‘Yes.’ A brief pause, then, ‘It always does, you know.’ He made a tiny sound, almost like someone trying unsuccessfully to clear his throat.
Helga glanced over at him and caught movement. The corner of his mouth was twitching.
‘Are you . . . teasing me?’ she said, incredulous.
The noise burst out of Volund like a brook breaking through ice, and he chortled, then started chuckling and blowing raspberries. ‘Yes!’ he managed at last, and hid his face in his shovel-blade hands as he shook with very badly concealed mirth.
Helga’s chest ached, a pleasant, warm feeling. She could almost touch the love that flowed from the boy. ‘Well, then, I’ll just have to – tickle you!’ Lightning-quick, she reached for the softness of his belly—
—and the force of the blow felt like it had shattered the bones in her forearm.
Volund was scrambling to his feet, pressing his left hand to his temple at an odd angle, his mouth frozen in a silent scream.
What have I done? ‘Volund, I’m sorry – I didn’t mean to startle you!’ She rose to her knees and begged him, ‘Please, sit down again. Please. No tickling, I promise.’
But the boy was already staggering away from her, tossing his head forcefully like a horse trying to shake away a cloud of flies.
She swallowed, trying to get past the lump in her throat. For some reason Einar’s rejection hadn’t hurt half as much as this.
*
The door of the longhouse announced her arrival with a loud creak but no one spared her a second glance, because all eyes were fixed on Sigmar, who was standing beside Unnthor and Hildigunnur at the head of the table.
‘—and when the sun rises, we’ll all go to the stone and the oak and ask the gods for advice,’ he finished. Then he added, ‘Until then, my men will stand guard.’ He gestured to a wiry man with thinning hair and a hard turn to his mouth. ‘Thorolf will answer to Unnthor.’ The man presumably called Thorolf nodded curtly.
Helga glanced at her father, who was somehow looking younger – younger and more alive. There was nothing left of the tired old man who’d spoken to her before the guests had started to arrive. He looked completely comfortable with the idea of commanding men, for one thing.
‘You heard him,’ Hildigunnur said. ‘We’ll be sacrificing to the gods tomorrow. Until then, I need you lot’ – she gestured at the women – ‘to help me with all sorts of things in here. The rest of you – get out of my house!’ The last command was given with a smile, but no less authority.
She speaks to their feet, Helga thought, for the men were up already and milling towards the door. It didn’t matter who was what – chieftain or guard, they all knew who to obey.
When the men had all cleared out, Hildigunnur clapped her hands. ‘Right. We’re doing stew. You two, vegetables.’ Agla and Gytha immediately headed to the workbench, moving with purpose.
‘I need someone good with a needle.’
‘I can do that,’ Runa said.
‘Good. Jorunn – over here.’ Without another word, Hildigunnur sat down and waited for her daughter to sit next to her. A significant glance told Helga that her presence was requested too. When they’d all settled, the old woman had cast an eye over her assembled troops, pressed to work by the fireplace, then fixed her daughter with a bear-stopping glance.
‘What’s going on?’
‘I – I don’t know,’ Jorunn stammered.
‘Do I have to worry that your husband and his men will slit all our throats in our sleep?’
‘No! I mean – no, I don’t think – no . . .’ Jorunn looked down at her toes then back up at her mother. ‘I thought he was a bad man, Mother,’ she said, her bottom lip trembling. ‘I thought he’d found someone else.’
Helga knew the look wasn’t directed at her, but she still felt her insides turn to snow under Hildigunnur’s gaze. How can she not see that her daughter is lying? But apparently the Queen of Riverside could not.
Instead, the old woman sighed, then managed a smile for her daughter. ‘When do we ever know?’ For a moment, they sat there in companionable silence.
‘Who did it, Mother?’ Jorunn said. She looked younger, suddenly.
The smile disappeared from Hildigunnur’s face. ‘I don’t know,’ she said, ‘but we’ll find them. And when we do, they will get what they deserve.’
