knowing exactly who is who, can one?’ She smiled, putting Aric’s mind at ease. ‘And I dare say she kept us apart because...well...the situation is fluid, isn’t it? She tells us she’ll be obliged to leave us again and what point would there be in you knowing you were responsible for another sad parting? She was probably trying to spare you, my lord. Could it be that, do you think?’
Clodagh’s kind and charitable explanation struck a chord in him, deep within his consciousness where, many years ago, a young man had returned from his first Viking expedition to find that his mother had left home, gone for good, with not a single word of farewell to ease his breaking heart. He felt the pain of it still, placing his hand there to comfort it. ‘Yes,’ he whispered. ‘Yes, that could be it.’
Clodagh saw the gesture, but Oslac was keen to impress their guest with his own credentials. ‘Yes,’ he said, with a trace of elderly pride, ‘we are indeed the Lady Fearn’s parents. My wife and I were in Jorvik for many years, when I was eventually honoured with the Earldom of Northumbria. Of course, it’s not the kind of position one can hold for ever, you understand.’
Aric understood nothing of the sort. He knew of men, like Thored, for instance, holding earldoms until they died in harness. ‘Indeed not,’ he said, sipping his mead.
‘No, my wife and I decided the time had come to leave it to a younger man.’
‘We didn’t come straight to Lindholm,’ said Clodagh. ‘Oslac wished to visit some of the Irish monasteries, thinking that he might become one of their community, but when we saw how the young people were being stolen and sold from the port of Dublin, we knew we had to do something to help them. We were obliged to leave our daughter behind, you see, so we understood the pain. So we came to Denmark and set up this little community and we’ve had a very good reception. It was a good move.’
And at that time I was about fourteen years old and my sister Tove left Lindholm with her new husband to seek a better life and to escape my father’s tyranny. Aric smiled and nodded in agreement. ‘I had just started my career as a Viking then,’ he said, ‘which must be why our paths have not crossed until now. It’s a demanding occupation,’ he added. ‘It leaves little time for relationships.’
Clodagh was about to ask him if he might ever reconsider the exchange between their daughter and his nephew, when Meld skipped lopsidedly into the room, hopped across to hold Clodagh’s knee, then smiled at Hrolf. ‘Hej!’ she said.
‘Hej, Meld,’ he replied.
‘Where is Haesel?’ She twirled a bluebell in her tiny fingers.
‘She and the Lady Fearn are probably sewing,’ he guessed. ‘What do you have there?’
But halfway through her reply, Meld’s attention had been caught by the good-looking man at Clodagh’s side whose grey eyes held an admiration worth exploring, even for a young lady of only five winters. ‘I am Meld,’ she told him, ‘short for Raegenmeld. You may have this, if you wish.’ She held out the bluebell, daintily.
Time held its breath for Aric as his eyes swept over the enchanting child, finding no visual link with the bawling infant who had been wrenched from her mother’s arms five years ago. If ever he felt shame, guilt, wretchedness and pity for a woman with the sins visited on her by others then it was now, as he struggled with the ragged sobs and the sudden rush of scalding tears that, somehow, he must blink away and convert to a smile for her. It took all his efforts to control himself, to whisper, ‘Thank you, Meld. I have never received a bluebell before.’
My niece. My sister’s beautiful child. How she would love her. How could this happen? Who had found her and saved her life?
‘Do you not have a wife?’ the child asked, with all the innocence of her years.
‘Not yet,’ he said, stealthily swiping at a tear with one finger. ‘I’ve been away, you see. I haven’t had the chance to find one.’ A hard ball of pain stuck in his throat as he remembered Wenda, crooning over this child as a babe, almost losing her mind when the men came for her and he had stood by, appalled by the tussling, the screams and shouts, then by the weeks of tears until Olof came to her rescue. Brave Olof. Cowardly Aric.
‘I know someone,’ Meld said, brightly turning to Clodagh for affirma
tion. At any other time, he would have laughed at the child’s pertness, but this time he was glad when Clodagh came to his rescue with, ‘Not now, sweetheart. This is not the best time. Our guests need to go home now.’
‘Will you come back?’ Meld asked him.
