by Jorvik- A thrilling tale of Viking Britain (retail) (epub)
Black Mary chuckled as Sigurd’s horse tripped and almost threw him. Her master dealt a blow to the one who had left the obstacle in its path. ‘Will ye ever listen to that. Not a shred of humour in his breast, and him so funny to look at with his woman’s hair.’
Una defended her lover. ‘Amongst friends he can be quite the joker.’
‘And you’d know all about that, I suppose.’ Black Mary dismissed the claim. ‘Vikings don’t make jokes – they just cut throats.’
Una paid no heed, having more on her mind to worry about. This morning there had been a vision but so hazy that she was unable to interpret its meaning. For a period of no more than five seconds, she had found herself looking down on the bodies of two dead children, and was attacked by a feeling of evil. Then it was gone. Concerned for the child within and also for Murtagh, she still puzzled now over what it could mean.
Just one garment remained in the tub, a pair of Sigurd’s underbreeches. Black Mary squeezed these too and shook them out. Though she could not abide such base chores she was unable to resist poking fun at Una, and slipped her hand into the garment.
‘Will ye look at the cut o’ these his wife has made for him. Isn’t she the excellent sempstress – the cloth’s so fine ye can see right through it.’
Worried over the vision, Una rose to the bait. ‘Where’s the sense of breeches that don’t cover your backside?’ With a violent jerk she emptied the contents of the tub, left it to seep across the yard and went inside to lamplight and shadows. Black Mary was quick to follow. Both elbowed their way into the circle and set upon warming their insides with broth, though their naked feet were dead to all stimulus. Amid desultory chatter, the door opened and all gave inward groans as the master poked his head in.
But the summons was for Una. ‘Come, the house is ready.’ He withdrew and waited outside, leaving the door open and the cold washing over their red feet.
Mary took her face from the soup-bowl as Una abandoned hers and went to collect her child plus a bundle of worktools. ‘And where is it you’ll be off to?’
Child in one arm, bundle in the other, Una returned the level stare. ‘Away from here – is that not what all of ye wished for?’ She included the others in her look of defiance and was about to move on when Black Mary, out of concern for Murtagh, leapt up and stayed her exit.
‘Where to?’
‘Did ye not see the new house being built? ’Tis mine.’ Una could not prevent the smugness.
The listeners gawped, then shared an exclamation. Mary showed first disbelief then disgust, but both gave way to a more important factor. ‘You’re not taking himself.’ She made a grab for Murtagh.
But Una swivelled her body away. ‘He is my son and he comes with me.’
‘You care for him as much as ye did his father!’ accused Black Mary. ‘Leave him to someone who does love him.’ She was intent on wresting the child from its mother’s arms but at this point Sigurd’s narrow face reappeared, barked, ‘Hurry, Una!’ and Mary shrank back to watch the child she loved being taken from her, rooted there by helpless fury.
Another shared this same emotion, with no power of redress at her fingertips. ‘How blatantly he doth parade his concubine,’ said Estorhild, peeping from a window with Ragnhild as Sigurd and Una walked off together.
The older woman tried to make light of it. ‘You must get yourself with child, ja? Then he will not want to know her.’ She pulled Estorhild back towards the warmth of the hearth. Both women wore cloaks and veils, for even with the fire it was chilly.
Steeped in misery, the young girl played with the end of her plait, using it as a brush on her cheek. ‘But hers will be born afore mine.’
Ragnhild showed renewed pique at her son’s crass behaviour. ‘All he wants is to build up his stock of thralls. The child will have no rank. And as I keep telling you, if the gods grant you a virile man then you must expect him to have concubines.’
‘But not to love them above his wife!’
‘Oh, for pity’s sake!’ November was always a bad time for Ragnhild.
Curtailing further dialogue, a swarthy face appeared in the doorway. Estorhild could not help a sickened exclamation and even though it was under her breath the guests heard it.
‘Do not treat your husband’s friends so badly!’ chastised Ragnhild, and beckoned to Eric and Ulf. ‘Come in, come in, put the wood in its place! Take no heed of this one, she is but cross at her husband who neglects her.’
