by Jorvik- A thrilling tale of Viking Britain (retail) (epub)
Asketil’s merriment gave way to curiosity. ‘What do you mean, fostri?’
‘I thought that you were man enough to take on the position of reeve but now… I am sure of it!’ He laughed again as relief flooded Til’s cheeks.
‘I thought I had spoilt my chances!’ breathed the lad, grinning at Mildryth who looked delighted for him.
‘And so you would have done if you had not grabbed that stick off him!’ replied Sigurd. ‘Doest think I care what fines the church might impose? But I care about this one here!’ He put his arm around Mildryth but soon withdrew it for the touch of her always unnerved him. ‘You have shown you are man enough to protect her and now I will reward you. From today you are my reeve with all the responsibilities it holds.’
Some of those responsibilities turned out to be less enjoyable than others. Whilst Asketil was happy to tour the city on a Sunday making sure that there was no illegal trading, and any laborious task such as collecting dues from the tenants on Sigurd’s estates, he did not particularly like arranging executions, but to shirk these would be irresponsible and he took his role very seriously. Even though he had made a few mistakes, his foster-father had in general been very pleased with his handling of the more difficult duties.
Today, though, was less exacting. He was in charge of handing out the annual rations to the thralls. A table had been carried into the sunshine and Til sat behind it with a register. Mildryth crouched nearby with a large pair of scales and whatever amount Til read from the register she would weigh the corn or some other commodity and pour it into the thrall’s sack.
Murtagh was last in line. When Mildryth had weighed out his twelve pounds of corn and tipped it into the sack that he held, Asketil scratched a last comment in the register and said, ‘Right, that is done. You may go now, Mildryth.’
‘Oh, that is too kind of you!’
Asketil looked suitably apologetic. ‘Thank you for all your help.’
‘That is more courteous!’ She was about to shift the scales but Asketil interrupted.
‘Murtagh will do that. Off with you and get some victuals, you must be hungry, I know I am.’
‘Come with me, then.’ She waited.
‘I will be in shortly,’ he answered, and when Mildryth went towards the house he made a sound of exasperation to Murtagh. ‘Always she is at my side! I cannot have a moment’s peace. I know just how you feel with Lord Sigurd at your back all the time. Come, let us find a quiet spot where we can both get some respite.’ He and the thrall walked off together.
Mildryth had decided to eat her meal outside and took some for Asketil, too. However, when she came out he and Murtagh were disappearing over the brow of the slope which led to the river. Pressing her lips together, she bundled up the food in her apron and ran after them, ale slopping about in the jug she carried. They were too far ahead to notice her and she decided to leave it that way, allowing them to get settled amongst the trees on the riverbank before creeping up and hiding nearby in the long grass. Here, she eavesdropped whilst eating her meal, tutting occasionally at the private, one-sided conversation. What addle! Any resentment she might feel was certainly not against the mute for, being acquainted with his harrowing story, she shared Asketil’s compassion. No, it was Asketil who annoyed her by his refusal to see how she felt. She brushed crumbs from her mouth, drank from the jug of ale and continued to listen; it seemed the only way she could get her own back on him for excluding her.
‘How many years have you been a slave now, Murtagh?’ Asketil was lying on his back, face to the late summer sun.
Murtagh cradled his arms.
‘Since you were a babe, yes, I know, but how long is that now?’ Murtagh shrugged.
‘I would guess it is over thirty summers.’
What summer? thought the slave. My life has been one long winter. I have no wife, no children, no house, no kin. And all because of the tyrant Sigurd. The man you love so well and the one I hate with all of my being.
Asketil could not fail to notice the shadow of resentment and despair that had passed across Murtagh’s face. ‘Never was there a man who has been slave so long. It is unfair that my lord keeps you thus.’ Mildryth pricked up her ears at this hint of insurrection. ‘I have tried my best to gain you fairer treatment but it is more than I can do to persuade him to grant you your liberty. But one day, Murtagh, I will repay you for saving me from drowning, even if I have to go against my fostri…’ He broke off, hearing a rustle.
Mildryth cursed herself for knocking over the ale jug and ducked, but Til was alert now.
