Daughter of Fire and Ice (20 page)

‘You really dismantled the whole house again?’ asked Thrang. He sounded awed.

Helgi nodded. ‘I wouldn’t ask my wife to have our child in such a haunted place. You have no such trouble here?’

We all shook our heads. I guessed a few people were thinking of Olvir, but no one liked to mention him with Ulf sitting among us. Besides, so far Olvir had been a help to us, not a problem. Whatever some of us might think of him. ‘And is there land here for the taking?’ asked Helgi diffidently.

Even though I had known what was coming, my heart jumped uncomfortably. I liked the look of Helgi and his wife, but I could see at a glance that Arn was trouble.

‘There are few settlers here,’ said Bjorn. ‘Only us, and our good neighbour Olvir, who has his home on the far side of the bay,’ said Bjorn cordially. ‘I’ll show you the extent of my claim tomorrow. I hope you’ll decide to settle here and be our neighbours. Meanwhile you’re welcome as our guests.’

He smiled as he spoke and looked so lordly that my heart swelled with pride. It was as though he had been a chieftain welcoming guests to his table all his life. But I wondered if he would regret his generosity as the winter came.

In the event it took only three days for trouble to break out.

Helgi and Bjorn took Helgi’s horses and rode the perimeter of Bjorn’s land claim. They discussed which land Helgi should take and where he should build his house. The two men seemed to be swiftly forming a strong friendship. Ragna was wary of Bera but not unfriendly. I dared not approach Bera under Ragna’s jealous eye, but I liked the look of her and knew that it would be my task to deliver her baby. Quite soon too, I judged.

I’d noticed the first evening our guests were with us, how heavily Arn drank of the mead. This proved to be a strong habit with him. He called for mead every night and took so much he could barely keep his seat on the bench. The talk and storytelling after nightmeal was rudely interrupted by his raucous shouts and snatches of song. I could see that Helgi was both ashamed of and embarrassed by his kinsman’s conduct, but he also seemed to be afraid and didn’t rebuke him.

Bjorn was asked to tell the story of how we came to Iceland. He cast an anxious glance at me, which I hoped no one else noticed. Then he began to speak. He told the tale from the point at which we sailed from Norway and this seemed to catch Arn’s attention.

‘Hey, noble host and chieftain,’ he slurred, ‘I notice you miss out the bit where you knocked your master on the head and threw him overboard. Or whatever else it was you did. Or can you give me another explanation for why you look more like a boy-loving slave whose hair has grown out a bit than a Viking chief?’

There were gasps of indignation around the hall. Bjorn leapt to his feet at once. He overturned the table in front of him and gave a shout of rage. As well he might. It was an insult beyond any man’s pride.

‘Say that again if you dare!’ he roared. He flung his cloak back from his shoulders and I saw that Arn was not the only one to be wearing a sword at his side.

For a moment everyone was frozen into horrified silence. Then there was a noisy, panicked scramble as we all tried to get out of the way of the two armed men.

‘You don’t dare to repeat it then?’ demanded Bjorn. His voice was steady and confident. He had barely touched the mead.

‘Arn, apologize!’ cried Helgi urgently.

Arn ignored him, pushed himself away from the bench and got up, swaying a little on his feet. He was a tall, powerful man, probably experienced in sword play. I was terrified for Bjorn.

‘I say you are an escaped slave in a girl’s tunic. Not even man enough to bed your own wife. Who do you prefer to snuggle up to at night, then, the nice strong sailor man here? Or perhaps the boy?’

A furious murmur passed through our household.

‘How dare you insult your host?’ roared Thrang. He stepped forward angrily, fists clenched, but Stein held him back. This was Bjorn’s fight. Such a slur on Bjorn’s manhood could be avenged only by death. He had to fight Arn.

I felt anger mix with my terror. How could this man make such trouble, when we had housed and fed him for three nights? It went against all the rules of hospitality. I was also appalled that he had seen through our deception so easily. Would Helgi take his side? I couldn’t read his expression or his aura from where I stood.

Bjorn drew his sword and it flashed in the firelight as he lunged. There were screams from those nearest as they scrambled further back out of reach of the deadly weapons. Arn parried the blow easily and made a thrust of his own. The clash of steel on iron in such a confined space was loud and very frightening. People leapt out of the way. Asgerd pulled Astrid right away, down to the animal stalls, but most were too curious to go so far. Our future depended on the outcome of this fight.