Eric came to the hearth, wearing the uncertain smile of an unwelcome guest, Ulf with his usual dour approach. Both kept their cloaks on and huddled over the hearth until the heat interfused their cold limbs.
‘Where is our lord and master?’ asked Eric, looking round.
‘I will let you guess.’ Ragnhild cocked her head at him.
‘Ah…’ Eric gave a sidelong grin at Ulf which further annoyed Estorhild. He saw the expression on her face and looked abashed.
Ragnhild told them about the new house. ‘But then I’ll wager you already knew about it.’
‘Nei!’ said both innocently.
‘You men!’ Ragnhild was not to be gulled. ‘You are all the same, protecting each other.’
Eric asked where the new domicile was and when told, said, ‘I shall go and root him out.’
Ulf allowed him to get to the door then swiftly prevented his exit. ‘Nei, I shall go!’ Concealing his face from the women, in whose company he was never easy, he hissed, ‘Sit you down! I forbid you to leave me with those two – one would ravish me and the other cut my balls off from the look in her eye.’
‘I shall only take two minutes to look for Sig…’
‘And probably dip your wick into the bargain! I know you. If you find him at it you will join in. Two minutes can mean two hours – get you back to the fire.’ He slammed the door behind him.
Sigurd did not appreciate being disturbed in his lovemaking and left Ulf in no doubt as to this by a volley of insults.
‘You grow to be as bad as Eric,’ responded Ulf as the two of them left Una and went back to the main house. ‘It shall wither away and drop off.’
‘Nei, it is only disuse that rots it, Ulf.’
Ulf ignored the insinuation. ‘And such a house for a concubine!’
‘You do not know what you talk about.’ The younger man was shirty. ‘Una is special to me. I would not have her living amongst those miserable beasts when she carries my child.’
‘I think you are touched with madness,’ said Ulf. ‘I am no judge of women but to neglect the beauty you have at home…’
‘Ja! It is because you are no judge of women that you do not fully understand, Ulf.’ Sigurd’s expression became intense. ‘Una, she… she takes me to the sky! Estorhild, well, yes she is sweet and guileless, but when I touch her I feel nought. I have but to think of Una and…’ His eyes conveyed euphoria.
Ulf was unmoved. ‘There are other qualities in a wife besides that.’
‘Oh, you…’ Sigurd clammed up, annoyed that his friend did not side with him. But then as he mentally compared Estorhild’s attributes to Una’s, a mischievous thought occurred to him; there was one thing at which his wife was very expert. His mood changed. ‘Come, do not let us fall out.’ One of his arms found Ulf’s shoulder as they reached the house. ‘Have a bite to eat then we shall tell some tales and perhaps enjoy a game. Una is not about to disappear, she will keep till the morrow.’
Inside, while Sigurd caught up on the news from his friends, Estorhild hissed to her mother-in-law, ‘You tell me I should get with child, but how am I to do that with so many rivals for his company? If it is not the wench it is those two. How I hate their stupid faces.’
‘You cannot expect your husband to give up his friends for you,’ Ragnhild hissed back.
‘I would not mind but they exclude me from their chat. Oh no!’ She slapped a hand to her brow as a game of hnefatafl was set up. ‘I might as well take myself to bed.’
But before she could rise, Si
gurd called to her, ‘Do not sit so quiet over there. Come and have a game with Ulf.’
Both Ulf and Estorhild enquired with their eyes, but Sigurd insisted. ‘Come! I would have you two be friends, and what better way to get to know each other?’
As the two reluctantly sat down to play, Sigurd nudged Eric and waited for the fun to begin. He had challenged Estorhild before and she had beat him easily; this ploy was designed to get revenge on Ulf for being so mean about Una.
As the game progressed Ulf’s face became darker and darker. When finally his hnefi was surrounded by Estorhild’s men he continued to glare down at the board, as if unable to believe that he was beaten.
Sigurd and Eric were creased with mirth as Estorhild said tentatively, ‘I think I have won.’
