Chapter 12

Too Much Ale and a Man’s Heart Is Laid-Open for all to See

A rriving back in the Mead-Hall, everything was as I had left it, although a little drunker. Sigurd shouted jests over the din and laughed at their replies. He scarcely looked at me as I took my seat.

My heart, hammered. I was terrified of how he would react if I told him of my conversation with the Volva. Then, I did not believe it, but my new husband would have hung on her every word. How was I to tell a man he was to die? I sat in petrified silence, nursing a cup of honied mead and smiled at our guests until my teeth ached.

‘Do not tell me of what she said.’ He did not look at me. ‘It is for you alone.’

Was it sorcery? That he could hear my thoughts. Whatever it was, I was grateful that God had intervened and prayed that now I seemed to be in his favour he would see fit to help me steal away at the first opportunity and stop Donada’s wedding before anyone laid a hand on her.

By now, the women began to dance wildly to the beat of the drums and what resembled a lyre. Sigurd watched on, his eyes following their movements, surveying all that was his. One of the Danes stumbled to his feet and stepped forward to where the women were dancing. He grabbed one of them by the arm, pulling her to him forcefully. Before she could push him away he snatched her by her braids, forcing a kiss on her. No worse than I had seen most of my father’s men do, in fact since all they had to do was ask for God’s forgiveness, it was quite tame.

Sigurd held up his hand. The music stopped and he beckoned the woman towards us. The Mead-Hall held its breath.

‘Did you welcome his attention?’ Sigurd said.

‘No Jarl Sigurd.’ She looked to the floor.

‘Erik Nyborg, you are aware of the penalty for your unwelcome behaviour?’

‘I am, Jarl but surely there is no penalty when she asked for it?’ said Erik drunkenly.

‘Asked for it?’ Sigurd turned to me. ‘My lady Olith, did you see her ask for it?’

She had not asked for it. Just in the same way I had never asked for it. I glanced between them. She kept her eyes firmly on the floor. I felt her shame; that she had been touched by that man and he had lied about it.

‘No.’ I turned to Sigurd. ‘No, she did not.’

‘Tsk…tsk…tsk… You would lie to your Jarl, Erik Nyborg?

‘No, Jarl. I would not lie to you.’ He pointed towards me. ‘You would take the word of a Pictish woman over your men?’

‘That woman is my wife. When I am not here my wife will rule in my place and yet you would accuse her of lying?’

‘No, Jarl I-.’

‘Enough. As it is my wedding day, I want no blood spilt. You will pay a fine of five dirhams to his woman and you be her thrall for a period of six months. You may leave.’

The man, about to protest, opened his mouth but closed it again quickly.

‘I am grateful, Jarl.’ The young woman bowed her head and left through the doors that barred the entrance, with Erik Nyborg following like a chastised child.

It ended as quickly as it had begun. Soon, the music filled the space above us to the rafters. The women began dancing and the men threw harsh Norse insults before splitting almost to their belly buttons in laughter.

The hours passed slowly. I could not tell what the hulking bear of a man next to me was thinking but as the evening began to draw to a close the only thought that was going through my mind was what was about to happen in the Jarl’s bedchamber. My gaze settled on the set of six charcoal eyes that bore through me. They would be there as the Jarl undressed me. They would watch as he took me to his bed. Those eyes would drink in my nakedness.

I was terrified.

Halldora approached, I was grateful for her interference. ‘Lady Olith, it is time you met with your people.’

Sigurd nodded his approval. I do not think that my first impression was a good one. I was only nineteen and certainly, could not hold the quantity of ale that the Danes seemed to want me to drink. I tried to stop my hands from fidgeting, to make me seem less anxious looking but it did not work.

Halldora handed me an innocent-seeming drink. I learned much later of its potency for one who was not used to it. It was smooth and light, not quite the syrupy liquid of the mead. I drank it greedily, hoping it would numb my ill feeling.

We began to move from table to table. I could understand very little of what they said, but I knew enough that Halldora handled her ale better than I could, as she flirted and moved between them, introducing their Jarl’s lady wife and disarming them with flattery.

Thorkell began a toast in our honour, while I was still sober enough to understand his words. ‘May your children one day inherit these lands and explore the world in your names.’ He raised his ale. ‘May Thor bless your union.’

They all roared. As soon as I drained my cup, it was filled again. The more I drank, the more slippery my thoughts became. Making it easier to forget all that I had left behind. This time, I found myself among the Jarl’s shield maidens.

‘Should you like to dance, Lady Olith?’ Halldora oozed.

‘I was never good at dancing, only hunting but I would like to drink more.’ I giggled into my cup. ‘It is a wonderous drink and I fear my cup is almost empty.’