This appeared to put Jorunn at her ease. ‘I have to go out for a moment,’ she said. ‘I’ll be back, and then I want something to do.’
‘Oh, don’t you worry about that,’ Hildigunnur said, smiling as she watched her daughter rise.
She’s lying. She thinks you are a fool. She’s involved in Karl’s murder. The words were there, on the tip of her tongue, but Helga couldn’t get them to reach Hildigunnur’s ears – or even to leave her mouth, for that matter. Instead she just watched her mother, who didn’t take her eyes off Jorunn until the door had closed behind her. It was impossible to guess what she was thinking.
‘She looks very healthy,’ Helga said at last.
Hildigunnur’s mouth pursed. ‘She does,’ she said. ‘And she was plenty quick running around the field as well.’
She could have sighed in relief. It’s not just me. Mother can smell the lie too. Her mind was racing again, but still she had no answers. What’s going on? Why was Jorunn lying? And why is Mother playing along? Then another thought pushed its way into her head. What is my mother intending to accomplish?
At last she said, ‘What needs done?’
‘Prepare to feed the family,’ Hildigunnur said, then added, ‘and our new guests.’
Helga thought about Sigmar’s men. Some had sat silently and waited; others had engaged in muttered conversations; no one had attempted to talk to the family. Nothing had caught her eye. They are just men. None of them had looked particularly murderous.
Maybe one of them was.
Maybe they all were.
Her mother’s voice was quiet. ‘Don’t think too hard.’ Helga looked at her, but the old woman was busy studying the hem of her dress. ‘Don’t think, and don’t worry. Head down, do what you need. You don’t need to look for the killer: they will reveal themselves when the time comes – and when that happens we’ll catch him.’
Or her, Helga thought – but she didn’t say anything. Instead she went to the workbench and set to chopping up roots.
*
Jorunn exhaled as the door closed behind her. The sun was past the mid-point of the sky and there was a welcome touch of a cool breeze on the air. In the distance the dogs were yapping at each other. She measured her steps away from the longhouse, repeating, over and over again, until her voice settled, ‘One . . . two . . . one . . . two . . .’ She breathed out again and looked around at the familiar old buildings: the longhouse, the barn, the sheds, the fences.
‘This fucking place,’ she muttered.
To her left, a door creaked.
On impulse, Jorunn ducked in behind the cowshed, keeping the source of the noise in sight.
Moments later she saw a hulking shape by the corner that could only be Bjorn, though he looked far from his usual boisterous self. He checked all around before stepping out into the yard. In a blink his customary swagger was back, and he walked towards the longhouse.
Moving quietly, Jorunn slipped around the back of the shed, making sure that Bjorn didn’t see her, and headed for the door of the cowshed he’d just left – the place where he and his family were sleeping.
*
Helga gathered up the wooden bowls. The smell of the hastily assembled stew still lingered; Unnthor had slaughtered a lamb to welcome the unexpected visitors, but he’d kept the blood for tomorrow.
The dinner table looked very different with Sigmar’s men gathered around the far end. To a man they’d been well behaved, but there was an unspoken menace to their presence, like a prom
ise of violence. She tried her best to ignore them, just as they were ignoring her.
Sigmar, sitting by Unnthor’s right-hand side, rose and called for quiet. ‘We thank our gracious hosts for the hospitality extended,’ he started.
Unnthor stood up, half a head taller than the Swede. ‘And we thank you for helping to keep us safe,’ he said. Around the table there were nods and murmurs of assent. ‘The sun is down but I don’t think anyone is ready to sleep yet?’
‘No!’ little Bragi piped up before his mother could silence him, and there was smiling agreement from all the guests.
‘So maybe it’s time for a story,’ Unnthor went on.
Like a river, the silence flowed from his seat at the head of the table.
‘I heard this one last year,’ he started. ‘Two years back, Aegir Njardarson was sailing to the west – nothing new about that, of course, he goes regularly, and rumour has it his house is built on a pit full of gold. But this time he wasn’t after easy loot.
