Jorvik

by Jorvik- A thrilling tale of Viking Britain (retail) (epub)

  Una was hurt. He did not have to look at her to know this. Hurt oozed out of her, poisoning his meal. Sigurd was furious at being trapped in this position by his wife, though he controlled it well. Between each mouthful of baked fish Estorhild snatched glances at him, sensing his discomfort. Her shoulder in agony today, Ragnhild winced at the simple act of breaking bread, and tried to join husband and wife in conversation, but the atmosphere remained bleak.

  Una peeled the remnants of a candle from a pricket on the wall and attached a fresh one, ramming it down securely, for the threat of conflagration was ever-present in these timber houses. In every move she kept her back to Sigurd.

  Her master’s actions were taut as he cut and ate the fish. He had eaten only half of it when, abruptly, he put down his knife, wiped his mouth and made for the door.

  ‘What ails my husband?’ called Estorhild.

  Sigurd did not turn. ‘I have no appetite. I go to work at my lathe.’

  His wife and mother exchanged worried looks as the door banged shut, then each berated Una.

  ‘See what a fine cook you are?’ Estorhild deliberately tipped her husband’s trencher at the floor, consigning the meal to a small dog that was her pet. ‘You shall do better tomorrow or you shall find yourself in worse trouble! I will have the master beat you.’ She turned away and resumed her tapestry in an attempt to steady her nerves. Ragnhild plodded after her, both turning their backs on Una.

  ‘What should I do now?’ the young wife beseeched the old one. ‘He is so angry with me. I should not have tricked him.’

  Ragnhild tried to knead the pain from her shoulder. ‘A little frown, you call that anger? He will cool down after an hour with his lathe. I have seen it all before.’

  Una cursed them, wanting to shout, You don’t know him like I do! I know a side of him that you have never seen nor would you ever wish to see it.

  Restless, Estorhild put aside her tapestry and went to rummage about in a chest, fetching out a parcel of linen so exquisitely fine that when she unrolled it for Ragnhild’s inspection her hand was clearly visible through it. ‘If I were to sew some garment for my husband with this…’

  ‘Ja, ja, do what you will.’ Ragnhild had grown tired of the girlish insecurities. ‘I must have some balm for my shoulder. Una, fetch me…’ She gaped at the vacant place, then looked askance at her daughter-in-law. As if by magic, Una had gone.

  * * *

  The group of thralls, both male and female, hugged their fire, work over apart from the odd summons to the big house. Engrossed in the tale which Black Mary wove so well, none shifted to make room at Una’s entrance. Ignoring them too, she clambered past and went to Murtagh’s bed.

  ‘Don’t be waking him!’ Black Mary left her tale in mid-air to give warning. ‘He’s had the devil in him all day, I’ve just got him to sleep.’ Away from Norse ears they often lapsed into Irish, which Mary did now.

  Una hesitated over the mawkish child, arms aching. ‘’Tis only holding him I need to be.’

  ‘Sure, and isn’t there another ye could be holding?’ Black Mary winked at the circle of brutish faces who were all aware of her meaning and leered. ‘You being so much closer to him now.’

  ‘I don’t need your twisted talk after the day I’ve had!’ snapped Una. ‘Ye know well enough ’twas the young mistress who ordered me there.’

  Black Mary showed mirth. ‘A body ought to tell the poor lady what a fool she’s making of herself.’

  ‘A body has been kind enough to do that already.’ Una’s eyes pierced those of her sister-in-law. ‘Isn’t that why she worked me near to death?’

  The cackling laugh came again.

  Una knelt and pulled the fusty blankets over the little bare arm, the touch of Murtagh’s skin only heightening the pain of segregation. ‘Did he ask for me at all?’

  ‘Murtagh? Not once.’ Black Mary gripped her knees to her chest and rested her chin on them. ‘He said all sorts of other things, though. New words an’ the like.’

  One of the other women begged, ‘Oh, do not torment us like this, Mary, get on with your tale.’ And Black Mary resumed her ghostly saga whilst the listeners hung on every word.

  Shunned, Una sat by the child for a moment, then brushing his forehead with the lightest of kisses, she left the hut.

