Chapter 14

A Happy Marriage

T hat evening, as the night’s shadows chased the sun away, Sigurd and I sat across from each other before the fire. I am sure I could see beads of sweat on his brow from the level of concentration. We were both fully clothed but only one of us was angry. He always was a sore loser.

‘I do not understand,’ I said. ‘Which piece do I move again?’

I was not as slow-witted as he thought I was and had mastered the rules. This was our fourth match. I stared down at the tiny ivory men and all their squares. His mind was much too slow and he did not suspect my moves until it was too late. Sigurd’s King was on the edge of the board and surrounded on three sides by my attackers, again.

‘You say that you do not understand and yet you have surrounded my King again,’ he sounded exasperated. ‘It is your match.’

‘I win again!’ I shouted and raised my arms.

‘I am letting you win.’

‘Next time I will defend the King, and you can attack, see if it is just beginner’s luck?’ I began to pick up the pieces to reset the board.

‘No more games tonight,’ he said sulkily, rising to his feet. ‘I must meet with the men to prepare for The Thing.’ He kissed my cheek and disappeared back through the door.

It is a strange in-between, the days after a wedding but before you have fallen in love. I understood that I had a duty to my new husband, that much I knew, but I also had a deep yearning for him. Part of me wanted his company. Part of me was infuriated by him and enjoyed the thrill of making him seethe. This night, I was not sure which I wanted more.

I lay awake most of the night as the stars danced slowly through the darkness, waiting for my new husband to return. What appeared in the doorway resembled my husband and yet, the body did not seem to be under the full control of its owner. I watched disconcertingly from the bed.

‘My… Lad…My Olith.’ He slurred, taking a tentative step forward and then stumbled a further three. ‘I have missed you.’

‘Is this what happens when you attend The Thing?’

He was always a fearsome fighter, but he was very a cheerful drunk.

‘This is not The Thing,’ he insisted. ‘It is half a day’s sail.’ He collapsed in a mass of arms and legs next to me, trying to prop himself on his elbow. ‘You are a thing… a thing of beauty.’ He took my hand, and he kissed it. ‘Tomorrow, I shall bring you breakfast and I will have Thorkell… he is the one with the sour face, yes? I will have the horses ready at dawn.’ He laid his head back and closed his eyes. ‘I shall teach you how Dane’s ride.’

?

To this day, I still do not know how he managed to sober so quickly, but I awoke as I felt the weight shift beside me and a warm kiss against my cheek. My eyes fluttered open to find my husband smiling with a plate of food.

‘Gulls eggs, bread and salted fish,’ he said pushing it towards me. ‘Eat and then I shall teach you to ride.’

The previous night’s discussion came flooding back to me as I shuffled myself into a more seated position.

‘You will not teach me how to ride,’ I said, eating ravenously. I was not one for conversation when I ate.

‘No, but I shall teach you to fall off more gracefully than you do now.’ He laughed.

‘I only fall off when Danes who should know better creep around in bushes scaring ponies.’

‘We shall see,’ he said as he ruffled Angus’s head, he left with my faithful dog trotting behind.

I swung out of bed hastily and began to get dressed. I was excited. Finally, a chance to show him I could handle whichever beast he gave me. I wore one of my own dresses, it was a deep blue, it was not as fitted as I would have liked but it showed enough that it might interest Sigurd. At least enough to infuriate him as he watched me disappear into the distance as I showed him how a Pict woman would ride.

Outside the sun was just beginning to wake with cracks of orange filtering in through the blanket of clouds. The air was filled with sea spray. Sigurd stood betwixt two horses. A chestnut mare and a bay gelding. My new husband thought he might fool me with a fizzy beast. These had been my father’s and must have been part of the bride price. Neither were safe prospects, and the gelding could frighten himself at the sight of a bird. I could see why my father had thought to rid himself of them.

‘I will take the mare,’ I said.