Ulf heard the splutter and glared at the conspirators. Beaten by a woman, their laughter said! How they howled at the restrained violence on his face. Estorhild too did not like it and, jumping to her feet, rushed off to her bed-closet. The moment she was gone Ulf dived for Sigurd whilst Eric tried to hold him off, laughter still on both tongues.
Ragnhild beat them all with a long-handled pan until they cowered like small boys. ‘Call yourselves men! Look what you have done to that poor girl.’
‘We were not teasing her!’ Sigurd defended his head while his mother aimed blows. ‘It was this old misery. I sought to put him in his place for despoiling my fun by his rude visit.’
‘That is all you ever think about!’ roared his mother. ‘Well, you had better start thinking about your wife or you will not have one.’
‘Oh, she is so touchy.’ As his mother backed off, a red-faced Sigurd picked up a fallen chair and banged it into place. ‘If she tried to share my humour she would fare better.’ He warded off another of his mother’s accusations. ‘Ja, ja! I will be more careful what I say to her in future. Go fetch her and let me play the good husband.’
Ragnhild found it hard to persuade the tearful girl to emerge from the bed-closet and began to share Sigurd’s impatience. He had his faults but none were so bad as this spoilt brat wanted to paint them. ‘You do not know how lucky you are to have a husband at all. Stop whining and come out. He does not love her. I told you, it is the magic.’
The reply was spirited if tearful. ‘You said also that if I got rid of her the magic would be broken, but look! She is back and her magic is as strong as ever. The house he has built for her is almost as fine as this.’ Estorhild lay on the bed clutching a handful of eiderdown. Sometimes she felt so lonely, longed to be at home with her mother or sisters to talk to. It was no use telling Ragnhild of her worries; she would get no condolence from that icy breast.
‘Such exaggeration!’ Ragnhild pointed around the room. ‘Look, look at the finery. No slave ever had tapestries on her walls, nor silk upon her back. Look at the golden rings upon your arms and in your ears – she has none of those.’
‘No, but she has my husband’s love and she has his child.’ Estorhild buried her face and mumbled through the quilt. ‘And there is nought that I can do about it.’
* * *
Black Mary was less defeatist. She had accrued few belongings during her years of enslavement, except for those she had managed to filch from the big house. Most of these she shared with her fellow unfortunates, except for that which she had most recently acquired. So precious was this oil of rue that she had hidden it away to keep for her own use, for with rape a constant threat one never quite knew when one might have to purge one’s belly of a devil’s child. Precious, yes, but now she was about to share it with the one whom she despised. She cradled the phial in her dirty palm, pondering how to sneak it into Una’s food. There would be no chance this eve, with the boar most likely rutting with his sow, but in the morning she would visit under pretext of seeing Murtagh and the outcome would serve Una well for her robbing ways.
It was no coincidence that Black Mary arrived as Una was about to eat breakfast; they were well informed as to each other’s habits. At the tap on her door Una delayed her meal of porridge and went to answer it, showing disdain when she saw who her visitor was.
‘’Tis my nephew I would see before I begin my duties.’ Black Mary clutched a tattered cloak under her chin. ‘I’ll not get another chance before nightfall and then he’ll be a-bed. Is he woken?’
‘He is.’ Una shivered and moved aside. ‘Ye’d best come in.’
Entry was met by the smell of new timber. Black Mary’s jaw dropped – the house had a wooden floor!
Murtagh was beside the fire, already eating his porridge. Without comment on the house Black Mary went straight to him and dropped to her haunches. Una interrupted the greeting between aunt and nephew. ‘I have a proposition to put to you.’
Black Mary rolled an arrogant eye, but waited to hear what the proposition was.
‘Much as there’s no love lost between the pair of us, I’m ready to admit that Murtagh has a fondness for ye. If ye’ve a mind I’d be willing for him to spend his evenings with you and the daytime with me.’
The hard face yielded for the merest second, then Mary gave that cynical laugh of hers. ‘’Tis not for Murtagh’s sake nor my own that you relent! Can’t I see that my lord and master omitted to add a separate closet to his love bower and the child disturbs his lechery!’
Una flushed at the accuracy of the guess. After weeks of chilly passion on wild uncultivated heath, both had looked forward to their first night of love in the new house, but Murtagh had almost ruined it by crying out every few minutes. He had slept at last, but not before Sigurd had come close to leaving.
