Now I present to you... Silver and Spice!
View Prologue and chapter 1 HERE, chapter 2 HERE, chapter 3 HERE & chapter 4 HERE
Thanks for the painting are given to E Patterson
Chapter
5
Erik
listened as he heard the door creak open, slam shut and his brother’s stomping
footsteps echoing down the hall. In the
dim light, he watched as Kristr took up a space on one of the sleeping
platforms that lined the long room.
Smiling
to himself, Erik said nothing. At least this voyage, Kristr had not lain with
Alfhilde. His younger brother was very much his own man, who meticulously
planned his life and his voyages. Even plans had alternate plans. Judging from
the heavy footsteps, the growling and angry tossing of the bedfurs, his plan
with Roisin had only been considered with one outcome. Silver. The dainty Irish
woman was getting under his brother's skin and it was just what he needed to
release the hold of Alfhilde.
Erik
did not see himself as a complicated man. His own life had been mapped out for
him, just in a different way to that of his brother. Whereas Kristr’s education had been through
fosterage, his own was through his parents and senior members of the
steading. From a young age Erik knew
what his position in life was going to be, and was taught farming practices, Norse
law and leadership. When he grew
into a young man he started to enjoy the
company of women, but none were suitable for the role of Jarl’s wife, and he
expected his father to make a match for him when the time came, but he still
had a few seasons of carousing in him yet.
That was until he saw the tall, blonde beauty splashing in the water
with her tiny dark-haired friend. His
father may not allow him to marry an Irish woman, but Erik would be proud to
have her as his concubine. He would not
take her unwillingly, but from the beaming smiles that she cast his way, he
believed the feeling mutual. It was just
a matter of ensuring that her Christian practices and beliefs did not get in
the way.
The
tossing and grunting continued. 'I know you are awake, Erik.' Kristr spoke in
Gaelic so as not to share his business with the hall, and numerous male foster
children of Alfhilde. 'I do not want to hear it whatever barb is caught in your
gullet.'
'Little
brother, it is good that you have come to your senses.' Erik said no more, and
Kristr rolled onto his side and stared into the embers of the long hearth,
thinking of green eyes, pink lips and long black braids. At this stage he wondered if his own
determination for revenge had impaired his normal good judgement. Capturing men and women for slaves was a way
of life in Viking society, but claiming a free woman for the unpaid debts of
another, was a questionable action.
Either way, she was his responsibility now. He may return her to her father, but he knew
in his heart that to hand her over to the treacherous MacRonan would be nigh on
impossible.
Photo thanks to unknownswilly.org
oooOOOooo
Roisin
and Ciara were awakened with the general noise and hubbub of morning, the
guttural
sounds of Norse carrying clearly through the air. She rattled the door, but
they were still under lock and key. Cuddling back up to Ciara, Roisin took a
deep breath, preparing the question in her mind, the answer to which she was
not sure she wanted to know.
‘Are
you having feelings for Erik, Ciara?’
'He
his handsome, I will grant you that.' Ciara smiled to herself. Roisin was not quite sure what to make of her
foster sister’s demeanour. Since she had
become a young woman, Ciara had never discussed a man in this way. She continued, ‘Joseph is handsome too, but he does not make
my skin tingle when he is nearby, nor does he look at me the way that Erik
does.’ It was obvious to Roisin, that
Ciara knew in her heart that for any happiness in her life, a marriage to
Joseph was no longer a choice. Both Conall and Ciara’s own father would be
displeased. But to see these budding emotions in the quiet, stoic Ciara, locked
away for four winters, since her original betrothal was announced, could no
longer be contained.
'If
he takes you to his furs, will you go willingly?'
Another
smile. 'Aye, I believe I will.' Ciara’s
honest response, may have startled Roisin, but she was very clear in her own
mind.
She
sat up from the sleeping bench and folded the furs neatly. Roisin was pacing again by the door, and
Ciara understood her impatience, although perhaps not for the same reason. Three days ago she would never have dreamt of
disobeying her father, brother, or Conall, let along mentioned giving her
maidenhood to a man who was not her husband.
She had resigned herself to her fate; born a chieftain’s daughter, taken
into fosterage, grow from a girl into a young woman with the onset of puberty,
marry a chieftain‘s son and bear him children, continuing the cycle. But three days ago she would never have
dreamt that they would be taken by force from their home for another man‘s
crimes. The blonde Viking with the
smiling eyes had not harmed her in any way, and had never looked at her with
lust. Speaking in halting Gaelic made
his scant words as rich as a fíle, or poet, when he addressed her.
