Kin (Helga Finnsdottir)

by Kristjansson, Snorri

  ‘Always thought you’d end up a soft Southerner,’ Bjorn said, grinning.

  ‘Shut up,’ Karl snapped back. ‘We employ four workmen, two of whom have wives.’ Helga was moving around the table, filling up bowls where needed, and she thought she saw a glance passing between Bjorn and Thyri, but it was gone again in the blink of her eye. Beside them, Volund slurped at his food, blissfully ignorant.

  ‘And you bought this after raiding?’ Jorunn asked.

  ‘Yes,’ Karl said, ‘we chose a beautiful farmstead. It’s shielded from the wind, the soil is fertile and in the distance you can hear the ocean. We have twenty-four head of cattle and forty head of sheep, and Gytha is about to come of age to be married.’ Helga looked at the oldest son of Unnthor. For the first time she felt a shred of pity for the man. He looked uncomfortable – no, more than that, he looked sad, like he was reeling off things he knew he should be happy about but somehow wasn’t.

  ‘And does anything happen in this magical place?’ Hildigunnur said.

  ‘No,’ Gytha interrupted. ‘Well, I say that. There’s a lot of cowshit. But apart from that, not much.’

  Hildigunnur smirked, and Agla rolled her eyes. ‘We still haven’t found a king to marry this one off to,’ she said to grins around the table. ‘Or maybe Freyr himself?’

  Gytha sniffed and turned her nose up. ‘Too old for me,’ she said, to general murmurs of approval from the women.

  ‘And are you adjusting well to the farming life?’ Unnthor rumbled. ‘Because it’s different, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes,’ Karl said, glaring again, ‘of course it is different.’

  ‘Lot of hard work,’ Unnthor said.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Up at dawn, sleep when you’re dead.’

  ‘Yes,’ he managed through gritted teeth.

  ‘If you want something from your farm you have to earn—’

  Karl rose with such force that it almost tipped over the bench his family sat on. ‘I KNOW, FATHER!’ he roared. ‘I was RAISED on a farm! Here! Remember? Or were you too busy being Big Man of the Valley?’ He slammed the table for emphasis.

  Aslak’s arm was outstretched in front of his cowering children. On the other side, Volund keened low into his bowl of soup, thick muscles rigid with tension. Thyri shot a savage glance at Bjorn, then went to mutter soothingly in her son’s ear.

  Karl sneered at his family and the world. ‘We’re doing fine – and we will continue to do fine, without anyone’s help!’ He looked around the room, wild-eyed, daring anyone to meet his gaze. Agla moved on reflex to right an upturned cup, but a quick glare from her husband stopped her in her tracks.

  At the top of the table, the old man glanced at his wife – Do you want to take this one? – who pursed her lips and tilted her head. No, go ahead. You deal with it. They looked calmly at Karl.

  Laying both slab-like hands on the table, Unnthor smiled. ‘Good. I am sure you’ll do us proud. Bjorn?’

  For a moment Karl looked like he was going to walk away, but he was pinned in behind the table, with his back up against the wall. Deciding against clambering across his whole and extended family, he sat down again, angrily shaking off Agla’s proffered hand on his shoulder.

  Across the table, Bjorn cleared his throat as Volund’s keening faded. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘we’re not doing as well as Karl—’ His head snapped up and he scanned his brother’s face for signs of mockery, but found nothing so continued, ‘—but we’re doing fine, more or less. Got a small farm that feeds us, we are well thought of in our valley and surroundings, and we can help our neighbours.’

  ‘Sounds good,’ Hildigunnur said.

  ‘What about your idiot son?’ Karl snapped.

  For the space of half a breath, Helga’s heart leaped into her mouth and stopped there.

  The silence filled the longhouse.

  Then Bjorn very calmly put one of his big hands over both of his wife’s and looked Karl straight in the eyes. ‘My idiot son,’ he said, voice like a moving iceberg, ‘is kind and gentle, doesn’t hurt anyone, rarely breaks anything and is going to be very strong indeed. So he’ll be quite handy on the farm, and people will like him. Which makes him completely your opposite, Brother dear. What do you have to say to that?’ The words were delivered calmly, but as he stared across the table at his brother anyone could see that Bjorn was absolutely spoiling for a fight, and this time Karl would not catch him unaware.