‘If you will be here to talk with me, I shall certainly come back. Would you and Oslac allow that?’ he said to Clodagh. He was shaking.
‘You are welcome here at any time, Jarl. Our country has suffered much at Danish hands over the years, but we try to set an example of peace and love and the healing of wounds here in our little community. Anyone is welcome if they come in peace. And none of us can afford to reject love when it is offered, can we?’
Clodagh’s words echoed in Aric’s mind as he and Hrolf walked through the tidy garden and past the green plots surrounding each cluster of houses and workshops. ‘What an amazing couple they are,’ he remarked to Hrolf. ‘At their age, making a new life for themselves in a country they have every reason to fear.’
‘I’ve come to admire them,’ Hrolf said. ‘I shall accept their religion before I marry Haesel. It makes far better sense than anything our gods have to offer.’
‘So does that mean an end to viking and the wealth it brings?’
‘Not necessarily. But the appeal of it lessens. One can get tired of burning people’s houses down and robbing countries of their wealth. I’d rather be with Haesel and a few kids round my feet. And a ship to sail.’
‘So. You and Loki. Who next, I wonder?’
Aric’s concerns, however, were not for the loss of his two men, but for his sister Wenda’s loss five years ago of the delightful child he had seen just now. Nothing could have prepared him for the feelings he had experienced as she skipped into the room, her twisted foot partly hidden by her long skirt yet in every other respect a perfect creature with a sunny nature and the face of an angel. Her white-blonde hair curled round her head like a sunburst, her wide blue eyes seeing only the good in people, eyes that might have been closed for ever if his father and Wenda’s overbearing lover had not been cheated by her rescue from death that night.
The terrible deed had sat heavily on his conscience since then, for he had done nothing to plead Wenda’s cause, believing that his father and tradition could not be wrong about such things. As an ambitious Viking, he had opted to show the hardening side of his heart even towards his own sister. The gods willed it, he had said. Well, apparently there was another more powerful god with other ideas who did not condone the pointless waste of a life, a god he had a mind to find out more about before it was too late.
But one thing about which he felt profoundly uncertain was whether Wenda should be told that little Meld with the twisted foot was now living with the old couple, risking a demand for her return and yet another breakage of hearts. Meanwhile, he himself could only satisfy his conscience and make amends for his cowardliness in the affair by bringing Kean back, so that Wenda could bring up her sister Tove’s child in place of the one she had lost. That was a promise he could not go back on, but nor would he advance the timing of it and deny himself his year with the Lady Fearn. His loins ached with the need of her as he and Hrolf strode up the path to the door of the longhouse from where the sound of women’s laughter reached them.
They were, as Hrolf had guessed, making new clothes for all four women from the yards of cloth Fearn’s sister the Queen had given her. The laughter was for Deena who, being deaf, had not understood instructions about which were the armholes. Consequently, until she could emerge giggling from the tangle, she neither saw nor heard the reunion of the four lovers, two of whom headed, hand in hand, to the Lady Fearn’s private chamber at the end of the hall. Closing the door with his foot, Aric drew her into his arms, delving one hand through the thick waving mass of her unveiled hair while holding her head for a kiss, hard and urgent, until she pleaded for a space to breathe. Placing a hand on each side of his face, she prised him away, scolding him with her brilliant eyes, a look totally at odds with the enthusiasm she had just shown. ‘So now,’ she said, ‘perhaps you’ll tell me where you’ve been these last few days?’
His eyes were dark now, warm and mischievous. ‘Do you care?’ he said.
‘No. But nor do I want to be informed of your whereabouts by my women.’ His pale hair was loose, tangling through her fingers and falling between them, contributing to the impression of roguishness. She raked it back, roughly, keeping hold of it on top of his head. ‘You are not supposed to be laughing.’ She scowled.
His white teeth shone. ‘I’ve been to Aggersborg,’ he said, ‘to see how my ship is coming along. It will soon be ready to sail.’
‘To England? With me?’ Desperately, she willed him to say no, that he would never return her, that he could not live without her, that he loved her.