All around me found it hilarious. I laughed with them, shaking my cup in Halldora’s direction. ‘To our union!’ I slurred.

‘That is enough toasts for one day, Lady Olith,’ Sigurd said as he rose to his feet, muscles flexing and stretching like a big cat. ‘It is time we went to bed.’

‘But I am having a wonderful time here,’ I waved a hand drunkenly, ‘getting to know these… sh…she..shield… Lady warriors of yours.’

He glared down at me. ‘I think the ale has gone to your head.’

He reached down and scooped me into his arms. I tucked my head beneath his chin.

‘He bought me like you would a prize sow,’ I tried to tell the other woman, ‘but he does smell very nice and although I imagine he is very good in bed, I shall not want to sleep with him.’

‘If you will excuse us.’ Sigurd bowed to the rest of the onlookers.

Drunk as I was, I felt my fear bubble up inside my throat until it was almost a scream.

The six men that had not taken their eyes off me since our wedding ceremony followed obediently. ‘And they…’ I gesticulated wildly. ‘They have ta come wi us?’

‘It is customary,’ he said.

I groaned. ‘Please, I canna bare my arse in front of these men.’ I glanced at their faces, cheeks burning. ‘I do not wish for an audience… I…My….’

I slumped against his chest again, my vision double. The coldness of Thor’s hammer pressed against my cheek and if my memory serves, I woke the next morning with the shape of it indented there.

‘It would have been better for none of them to see you drunk.’

‘Pleas…’ I tried before my eyes closed again.

He let out a sigh, turning to the men. ‘You do not need to attend.’

‘But Jarl, to make it legally binding, the consummation must be witnessed,’ said the tallest of the men, though not as tall I Sigurd but certainly braver than I.

‘Do you think I would lie about such a thing Bjorn? Who here has more power than your Jarl?’

‘Only the gods.’

‘Witnessed by the goddess Freya and the All-Father and you think it is you who decides if my wedding has been consummated?’

‘But she is not one of us.’

My breath quickened as I felt the anger inside Sigurd grow.

‘You dare to speak to your Jarl and his wife in such a manner?’

‘No, Jarl Sigurd.’

‘Now leave before I make you regret it. I wish to take my new wife to bed. While I am gone, have the men dig a pit in the clearing.’

When we were out of earshot. ‘You are going to wake tomorrow with a head that feels as though it has been pounded by Thor’s hammer.’

I did always hate it when he was right.

I could already feel the room spinning. All I could manage was ‘hmmm.’

I felt his breath close against my neck. ‘You should not have gotten so drunk,’ he whispered.

‘You should not have let me.’ I giggled. ‘There is a reason my sisters do not let me drink. I am a terrible drunkard.’

He pushed open the door with his foot.

I opened one eye. The candles burned fiercely. From the darkness of the farthest corner of the bedchamber. The bed chamber. Now there would be no way of avoiding it.

I wobbled, still tipsy as Sigurd placed me on my feet. I sat on his bed. Sobering quickly. Stiff and terrified. I covered my face with my hands.

‘I am sorry,’ I groaned. ‘I made a fool of myself in front of your people. It was inexcusable.’

‘They have seen much worse,’ he said. ‘Sometimes from their Jarl.’

Sigurd leaned against the wall, watching me. I was well-oiled with ale. He was not unattractive, but I did not want to give myself to him willingly.

Sigurd stripped himself bare to his waist, his tattoos a feast for the eyes. So clearly now, I could see the ash tree and not one but two ravens. One on each shoulder head. Scattered amongst the branches; were thick white ridges of scars from battles long since won. At the central root of the tree was a large well. The more I studied the etchings the more they appeared to move. A raven cocked its head before a snake slithered around his arm. An exquisite piece of art.

My drunken carelessness had done me no favours. My head throbbed. Halldora had said something about what the men liked but it was hidden behind a veil of fog in the back of my mind that would not lift.

He came across the room and I felt the bed dip beneath his weight. His skin lightly touched my own. He was warm and comforting, he always was. He had a strong liking for me, even from our first night probably because of my defiance.

‘Tell me of your life, before?’ He spoke quietly, like you would a horse, being careful not to spook it.

‘What is it you wish to know, Jarl Sigurd?’

‘We are married, and you still will not call me by my name?’

‘What is it that you would like me to call you? Lord?’

‘Sigurd will suffice.’

I bowed my head and inhaled deeply. Tentatively he reached out and took my other hand in his. Just him being close to me made my temper flare. Why would he think that touching my hand would soothe me? I was not a horse. Nor a dog. His hands were rough and calloused, the ink from his tattoos ending in wisps. They were hands worn from war. If I close my eyes, I can still feel those rough hands graze the softness of my thigh. It was a sensation that brought me much joy.