  Black Mary’s voice became more and more demonic, the circle around her tightening in anticipation of the climax. She did not let them down. As they reeled away in horror and admiration, Black Mary got to her feet. ‘To be sure, ye’ve a wonderful way with ye, Mary,’ said one. ‘Won’t ye tell us more?’

  ‘Not now.’ Mary opened the door and watched Una creep across the yard to enter her master’s workroom. ‘But I may have a fancier tale to tell on my return.’

  * * *

  He knew that she would follow him. When someone entered his carpentry room, annexed to the house but reached only by an outer door, he did not need to look up, but continued planing a length of chestnut, blond hair flapping around his shoulders. Una reflected his taciturnity. Under her accusing glare he finally tossed down the plane to rally, ‘I do not know what the difference is! What matter who owns you?’

  ‘So ye readily confess that ye gave me to her!’ Una advanced like a rampant goose.

  Sigurd’s chest heaved. ‘She asked for a handmaiden – I did not know she would choose…’

  ‘Handmaiden! D’ye know what she has had me do today?’

  He spread his tattooed arms. ‘She had you cook supper, ja?’

  ‘Ja! A supper that you would not eat and so earned me more rebuke!’

  ‘I am sorry.’ Face no longer hard, he touched her arm. ‘I was taken unawares to find you in my house, and with the pair of them hovering like hawks for my reaction… I had no appetite.’

  ‘Nor I! For I am worked near to death.’

  He groaned and enveloped her. ‘I would not have sanctioned this. You know me better.’

  Una leaned on him. ‘Ye must have words with your wife.’

  Sigurd was uneasy. He did not wish for confrontation so early in his marriage. Perhaps the two women could be persuaded to meet halfway. ‘’Twill be difficult. I have transferred your ownership to Estorhild.’ An idea came to him of a way round the problem. ‘But she did state that she wanted you as handmaid. If I remind her of this your work will be lighter.’ Una shoved him away, hissing, ‘I’ll not work for her at all!’

  He lost his temper. ‘A slave does not dictate for whom she works!’

  She reacted as though he had slapped her. Sorry at once, he tried to hold her again but she pushed him off. His face was earnest. ‘Does she treat you so badly?’

  ‘That she does!’ Una screeched her exasperation at him. ‘But ’twouldn’t matter if she showered me with kisses! She is your wife. Do ye not see, oh fool of fools? I want to be your wife!’

  How long ago had the yearning for freedom been overtaken by a different urge? What could liberty bring to a young widow with no house, no belongings and a son to care for? But marriage to one so rich and influential, one whose body had become an addiction with her, what a marvellous life that would be… would have been.

  He moaned her name. ‘Una, my heart longs for it to be, but you know that we can never wed, even if you were free. I must have a wife who is of the right class.’

  ‘And I am just a slave!’

  ‘You are more to me than that.’

  Devoid of animation, she mumbled, ‘Tell me what I am, then, for I no longer know.’

  ‘You are…’ Sigurd could not find the answer, too confused himself.

  ‘I shall tell you what I am.’ Una squared up to him. ‘I’m the mother of your child.’

  He stared at her.

  Crouched outside the slit that passed for a window, Black Mary opened her mouth and awaited the master’s reaction. Sigurd did not know how to react. He had taken it for granted that any children would come from his legitimate partner.

  Una wrung her hands and waited for him to r
espond, eyes anxious. When he continued to gape, she offered droll comment. ‘Your wife’ll not be pleased.’ The sentence ended on a bitter laugh.

  Sigurd looked down at her, wondering how he could feel so differently about two women. Estorhild was beautiful, desirable, an advertisement of his status and a perfect vessel for his sons; he did feel affection for her… but the passion inspired by Una, this he could never feel for his wife. He folded her in his arms and rested his chin on her head. ‘You are right, she will not.’ At her sigh, he bent his face to hers, the thin lips graced by a smile. ‘But I am.’

  With a gasp of relief, Una dropped her brow to his chest. He lifted her chin to deliver a long, loving kiss. She drew breath and leaned on him again, aching for sleep, but there was a question unanswered. ‘Tell me, my lord, will your child be born to slavery?’