She was as hot-headed as she was fast and was brave enough to jump anything I put her to, although I cannot say I was not frightened, I would show Sigurd what I could do.

He handed me the reins and tried to help me into the saddle, but I haughtily declined, throwing my legs to either side of the beast and settling my skirts. A ridiculous outfit to expect women to wear but I always somehow managed to make the best of it. I could feel her muscles ripple beneath me. I gripped with my knees as she began to jog beneath me. It took all the strength in my arms to hold her.

‘Now,’ he said as he sat on top of his horse. ‘I will show you how the Danes do it.’

He started to turn his gelding, and I let go.

‘You will have to catch me first!’ With a squeal, my mare took off.

I listened to the clatter of stone under her hooves and the soft thuds as we hit tightly packed earth. The landscape spread out around us as we rode east along the north shore.

He tried to keep pace, the sound of our laughter bubbling up over the crashing of waves. My soul felt truly wild. I pushed her on increasing my lead, standing in my stirrups with the wind whipping at my hair.

‘You are better at it than I thought,’ he shouted.

‘And you ride like a Dane.’

The cliffs gradually rose with each inlet we passed. Breaks in the rocks made for easy jumps as the waves slapped against stone. My mare did not falter, she cleared them with ease. We climbed further still, turning tightly to weave between broken bows and sterns that had been torn apart and cast aside by the sea. Now, only good for kindling.

I pulled her up somewhere near a cliff top that looked north across the ocean. Breathing heavily, my mare walked and danced as the sea churned fearsomely against the rocks. The sea-salted air dampened my face. I could barely hear my thoughts over its roar.

‘Why did you take so long, Lord?’ I shouted above the din.

‘You had an unfair advantage.’ He pulled up his gelding as close to my mare as he dared. ‘These were your father’s horses.’

I smiled then. ‘They are. Great beauties, yes but horses that even his best horseman could do nothing with. Looks can be deceiving, my Lord.’

‘Indeed, they can.’

My mare danced sideways. ‘Tell me, what is it that I am looking at?’ I pointed northwards towards what seemed to be land rising out of the sea.

‘It is Westray. It is part of Orkney.’

I had never truly grasped the size of our lands, even now, it still astonishes me how far our islands stretch.

‘All of it?’ Looking back, I must have sounded naive at best and at worst, ignorant. ‘Truly?’

‘Did your father not teach you?’

In truth, he had tried. He had spoken of our borders. Of the threats that lay just beyond them, but I never listened. I knew of nothing outside of hunting in our forests. I would disappear into those trees for hours with nothing but my hawk on my arm. A creature of wind and sky. I would feel my soul soar in unison. I was not meant to be a wife and a mother. I was meant to be free.

In the time before, before my mother had become blank and unreachable she would teach me the lute. She would even have me sing. Obedience. Servitude. Pursuits that would make for a good wife. I would be sent to the priest. The priest would admonish me and I would steal his parchments and hide them, whenever he tried to teach me letters. I hated him as much as he hated me. I hated them all.

‘No,’ I said. ‘He did not.’

‘Then there is at least something I can teach you.’ He held the reins too tightly, causing the horse to bare its teeth. ‘You can certainly ride better than I expected.’

‘You should be gentler. Do not hold it so tightly.’

‘I have given you a compliment but do not presume that you can tell me how to ride.’ He laughed. ‘Now let us see what happens when I have the head start.’

He turned but I could see the whites of the gelding’s eyes. Sigurd had not noticed the seal carcass that lay deflated and half-eaten. The gelding tossed its head, nostrils flared and jumped sideways. It snorted and arched its neck backing away towards the cliff edge.

I did not speak. It was though the world had slowed. Sigurd tried to regain control pulling tighter on the reins, but it did no good. It was always a skittish beast, and Sigurd was not the type of man who would yield to it and let it calm.