‘Worry not!’ Black Mary was quite amused. ‘The child is ever welcome in my house if not in his own. Ye know I’d willingly keep him if I could.’
Una was dignified. ‘That is not necessary while he has a mother who loves him.’ She was about to return to her porridge, but felt uncomfortable with her sister-in-law watching. ‘Will you eat with us?’
A look of wonder met her generosity. Black Mary seemed more approachable this morning and there was genuine thanks in her eye as she accepted. Una went to fetch another bowl, having a little further to travel than normal for the area was half as big again as that of the slaves’ hut; if it were bare at present it would not be for long; Sigurd had promised to equip her with all the items she needed.
She returned with the bowl which she filled with porridge from the cauldron and gave to her sister-in-law. All three ate. Black Mary passed as much time as she dared with Murtagh then, reverting to her bitter self, went off to work.
Very soon afterwards, Una began to feel queasy. It came as rude surprise for she had thought herself done with morning sickness weeks ago. Despite the low temperature she felt abnormally hot and was experiencing some dizziness; but there was no respite for a slave, even a favoured one such as Una. Thankfully, her duties were not too physical and she was able to perform them sitting down. With Murtagh in obedient mood, she went on carding wool for another hour until her brow and underarms began to sweat so profusely that she could not go on. In the pause her vision blurred. She was attacked so suddenly by retching that she was unable to reach the door and vomited upon the fragrant timber. Murtagh came to observe as his mother made gurgling noises, shivered right down to her feet and retched in agony. When, simultaneously, her bowels poured forth their contents, he ran outside to his aunt.
Black Mary crouched attentively over the babbling child, knowing full well what ailed him but feigning ignorance. ‘Has Murtagh come to help his aunt? Why, ’tis a good boy he is today! Away then, take this wee tool and do some digging. If your mother doesn’t want ye then ye can stay with me all day an’ all night too.’ With Murtagh so easily distracted from his mother’s plight, she returned to her work happily confident.
Clamped by spasm, Una fell to her knees, pressed her brow into the planking, strings of saliva dangling from her mouth, hands trying to knead the pain from back and belly. Whether hours went by or only seconds, she could not tell, could only lie there
while the pain twisted her in its grasp until she was utterly exhausted, totally drained, drained of everything.
* * *
By evening, Una was back on her feet, however unsteadily. The floor was sluiced and fresh haulm upon it, but the stench of her affliction clung in the air to twitch the lord’s nostrils as he entered. Despite her weak state, she experienced anger; the hours of pain, the loss of her child and all he could do was complain about the smell.
He laughed. ‘Why do you look so outraged?’
She became aware of the scowl on her face and relaxed her brow to answer, ‘I have been ill. Forgive me if I offend your nose.’ Tottering, she placed one hand in the small of her back and with the other reached up to shake the bunches of dried lavender that hung from a beam in an effort to perfume the room.
Fondness in his eyes, he reached for her. ‘No matter, I shall make you forget about your illness.’
‘Sigurd.’ Eyes half-closed, she laid a hand upon his chest. ‘I cannot lie with ye tonight.’ Pre-empting his groan of annoyance, she indicated a bundle of rags. ‘See there.’
Frowning in confusion, Sigurd bent and pulled aside the folds of cloth that held a minutely perfect babe.
Una could not have imagined his reaction. He was devastated. As she moved to the bed and eased her aching body onto it, he could do nothing but stare at his child, totally at a loss for words.
Una’s voice was wan. ‘’Tis sorry I am that ye’ll not have another slave.’ The sarcasm was reckless. She cringed as he whirled with bunched fist. In the realization that she had grossly misjudged him – he had wanted this child because it was theirs – her face crumpled and she began to sob.
Sigurd went to her bedside and dropped his head on her breast, trying to comfort both her and himself. Her distress racked his body. Never had he felt such pain. When her tears subsided, he asked, ‘What occurred to make him born so early?’
Her voice shuddered. ‘I know not. Could it be that I stood too long in the moonlight?’