  His hands ceased rubbing her back. This was obviously not a possibility he had considered; he did so very carefully now, his hands resuming their circular movement round her back whilst he deliberated. After much ponderance he spoke, not to her face but to the wall behind her. ‘I cannot free you now, for you belong to Estorhild. It is not done to take back a gift.’

  Una showed great resentment at being dubbed a chattel. ‘You are her master too! Ye can persuade her.’ She looked into his face and saw the truth. ‘But ye do not wish to free me. Ye still think I’d leave ye.’

  ‘And so you would!’ He wrapped his fingers in her hair.

  ‘Not I!’

  ‘You say that! But how do I know it is not trickery designed to make me free you?’

  Una sighed and recognized the futility of argument. ‘Whatever I say ye’ll not believe me. I and the child, your child, must accept whatever you demand.’ She clutched his blue tunic. ‘But if I’m forced to work for your wife I beg ye to spare me one thing…’

  He interrupted. ‘I have sworn I will make it easier for you.’

  ‘’Tis not just that.’ Una took a breath and clarified her plea. ‘Don’t force me to sleep in your house. I couldn’t bear to listen to ye making love to her.’

  Sigurd nodded his understanding. ‘This I can grant you. Tonight you shall sleep in your usual place.’

  Anticipating Una’s exit, Mary scuttled away like a black beetle, though Sigurd was to delay his concubine, placing his hand on her belly and murmuring in her ear, ‘I wish to love you, but will it harm the child?’

  How unpredictable he could be. In the one breath he refused to give her freedom, in the next he worried over a slave that was as yet unborn. She said that it would be all right, but her voice lacked enthusiasm.

  ‘You are tired. I will not force you.’ Sigurd made do with an embrace. ‘Go to your bed now and dream of me, as I will dream of you.’ He opened the door and both stepped into the cold.

  Estorhild, holding a lamp to the night in search of her errant husband, saw him take leave of his concubine. Before he noticed her, she backed into the house, venting her distress on Ragnhild. ‘So that is what he calls working at his lathe!’

  The older woman was ready for bed and spoke through a yawn. ‘Well, after all is said and done, he is a man.’ She had no need to ask what Estorhild had seen. ‘You must expect him to have concubines. Even my dear husband went astray. Keep her working hard and in a few days your problem shall be gone.’

  Estorhild was about to retort when Sigurd came in. Though there were only three years difference in their ages he seemed much more authoritative than she could ever imagine herself to be, and gave both women a look that told more than words. ‘I have sent Una back to the slave-house. She will return in the morn, as a handmaiden. Is there ought either of you wish to say on this?’ His threat was answered by silence. ‘Good, then I am off to bed. Come, wife.’

  Estorhild went with him, and once in bed made reparation for her wrongdoing. She came to him wifely-warm and Sigurd accepted all she offered. Whereas he felt that there was a part of Una he would never have, however deeply he infiltrated her flesh, Estorhild gave herself completely. Why then, was it so uninspiring?

  Afterwards, whilst her husband fell to instant sleep, Estorhild lay awake, still angered by her mother-in-law’s light dismissal of the affair and by the prescribed remedy: bringing the girl here had only exacerbated matters. She would not stand Una’s company for another hour, let alone days. Tomorrow, her rival would be sold.

  * * *

  Una waited until Sigurd had left his house before presenting herself for duty. It was at once apparent that the master had been firm, for her duties were very different today. This was fortunate, for Una felt nauseous and still ached from yesterday’s toil. Her first task was to plait her mistress’s hair.

  ‘Let me see if you have improved since the last time you attended me,’ said Estorhild.

  Una stood behind her and combed so gently that Estorhild was robbed of the excuse to complain. After this, she was told to attend Ragnhild, helping her to wash and dress and combing her hair too. All morning Estorhild appeared to be waiting for something, but not until Una was employed as sempstress did she discover what that was.

  Estorhild kept appearing at Una’s shoulder every few minutes to examine her work, but waited until her rival had run her needle through an entire length of cloth before she asked her to hold it up for inspection.

  ‘Wanton!’ She snatched the material and brandished it before her mother-in-law. ‘See how she has ruined the fine cloth with the size of her stitches?’ It was thrust back under Una’s nose. ‘Doest think you make a tent?’

  If I did, thought Una, I’d shove you in it and stitch up the flap.

