Chapter 3

Meeting the Northmen

A wife.

I had never thought of what it would be like to have a husband, in a marriage dictated by birthright. Perhaps I had never really wanted to.

I went to the window and stared out over our lands. My father’s lands. Rolling hills, speckled with pines, like black silhouettes against the setting sun. For the briefest moment, I yearned for something different. Something more. She may be truly wise who has travelled and knows the ways of the world but, I could never have fled, who would have taken Donada’s place?

Red kites soared, taking with them any hope. Beyond the horizon, across the Pentland Firth lay a land of rugged cliffs and heathen gods. The light of Christ did not shine there. It hung in the ocean like a tarnished coin. The Godly men had become fearful. I was a good Christian, then. Dutiful and fearful. I did not know then, what I know now. In my heart, I hated the pagans and everything that they stood for. In that moment, I knew I would plan my escape at the first opportunity.

I smiled to myself. Pleased.

Before the fire, there was a bath filled with hearth-warmed water. The woman that stared back at me from its surface, was a woman I no longer knew. Unsure and terrified. She would no longer be able to keep the promises she had made to herself all those years ago. She would leave for new lands and new customs and a life decided by fate.

The door groaned.

‘I cannot let you do this alone,’ said Bethóc, standing beneath the archway in a dress the colour of dried blood.

Some distant part of me felt disappointed that it was not my mother. That the thought of me marrying a Dane could not bring her out of her darkness. In the years that followed, I often wondered if it would have made a difference if Donada had been the one to marry the Jarl. I had always been a bitter disappointment. I can only hope that the God she loved more than her children had forgiven her because I could not.

I stared at Bethóc in bewilderment. Until that moment, I had not realised that the only person I had wanted to be standing in that archway was Donada. I wanted her forgiveness, but it was not mine to demand.

When God had given us our gifts, He had bestowed her with the most beauty, with flame-red hair and built like a willow tree. It was no wonder that Crinnin, Thane of Dunkeld had pursued her as he did.

‘Do not look at me like that, Olith.’

Seeing her there like that, it is hard to imagine what our brother would have looked like, had he survived. Would he have had Donada’s good looks? or my raven hair and stocky build? He would have been an old man now, no doubt with children of his own. He would have taken the crown and saved us from our fates. How different our lives would have been, but he would forever be that tiny baby.

Bethóc and I had never been close. Not in the way that Donada and I were. We tried to bury our crossed words that night by the fire given that we were both about to become wives, but you cannot un-ring a bell, despite what we tell ourselves and Bethóc, knowing the truth of our childhood would allow it fester for the rest of our lives like an open wound.

She helped me out of my mud-stained gown and into the water. I slipped below its surface, hiding my nakedness. She took my hair, black as a crow’s wing between her hands and washed it roughly, just like she did for the old women. I will never be able to thank her enough for the love she showed me that night, for not punishing me further for my decision.

‘They say he is a handsome man, the Jarl.’

‘What would you know of handsome men?’ I scoffed, focusing on my fingers and the tiny droplets of water dripping down and the steam rising from them. ‘Is this why you wanted so much to marry him?’ I blanched at my words.

‘Donada told me, she hears the women talk,’ she ignored me. ‘They say he has a body like a sculpture, tall and fearless,’ she said as though she was in awe of him. What did Donada know? No Danes had raided our land since her birth. She did not know what they were capable of. Those were not tales of women who remembered, they were the tales of foolish young girls eager to marry and would happily wed a hog if it gave them a large enough home.

‘I hear he is fat as a hog and just as ugly.’ I closed my eyes, realising that I detested the Jarl before I had even laid eyes on him. I tried to steady my breathing. ‘Donada should not listen to the whispers of the young women, everyone tells a story that they think you want to hear.’

My words felt strange. Uncomfortable, even to my ears.

‘She is no longer a child; she does not need you to tell her whom she can and cannot talk to,’ she said, her hands slipping through my wet hair. ‘Who will take care of Donada when you are no longer here to protect her?’