Its muscles rippled as though it were about to erupt. It reared; Sigurd tried to hang on but as they landed, he became unseated. It spun quickly throwing him sideways. He tried to push his feet further into the stirrups, but it was no good. With a second twist, he was thrown and tumbled to the ground like a stone.

The foolish beast took one look at Sigurd, snorted and bolted into the distance.

‘Sigurd?’ I shouted getting down from my mare. She danced and jogged but I held her tight. ‘Sigurd are you injured?’

He answered with a groan and began to sit up, propping himself against a boulder.

‘Sigurd?’ I tried again, placing my hand on his shoulder.

‘Stop shouting, woman. I am fine.’ He touched a roving finger to the bloodied gash on his forehead. ‘My head feels as though I have drunk a cask of Estrid’s best honied mead.’

He was as grey as ash.

‘Let me help you.’

He pushed me away, but his left arm hung limply. ‘Let me sit here a while. The world is spinning.’ He groaned again and laid back against the earth and closed his eyes.

Once, Elpin and I had been out hunting, we were perched higher up the embankment, waiting motionlessly for game to appear and hoping that the dense foliage would mask our scent. A doe ambled slowly into the clearing below. Ears flickering. Listening. Elpin cocked his bow and levelled it at the creature. The forest held its breath. The arrow whistled through the trees but before it could hit its target, a boar burst forth sending the doe bounding into the distance.

My anger bubbled furiously. Without that doe, Elpin’s family would go hungry. Before our eyes, a score of men followed beating the undergrowth and trying to trap the beast. It was a full-grown boar twice the weight of any man there. They tried to surround it, dogs howling and teeth gnashing. It is a dangerous thing to kill a boar. It must be taken down before it can split you in two and spill your guts to the floor. We watched as a man stepped forward to take the first strike. He missed. Hiding behind those trees we watched on in silence as that boar slit a man from navel to throat.

I have seen death and although at the time my stomach lurched, it was what happened next that was the most shocking. The rest carried on. They fought that beast, reining spear after spear into its thick wiry hide until its carcass lay still. Then they left. With their kill and without their kinsmen. Leaving him to be devoured as carrion.

I would not leave Sigurd.

‘We must try and walk back; it is no good sitting here and waiting for the crows to peck at you.’ I shook him vigorously. ‘Sigurd.’ He blinked at me and gave a half-cocked smile in recognition. ‘Are you awake?’ The sea roared with a vengeance as it beat furiously against the rocks. ‘You must try and stand.’

This was not a day that the skalds would celebrate. There is not an Icelandic Saga that begins with Jarl Sigurd the mighty being thrown from a horse and having his wife tend his wounds while he wobbled all the way home like a drunkard. He got unsteadily to his feet but tumbled to the floor again.

‘Let me help you.’

He slung an arm around my neck to brace himself and got to his feet. The arm that had hung limply, moved a little but it was of no use. He stopped and steadied himself on the boulder before emptying the warm contents of his stomach onto the floor.

We needed to be home. Home. It was a strange thought and hit me, but I did not have time to think on it. I needed Estrid or Halldora. Someone that knew more about herbs and salves than I did. I stared into the distance. Eyes straining trying to see our settlement. It was not like my father’s fortress that marked the horizon from miles around. Smoke trails spiralled skyward. That would be the direction we would head but it was much too far for him to walk.

‘Ride my mare. I will lead her.’

‘Ride your own mare,’ he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘I will walk.’

‘You will no,’ I said more forcefully than I had intended. ‘You can barely stand.’

He swayed gently as though the sea breeze might knock him from his feet. ‘I can walk.

I was furious but I would not be beaten. ‘As you wish, my Lord.’ I turned, leading my mare and began to walk. I did not look back. I listened to the unsteady gait. The stumbling. He always was as stubborn as a mule and would not be told what to do. It was better to let him think that he had made the decision himself, as it is with most men.

‘Steady the mare,’ he said, yielding. ‘I will ride.’