She was full of new emotions, and as it was happening, Ciara could not
and would not stop them.
The
bolt scraped back and Roisin lurched forward into the doorway, eager to see
what was happening outside. She moved too fast and the blood rushed from her
head leaving her dizzy and seeing stars. An arm curled around her waist, and
she turned her head, finally focusing on the grey eyes, the low Spring sun
dancing on the riotous mess of auburn waves, turning it into a flaming crown.
She gave a small sigh when she thought how vibrant the colour and texture
seemed to be compared to the lank stringy hair of MacRonan. She immediately
chastised herself and tried to wrench free.
Returning
the stare, he cocked his head, 'Do you like what you see?' He steadied her,
resting his hands on her shoulders, gently pinching the dull material between
his thumb and forefinger. 'Now that you are clean, I like what I see, but the
garments of a thrall are not becoming.'
Ruth
came in and laid a trencher on the bench. Releasing her from his hold, he
guided her over to the trestle. ‘Eat. The bread is fresh and the bacon, eggs
and cheese will provide sustenance for the journey.' His eyebrow arched as he
continued 'I know now how sour you become when you are hungry, and I'd just as
soon have the final three days of our journey begin with you in a pleasant
disposition.'
Stabbing
at the meat with an eating knife she glared at him. 'You gave your word that
you would not harm us, but now you have us dressed as slaves. Has MacRonan
taken so much from you that you would in turn take so much from us?' She shoved
the food into her mouth, taking her anger out on the viands as she chewed
furiously.
'Easy,
little piglet. You'll choke.' His eyes narrowed. 'I have taken nothing of worth
from you. At least not yet, and that
will depend on your men folk. And I did
not say you were a slave, merely that you are dressed like one. Alfhilde
provided you with clean clothing for you to finish your journey. She was
obviously in league with Loki himself to come up with something so ugly for
someone so comely.'
Roisin
blushed. This cold north air must be addling her brain. He handed her a dark
green cloak, its fine woollen weave a contradiction to the brown linen sack she
currently wore. He fastened it about her neck with a silver brooch. 'This is mine. It will keep you warm as we
sail north.' She nodded her thanks and fingered the soft fabric and followed
him out of the hut.
As
the boat pushed off the bank, Roisin took a final look at her
surroundings. Silently staring back towards the Jarlshof settlement, she
observed that Alfhilde had not come to
bid them farewell, but had stood at the door of the main hall, twirling a
dagger in her hand, her expression grim.
It was the direct opposite to her simpering behaviour the previous
afternoon when they had arrived. The
older woman hand been clinging to Kristr like briar, and this morning she
looked like she desired his death, and the icy stare made Roisin shiver. Whatever had transpired between the two had
not ended on pleasant terms.
Roisin
recalled that Kristr had suggested three more days, and they would be on his
land. With each stroke of the oar they
were further away from home. Their next
stop would probably be their last. Would
her father even know where to find them?
Ciara gave her a nudge, a reassuring smile and a hug. For once she was turning to Ciara for comfort,
rather than the other way around. Not
only did her foster sister not appear to fear the Norsemen, she actively
enjoyed the company of one in particular.
If she went to Erik’s bed furs, the ruination of her maidenhood would
prevent a respectable marriage when she got home; at this stage she could not
be sure that Ciara would return home.
Photo thanks to unknownswilly.org
OooOOOooo
In
the three days since Johan Flynn left Kristr, Erik and the terrified girls, he
had been busy. He knew no harm would come to the hostages, but, as with
everything he saw both sides and understood their fear. Anyone who lived on the
coast feared Viking raids; the bloodthirsty actions of the Norsemen were
well-documented. However, what was less
commonly shared was the fact that the majority of Vikings were sailors,
traders, explorers, with no interest in destroying the settlements they
visited. Johan had known Kristr since he
was a young angry boy arriving at Alfhilde’s steading. As Kristr's senior by
three summers, Johan had become a friend and mentor to him, his natural good
humour and patience matched evenly to Kristr's anger and temper. Alfhilde may
have been a firm disciplinarian in her role as foster mother, but she was able
to see the talent in the young men in her care, and Johan was no exception. She
taught him to hide in plain sight, to be seen by all, to disguise his identity
and accent, and helped him develop a network of contacts that would get him out
of any difficulty. Most importantly, she taught him how to elicit information
from his conversations without the threat of torture. He was known by everyone
but at the same time known by none. It was best that way.