I thought of Elpin with brothers and sisters of his own to care for. For all there was nothing romantic between us, I wished for him to wrap his arms around me and tell me that he would care for Donada just as he would his own. I thought of the cold nights in the woods that we had hunted together, those quiet moments where nothing was said between us. The smell of his skin. The beat of his heart. The touch of his hand.

But too soon my mind was consumed with the thoughts of living with the barbarians, of all that I was about to lose and not what I was about to gain. I was foolish then.

‘Elpin will protect her,’ I said, with as much authority as someone can muster when sat naked in a cooling bath. ‘In my absence, it is Elpin she must look to.’

She did not make a sound, but she had always been an obedient girl and knew better than to argue. She was not natured like me, I always wondered if it had been from her mother’s side, it certainly wasn’t from our fathers.

I dried myself quickly and pulled on the pale blue gown. A grotesque piece of fabric that had belonged to our mother. Bethóc brushed my hair furiously, knotting it to my crown in a series of braids and letting the rest fall down my back in waves. A blade was my chosen weapon, not a comb.

‘How do I look?’ I asked.

‘Father will be pleased.’

‘Let us hope for all our sakes that it pleases the Jarl.’

‘God will bless us.’ She picked up a hair stick from the gifts the Northmen had brought for her and slipped it between my braids. Surely, she was old enough to know that such gifts did not come without a price. A price I would pay on my father’s behalf.

‘He can do nothing but fall in love with you, look at you.’ she smiled, with the thin trail of a tear on her cheek. ‘Now you look like a bride,’ she fixed the last of the silver arm rings; entwined with snakes and wolves.

I studied the trinkets adorning my arms. ‘It is you who should have a gift!’ How had I forgotten? ‘Your wedding and I have nothing for you, with everything that has happene-.’

‘I need no gift.’

I studied her face as she cast her eyes to the floor. I felt a familiar lump in my throat. I remembered that look all too well.

‘What is it?’

‘Why did you agree to it, Olith?’ her words came out in no more than a whisper. ‘No one asked you to.’

‘No, they did not.’ I said, turning away from her. ‘It is my choice. It is God’s will.

?

As we stepped out into the darkness the sky above us churned, sending great bolts of lightning rumbling across the Northern Sky. Two ravens swept against its greyness. Circling and weaving like smudges of spilt ink.

The storm made the uneven timbers of the walkway slippery underfoot I held the wooden balustrade as we made our way to the great hall.

‘An omen for the Norse,’ I said as we shuffled through the archway and into the Great Hall. Whether it was good or bad, I was not so sure.

In the darkness the flames from the firepit danced and licked, cloaking the Northmen in monstrous shadows. My eyes searched the gloom but there was no sign of Donada. All about the walls, the weapons were laid. There would be no violence tonight. My father’s men had taken root, growing like weeds. I could smell the ale on them. Hear their drunkenness. It was a good thing they remained unarmed; my father’s men could fight with themselves in an empty room.

‘Don’t slouch, Olith.’ Bethóc hissed in my ear.

‘A wasnae!’

And there she was. Donada. Fresh-faced, she weaved her way amongst the bodies, as they vied for a better view. What my memory has conjured from that evening is hazy, but what I do remember is the wonder. She looked her best. She had brushed out her long hair until it shone like gold and had worn the most exquisite blue silk that had no doubt been one of our mothers. She was a wilful creature, jaw set, and eyes fixed on her prize. She would have set the whole fortress on fire, just to watch it burn.

She truly meant to hurt me.

Amid the shouts and the curses, I watched on, as she smiled and curtsied. Tossing her golden hair this way and that. She was such a foolish girl then, thinking it was some great honour to marry the Jarl. No doubt she thought she was already in love with him, at least the idea of him. Marrying a tall, handsome prince was all she had ever dreamt about, but Jarl Sigurd was no prince. Sometimes she acted like such a child.

‘Jarl Sigurd.’ Even over the din I could hear the smile in her voice. ‘It pleases me to finally meet you.’