I finally let out the breath I had been holding and pulled her up. He hoisted himself unsteadily into the saddle. I handed him the reins. ‘You will ride with me.’ It was not a question. He seemed too exhausted for me to refuse.

He moved back and allowed me to sit between his legs. I took the reins and felt his weight sag against me for support. I could always read him like the seeress reads the bones. I kept the mare’s pace steady and trained her west, back towards the direction we had come.

Over the uneven ground he whimpered. I could feel the wetness against my back from the wound on his forehead. His good arm slipped around my waist and held firmly. It felt as though we had ridden for hours. It was past noon when I could see the thatched roof of the Mead Hall on the horizon.

We moved relatively unnoticed, that was until Thorkell caught sight of me. ‘Lady Olith,’ he shouted. ‘Did you ride well?’

‘I did,’ I said. ‘But my Lord not so much.’

I turned the mare.

‘What happened?’

‘I am fine.’ He groaned into my back. ‘The beast took off–’

‘He fell,’ I cut in. ‘Will you help me get him inside?’

?

I sat Sigurd on a stool by the fire. He seemed to sway with weariness. I thought hard about what I could do with the gash to his forehead, which now seemed cracked with dried blood. I poked a finger around its edges, not quite sure what to do. Donada would have known, she was always better at healing than I was. She still is now. I am usually the one with the injury, not the one needing to treat it.

Now, my eye moved lower to his tattered, bloodied shirt and the arm he cradled. It looked much worse than the wound on his head. I took his elbow and moved it, up and down. He grimaced but he did not move or flinch. I apologised frequently for hurting him.

He smiled. ‘Do not worry. I have been hurt by much worse.’

‘Your shoulder is bleeding. I need to clean it.’

I had seen his body on our wedding night but now as I removed the tattered cloth from around his shoulder, dark blood oozed from it, and I could make out more faint silver lines from scars long since healed. By the time Odin called for him to return to Valhalla, I could tell you every battle those scars had been hard won by the trace of my finger. Even as I close my eyes now, I can still see them.

I found my parcel of clothes and taking a linen underdress, I tore into strips from it and used it to stem the bleeding.

His face contorted again.

‘Hold still.’ I tried to be careful, but I was not patient or caring. I was angry. Angry that he had not taken better care of himself. ‘Headstrong and foolish,’ I muttered.

‘I am indeed.’ The corner of his mouth upturned. ‘I should not have been trying to impress my new bride.’

I felt my cheeks redden. ‘No. Not when your new bride can hold a horse better.’ In my uneasiness, I had pressed harder than I intended. ‘Perhaps you should stick to teaching me about our borders.’

‘Woman!’ He gritted his teeth and wriggled beneath my hands. ‘It is still attached.’

‘That is the worst of it over,’ I said as I tied the pieces of cloth tightly. ‘I thought you Danes did not feel pain?’

‘Oh, we feel it.’ He made a noise somewhere between a cough and a growl and flexed his injured shoulder. ‘We just do not cry about it like your weakling Christian men.’

I ignored him. Danish men. Christian men. It made no matter; they were not as hardy as their women, but Sigurd did always like to think that the Danes were not as feeble-minded as their pious counterparts.

‘Your head,’ I said, placing a hand on his chin and turning it back and forth before the firelight. The wound had crusted and would cause no more trouble. I had seen Donada with worse skinned knees. ‘Your head is hard enough to have fallen from that mule a hundred times and not cause you much trouble. You will live.’

He shook himself and tried to stand, but he was still unsteady. ‘It is a good woman who can show her husband sympathy.’ He laughed then, a deep infectious sound. ‘We will make a Dane of you yet.’ His hand reached out and touched my face, making my skin prickle with gooseflesh with the tracing of his thumb.

He was not wrong. I would become a Dane. I would become the fearsome queen that the skalds sang of in their sagas. Made from fragmented histories and the bile of my enemies. I just did not know it then.