The Quest for Gillian’s Heart

by The Quest for Gillian’s Heart (lit)

  "And Tove?"

  "She was your lover once. I could not bear that to happen again." The gleam of madness filled her eyes. "There was no pain. I saw to it. ‘Twas a peaceful death. I...I liked Tove. I could not hurt her."

  His father stood. "People, we have present a quorum of judges among us. I feel we should make a sentence today. Adequate time will be given for anyone who might wish to speak in Thora’s defense."

  When no one offered, she turned sad eyes to Andor. "Will you speak for me?"

  He curled his fingers over Gillian’s shoulder and shook his head.

  "But...she is a witch."

  Hildy stepped forward. "You are the witch. Only a witch uses hemlock."

  "No," she said in a gasp of breath. "No!"

  "Gentlemen, gather and we will prepare a sentence," his father said.

  "I will not be tried as a witch and a murderer!" Thora sprinted for the door.

  Her father caught her by the waist and forced her to the floor. His face held the pain only a parent could know.

  "Leave her fate to her mother and I," he asked the crowd. "We brought her into this world."

  There were several nods around the room. Most men were glad to have the decision taken from their hands. Passage was cleared to the door, and once Thora and her parents had left, it closed.

  Too innocent in years to understand the significance of what had just occurred, Hildy asked, "What do they intend to do?"

  "They intend to see she hurts no one else," Andor softly replied.

  Gillian covered his hand with hers. It still rested on her shoulder.

  "Do not let them do this. No parent should do such a thing. No matter what Thora’s done. It is a guilt they will live with for the rest of their lives. The harm comes only where you are concerned. We will be leaving. She can harm us no more."

  "There must be some atonement," his father said. "Even if you and Andor can overlook the wrong done to you, we cannot overlook the fact that she killed Tove...and Astrid. She must be punished."

  "Would a public flogging serve justice?" she asked.

  He looked to the other judges. All nodded. "I shall go speak with them."

  When he returned a half hour later, he was pale-faced and grim.

  "I was too late. They gave Thora the hemlock." He closed his eyes. "And...they took it also. He gave his lands and property to Hildy and Floki. Said it would be a good start for them. Asked us to come by in the morning and give them a decent burial."

  "Then ‘tis done," Andor somberly said.

  "Aye," his father replied. "‘Tis done."

  * * *

  CHAPTER 15

  The Quest, Summer, 890 a.d.

  Had it only been a week since they arrived in Northland? It hardly seemed possible, Gillian said to herself. So much had happened in that short span of time. The deaths of Tove, Thora and her parents, and the marriage of Hildy to Floki so that they would be able to take over the lands left to them. Happy and sad times intertwined.

  Now she and Andor were preparing to depart - another interwoven moment of mixed emotions. Happy because Björn and Sven would be traveling with them in separate ships to begin the first of what they hoped would be many successful trading trips. Sad because Gillian would be saying her first good-bye to Andor’s family. Today it would be Fjola, Asa, and Hildy. Once they reached the trading town of Hedeby, she would make a final break.

  As with Freyda, Gillian had formed a quick bond with the women. She enjoyed the gossip and giggles, and the quiet times, too. Then, even in silence, there was companionship. She was going to miss all that...and them. It was hard not to cry, especially when Fjola stood before her dabbing away tears from the corners of her eyes.

  "Please do not cry."

  "How can I not?" Fjola smiled at her own sentimentality. "It is such a long journey. Anything might happen as was proven when Andor left before. I miss Freyda and I will miss you and Andor. I feel you are truly my daughter. At least you and Freyda have each other."

  Guilt forced Gillian to look away. How could she state her purpose when Fjola was speaking of her in such glowing terms?

  "There you are, crying again," Sven scolded as he and Andor joined them.

  "I cannot help it. You know I worry each time you go to trade. Andor and Gillian are leaving and I shall never see them again. All I shall have is word you bring me from them on your trips. And look at Gillian. She is stronger, yes, but she still is not well and here she is off again. I - "

  "Come with Father," Andor said.

