Chapter 31

A Feast of Ravens

A s the night went on, it was not long before women rushed to and fro with dishes of river salmon, honied roots and buttered neeps. Oat breads and bowls of hot pottage came next. Sigurd ate greedily but just the glassy-eyed look of the salmon was enough to send my sensitive stomach rolling.

The drums were no better. My head throbbed in time with my heart. I could scarcely hear myself think. The men, bloated on ale and wine still gorged themselves on fare my father provided, decidedly drunker than when the evening began and becoming louder as the wine flowed.

The Laird king threw his head back and laughed as he regaled the priest, no doubt planning on how I could be redeemed in the eyes of the Lord. He probably hoped that my marrying a Dane would be my salvation. Me becoming a Dane was certainly his. He prayed to his Lord the day I took his head from his shoulders. I do not hope he found peace.

Draped in plaid, the women danced. Six in all. They bobbed and weaved about each other; arms outstretched. Agile as ravens, circling and moving sun-wise and all while singing in our beautiful tongue. They echoed each other, slowing and speeding up to the beat of the drums. Old and young casting long shadows about the walls. I placed a hand to my stomach. My child would be fluent in both our languages, the Bifr?st bridge connecting our worlds.

Above the din, a sudden shout came as two men argued over one of the women. Filthy hands grabbing at her like dogs fighting over scraps. In our own Mead Hall, we do not stand for such disrespect to our free women. We did not then and we certainly do not now.

My gaze settled on the Laird King, paying the men no mind between bites of mutton and sinking more ale. The man with the limp loosened his grip on her while the other man dragged his prize out through the door.

No one flickered. No one stopped it.

I wanted to take all the women to Orkney, my sister included. To fill our ships until they might burst at their seams. That they might see what it was like to be free women. To fight. To love. To be equal.

As the dance came to its conclusion, more wood was thrown onto the fire sending red sparks sputtering out through the small hole in the roof. Smoke spiralled at the hiss of the damp wood, the thickness of it gripped my throat and choked me.

‘I must excuse myself,’ I said to Sigurd, kissing his cheek and stifling a cough.

‘Are you unwell?’

‘No, I am tired and full as a tick,’ I shouted trying to be heard over the music. ‘I just need some air is all.’

He nodded. Grease shining on his neatly groomed beard. ‘Do not leave me along with them too long.’ He nodded towards my father’s priest, waddling like a Christmastide good towards him. ‘I fear he might try to convert me.’

I squeezed his hand gently and smiled. ‘I’m sure you will be able to fend him off before he bruises his knees praying for your salvation.’

As I weaved through the throng, I caught sight of the door, flanked on either side by my father’s men. I neared to see Johnne, back resting against the frame. I had not heard his name since the day I was with Elpin on the roof. Johnne still had a small gap between his two front teeth. He had been no older than nine summers old when he’d raced Elpin home and taken a tumble over a rock. Now he was robust. Thick framed and even thicker headed. One of my father’s favourite archers.

‘Johnne.’ I nodded as I passed.

He nodded in return but did not speak. I caught the flash of a silver dirk in the fold of his belt as he pulled his tunic over it. As clear as day I remember thinking that he must have forgotten that it was not allowed within the hall and terrified that my father would find out. I kept his secret.

Outside the sky hung heavy, like the folds of a curtain. Tiny flakes of snow floated, suspended in the air, before settling as a kiss on my eyelashes. I gripped the rail, breathing deeply and staring down into the glassy darkness of the firth below.

All around my feet, the floor was littered with the weapons of the men. I could see the intricate carvings of Odin and Thor on hilts of swords. All dusted with the fine snow that had fallen. We had no shields, no spears or mail. It had all been left further down the firth with Harold and his men.

‘Lady Olith.’

I turned and wrapped my arms around Ligach.

‘I wasn’t sure you’d come. Please will you speak with me before you leave?’

The easy wind carried away the clouds of snow to reveal the moon’s pale disc and a curtain of glittering stars. We stood. Two shadows side by side. Friends. Companions. It was like losing another sister to see her leave.

‘I cannot explain how grateful I have been for your council,’ I whispered. ‘I don’t know what I will do without you.’

‘Or I you.’ She squeezed my hand. ‘I never imagined when I was taken that I would find friendship and even worse, not want to leave.’

We both laughed.

‘No, when my lovely father sold me like a prize sow I never thought I would be gifted with a thrall who would become like a sister.’ I took her arm, linking it with my own. ‘Come, while the men are fat and slow on drink, I’ll find you my mare and you can be away before anyone notices you’re gone.’

‘Why–’ she began.

‘Because you need to be home, with your family, where you belong. Now is as good a time as any.’ We walked through the arch, the mirth from the feast rustling through the branches. ‘It would be selfish of me to ask you to return to Orkney.’

Then, I was still of the notion that my sister would be better off with the Earl of Moray. It seemed like it would be a happy union and I thought she would be safe. In truth, I think part of me was still fearful of being truly alone.

We came upon a pen of three horses, shielding beneath trees, their backs against the biting cold. My mare snickered at the sight of me and ambled over in the darkness. Her white patches reflected the moonlight. I placed my hand out and touched her muzzle in greeting.

‘She will bear you wherever you want to go.’ I rubbed the soft fur behind her ears. ‘You have my word and if anyone asks, she was a gift from Princess Olith. No one will stop you.’

She would be home by sun-up if the weather held and by sundown, I’d be on my way home to Orkney.

She looked sombrely at the pony. ‘Come with me,’ she said, whirling to face me. ‘I see the way your father treats you. Ye think you’ll be better off with the Danes but there is another way. Come with me, you’d be more than welcome. We could find a place for you and the bairn, away from all of this.’

‘It’s no my place,’ I said firmly. ‘My place is by my husband’s side on Orkney. Our son will be both Pict and Dane.’

‘I dinna think your father will take too kindly to it.’

What he thought about it was the least of my troubles. It was what he would do in retaliation for my disobedience. I thought I would be safe back in Orkney. That no harm would come to us. I was young and headstrong and foolish.

‘I have spoken with my father. He was discontented, to put it mildly, but ignored me like I knew he would. Sigurd intends to speak with him before we sail, to make him understand that we will not go to war with Finnleik.’

I told myself that she would be better off at home. Away from my father. Back with her own family, or what was left of it.

‘If it is truly what you want?’ she said. ‘To stay with your husband, then I can only wish you well.’

‘It is.’ I smiled, holding back tears. ‘If you ever wish it, there will always be a home for you with us.’

I set about saddling my mare. It would not be a long journey through the hills but in the darkness, it would be a treacherous one.

She threw her arms around me again. Hot tears stained her cheeks. Mine too. We held each other, for the longest moment. Her eyes reflected my own pain and anguish. She hesitated and then climbed onto the mare.

‘Goodbye, Ligach.’ My voice broke.

She did not speak. Neither of us could. She reined her horse east. After a moment, they disappeared into the darkness and I was left alone once more.