He did not look up. The man sat to his right seemed to whisper in his ear. No doubt an interpreter. He said nothing but gazed at her with dead blue eyes. It was clear even at my distance that he wanted a wife he could keep on a short leash. Sigurd said something back to the man, who in turn spoke to my sister.

‘The Jarl,’ he said, ‘was promised a woman to wed, not a child.’

‘I am not a child,’ Donada said with tears in her eyes and hands balled into fists. ‘Please, I can show you.’

‘That is for the Jarl to decide,’ he said, and she was dismissed. Just like that. Bethóc led her from the chamber with an arm around her shoulders, humiliated and in tears. I hoped she would stay with her and comfort her. She did not deserve such cruelty from someone who was more beast than man.

I silently coached myself. Willing my words to be the ones that would please the Jarl. That he would choose me as his bride and Donada would be safe.

‘Olith,’ I heard my father shout from a seat somewhere beyond the fire pit. ‘Come, you must meet the Jarl.’

He rose to greet me, dressed elaborately in our family tartan with his hair scraped back neatly emphasising the sharpness of his features. I tried to suppress a shudder.

‘Jarl Sigurd, this is my other daughter, Olith.’ He took me by the arm and manoeuvred me around the fire.

As the smoke cleared, I came face to face with the Dark Lord. He was a bear of a man, with a face that was hard and cruel. He was no older than thirty and no younger than twenty, with skin much paler than my own. Sigurd’s beard was the colour of dried wheat, oiled, slick, and neat. His head, clean shaven but for a strip the width of a hand that hung, braided down his back.

He could have killed me with his bare hands. I would soon learn how soft they could be but in that moment my heart felt like it was squeezed so hard I could no longer feel it beat.

‘Please, father, please,’ I whispered. ‘I’ve made a mistake. I don’t want to. Let me home. I’ve changed my mind.’ I tried to pull away. ‘I will marry a God-fearing man, Finlay of Moray, or any man from one of our other boarders? That monster doesnae need a wife.’

I tried to steady my breathing. They would be back on their ships by dawn. He could send them away and God would protect us. The Jarl’s hands would not touch my skin. Not like my father’s men had. I would not allow it anymore.

‘Do not worry.’ He placed a hand over mine. ‘Look at you. The priest is right, the Danes will not want you and then you can repent for your selfishness and Donada’s marriage can go ahead.’

We weaved through the small crowd that had gathered. The smoke from the peat fire made my eyes sting. I felt a sudden chill. I mistrusted my father almost as much as I mistrusted the Danes.

‘Jarl Sigurd, my daughter, Olith.’

I wanted to run. To hide. My own pig-headedness would not let me. To save Donada, I had to make a good impression. I could feel his eyes upon me. This, the man I had agreed to wed. Ignorant and dull-witted. In profile, my eye traced the ink of wolves and serpents that ran from the fur of his coat to his bare temples. He turned to the man on his right, speaking in his rushed heathen tongue. A sound I would come to love.

‘Smile.’ my father hissed in my ear. ‘At least let him think you would be a worthy bride.’

I should have been afraid. Terrified. But I felt numb. I could only cling to the fact that if married the Jarl and I would no longer be my father’s pawn and Donada would be safe. My father gripped my elbow, and I forced a smile.

‘She is a great beauty,’ said the Jarl, sucking on his mutton-soaked fingers. He spoke well enough that I might understand it.

‘As I said, you will find no better match than one of my daughters. It will bring about a union of our territories, as allies, we will be stronger.’

My father turned me, this way and that, as though he were presenting a stallion. I felt my stomach roll. Had he presented Donada in the same way?

‘To your liking, Jarl Sigurd? Her breasts are a little smaller than the others, but I don’t doubt that once you have her with child that will change for the better.’

I felt my face flush and cast my eyes to the floor.

‘It is my pleasure, Jarl Sigurd,’ I squeaked.

‘Sit,’ the Jarl said simply. The Dane closest to him got to his feet as the Jarl motioned for me to take the chair. ‘This one will do.’

