Ragnar the Just (Ragnar the Dane #3) (12 page)

“Come in,” said Mildrith’s aunt Ymma, a buxo
m lady. “You, your husband and - er -
” Standing at the door to the feasting hall, she eyed the amber smith with interest.

“This is Lini
who’s staying with us for a while,” explained Mildrith hastily.

“Ah yes, I heard something about that. Welcome.” She inclined her head to him. “Of course this isn’t my home, it’s our
ceorl’s
. He’s kindly let us use it tonight.”

The hall was smaller than the Danish one, but the walls were richly decorated with embroidered hangings and a fire
crackled in the middle of the floor. English guests bustled about, wearing their best clothes, kept for such special occasions.

The trio from Hallby sat down together at a table. Usually women served
,
but as Mildrith had the tiny sleeping baby Dalla strapped to her, she was excused.

“Aunt Ymma seemed quite pleased to see me, and that’s not like her,” she said thoughtfully to her companions.

“So,” said an elderly, scant-toothed man sitting next to Lini. “You’re the glass and amber worker?”

Lini nodded.

“It must be an interesting trade.”

“He’s
chatting
you up,” muttered Kjartan in Lini’s ear, making him choke on his mead.

“I hear you are staying with Mildrith and you are best fr
iends with her husband, there.”
He nodded at Kjartan.
“Such a heroic man, saving so many Byrnham folk from the wolf cult last year.”

Nearby guests murmured and nodded, raising their drinks in salutation to the warrior.

“Yes, that’s right.” Lini smiled at Kjartan.

“We shall always be grateful to you and your kinsmen for saving our women and preventing more killing,” said a broad, sallow-faced man sitting next to the elderly one.

“Thank you,” said Kjartan in surprise.

“I’m fifty, you know,” the old man said proudly to no one in particular. “I’m the oldest man in the village.”

Kjartan laughed, but Lini elbowed him so he turned it into a cough.

“Really?
You must have seen so many things,” Lini said politely.

“Yes, I remember the las
t lot of Vikings arriving. They -
”

“More beef?” interrupted a serving woman, and they helped themselves to the juicy meat in thick wine-flavoured gravy while their companion told them about the terrible Vikings. He made sure to make a distinction between them and the current Danish inhabitants of the area, in case he offended the guests.

It was a sedate feast. Two musicians played the harp and the lyre while people ate. Even though they could hardly be heard above the talking, no one threw things at them or pushed them out of the way as they walked past.

It was a relief only hearing laughter and
chatter
for once
,
instead of criticism and insults, so the trio from Hallby relaxed. They were aware of the English looking at them surreptitiously but no one mentioned anything out of the ordinary, or sneered or accidentally injured them.

Mildrith’s aunt and cousins were frequent visitors to her part of the table.

“We wondered if we’d see her again. It was so nice when her baby was born at our home,” said Ymma to Lini. “I despaired of her marrying at one stage, then she met Herewulf, God rest his soul. Then she met your friend, Kjartan.”

Lini smiled.

“We’ve had a few changes in Byrnham lately. Lots of people getting married and moving, leaving some houses standing empty.”

He nodded.

“So, you are widowed, yes?” he asked.

“I have been for a few years now. I wouldn’t have another husband, to tell you the truth. Men are far too much bother.” She smiled and he tried not to agree.

A
scop
, as the English storytellers were called, stepped into the centre of the room, and began telling of a hero performing great acts of bravery to prove his love for his lady, with many references to Mildrith’s cousin and her betrothed, who gazed lovingly at each other. Their friends and relations gasped and marvelled at the correct places in the tale.

To Lini’s surprise, the next person who came to talk to him was the grey-haired priest.

“Good evening. Lini, isn’t it? I’m Ulferth.” He shook hands with him. “Did you hear about the church windows?
A terrible waste.”

“No, I’m sorry, I didn’t.”

“You’re very popular tonight,” muttered Kjartan in Lini’s ear.

“Just naturally attractive.”
He shrugged.

“Mm.”
He put his hand on Lini’s knee, wondering if the priest would notice.

“Young vandals broke the main window a few nights ago. The deacon and I had to board it up.”

Lini made appropriate shocked noises.

“We really need some more glass made for it,” said Ulferth pointedly. “A decorated piece would do nicely.” He indicated the cooked bird on its platter. “It’s a delicious goose, isn’t it?”

*
 
*
  *

Lini, Kjartan and Mildrith set off home in the early hours of the morning, with baby Dalla still strapped to her mother’s chest.

“I hope our house will still be standing,” said Lini.

“It will,” said Kjartan optimistically.

The path to Hallby seemed unending, and a wolf howled in the distance. So they walked faster, Kjartan readying his spear.

“I wish we’d stayed with my aunt like she offered. It would have been safer,” quavered Mildrith.

“Where have you been?” asked a Huskarl at the gate. “Doing womanly magic?”

His companion laughed, not allowing the family into the village.

“Please let us in.” Mildrith gazed up sweetly at him. “My baby needs to go to bed. She’s tired.”

He glared at her and
looked away, moving to let her past. Kjartan and Lini had to squeeze past awkwardly, but at last they were safe in the village. No one else was around at that time of the morning.