  Einar nudged Helga a safe distance away from the table and led her with a look to glance at Bjorn’s feet. They had slowly slid under the bench and he was ready to launch himself forward at the smallest provocation.

  Karl opened his mouth to speak.

  ‘Be quiet.’ Hildigunnur’s voice hit them like the sound of a snapping branch. The spell was broken. There was no smile to the old woman now, no twinkle in the eye. She was hewn from the land and the mountain, and like all mothers who had gone before her she would not be denied. ‘I will not have my sons going at each other like their own half-mad farmyard mongrels. Karl, you’re picking fights. I know you love them, but you do not hurt your family with words or actions beneath my roof. And Bjorn – you will leave your brother alone and ignore anything he says. Understood?’

  Her sons looked down at the table. ‘Yes, Mother,’ they mumbled.

  ‘I can’t hear you. And look at me when you’re speaking to me,’ she barked.

  Two heads shot up; two sets of eyes fixed on Hildigunnur. ‘Yes, Mother,’ they chorused, louder this time.

  She nodded, satisfied for the moment, and leaned back in her chair.

  ‘So things are well with you then,’ Unnthor rumbled, and Bjorn grunted his assent, taking care not to look in Karl’s direction. ‘Good. Jorunn?’

  The sister smiled sweetly at Unnthor. ‘Yes, Father of mine?’ she said, cheerful obedience dripping from every word.

  The brothers glared at her.

  ‘Goes for you too, smartarse,’ Hildigunnur snapped, but without any real conviction.

  ‘Tell us about life out east,’ Unnthor said. ‘We’ve heard some stories, but nothing definite.’

  ‘Oh? What have you heard?’ Sigmar said, smiling. It doesn’t reach his eyes either, Helga thought, and made a note to keep an eye on the Swede when he wasn’t looking.

  ‘This and that,’ Hildigunnur said. ‘Apparently old King Eirik was on the move.’

  ‘Hm,’ Jorunn said. ‘Two years ago?’

  ‘Sounds about right,’ Hildigunnur said.

  ‘Wasn’t much, really,’ Sigmar said. ‘A bit of family trouble with a cousin. They sorted it out amongst themselves eventually. Funny story.’

  ‘We heard stories of armies massing,’ Unnthor said.

  ‘Isn’t that what armies do?’ Jorunn said. ‘They mass, they clash and they go home when they find out war’s boring.’

  Hildigunnur looked at her daughter in the same way she’d evaluate a particularly tricky mare. ‘I suppose so,’ she said, ‘but then, important news from the outside world rarely reaches us here.’

  Jorunn returned the look. ‘I don’t know that information has been able to keep away from you for long, Mother dear.’

  ‘I know what I know,’ Hildigunnur said, ‘but not much more than that.’

  ‘I think we’ve told you everything of note,’ Jorunn said. ‘The east is dull, really. Apparently most of the news comes out of the south these days. Down by the borders of the Danes. Lots of trade coming from there.’

  ‘Interesting,’ Hildigunnur said.

  It was only her imagination, but Helga felt she could hear the Tafl set being put away. What had they been playing for? She’d heard the rhythms and notes of Hildigunnur’s voice well enough – she’d given Jorunn any number of chances to reveal information, but she’d gained nothing. Or maybe Jorunn’s evasion was what she was hunting for? The battle of wit
s was over – but she couldn’t tell who’d won.

  ‘Tell us of Uppsala,’ Unnthor said.

  ‘We go regularly, to attend the court,’ Jorunn said. Gytha’s eyes widened as she went on, ‘We negotiate trade for the south and the bogs.’

  Gytha couldn’t stop herself. Her voice awed, she said, ‘You go to King Eirik’s court?’

  ‘Yes,’ Jorunn said offhandedly, ‘it’s a pain, really. You have to put on all manner of expensive clothes and—’

  ‘Would you take me? Could I come with you once? Just once?’

  ‘I can’t see why not. I’ll ask—’

  ‘No.’ Karl’s voice was firm. For a moment, all was silent as the guests around the table registered the word, then four voices spoke at once.

  ‘Karl – I think—’

  ‘Why not? There’s no harm—’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Come on, Brother, let the gi—’

  Gytha’s cry cut through all of them. ‘I HATE YOU!’