In
an ale house on the harbour of Dubh Linn, he met with one of the docksmen.
Handing him a pouch of silver, he advised, 'I expect Sean MacRonan to reach
port in the next day, when he does, you will know where to find me.' The squat
stocky man nodded as Johan continued, 'The other group may be more difficult to
identify. They will be from the far north of this island, from Donegal. It will
be their broad speech and dialect of Gaelic that marks them as visitors to the
settlement. If I am correct, allow three days before expecting them.' Emptying the silver into his hand, examining
the coins, and handing the small pouch back to Johan, he grunted in agreement.
Johan pulled the overlarge cowl of his cloak over his head and slipped off
between the timber buildings.
Photo thanks to unknownswilly.org
oooOOOooo
Kristr
was right, thought Roisin. Despite the bright sunshine, the air was cold, and
she shivered. She had never been on the
open sea before. He playfully tugged her
braid. 'Cold, little piglet? Or scared? You should not feel either.' He pulled
her close, and vigorously rubbed her back. For a moment she felt safe against
his broad chest, but tore herself away.
'I
am neither. And why do you care? I'm only goods for trade, dressed as a thrall,
you have sealed my fate.' She turned and stared out onto the horizon.
'Nei.
You are not a thrall and will not be treated as one. There are no slaves on my
father's homestead, and have not been for twenty three summers. There are only
freedmen and women. My father is a fair man and a strong leader. In return for
the protection of Kerik Halsrason, all work together and the steading of
Halsrafjord is profitable.'
Confusion
crossed her face. 'But what of all the raids, of capturing our people?'
'Ja.
Those things are true. My father had taken slaves in his youth. But something
happened many years ago that changed my father's opinion on owning thralls.'
Roisin looked at him, expectantly; there had to be more to the story than one
sentence. 'He had captured my mother as
a slave, but fell in love. And it happened as quickly as between my brother and
your sister.' He gave a light chuckle as
Roisin tutted to herself.
'You
and Erik are not full brothers?' Roisin knew any resemblance in both nature and
looks between the two was like night and day. Their only similarity was their
height and stature.
'His
mother was my father's concubine. She is now his wife, and has been for a long
time.'
'But
your father acted as husband to two wives? That is not the Christian way.'
He
laughed. 'My father is not Christian. My mother was, and she gave me my name,
Kristr. It is the Norse word for Christian.' Roisin was surprised at his
revelation, but it explained how a heathen came by the name.
'Does
she still live there in, Hasjar...?'
He
corrected her struggle with the unfamiliar word. ‘Halsarfjord. Nei,
she is dead.’ His bluntness took her by surprise. ‘She was killed when she returned to Ireland
to go on a pilgrimage to Clonmacnoise, the Irish monastery, when I was eleven
summers.'
'I
am sorry to hear that. My own mother died when I was three winters old, so my
memory of her is scant.' Conall had told
her of her strong, intelligent mother, speaking with pride of her skills with
weapons. Through Diarmuid’s stories she
knew that her mother had been killed at the hands of an unknown assailant,
whilst she was without weapons and helping another. Breda would not have succumbed to this Viking
so easily. Would her mother be ashamed
of her now, a daughter incapable of defence?
Or would her mother be proud that she had not crumbled into a sobbing
maiden? It would have been so good to
have known her, to remember more than part of a lullaby at bed time. Ciara did not even have that, her mother
having died in childbirth.
Looking
into her clear innocent green eyes, against his normal self-administered
advice, said 'Would you like to know the
story?'
'If
it is not too painful to tell.'
'Her
name was Aisling, meaning ‘Dream’. She was small in stature like you, with
flame red hair like mine.' He pulled on his short thick bunch of hair, as if to
prove the point.
'My
father had captured her on a raid, and had stolen her because of her distinct
hair and beauty. She was so delicate in frame, she would have been useless as a
field thrall. When he saw the bruises on her body, he knew that she had been
beaten. By her husband.' He scowled. 'At least we have laws that allow a woman
to divorce a man who is not fit to be her husband.'
'She
must have been terrified to go from one abusive man to another.'