  Whilst Ragnhild tut-tutted, her son’s wife assumed charge of the task. ‘You are skilled for nought! Get you gone and saddle my horse, then return here – in a more comely manner than you are now, or I shall never be able to sell such a poor-looking creature.’

  ‘Sell?’ Una was poleaxed.

  ‘That is what I said! I am weary of your incompetence.’ Estorhild draped a veil round her head and neck. ‘I shall take you to the marketplace and hope I can charm some fool to take you off my hands.’

  ‘I know why you are really doing this!’ yelled Una, with no care for her safety. ‘’Tis because of Sigurd!’

  Ragnhild gasped outrage. ‘Such discourtesy! Let me get my hands on her!’ She looked for a weapon.

  Estorhild pursed her lips and advanced on the slavegirl. Una backed away. ‘Ye cannot sell me! I am a Christian, the church disallows it.’

  Estorhild knew that there was truth in this; although the church turned a blind eye to the ownership of Christian slaves it expressly forbade the selling of them. But as she retorted now, ‘I care not! Besides, who is to know if I sell you to one of the merchant ships sailing for the Orient?’

  ‘No!’ Una dodged her mistress’s grasp and with frantic eye ran outside to find a saviour. Estorhild and her cohort watched their victim running in circles like a headless chicken, before the hopelessness of her predicament hit her and, totally dispirited, she stood there, panting.

  ‘I must get my son!’ She reared away as Estorhild took hold of her.

  Ragnhild advised her daughter-in-law against including Murtagh in the sale. ‘You cannot sell your husband’s property.’

  ‘He is no one’s property, he is my son!’ Una fell to her knees. ‘Please, my lady, I beg you, if you have any mercy do not part us. He’s only a babe!’

  The young girl bit her lip. For all that Estorhild hated her rival, cruelty was not a facet of her nature.

  ‘Please, please, I beg ye!’ Every ounce of effort was injected into Una’s supplication.

  Her mistress looked at Ragnhild who flapped the air as if washing her hands of the matter and shuffled inside the house, for it was cold. ‘So be it.’ Estorhild showed compunction. ‘But hide him ’neath your cloak as we go.’

  Shut up in the hovel, Black Mary had missed the drama taking place outside. Her attempts to spin wool were hindered by little Murtagh who kept grasping the spindle-whorl th
at dangled at his aunt’s feet as she moved across the room. ‘Murtagh, will ye give that up at once, ye naughty wee boy! Ye don’t help at all.’ Distaff pinned beneath her left arm, she leaned over to extract the spindle from baby hands. ‘Oh, look now! Isn’t this your mother.’ Una had entered. ‘Go see what she wants.’

  Oblivious to the odd lack of sarcasm, Una responded, ‘I have come for himself.’

  Too busy unravelling the yarn to notice the waxen expression, Black Mary exclaimed, ‘Sure and ’tis welcome y’are! The wee mite has mischief tipping out of his ears the day. Have ye not?’ She pretended to bite her nephew’s nose. Murtagh giggled and fell over. ‘Una, come in or out but close the door, won’t ye!’

  Without further ado, Una picked Murtagh up and left, giving Mary no chance to realize that her darling boy was being taken. With fear quaking her belly, she followed her mistress’s horse towards her new life.

  * * *

  Sigurd had been to visit his friends Ulf and Eric and did not return until the eve. The three had been hunting in the forest, a merry expedition and most rewarding, as witnessed by the hart with lolling tongue draped over his horse. Sigurd hoped that there would not be any unpleasantness at home to mar the day, and was therefore much relieved when his wife was the one to dish out supper. Voicing appreciation, he wasted no time in eating. Estorhild served herself and Ragnhild, then sat down. Her husband noticed that she kept looking at him and felt that she was waiting for him to make comment, so he told her of his day with Ulf and Eric.

  ‘Doest like my new gown?’ asked Estorhild with anxious smile when he failed to remark upon the light blue robe with its golden girdle.

  ‘Ja, it is er… it is most comely.’ Sigurd made a gesture with his knife.

  ‘I thought when you said nought that you did not like it.’

  ‘If I said nought ’twas because you look good in everything you wear.’

  Her insecurity assuaged, Estorhild turned rosy with pleasure.