‘Sail back here, to Lindholm,’ he said, gently. ‘We shall not be sailing to England this year. You know that. It will need sea trials first, then the days will shorten and no one with a grain of sense sails far at that time of the year. You know that, too.’
She released his hair and watched how it slid silkily down on to his forehead, twisting at her heart with love for him. She must not spoil the moment. If he had indeed been with a woman at Aggersborg, her own shrewishness would drive him straight back there. She knew his talk about sea trials was a poor excuse. There were plenty of ships he could use whenever he needed one. Her hand cupped his bearded chin. ‘You need a shave,’ she whispered, ‘but come lie with me first. Just to lie. Nothing more.’
‘I understand,’ he said. ‘Just here in my arms. That will do for me.’ Lifting her as if she weighed nothing, he carried her to the bed and lay against her, nuzzling and lapping at her skin, nibbling her lips and searching her lovely body for the soft curves and mounds, thoughts of which had kept him awake at night in Aggersborg, alone. Fearn lay a gentle hand upon his crotch to comfort him until it softened and stilled, and slept like its master. This was the first time they had been apart since her arrival at Lindholm and she was sure now that she would never hear him speak of love.
* * *
An hour later, as they lay in delicious half-sleep, Aric told her who he had visited before returning to her. ‘Why did you not tell me you had found your mother and stepfather?’ he said, smoothing his hand over the soft wool of her gown. ‘Did you want it to stay a secret between us?’
For a moment, she was silent, not wanting to disturb their tranquillity with the harsh truth. ‘At the time,’ she said, ‘it seemed best to keep it to myself. We had...still have...secrets from each other. There was no good reason why you ought to know when I shall never be a part of your life, or theirs. It can hardly make any difference whether you know or not. The one who ought to have known is my father, Earl Thored, and now it’s too late.’
‘I would like to have known, too,’ he said, sadly.
‘But you have ever been careful to tell me nothing of your family, and I have never asked you. All I know of you has been told me by your brother-in-law, your aunt and cousin, and that’s very little.’
‘Did your mother explain to you why Thored fathered you instead of Oslac, her husband?’
‘She did. It’s a very sad and personal story. And now I understand why I was left behind in Jorvik. It was not by Thored’s demand, but Oslac’s.’
Aric raised himself on one elbow to look deeply into her eyes. ‘Is that so?’ he said. ‘Because he...?’
‘Because I was not his. Male shame at being unable to father his own child. My late husband also, I think, unless the fault was mine. His shame took a different form and I have been the one to suffer for it. Oh, don’t offer me your sympathy. Both problems are resolved now, at last.’
‘Then perhaps I should tell you what Clodagh revealed to me, about Oslac. Apparently his guilt was such that, in Ireland, he was minded to enter a monastery.’
F
earn shook her head upon the pillow. ‘As if that would have solved anything,’ she whispered. ‘Leaving his wife alone. Thinking of his own troubles. How like a man. Did my mother talk him out of it?’
‘I think she simply redirected his pity from himself to the plight of slaves.’
‘Our God works in mysterious ways,’ she said.
‘I think he probably does, sweetheart. I saw little Meld with the twisted foot.’
‘Your niece.’
‘Yes, I truly believe she is. And adorable, too. She gave me a bluebell.’
Fearn smiled. She had seen it drop out of his hair.
‘I have brought something for you, from Aggersborg.’
So far, Fearn had refused to accept any gift from him, but now it was not in her heart to refuse again. She rolled to the edge of the bed to watch him draw something out of his leather pouch, wrapped in linen. ‘Here,’ he said. ‘Take a look at this.’ Sitting beside her, he heard her gasp of surprise and wonder at the pile of scintillating beads strung on to a fine leather cord. Pieces of black jet from her own country, chunks of polished translucent amber from the Baltic shores, tiny gold and silver discs between orbs of pure rock crystal and glass of every hue, many of them embellished with fine threads, dots and chequers of molten-glass strands. There were beads of precious carnelian, garnet, carved ivory and amethyst, which she knew must have come from the ends of the earth and cost a fortune. She would not ask, nor would she refuse it, for it showed that she had been in his mind. She let him take it from her and, lifting her hair out of the way, bent her head for him to slip it over. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.’
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