‘What is it to be the princess of a King?’

‘You do not have Kings in Denmark?’ I quipped.

‘Almost as many as we have well-trained horses.’

‘Then surely, a man such as yourself will have known many princesses and probably bedded most of them.’

‘There is nothing like a good hump, but alas, I have bedded no princesses. I have lived a life first as a farmer and now as Jarl and both I have enjoyed.’

‘Where did you farm?’ I said, trying to keep him off the topic of humping. It was something I always seemed to struggle with, most of all when he was around me.

‘My grandfather was from Iceland.’ He tried to squeeze my hand, but I moved it out of his reach. ‘Our lands were barren and frozen. There is not much that will grow in the black earth. I was too young to remember, not more than a babe at my mother’s breast when I came to the island. She had already buried two of my brothers.’ His finger traced the ink on his forearm. ‘Once I was of age, he taught me to farm. The earth was lush and green, whatever was sown grew and we flourished.’

Now I saw different hands. Hands that had worked the land. We were not so different.

I cleared my throat. ‘Is that why you came here? For land?’

‘My grandfather said we could not have wintered another year in Iceland, we were starving faster than our beasts. Now you know something about me,’ he smiled. ‘Tell me something about you. I am curious about my new wife.’

I should have been more forthcoming with the truth, but I did not want to delve too deeply into my lifeless mother or our hateful father. I did not want to think about all the things I had lost. Of Eplin and Donada. Of my freedom. Instead, I said ‘I have no brothers. We farm. We fish. Our food is abundant in the summer, and it saw us through the darkness of winter.’

‘No brothers?’ He said it as though I had made some kind of mistake. ‘That must have been a disappointment to your father?’

‘Aye, it was.’ I closed my eyes as the memory pressed in.

‘It is a disappointment, but a daughter is still a blessing from the gods.’

I nodded fighting back tears. If my brother had survived Donada and I would not have had to wed.

‘Are you tired?’ he whispered, stroking my hair. ‘Shall we go to bed?’

‘I… I… I…’ I stumbled over my words.

I did not want to. The thought seared through me over and over. I did not want his hands against my skin. I wanted to run. To scream. Cowardly. That’s what I was. Every decision I had made had brought me to his bed and I could not bring myself to go through with it. For my misplaced loyalty to a Christian God, I had wept rivers of tears and given myself calloused knees praying for my own salvation and yet, what I should have prayed for was vengeance, for what my father had allowed his men to do to us. Our gods reward us if we treat them with respect. I should have been grateful to lie with my husband, a pleasure that was taken from me far too soon.

‘Let me help you.’

He lifted me to my feet, bending his head to kiss me while his hands roamed freely. He worked slowly on the fastenings of my gown, one at a time he unravelled them until it hung open. He cast my dress to the floor, revealing my naked body. God left me then and I am pleased that he did.

He began to unbutton his trousers, deliberately sliding them down slowly without taking his eyes off me. He traced a line from my waist to my collarbone.

‘I have never seen anything so beautiful,’ he whispered against my skin.

Nervous and breathless I could scarcely move.

He pressed me to him again and kissed me with more urgency, fingers twisting in my hair. He traced the line of my neck with warm kisses before he buried his head between my breasts.

‘No.’ It came out as no more than a whisper. ‘Please.’

A noise crept up my throat that I could hardly contain. My skin screamed as he kissed it over and over until I could stand it no longer.

I rocked somewhere between shame and desire. Part of me wanted him. Part of me was ashamed of my enjoyment. My body trembled to answer every touch of his lips. It would not listen. I gave in.

He ran a hand down the curve of my spine, pressing me firmly to him as he bent to kiss me harder. We melted to the floor before the fire. We had been naked before that fire more times than I cared to remember but I will never forget that first night.

The torchlight shone off our bodies, damp with exertion. He pulled my hair roughly pushing his tongue against mine. His rough hands gripped my bare buttocks, and I arched against him and succumbed completely.

?

When we were finished, Sigurd lay on his side in the firelight watching me intently. I could only gaze at him through heavy lashes. When you are a young woman, you are not taught what it is to lie with a man or what you should say to someone as you lie awkwardly next to them, slick with sweat and as naked as the day you were born. I was at a loss for words and did not know what to do.

He did not say a word. He lay back and pulled me to him, letting my head rest against the arc of his chest. Exhausted; the pull of his warmth soon had sleep creep over me as I relaxed into the rhythm of his breath. We lay there on the floor in front of the dying fire.

For the first time in my life, I no longer felt afraid.