Kristr
clenched his fists, and slowly unclenching them he continued. 'My father did
not abuse her. He loved her. Raping defenceless women is not a badge of honour
or evidence of prowess.’ Those berserks that carried out those actions in their
bloodlust often regretted their actions when they finally took wives, or sired
daughters, but young men in the heat of battle did not hear anything but the
war cry around them. ‘She was welcomed
into my father's settlement, on Halsarfjord , as a freed woman, and within ten moons I was born. There are only
four seasons between Erik and I and our mothers shared the childrearing.' As far as Kristr was concerned, there was no
point in trying to explain to Roisin the nuances of Norse life. To him, the
confusion was evident on her face as she tried to make sense of their life at
the steading. He continued, 'At eleven summers my mother wished to take me to
Clonmacnoise, as a pilgrimage to her faith and that I may become a full member
of her church. In our own Norse culture a boy is considered a man at
ten-and-two years. My father accompanied us to Dubh Linn and then she and I
left with a group of pilgrims, monks and nuns. No more than one day's travel
from Dubh Linn we were ambushed by brigands. My mother kept whispering to me, ‘Run,
Run! Run, Run!', but there was nowhere to do so, and I would not leave her. She
pushed me behind her and I could only watch as a short fat masked beast singled
her out and raised his sword. It was the last thing I remembered before
wakening up at my father’s side. He said that three days had passed since the
atrocity. She was the only one killed,'
'Did
your father find the culprits?' Even by
the bloodthirsty standards of the lands outside Dubh Linn, an unprovoked attack
such as this would demand retribution.
'Nei.
And in my grief I rejected everything to do with the Christian faith. I could
not reconcile with a God who would cause so much misery to so many people.'
They sat in silence for a short while. He stood up and squeezed her hand. 'Thank you for listening to my tale. It a
long time since I spoke of it, but I think of her every day.' Talking about
Aisling always opened old wounds for him, and when he spoke of her, again he
was that young boy. Kristr knew he had
to compose himself, and set his jaw firmly, as he turned on his heel and went
to the rudder. ’Knottr, I will take the
steer now, go rest.’ He knew it was not
yet his turn, but he needed to be alone. Knottr merely shrugged and helped
himself to water from the barrel, before resting on his sea chest.
Roisin
settled herself in the small tent, grateful for its shelter from the bracing
wind as the boat skimmed over the waves. Her belly was heaving, not with
seasickness, but with the story that Kristr had shared with her. Seeing her
friend's pallor, Ciara gave her a hug, as she stood up to take her leave. 'I
should like to say hello to Erik now.' Roisin smiled at her friend. Ciara's
grin was always infectious and it was now an almost permanent feature on her
beautiful face. The year as a hostage had seemed interminable, but as Roisin
suspected Ciara would not be returning with her, these upcoming seasons would
be so short. She hoped that she would
return to Donegal, but that would depend on her men-folk.
She
mused on Kristr's statement on divorce in his own land. Her status in life was
not much different to any woman in Ireland. She may have had fine clothes and
comfort in the rath, but whether of noble or low birth, they were all the same,
women to be married off to breed until they died from childbirth or exhaustion.
Their station in life could be so casually decided by men. She thought of the
old myths and legends, the warrior queens, the strong women with as many rights
as men. Even her mother, with her skill as a huntress had more independence
than she herself had. Times had changed
with the new faith; the priests and monks had control over the canon laws of
the Church. The Brehon Laws of the ancestors were recorded in the texts, but
were no longer used. Divorce was forbidden. Forgiveness and turning the other
cheek may have been the mainstay of the faith, but there was not much
protection against a woman who was wronged. The image of a young red-headed lad
being protected by his mother as she saved his life haunted her mind.
Bio
Maria MacAuley is from Derry, Ireland and has a degree in Celtic Languages. She is married to the love of her life, and they live in relative peace with two cats.
She has a secret wish that her husband will investigate his Nordic family tree further and whisk her off on a longboat to Hammerfest to view the Northern Lights.
If Maria were to choose her favourite tense, it should be the subjunctive, and is always keen to discuss same over a pint of Guinness.
She has a secret wish that her husband will investigate his Nordic family tree further and whisk her off on a longboat to Hammerfest to view the Northern Lights.
If Maria were to choose her favourite tense, it should be the subjunctive, and is always keen to discuss same over a pint of Guinness.
email: banbha@hotmail.com
Bounce on over to chapter 6 HERE
~*"No portion of this story may be copied or shared without the direct permission of the author."*~
Oh boy oh boy!!
ReplyDelete:)
I'll take Erik with a side of Kristr please!
Hehe.... Me too:).
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