  She stared at him in gap-mouthed surprise. "I...could not."

  "I can handle things here," Asa told her.

  "You traveled with me many times before the children started to arrive," Sven said. "Now the children are grown and gone. Come with me and put your tears away, but hurry...the day grows late."

  Fjola needed no further prompting. After giving Sven a fast hug, she hurried back to the house with Asa to gather her things for the trip.

  "Would you like help setting up the tent on your ship for you and Mother?" Andor asked his father.

  "That will not be necessary," he replied. "‘Tis your ship she will travel on."

  Although Andor expressed his doubts, within the hour Fjola had Seamus load her trunk and furs onto her son’s ship. Citing Gillian’s need for care, she proclaimed herself guardian until she was assured Gillian could handle her tasks with no adverse effects. No one dared argue in the face of her determination. Soon after her things were on board, they were standing at the stern waving good-bye to a tearful Hildy.

  Gillian heard Fjola sniffle and looked up to find her crying once more.

  Andor chuckled. "You cannot have it both ways, Mother."

  "I know." She gave a resigned sigh. "It would be better if all my offspring had settled in one place so I can be closer."

  "Then you should have not taught us to have minds of our own."

  A smile tickled her lips, but she said nothing more as Andor led the way down the fjord. Once sight of Hildy was blocked by the other two ships, Gillian and Fjola sat by the tent to be out of the men’s way.

  "She is so young," Fjola said. "I do not recall being that young when I was sixteen. I worry about her, but Floki is a good man."

  "He seems so," Gillian said. "But I wonder if Hildy is ready to be a mother."

  "No. She may be good with Asa’s little ones, but she is not ready for her own."

  "Then I hope she does not get with child."

  "She will not...if she remembers what I told her," Fjola said.

  "And what might that be?" Gillian asked.

  "I just explained about a woman’s fertile time."

  Gillian wrinkled her forehead. "I do not understand what you are speaking of."

  Fjola turned her head slowly in Gillian’s direction. "You do not know about conception?"

  A flush crept to her cheeks. "Of course, I know. You lay with your man and...it happens."

  The older woman shook her head. "Only during certain times of the month."

  Gillian’s eyes were wide with interest as Fjola went on to explain this unknown concept. She absorbed the information like a dry cloth mopping up water. To think that all she need do was keep track of the days of her cycle and pay attention to changes in her body.

  "Amazing," she exclaimed in breathless wonder.

  "I am surprised you did not know, but then I keep forgetting your mother died when you were still a child."

  "The village women and the abbot saw to keeping me versed in the ways of the world, but they said nothing of this. I think they did not know."

  Fjola shrugged a shoulder. "Perhaps...some do not. Some refuse to believe. But I should think Andor would say something to you of it."

  "Andor knows?"

  She nodded. "Sven explained all to both Andor and Björn when they reached manhood."

  Gillian didn’t know why this revelation should hurt so badly - it was only further verification that he wanted her for breeding purposes only
. There was really no choice but for her to leave. If Hedeby were as large as she had been told, surely she would be able to find safe passage to Ireland. Until then she would continue to distance herself from Andor so her heart would not betray her common sense.

  Andor tried to hide his resentment over his mother’s presence, but on occasion he found himself snapping at others to vent his frustrations. He was grateful for her concern over Gillian’s health and did appreciate the help she gave. But he had looked forward to rebuilding his relationship with his wife during this trip. It was impossible with his mother constantly dancing attendance on her.

  The women were always together - even at night. Although his mother had offered to sleep on deck, Andor had refused to let her forego the comfort of his tent. From that point on, she spent her nights with Gillian while Andor slept alone on deck.

  He had hoped Gillian would miss him enough to join him at night. That never happened. Andor realized then that his foolish actions had caused more harm than he had first thought. It was going to take more than sweet words and caresses to win Gillian over this time. Since actions made him lose her in the first place, he determined it would take actions to get her back.