“What were they sneering about?” asked Mildrith. “Do they know something about our house?”

“They always sneer. All Danes sneer at us these days,” said Kjartan.

They approached their home to find it intact; the door was still locked, nothing broken or stolen.

“That’s such a relief,” said Mildrith, leaning on Lini, who unbound Dalla and held her while her mother shook out her bed covers and made sure there was nothing untoward in the cot.

The adults all curled up in bed together as
usual,
happily tired after the sociable time they’d spent at Byrnham.

*
 
*
  *

Later that morning, Lini strode off to his forge feeling like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He was starting work later than usual but the break from the hostili
ty of Hallby had refreshed him.
The kiln needed lighting and he had a backlog of orders from the locals with their last minute requests for adornments for the Harvest feast. It was funny that however much people insulted and despised him, they still wanted his products. And there was the glass o
rder from the priest at Byrnham -
had he been serious about that?

Musing on this, he opened the front door and gasped. Although the doors to the forge were intact, the interior was devastated. His carefully crafted beads dotted the floor, crushed. Window panes lay smashed on the bench. Claw beakers he’d nearly finished decorating were in the same condition. The only intact products were the Jarl’s ornate drinking glasses, sitting untouched.

Then he noticed the kiln. It had been kicked in thoroughly, the door and walls broken. Gasping in horror, he ran to it, hoping it could be men
ded somehow, but it was ruined, s
hatt
ered by some very strong boots. H
e could still see the imprints of them. He could have managed without all the other tools, but not the kiln. It had been his father’s before
him.  Lini sat back on his heels, his mind struggling to take it in.

What would his father have thought of all this? Johan
Thorfinnson had never said much,
he was more like his other sons
,
whereas Lini took after his talkative mother. Lini could imagine Johan frowning at the kiln, and at the situation with Kjartan. But despite that, he wished his father was there to tell him it would all be alright.

He wandered through his broken products, picking up the ruined remains of a favourite piece, and putting it down again. He stared at the kiln, grinding his teeth.

Who the hell would do this to him? End his livelihood with an outburst of violence?

Feeling sick, he strode out of the forge.

*
 
*
  *

Returning home, he found Mildrith weaving while Dalla slept, and he slumped to sit on the floor, head down.

“Whatever’s the matter?” she
asked,
the loom clacking as she worked.

He explained, hardly able to get the words out
,
and her mouth fell open in horror, although her hands kept moving as the family needed clothes.

“W -
What? You can’t work anymore?”

“I’ll have to start from scratch. It’ll take me weeks to get it going again.” He could hardly meet her eyes.

“Who would do such a thing?”

“It could be anyone. They all hate me and Kjartan.” Lini’s voice was a sulky whisper.

“Bastards.
May the wrath of Odin curse
them.
”

His eyes widene
d at her unaccustomed words. “B -
b
ut
you don’t believe in Odin!”

“Well, my God wouldn’t punish them severely enough.”

He laughed bitterly. “
When I catch up with them, I’ll
-  I’ll
…
”

“Get Kjartan to help!”

“Yes. We’ll cut their hands off.” He thumped the ground with his fist. “Make them pay for taking away my wage.”

She paused, fiddling with the loom. “Come on. We need a drink.”

Fetching some ale, she sat down with him inside the house to avoid the insults of passers-by.

*
 
*
  *

“They what?” shouted Kjartan when he got home that evening. “Who the hell was it?” His ice-blue eyes
narrowed,
his eyebrows low over them.

“I don’t know.”

“You must have some idea!” He stood over the defeated figure of Lini as he slouched by the fire.

“Well, I don’t! It could have been anyone!”

Kjartan sharpened his knife forcefully, grimacing.

“They all hate us. I’m not going to the Harvest
Blot
, it’s pointless.”

“You must!”
Kjartan’s
eyes met Lini’s. “We can find out who did it and show them we aren’t beaten!”

“Kjartan, shush! I’ve just got Dalla to sleep again,” hissed Mildrith to her oblivious husband.

Lini stared at him and
smiled faintly.
“You’re right. Someone must know. Even the Jarl must know something.”

“If he can tear himself away from his wife for a moment.
He’s so distracted by
her,
he doesn’t notice what’s going on anymore.”

“We’ll have to make him notice.”

“And also, the fight school’s closed. I just wasted my time waiting around for boys who never turned up. After all we’ve done for them!”

“Stupid, intolerant people.”

“I’ll help you in the forge tomorrow if you like.
When I’ve finished the ploughing.”

Lini stood up and embraced him, but he was still bitter in his heart and nervous of the future if he couldn’t earn money.

*
 
*
  *

The next evening, the noise at the End of Harvest
blot
was deafening with people talking loudly, shouting,
laughing
. The heat from the fire in the hall was stifling.
Mabon
was celebrated to mark the safe gathering in of all crops, but eve
ryone knew work never stopped. T
he arduous threshing and winnowing to se
parate the grain from the chaff, the autumn ploughing, pruning the fruit trees,
all these took as much energy as the harvesting. This feast was a chance to stop for a break from all that, and the Danes took full
advantage, talking loudly, drinking and eating all they could take.