I clasped my hands in my lap to stem their shaking.

‘Olith?’ my father said, a look of shock spreading across his rat face. He and his fat priest could pray for my salvation together in my absence. ‘That is your choice?’

The Jarl did not acknowledge his question. ‘We must talk of the Mundr.’

‘Yes. Yes. The bride price,’ my father tripped over his words. ‘What is it your men had me agree to? A dozen cattle? And three horses?’

My soon-to-be husband was clever. He had caught my father off guard. He did not have to kill any of my father’s men, to trap them.

‘You will allow us to trade freely, between the northern isles and the mainland.

‘What does that get me in return?’

‘In return, we will forge stronger trade routes with Miklagard. We will take your goods at a cost, and you will have my men. We will be bound in peace and in war.’

‘I thank you, Jarl,’ my father bowed, an almost laughable gesture. ‘I must ask before we make our allegiances; what will become of my daughter should anything happen to you?’

The Jarl studied me with hard blue eyes. ‘My wife will inherit my lands. Should we have a child then my lands will go to him when he comes of age.’

I learned later that he had three sons from his first marriage. Brusi. Sumarlidi. Einar. His fourth son, Hunde, had lost his life to King Olaf Tryggvasson in his first attempt to convert our isles to Christianity. Sigurd agreed that he would be Christened but no churches were ever built in his name, it was Odin we worshipped in the privacy of our bedchamber.

‘Bring out the ale, let the Northmen sup, you all have a long journey ahead of you tomorrow.’

Tomorrow? My heart thundered in my ears.

‘But father,’ I said, trying desperately not to catch the Jarl’s eye. ‘Must we not be wed, here before God?’

‘No,’ my answer came from the Jarl. ‘We will be wed on Frigga’s day, before the goddess and the gothi…’ he searched around for the word. ‘Priest…yes? She will marry us,’ my soon-to-be husband forced more mutton into his mouth, leaving a glistening sheen of grease about his beard.

I felt my horror rise like bile. A wave of sickness crashed over me. I would be wed before the week’s end.

‘Father, surely you will not allow it. You yourself must want us to be wed before God. In our own church. I cannot wed in a heathen ceremony before false gods.’

As I look back now, my memory seems as though it has clouded the night’s events. I was far more afraid than I have made it seem. Recounting it, I have not told you of how my legs trembled. Of how I could barely hold my ale in unsteady fingers and ill-advised words that slipped from my tongue. I was no more than a child, naive and terrified.

‘That is for your new husband to decide.’ He raised a glass. ‘Come, let us drink, we have cause for much celebration.’

I felt too sick to drink.

‘Friday,’ the Jarl said eventually. ‘We will wed on Friday.’

‘Father,’ I said ignoring the Jarl. ‘Where will we wed?’

‘Orkney.’

‘Orkney. Friday,’ I repeated. I wanted to say something more, but nothing would come. I could feel my father’s scorn and lowered my gaze.

‘I welcome you to the family, Jarl Sigurd, in peace and in friendship.’ My father passed him the mether with its three handles. ‘Sup and share our mead.’

Sigurd always told me that our mead was worse than horse piss, but he drank it so as not to offend my father. My father deserved none of his respect.

He placed the mether to his lips, took a long slow drink and then held out his hand to me.

‘Thank you, Jarl Sigurd but I must decline, the mether must be passed sunwise.’

He grunted and handed it down the line to one of the other Danes, a frightening man, with a gaze as malevolent as the Devil.

‘Olith,’ he took a knife and picked at the food between his teeth. ‘That is a pretty name.’

‘Thank you, Jarl. It is the only thing my mother ever gave me.’

‘She is dead?’

I rose from the chair. I would not tell him more than was his to know. I needed to find Elpin.

‘You will not eat with us?’

‘I have already eaten. I will bid you farewell.’ I gave a curtsey.

‘Olith.’ he called after me. ‘We leave at sunset tomorrow.’