  Again, his mother’s presence thwarted his attempts. In every instance where there was an opportunity for him to help and care for Gillian, she was already there to accomplish the deed.

  As the days passed and Gillian’s strength improved, her self-sufficiency precluded much need for assistance. It was then that Andor’s temper shortened. The stronger she became, the more abrupt his tone. And as he snapped and growled his way about the ship, he knew he was only sealing his own miserable fate. Keeping his sour mood in check was the only way he could hope to endear himself to her. Considering her apparent disinterest, doing so was a monumental feat.

  He looked forward to their arrival in Hedeby. There he could move his mother to his father’s ship and have Gillian all to himself. Together they’d roam the city, setting up the new route, trading a little. He’d lavish her with gifts as he had when they wed, showing her his high regard for her. That had warmed her to him once - it had to work again. It must.

  Andor glanced to the cook fire where Gillian prepared the evening meal. His pulse quickened when he discovered she was watching him. Encouraged, he took a step her way. She turned her back to him. Only a sword to the heart could have wounded him more. He changed course and went back to the stern to spell Seamus at the tiller.

  How many more days to Hedeby? Too many for his liking. Something had to change now. But what could he do that he had not already tried? He looked over at his father’s ship. If they could get close enough, he could put his mother over there where she belonged.

  Andor flirted with that idea for quite awhile before he finally discarded it. One sudden swell and his mother or her things could wind up at the bottom of the sea. A successful transfer might injure his mother’s feelings. For now there was no way he could win. He had to hang on for Hedeby. Until then, he’d have to give Gillian the distance she wanted - whether he liked it or not.

  "There it is! Hedeby! See the palisade!" Fjola exclaimed.

  Gillian looked to where she pointed, but all she could see was a fence of stakes as tall as the ship. "Why do they have a fence in the water?"

  "It acts as a breakwater to make a safe harbor for ships. There is an opening in the center for passage to and from." She clasped her hands under her chin. "Oh, how I love Hedeby. So much to see. Craftsmen from all over the country live here. Some come from far off lands. I have not been since Björn was a boy...before I carried Andor. That was when Sven’s father passed on and Sven became earl. His mother did not take the loss well and could not manage the farm, so ‘twas up to me."

  She rattled on about things Gillian did not care to listen to. As they neared the palisade, she tuned her out. In the opening ahead, Gillian caught her first glimpse of the town. It took her breath away.

  As far as her eyes could see, small, square houses covered the landscape. They were aligned in precise rows like soldiers ready for battle. Wooden roads before them were dotted with pedestrians. A small fenced yard separated one house from the other and the entire town was surrounded by a wall of earth and wood. A river cut the town in half.

  Gillian pointed to the wall, interrupting Fjola’s recitation of family history. "What is that for?"

  "To keep out invaders. The town is very prosperous. Guards stand atop it to keep watch."

  Gillian squinted and thought she could detect a man or two standing by the wooden rails, armed and ready for action.

  As Andor guided the ship through the entryway, the harbor came into full view. At least a dozen ships were moored on the beach by the docks. Tents ashore in the clearing before them housed their owners while they conducted their business.

  She held her breath while she waited for Andor to find a place to land. It looked hopeless to her, and if that were so, her chances of leaving for Ireland would be gone. She closed her eyes to pray.

  "Over there," one of the men called.

  Gillian dared not look until she felt the ship slide to a halt. They had arrived at her point of departure.

  "I want the ship guarded at all times," Andor told the men. "Work out a schedule so that everyone has a chance to go into town. My tent will go over there." He pointed out a spot near the front of the ship, yet far enough away from the water.

  "Mother, I know you have missed Father," he said. "I shall have the men take your chest to him immediately."

  "And have them tell your father I have gone into town with Gillian," she replied.