  Beside Runa, Sigrun and Bragi started crying in unison, thin, shrill voices rising to the rafters. Karl’s fists smashed down on the table yet again and he rose in his seat and faced his scowling daughter. ‘You will SHUT your MOUTH and do what you’re TOLD,’ he roared back, spittle flying. ‘I’ve had enough of all of you, ­yapping at me, biting my heels. You’re going back with me and your mother and you’re going to get married. You’re not going to fucking Uppsala with a couple of fucking rag-traders.’

  A moment’s silence, then—

  ‘Rag-traders?’ Helga watched as Sigmar rose, still calm, his movements measured. She also noted the empty place by his plate where the knife had been.

  Karl glared at him. ‘You’re soft and weak and you do fuck-all but ponce about – all this so-called “trading” is just yap-yap-yapping.’

  Sigmar smiled. ‘Whereas what I should be doing is, what, exactly? Go “raiding”?’ Helga could hear the quote marks around the word. ‘Kill a couple of unarmed villagers over in Saxony?’ He locked eyes with Karl. ‘Come home and buy a big farm? Try all the shortcuts I can find to become a man of note?’ The grin was wolfish now. Come on then, it said. ‘Borrow too much and run crying to my father?’

  Agla just had time to pull a face of confusion before Karl was up and over the table, kicking bowls aside as he launched himself at Sigmar, roaring at the top of his voice.

  ‘Bjorn!’ Thyri shouted, but the big man only put his arms out to shield his family and stepped back.

  Expecting the move, Sigmar had stepped nimbly backwards, pushing Jorunn out of the way as he went and gaining open space on the floor. Poised like a cat, the point of the purloined knife glinting in the firelight, he looked across at Karl.

  Somewhere on the way across the dining table the raider’s survival instincts had kicked in. His murderous gaze was still trained on Sigmar, but instead of rushing in, he started circling. ‘I will snap you in half, Swede,’ he growled.

  ‘You’ll have to catch me,’ Sigmar replied, ‘and if you do, I’ll open your veins. The fact of the matter is, Karl,’ he continued calmly, stepping out of reach of a testing side-swipe, ‘that you don’t know. You have no idea what I’ve been up to since we met last, and that is a long time ago.’ As a bench scraped behind him, Karl growled and stepped closer. Sigmar swiped at him, the point of the blade carving an arc at throat-height. ‘And to add to that, I have six men of my own, just a way down the road. Do you?’

  ‘You’re bluffing,’ Karl growled.

  ‘Maybe,’ Sigmar shot back. His smile invited questions.

  ‘Right,’ Unnthor said. ‘Either you two both sit down and shut up, or there’ll be two widows at the table.’ In the flickering firelight, the chieftain looked even larger. The axe he held was nearly half his length.

  ‘Back off, Father,’ Karl said, ‘this is between me a—’

  ‘SIT. DOWN.’

  Sigmar stepped back, both hands in front of him, palms up. The knife had disappeared – not on the floor, Helga noted, so back into the folds of his tunic.

  Sneering, Karl took three quick steps towards the Swede—

  —but Unnthor was a blur of motion, the axe spinning in his hands. The handle smacked into Karl’s kneecap, scraped down his shin to his ankles and then, moving almost like a harvester, Unnthor swept his eldest son’s legs from under him and Karl hit the ground with a great thud.

  Unnthor was already there, kneeling by him, big hand on the back of his neck. ‘Don’t move,’ he said, almost gently. Karl squirmed, and the chieftain grabbed a handful of his hair, and yanking his head up, growled, ‘I said, don’t move.’ He pushed Karl’s face down to the floor. ‘You were ready to spill blood in my house. In my house.’

  ‘He had it coming,’ Karl muttered. ‘Runs his mouth like—’

  A quick push; they all heard his forehead meet the planks.

  When Unnthor spoke again, there was a weight to his words. ‘You may have come back from the raids with great wealth, Son, but you’ve lost your head. I’ve seen it before, but I had hoped you’d be tough enough to keep your senses. Now I’m going to pull you up to your feet and you’re going to go out for a walk. Take the dog. Go and drink some water. In fact, go and dunk your head in the river.’

  Karl mumbled his assent and the big chieftain rose to his feet. It was only because she’d watched her father work for a decade now that Helga saw the little wobble as he pushed off his knees. She was pretty sure she was the only one who’d noticed – well, no, nearly the only one. For an eyeblink, Hildigunnur’s face was a mix of anger and worry.