‘Come out and show yourself!’ He had sprung to his feet, Murtagh too.
The maid, deciding to end her pretence on a note of flair, burst out from the long grass like a sprite. Asketil was half relieved it was only her, but still looked like one caught in the act. ‘How long have you been there, Mildew? Hiding in the grass like a spittlebug!’
‘What need have I to hide, Ant-hill?’ Her manner was airy. She bobbed and preened and cocked her pretty head. ‘I go wherever I choose.’
‘Did you hear my words?’ Asketil maintained his watch in case Sigurd discovered them and beat Murtagh for idling.
Mildryth decided to use what she had heard to torment him. ‘I did indeed!’
At the impudent challenge in her eyes, he looked away and centred his nervousness on a cluster of toadstools, kicking each one down with a toe. ‘You will not repeat them?’
‘And why would I do that?’ Mildryth’s eyebrows lifted in wonder. ‘Just because you prefer to tell your secrets to a slave…’
‘Murtagh does not tell tales!’ cut in Asketil. ‘That is why I share them with him. Now please swear…’
‘Do you think that just because you choose to exclude me from your secrets I am so petty as to run and tell tales to Lord Sigurd? That may be your way, Asketil, it is not mine.’
He looked into her flushed cheeks and felt guilty enough to offer reparation. ‘I am sorry for having offended you, Mildryth. It is just that I have always spoken thus to Murtagh. It is a hard habit to break. He has been my friend for a long time. He saved my life…’
‘And so did I!’
‘I had not forgotten!’ He looked defeated. ‘Oh, how can I make amends?’
‘I thought that I was your friend.’ The girl looked downcast, milking every ounce of sympathy that she could.
‘Why, so you are! Indeed you are like a sister, but there are things that a man can say to another man that he cannot say to his sister! Do you see? It is not because I do not like you. I do like you.’
Mildryth overlooked the fact that he viewed her as a sister and decided to cease her game. ‘Very well, I forgive you!’ She smiled and went to retrieve the uneaten food from her hiding place whilst Asketil breathed a sigh of relief and rolled his eyes at Murtagh who enjoyed a private grin.
They sat down again beside the river and Mildryth put the food before them, some apples, bread, nuts and honey cake. She herself had taken her fill but watched Asketil whilst he ate. It disconcerted him and he spoke to cover this. ‘Do not let us eat the food you brought for yourself.’
She leaned forward to pick a crumb from his upper lip. ‘I brought extra for you but you were too busy grumbling about Lord Sigurd.’
Asketil recognized it as simply her teasing. ‘Thank heaven it was you who overheard us and not fostri.’
‘Oh, I cannot think there is any great sin in what you said. You wish to free Murtagh in exchange for saving your life, that is a…’
‘Quiet!’ Asketil had just filled his mouth with bread and almost choked in his effort to swallow it, alarmed that a housecarl or someone might overhear. ‘Have a care for my skin if not your own. You do not know how angry my father would be just at the mention of it.’
Mildryth showed unconcern. ‘Old Nit-whiskers? I fear him not. He is like a kitten in my hands.’
‘Huh! You are so sure of yourself. Well, just ask him to free Murtagh then you shall know.’
‘Very well!’ She made to jump up. ‘If you dare not ask him to free Murtagh then I will.’
‘Nay!’ He grabbed hold of her to prevent her rising, but to her disappointment soon let go.
Again she dismissed his fear. ‘Be calm, I shall not say you have a hand in this.’
‘Do not be a fool, you will bring his anger down upon you!’
‘Not I.’ Her confidence stemmed from the knowledge that the ealdorman loved her as a daughter. She wished that Til would love her too, though in a very different way.
‘I do not know why you think he will listen to you when he ignores all I have to say on the matter!’ Much as he liked her, Asketil often felt jealous at the way she was favoured by Sigurd.
She swivelled her bottom and turned to Murtagh. ‘I’ll warrant if you could speak you would not forbid me to ask him.’
The man shook his dark head emphatically. He liked this young girl but would use her to his own ends if it meant freedom. A great observer, he had become aware of Lord Sigurd’s feelings for her. He who had never lain with a woman knew unrequited passion when he saw it in another man’s face.