‘See, three years ago Edgar of Wessex had for some reason decided to stand, rather than pay the geld – he ambushed a fair few of Aegir’s men, too. Aegir came after them, but he was too late. They say he stood on a hill and watched across a field full of men as Edgar cracked their skulls and dropped them in a hole, then stood over them and shouted something in their language about how important he was and how the White Christ would protect the crown of England.
‘And Aegir didn’t attack.
‘Not then.
‘Instead, he sailed away, back to the fjords. Some say his wife was a weather-witch. Some say he asked her for a hard winter. Well, whether or not he asked, he got it.
‘And after that winter, Aegir had a full ship of hard and hungry men, and none hungrier than his son, Sigurd Aegisson. So they sailed out west. And some would have charged in, axes up, killing all they could.
‘But Aegir didn’t.
‘Instead, he sent in his son and some of his friends, and they stole Edgar’s crown – snatched it from his own bedchamber, and didn’t hurt a hair on anyone’s head.’
‘What happened then?’ Gytha’s voice was taut with impatience.
Unnthor smirked. ‘Aegir waited for the king’s men to come to the beach. Then he threw the crown in the sea, right in front of them.’
There were exclamations and chuckles around the table.
‘Edgar was furious – and he took it out on his men. He had the captain of the guard executed, and then when his family complained, he had them executed too, for “being in league with the Northmen”.
‘And then his own people stormed his castle and carried him out on a hay-fork.’
Because if you want to kill a man and get away with it, you’d better have a crown on your head, Helga thought.
‘To Aegir!’ Sigmar raised his mug.
‘To the North!’ Bjorn did the same.
‘To headless kings!’ Jorunn cried, to a round of laughter, breaking the reverent silence that had embraced Unnthor’s story. Now it was gone, conversations broke out in the room as people rose from the table. Some told stories designed to top the chieftain’s, and at least three of Sigmar’s men claimed loudly that they knew someone who had been on that very ship, and Bjorn started telling a dirty joke about a raid on a nunnery.
Sigmar said something quietly to Unnthor and Hildigunnur and headed outside. They both smiled, but the moment he’d gone Helga saw her father approach Aslak, place a hand on his shoulder and, leaning in, whisper in the young man’s ear. Aslak stiffened up, then shifted slowly towards the back entrance. She finished stowing away the pots, and when she looked around as Sigmar came back in, Aslak had gone.
*
The noise of the men’s gently drunken conversation made Helga feel warm and soft as she lay tucked up under her blanket. It sounded a little like the babbling of the river, quick at times and loud at others, but always constant. The warmth was almost uncomfortable now, so she stuck her hand out from underneath her blanket.
The water cooled her fingertips.
Helga blinked and looked around.
She could feel the grass under her palms, lush and sweet-smelling. The sun was soft, hidden under a cloud somewhere, but the sound of the river was still there.
‘It’s a lovely day.’ The old man was sitting there next to her. The brim of his hat drooped over one eye.
She didn’t think she’d expected him to be there, but for some reason she wasn’t surprised. ‘It is.’
‘And here we are, right on the riverside.’
‘We are.’
‘And what have you found?’
Helga thought. What had she found? ‘I carved a rune.’
‘Good. Did it help?’
She thought again. Had she seen Runa’s needs and wants? ‘Maybe.’
The old man leaned back, smiling like a cat in sunshine. ‘Maybe,’ he repeated. ‘Good.’
Helga’s mood suddenly turned. ‘Why is that good? My foster-brother is dead, they’re going to pin it on a soft-headed boy and I have no idea what’s happening! For some reason Jorunn is lying, we suddenly have armed men in every corner and we might be stuck on the farm all together until we die of hunger or my father loses his mind.’
‘And what are you going to do?’
‘I DON’T KNOW!’
The old man touched the brim of his hat, almost as if he were reassuring himself that it was still there, then he looked up and stared into the distance. ‘Yes,’ he mumbled. ‘Yes.’
‘Yes what?’ Helga snapped, although she was suddenly feeling awkward that she’d shouted at the old man.
‘You need to ask questions.’