  The door slammed as Karl disappeared out into the night.

  An awkward silence followed. The guests weren’t quite able to bring themselves to look at Agla, who sat very still, claw-like hands gripping the edge of the table. Gytha looked uncharacteristically subdued by the whole thing, as if she couldn’t quite believe what she had seen.

  ‘Should someone go after—?’ Aslak began.

  ‘None of our business,’ Runa growled. ‘He can look after himself. I’m sure he’ll be fine.’

  ‘Don’t you dare chew on this, you hedge-bitch!’ Agla snapped.

  ‘Oh?’ Runa hissed. ‘Stop me.’

  In a graceful, fluid motion Agla spun off the bench and headed towards Runa, her fists up. It took her three steps before she realised that she was in fact suspended in midair, hoisted by Bjorn.

  ‘Calm yourself, Connected-wife,’ he said in a deep, soothing voice.

  ‘Let my mother go!’ Gytha shrieked, grabbing the nearest pointy thing she could find.

  The slap rang out, cutting through the commotion, and Gytha spun back down onto the bench, clutching her cheek. Hildigunnur was up and past the girl, seizing Agla by the hair and tossing her back towards the seat next to her daughter. Within a blink was facing Runa. Her hand shot out like a striking cat as she grabbed the short woman by the neck of her shirt and marched her outside. Wrong-footed, Runa stumbled for several paces until she finally managed to catch her balance halfway across the room.

  The door slammed shut on the two of them. The only sound was Agla sobbing in her seat, with Gytha and Thyri hovering awkwardly by.

  Einar glanced at Helga. ‘When I said it was going to be interesting? This is more like it,’ he whispered.

  Chapter 8

  Clean-up

  Sunlight seeped into the longhouse from the open air-slits. The smell of blooming flowers and grass drifted in from outside, and in the distance they could hear Jaki shouting something. Einar worked to dislodge the leg of the table he’d just effortlessly tipped over onto the side.

  ‘So what did you expect?’ he said over his shoulder.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Helga said, piling knives onto a cloth. Standing at Hildigunnur’s spot felt strange, wrong. ‘I thought maybe they’d be happier to see each other.’

&nb
sp; Einar looked at her then, a note of pity in his eyes. ‘Not all family bonds are strong,’ he said. ‘How were they this morning?’

  ‘Quiet,’ she said. ‘Karl came in after Bjorn and his lot had left the longhouse to go to their beds and almost everyone else was asleep. Unnthor waited up for him, and I heard them talk a bit – well, just a couple of words, really – but they weren’t angry, I don’t think. I don’t know what Mother said to Runa, but she’s not been around.’

  ‘That’s something, I suppose,’ Einar said, grunting with satisfaction as the leg gave way and came loose in his hand.

  ‘None of them spoke to Karl this morning. He didn’t even look at Sigmar. They all found reasons to be somewhere else . . .’

  ‘Bjorn did the same,’ Einar said. ‘I saw him leaving early – when I asked, he just muttered something about showing his family all the best trails or some such rubbish. He didn’t even look me in the eye.’

  Helga finished the parcels to go and wash in the stream. ‘I just don’t understand,’ she repeated, still upset. ‘I mean, why are they even here if they’re not happy to meet up?’ She grabbed as much as she could carry and headed towards the door. ‘Why would they want to come back here when they obviously hate each other so much?’ she mused.

  *

  Sigmar perched on a boulder, looking down upon the hills and the patches of forest, the longhouse that was no bigger than his hand from up here, the path they’d come up, and the face of his wife.

  ‘Well?’

  ‘I talked to Father a lot yesterday,’ Jorunn said. ‘I flattered, I teased and I questioned. I got him half drunk, I made him sad and I made him happy.’

  ‘Like a good daughter should,’ Sigmar said.

  ‘Like a good daughter should,’ Jorunn agreed. ‘But the old bear gave nothing away. The farm is going well, he said. They have what they need – I offered him coin, like you said, but he refused, and he still didn’t even hint that he was sitting on a pot of gold.’ She looked Sigmar dead in the eye. ‘But it’s here, my love: I know it is. And I have an idea about how we could get them to give it to us freely.’