Bjorn attacked ferociously, raining down blow after blow. Arn seemed to hold him at bay effortlessly. I thought the drink had made no difference to his fighting skills. I backed up against the wall, my hands slick with sweat, as far from those lethal blades as possible. It was clear Arn was the more experienced swordsman. Of course he was. He’d probably trained since he could walk. But his drunken state was beginning to tell. He fought from pure instinct. If Arn had been sober, Bjorn would be dead by now.

Arn staggered and had trouble regaining his balance. His movements slowed. As Bjorn twisted out of his reach, Arn struggled to turn and focus on him again. He was swaying now, the sweat dripping from his brow. Bjorn was still alert and light on his feet. But Arn had such skill. I watched him parry yet another blow from Bjorn with ease, scarcely moving as he twisted the blade harmlessly aside. I heard a cry of fear among the other whimpers and tears around me and realized it was Ragna. She was whispering prayers under her breath, her eyes huge in her face with horror as she watched Bjorn fight.

Bjorn rushed his opponent once more, causing several of the women to scream. He smashed his sword down on Arn’s with such force that it bent his opponent’s blade. Bjorn had Foe Biter, my father’s sword, and its blade was edged with steel. It was worth more than all the treasure in this house. Arn’s sword was a home-forged weapon, greatly inferior.

Both men were sweating now, and Arn’s breathing was ragged. It was loud in the comparative silence of the longhouse. A flush of anger and exertion had spread over his face and neck. He needed to straighten his sword. He circled Bjorn, judging his moment. Arn lunged, and the blow would have gone through Bjorn if the sword had been straight. A fierce exchange of blows followed, and Bjorn was forced back right into the terrified onlookers on the far side of the hall. He stumbled trying to avoid them. A woman screamed, a high, piercing shriek that went right through me. It was Bera. Arn swiftly bent to straighten his sword beneath his feet. But Bjorn hadn’t been distracted. His eyes never wavered from his opponent. With a yell, he lunged at Arn wildly and opened his sword arm from wrist to elbow. The blood welled bright red from the wound.

My instincts told me to run forward and bind the wound. But I held back. He was our enemy and the fight was not yet over.

Bjorn ended it quickly. He kicked Arn’s sword away from him as the wounded man stood clutching his arm and held Foe Biter to his throat.

‘Yield,’ he hissed.

‘If you were a man instead of an overgrown slave girl, you’d kill me,’ snarled Arn.

Bjorn dropped his sword and punched him in the face. There was a sickening crunch as he blackened the man’s eye and split his cheek open.

‘Get out of my house and never set foot on my land again,’ bellowed Bjorn.

I felt a chill in my stomach. Though I didn’t want to watch another death, I knew Bjorn should kill him. He had been insulted beyond endurance. It was the only way to regain his honour. But it was too late. Arn picked himself up and ran from the house, leaving a dark, sticky trail in his wake.

Thrang stepped forward and clapped Bjorn on the shoulder. He obviously didn’t feel Bjorn had disgraced himself. I looked once more at Helgi. His kinsman and his host had fought. Whose side would he take? By rights, he should support his kinsman, no matter how in the wrong he’d been.

But Helgi wasn’t even looking. Instead he was bent over his wife whose sweat-drenched brow was creased in agony. As I watched, she let out another terrible scream.

Desperately, Helgi looked to Bjorn. It was as though the fight had never happened.

‘Do you have a midwife here?’ he gasped. ‘Someone help her, for the love of Odin!’

All the men in the room took a horrified step back. Still shocked from his fight, Bjorn looked frantically at me. I moved forward, aware that I was confused and shaking in the aftermath of the fight. As I crouched down beside Bera she groaned and gasped for air. Her brow and her hands were clammy, her tunic wet. The waters had broken. The child was on its way.

My long training reasserted itself, and I immediately took charge.

‘Help her into the bedroom at once,’ I ordered Asgerd and Aud who were standing near. ‘She needs some privacy.’

Ragna would be furious with me for commandeering her room, but I would deal with that later.

‘Is she your midwife?’ I heard Helgi’s anxious voice asking as I accompanied Bera to the room. ‘But she’s just a child herself.’

Over the sound of my own voice giving orders for strips of clean cloth and calling for my medicine chest from the sleeping loft, I heard Bjorn say: ‘You can trust Thora completely.’