‘Mildryth, leave well alone!’
Laughing at Asketil’s chariness, she jumped up before he could stop her and went off to find Sigurd.
‘Oh, that girl will be the death of us! In heaven’s name what are we to do?’ Til demanded of Murtagh. And when the slave indicated that he must return to work, Til agreed. ‘Yes, you are right, I will make myself busy too!’ And the pair of them beat a hasty path back to the house.
The ealdorman was involved with artistic endeavours. As usual there was no preamble to Mildryth’s conversation. ‘Why do you keep Murtagh as a slave so long?’
Sigurd blew on his carving, then turned a fond eye on her. ‘Do not tell me you are ignorant, for nought is private in this gossip-hole.’
‘I know that his aunt murdered your child but that was long, long ago…’
’Twas only yesterday, thought Sigurd. How meaningless is the death of one child to another.
‘…surely he has paid for that with years of his life.’
‘This is your opinion?’ There was only the merest hint of sarcasm. He loved the way her violet eyes held his, unafraid. ‘And tell me, Mildryth, why do you bother with one so low?’
‘Do you not bother with me?’ she asked. ‘I, too, was once so low – and you were very nearly slave yourself, had I not rescued you.’
He laughed and patted her, then drew his hand away quickly and turned back to his work.
Mildryth performed a balancing act on a block of wood. ‘Mind you do not twist your ankle,’ warned Sigurd.
This reminded her. ‘Have I shown you the bruise where Asketil’s horse bit me?’
‘I think perhaps you did.’ The man smiled to himself. If he had seen the bruise once he had seen it twenty times. ‘Have a sip from my cup, ’twill sweeten the misery.’
Mildryth drank the mead, but was persistent, leaning forward as she spoke. ‘So what are you to do about Murtagh? It is not right that one man should own another. Come, my lord, do this for me who cut your bonds. When will you give him his freedom?’
He did not turn. ‘When? I have not said I shall free him yet.’
Mildryth bent forward, hands pressed between knees, and puckered her lips. ‘You will.’
Of course he would. Just to look into her eyes was to be defeated. Mildryth had changed his whole life, melted the ice in his breast. Even Til, much as Sigurd loved him, could not get his fostri to do the things that she asked of him. Sigurd despaired of himself for being so malleable. When they learnt he was to free Murtagh everyone would think the tyrant had gone soft… and they would probably be right. He gave a private laugh, then contemplated his own reaction were he to free the hated one, and decided that Murtagh’s fate meant nought to him any more. Maybe it was time to let the wretch go – all the others had gone – what use was he except as a reminder of Una? And Sigurd needed no reminding, for he had another very different love.
However, he refused to let Mildryth know that she had won so easily. ‘I will think upon it. Now get you gone.’
He did not hear her leave and waited a good few minutes before turning. The spot where she had been was now unoccupied. Involuntarily, he wandered to the doorway to look for her, but instead saw Murtagh at his labours. He leaned there, watching and thinking, remembering Asketil’s words – ‘How terrible to be so wretched.’ Was he mistaken, or had the hate inside him really lessened? Whatever the truth, it went against the grain to let Murtagh go scot free. The man must be made to pay for his liberty. But how? Nearby was a pile of manure from the domestic animals. On impulse, he barked at Murtagh and the filthy creature came bounding over.
‘The dungpile, it has grown too high…’
Relieved that the master’s summons was not to be accompanied by punishment – Mildryth must not have broached the subject of his freedom after all – Murtagh bowed and was already on his way to move the heap when Sigurd held up his hand.
‘You shall take half of it for your own use. Take it away now for it offends me.’
Murtagh’s face showed that he was not sure that he understood the command but, unable to question, bowed again and ran off to shovel the manure into a barrow. Sigurd watched the dungbeetle scuttle around his acquisition, and feeling content that he had pleased Mildryth, went back to work on the oaken chest that he was making for her.
Later, wearing an expression of anticipation, Murtagh showed Asketil and Mildryth the dungpile that was now transferred to the back of the slaves’ hut.