  Andor opened his mouth to protest then realized that doing so would only make him seem like a spoiled child. "Do you need any silver for your purchases?"

  Gillian shook her head. She could take no more from him. "I have a few coins. If I see something I like and need more, I will go for it later."

  "Very well. Do not be gone past dark." He turned back to his work.

  Gillian should have known enough to expect Fjola to take her on a trek through town, but the sudden decision took her by surprise. Since there was no delicate way of refusing, she decided to use the other woman’s familiarity with the town to her advantage. It would give her the opportunity to look around without worry about getting lost. Later she could make a lone foray to search for passage. With all the ships harbored here, that could hardly be a problem.

  "Come along," Fjola called. "Before the day grows too late."

  As they stepped onto shore, Gillian was surrounded by smells and sounds of the town. Fresh baked bread, fish drying on racks, roasted nuts. The shouts of children which mingled with the calls from vendors to purchase their goods. It was indeed a busy place as its reputation indicated.

  Merchants and tradesmen ran to greet the new arrivals. Most knew Andor, Sven, and Björn by name, having dealt with them in the past. A few tried to do business with Fjola. She ignored them and continued toward the boardwalk.

  "I do not like being cornered," she told Gillian. "I like to buy what I want and need when I choose to do so."

  Gillian had to smile. It was hard to imagine anyone forcing Fjola to buy what she did not want.

  "We will do our shopping on the main street," she said.

  Gillian walked quietly beside her. The walkway was crowded with people and from time to time they had to move aside for horses and carts or a young boy chasing his runaway pig. Other women nodded greetings their way as they passed. Even on this side street people displayed wares for sale outside their homes.

  As they walked by one selling combs, the stench of blood assaulted Gillian. She glanced up while she tried to fight off the nausea it created. On a scaffolding near the roof, a cow had just been slaughtered. The wide slit at its throat was a hideous caricature of a smile.

  Fjola tugged her by the house. "‘Tis a sacrifice to the gods," she whispered.

  Gillian screwed up her face. "I find it revolting. And a waste of good food."

  Fjola p
atted her arm. There was really nothing more that could be said. It was another clash of cultures.

  She continued to stare at the beast as they rounded the corner to the main thoroughfare. Her inattention caused her to collide with another person. Gillian received the brunt of the slam, but before she could fall, she was caught by a thick arm around her waist. She snapped her head up to a face as brown as polished wood. His head was swathed in white cloth so high it made him seem larger than he was. His black eyes studied her with interest, and as close as he held her Gillian had a pretty good idea what that interest might be.

  Gillian screwed her face into a scowl. "Unhand me. Now!"

  His gleaming smile cut a white swatch across his face. He released her and stepped back, bowing low at his waist.

  "My apologies, ladies. If I may be of service? Amir is my name."

  Gillian shivered with apprehension. She longed for the safety of the ship, of Andor by her side.

  Fjola linked her arm through Gillian’s. "No, thank you. ‘Tis we who apologize. Since we are all unhurt, I bid you good day."

  They hurried by before he could say more to them, but the encounter shadowed the day for Gillian. While Fjola pointed out the jewelry, silks, and other wares for sale, Gillian kept glancing over her shoulder for some sign of the dark stranger. At times she was certain he followed them, then she wasn’t sure, for there were many turbaned men along the street.

  She felt someone touch her elbow and jumped. It was only Fjola.

  "Do not let him spoil your day. He is gone. There are many men like him. As long as we stay together, all will be well."

  Gillian had no doubt of that. It was her private business that worried her. How could she attend to it if she were being stalked?

  "Come look at these lovely rugs," Fjola said. "They come from Persia. Sven bought me one long ago. We have it on the floor of our bed closet. It keeps it warm."

  Gillian stared at the different designs swirled into each carpet. Blues, golds, reds, greens, violets all intertwined to evoke images of far off lands. On a shelf below it, smaller pieces had been folded in half and sewn on two sides to make a bag. Bone handles and ties were at the top.