I felt warmed by his faith in me and that gave me strength after the shock of the fight. The necessity of helping Bera also steadied me. I had assisted at many, many births over the years. At first I had only accompanied Sigrun, and then delivered babies myself. In the last year or so, if there were no problems, I had been left in charge.

Bera clutched my hand and groaned.

‘What do I do?’ she begged. ‘It’s my first time, oh … ow … it hurts … ’

I reassured her and stayed with her as the night wore on. The pains intensified and Bera shouted herself hoarse. I couldn’t detect anything wrong, but the baby was large and didn’t come. Bera was growing tired. We prayed together, calling on the goddess Frigg for her support and aid. Between pains, I persuaded Bera to walk.

Suddenly the pains ceased and Bera leant against me, panting with relief.

‘You’re nearly there,’ I told her. Sure enough a great shuddering passed through her body. The baby was on its way. The most dangerous part of the birthing had come.

I felt the importance of delivering this baby safely. Of course, the health of the mother and baby were always vital. But I was also aware this was my first real test among all these new people, in this new land. They all trusted me. Helgi and his wife were depending on me. If I failed, they might turn against me like their kinsman, Arn.

It was a long night. At last, near dawn, Bera gave birth to a healthy baby boy. She was exhausted, but happy to hold her child.

‘Ingvar,’ she named him, stroking his tiny face with gentle fingers.

Helgi tiptoed in to peep at his new son, and gazed at him, eyes shining with joy. A young warrior, as gentle as a lamb, tamed by the sight of his newborn child.

Both Helgi and Bera embraced me and thanked me. Outside the room, I caught a glimpse of Helgi embracing Bjorn and calling him his brother. I knew that I’d been right. He wouldn’t turn on us now.

But when Bjorn stepped outside, he saw at once that one of Helgi’s three ships had gone. Helgi discovered that ten of his slaves and a good part of his harvest had been on board. Of Arn there was no sign.

There came a day when the tired winter sun no longer lifted above the horizon. Then it failed to give any light at all, even at midday. It was truly winter.

Some of the slaves whimpered the first day there was no light and spoke of the great wolf Fenris having swallowed the sun. Ragnarok, the day of judgement, was upon us, they whispered.

‘The sun will return,’ Helgi’s people told them. ‘It will be freed again in the spring.’

Bera, who was happily nursing her baby boy, also told me that there was nothing to fear. ‘It will be dark for two moons. And in the summer the sun doesn’t leave the sky for months,’ she told me, a happy glow on her face.

It was a joy to have visitors among us, especially such kind and friendly people. After Arn’s departure there had not been one cross word spoken between the two households. Goodwill flourished, diluting Ragna’s presence and brightening the darkness of winter. Most days, our men joined Helgi’s and all worked on reconstructing Helgi’s house further across the bay. They had chosen a spot for it in the last of the light and were now working by moon and firelight. The women worked at the fireside preparing food, spinning and weaving, dyeing, sewing clothes and shoes. It was sociable, with talk and stories going on all day while we worked.

The only anxiety that tempered the pleasure of the guests’ company was how our food supplies would hold out. Ragna let no one have so much as a glimpse into the storeroom, so only she could gauge how much we had left. She wouldn’t discuss it with me even when I tried to speak to her.

Helgi was supplementing with food from his own stores, but he and Bera were also anxious having lost so much of their own harvest to Arn. They at least had cows giving milk which they gladly shared with us. Once more there was fresh cheese and skyr to vary our diet. It seemed for a week or two that happier times had arrived. But all too soon a shadow was cast over us.

One of Helgi’s slaves had been unwell when he arrived. We hadn’t noticed at first. He’d dragged himself around for a few days trying to do his share of the work, until Helgi noticed and ordered him to rest. I attended him but didn’t think he had anything seriously wrong with him. I was mistaken. One morning, he collapsed at breakfast.

The man’s name was Thors and he was in a high fever, his skin hot and dry to the touch. The whites of his eyes were bloodshot and sore. I ordered him laid apart from everyone else at the far end of the living quarters, near the animals. I tended him, giving him plenty of water to drink as well as infusions of angelica to strengthen him, and a tea made of willow bark to lower his fever. He wasn’t a quiet patient. The fever had him in its grip. He thrashed around and raved.