Mildryth had expected to be shown something of great interest when the excited slave had waylaid them during their evening walk and dragged them round here. She turned up her nose. ‘Looks like shite to me.’
Murtagh gave an inwards sigh at having to enact an explanation, but tried his best to show that Lord Sigurd had given him the dung.
Asketil sniggered. ‘Your persuasion must have worked well, Mildryth, for my father to donate so generous a gift.’
Mildryth, who had boasted all afternoon that she had talked Lord Sigurd into freeing Murtagh, now felt slightly humiliated. But Murtagh was to change her mood, indicating with some impatience that the dung was to be sold and he to receive the proceeds.
The listeners understood at last. Mildryth gave a cry of delight. ‘It worked, then!’
‘I do not know how you can say that.’ Much as he was glad for Murtagh, Asketil could not help feeling resentful at her small success. ‘Fostri has but given Murtagh the chance to earn himself a few pence, that is all. He has made no mention of freedom, has he?’ He glanced at Murtagh who shook his head.
‘He will do,’ vouched Mildryth to the dubious slave. ‘Mark my words, he would not have done this if he did not intend to free you. This is just the beginning. He does not want to free you at once because of his pride – it would make him look weak. He has decided to make it appear to others as if you have earned your own freedom. He thinks that you are unable to tell anyone that he gave you the dung.’
‘Mildryth, you are too fanciful,’ said Asketil.
‘What will you wager on it?’ she demanded. ‘For I will go and enquire right now of his intentions.’
‘I will wager nought,’ replied Til. ‘But if you are right, my congratulations will be genuine for it is something I have long tried to do and have failed miserably in my efforts. Go now for I too am eager to know – and good luck!’
Mildryth ran for the house. ‘Take heart, Murtagh!’
When she returned it was with a skip of joy. ‘Forsooth! Murtagh is to be freed. He is to be allowed every Wodnesdaeg to labour for himself and so buy his own freedom – though Lord Sigurd has not yet quoted the price, but I am sure it will be fair for I would not allow otherwise. Here! Let me contribute towards it.’ She pulled up her dress and from a knot in her shift extricated another silver penny.
Although excited for his friend, Asketil objected. ‘Fostri gave you t
hat!’
‘To spend as I please,’ retorted the girl. ‘And it pleases me to spend it on Murtagh.’ Sigurd was generous towards his young charges; there would soon be another penny to replace this one.
The thrall snatched it before Asketil could persuade her to change her mind. But the youth had been touched by her generosity, too, and not wanting to look mean fished amongst his clothes for a penny of his own which he gave to Murtagh. ‘There! You have a good start towards freedom, my friend.’
When the coins were on his person Murtagh allowed Asketil to grip his gnarled hand, and the trio enjoyed a clandestine smile.
‘Murtagh!’ Sigurd’s voice penetrated their sojourn.
Mildryth gave a withering look. ‘Oh, hark to him honking like a steg – make him wait.’
Murtagh actually grinned, but shook his head, jumped up and ran.
* * *
The price which Sigurd had put on Murtagh’s freedom might be negligible to him, but for the slave it involved months of toil. The master had verified his intention of granting him Wednesdays off to pursue his own labours, and amongst other small enterprises Murtagh had taken to collecting reeds with which he made baskets, selling the finished items at the riverside market. The baskets were well-made but Murtagh with no voice to advertise them found it hard to attract custom. Many a soul-destroying hour did he pass on that riverbank without a single customer, until a kindly boat-builder, feeling pity for the man, called him over.
‘It is poor business today, yes?’
Murtagh nodded.
The man, knowing that Ealdorman Sigurd’s thrall was mute, did not expect a fuller response. ‘I notice you watch me closely every week – you like boats?’ A nod. ‘Would you like to learn how to build one?’ At Murtagh’s rapid affirmation he smiled. ‘Good, you can help me at the same time. My boy is sick and it is a devil of a job without someone to pass me the tools. If I show you which ones I need can you do it?’
Murtagh was eager to learn and for the rest of that afternoon he watched and helped in his small way, forgetting all about his baskets. At the end of the working day the man said, ‘You have done a good job! If my boy is not recovered by next Wodnesdaeg you can help again – here! A penny for you.’