‘What questions?’
‘That’s a good one to start with,’ he replied with a grin that Helga wanted quite badly to wipe off his face with her elbow. ‘You know what, where, when and how. You’ve asked why and who.’
‘Yes.’
‘But have you asked about the past? The future? The taste of blood and the smell of sweat and the sound of rutting in a glade?’
Helga flushed. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘You will. Find what’s hidden in a name and you will.’
The old man placed a warm, heavy palm on her sternum. As the river faded in her mind, Helga slowly became aware that something new weighed down the leather thong around her neck.
*
Unnthor watched Helga tossing in her sleep, his brow furrowed. He didn’t look up as Hildigunnur approached, but said softly, ‘Is she well?’
‘She’s sensible,’ Hildigunnur said, placing her slim hand on his forearm and squeezing it gently. ‘And because she’s sensible, she’s afraid.’
Beneath her fingers, Unnthor’s muscles tensed as he clenched his fist. ‘We need to end this. Whatever it takes.’
Hildigunnur stepped closer to her husband and embraced him. ‘My husband is wise,’ she said softly. ‘And that we will.’
Chapter 14
Night Work
‘Mother!’
The raw panic in the word jolted Helga awake immediately, just as the big door slammed open. A shape stood in the doorway – a lithe, female figure. A cool breeze from outside swept with it a smell that she really wished she didn’t recognise.
Blood.
A piercing scream followed, from somewhere outside.
‘MOTHER!’ Jorunn’s voice was taut, stretched like a rope on a billowing sail.
‘Light the fires!’ Hildigunnur’s command was sharp, and moments later sparks from fire-steels appeared in the darkness. The first torch sputtered into life almost immediately after. ‘Are you hurt?’ All they could hear from the doorway was sobbing. ‘ANSWER ME!’
‘It’s not me,’ Jorunn said, leaning against a doorpost for balance. ‘It’s Bjorn.’
Helga was out of her bed and running towards
the doorway, following the shape of her father. She wasn’t alone; they were all moving now, rushing towards the exit, rushing towards the killer. There were indistinct shouts, the dogs were barking with excitement, Sigmar was bellowing commands in the yard – I didn’t see him leave – didn’t see him inside – and then they were all running as fast as they could towards the cowshed where she and Einar had built the beds for Bjorn and his family. The buildings were dark and straight in the flow of the moonlight. Calls for torches bounced around the farm, along with the barking dogs.
And then she saw him. He looked impossibly large, even in death. His body was lying just outside the door to his cabin. Thyri was sitting beside him, looking stunned. Helga stopped for a moment in shock and was unceremoniously shouldered aside by her mother.
‘What happened?’ The old woman slid through the press of men and knelt next to Bjorn’s wide-eyed wife.
‘I don’t know,’ Thyri said. Her voice was deathly quiet. ‘We’d just gone back. Volund was in bed. Bjorn hadn’t finished talking and drinking, so he was coming behind us – I must have fallen asleep, but I thought I heard voices . . . and then I heard him come in. He’s always quiet when he thinks I’m sleeping . . .’ Her voice sank to a whisper. ‘But he didn’t come to bed.’
Hildigunnur reached out and squeezed her arm. ‘I know you’re hurting, but you need to keep talking while it’s still fresh in your mind. You thought you heard voices – did you hear them say anything?’
‘No,’ Thyri said, ‘nothing.’
‘But there were two people.’
‘Yes.’
‘You are sure of this.’
‘Yes.’
‘Two men, or a man and a woman?’
Thyri looked at her with confusion. ‘I . . . I couldn’t tell.’
‘And then?’
‘I woke up, because I felt a pain in my chest.’ In the flickering torchlight, Helga noticed that Thyri’s cheeks were glistening with tears. ‘And I could hear Jorunn – she was saying his name, over and over, telling him to wake up. So I got up and came out and Jorunn was already running to fetch you because someone had—’ Her words were swallowed by sudden, uncontrollable tears.
Kin (Helga Finnsdottir) Page 19
