Sigrun's Secret (3 page)

My father was looking at me now and I looked back at him with a pleading I hoped would melt the stoniest of hearts. It had no effect.

‘My daughter Sigrun will recount the tale,’ said Bjorn quietly.

A hush fell on the longhouse. There were at least thirty people here, all staring at me. My legs turned to water and my mouth dried up. My whole body shook as I shrivelled up inside with horror. Nothing frightened me more than speaking to so many. I’d rather get back on the runaway horse and face the cliff again.

But I couldn’t argue with my father in front of all these people. So I dragged myself to my feet, took a deep breath, clasped my trembling hands together, and recounted the tale I’d learned by heart as a little girl.

‘Some twenty winters since,’ I began, my voice shaking, ‘my father, Bjorn Svanson, was a renowned and prosperous chieftain in Norway. But King Harald Tanglehair had vowed never to comb his hair until he’d brought all of Norway under his control. He found excuses to rid himself of many of the noblemen of the land, forcing them to submit to him or die. Bjorn would not submit.’

I smiled tremulously at my father, pride in my heritage momentarily overcoming my fear. But my father looked away. I’d never understood his modesty over his past. ‘So,’ I began again, blushing to realize I’d paused, and everyone was waiting for me to continue, ‘when he heard the king was marching towards him with his army, Bjorn loaded a ship with all his worldly possessions, and he and his wife, Thora Asgrimsdottir, went aboard.’

I looked over at my mother, but she looked down, a little colour in her pale cheeks. She must still be disturbed by her vision.

‘They sailed across the sea, guided by the stars and by Thor, the protector of those at sea, until they reached the new land they’d heard tell of: Iceland.’

There was an appreciative murmur at my words, and I was aware of the strangers smiling at me encouragingly. I spoke on, my voice growing steadier, though my hands still shook.

‘The goddess Freya spoke to Thora,’ I continued. ‘When they reached Iceland, she told her not to go south to the fertile lands, because there was danger in the south. It’s never wise to ignore the warnings of the goddess.’

I swallowed hard as I spoke the familiar words, remembering that the goddess had spoken to mother again today. But I had to continue my tale:

‘So instead, Bjorn directed his ship northwards, guided always by Thora’s vision of a bay of great beauty, ringed with snow-capped mountains and rich in good farming land. And when they sailed into this bay, she knew it at once and everyone on board gave thanks to the goddess for her guidance.

‘Then Bjorn threw his high seat pillars overboard, and declared that wherever they washed up, that’s where he would make his home. Sure enough, they landed on the beach just below this very spot. Bjorn built the farmhouse here, and named it Thorastead after his wife.’

I stopped, out of breath and drained, relieved to be finished. Everyone applauded, making the blood rush to my face again. I was trembling uncontrollably. I leant forward and picked up my goblet in a hand that shook, only to find it empty.

Asgerd filled my goblet. The liquid eased my parched mouth and throat, but it tasted sickly now. I’d have preferred the sharp, refreshing tang of whey.

I was in a state of restless excitement and confusion. The storytelling had ended, people were chatting together in small groups. I saw Halla giggle and put her hand on Ingvar’s arm, and suddenly everything was too much for me. The strain of speaking on top of everything that had happened today had shaken me and I needed to clear my head of the dizzying effects of the mead.

I stumbled across the crowded hall, out of the smoke and fug of the house into the sharp, clear night air outside. It was cold tonight and the sky was heavily overcast, stealing the brightness from the light summer night.

I gulped the chill air and tried to still my shaking as I walked down to the beach. I sank onto a rock, drawing my knees up under me and resting my chin on them. The waves lapped gently at the shingle in the dusk. Every now and then a larger wave came higher up the beach, hushing over the stones. I threw a pebble into the water and then another. They landed with small plops, loud in the stillness of the evening. Distantly, I could hear the merriment drifting down from the house.

Before long, I heard another sound, closer at hand. Feet crunching across the shingle towards me. I thought it might be Asgerd or Erik come to tell me off for running out in the cold, so I didn’t look round. But a moment later I felt a hand warm on my shoulder. I looked up, startled to see that the person beside me was Ingvar.

‘I didn’t mean to make you jump,’ he said quietly, sitting down beside me.

I was glad he’d come to find me but nervous too. I risked a swift sideways glance at him. He was staring peacefully out into the bay, his face completely familiar to me and yet strange. We’d spent so many of our childhood hours together, but Ingvar had changed.

We sat in silence a while, and before I could formulate my tangled thoughts, Ingvar’s warm hand closed over my cold one, holding it in a comforting clasp. I sat without moving, my heart hammering so hard I felt dizzy. His next words took me by surprise.

‘Would you like to see the ship?’ he asked me.

‘I … the ship? Yes, of course,’ I replied. I’d seen the ship before. We’d all explored it, Asgrim, Ingvar, and I, before they set sail last spring. Even Gudrun, who so rarely joined in our games, had come with us. We’d played in it, imagining what the journey would be like. But if Ingvar wanted me to look at it again, I was willing to do so. He stood up, pulling me to my feet, and then led the way along the shingle to the tall shape of the boat. It was beached, pulled up high out of danger of unexpected storms.

‘Our home for the best part of the last year,’ Ingvar said with a grin, slapping the timber side of the ship. He climbed onto a block and vaulted lightly over the side. Then he turned and held his hand down to help me up. I didn’t need his assistance, but I put my hand in his anyway. Once I was on the deck, Ingvar stood looking down at me for a moment. I thought he was about to say something, but then he dropped his eyes and turned away. ‘Welcome aboard,’ he said.

I looked around me. The ship had been well scrubbed since the men’s return, but there was nonetheless a whiff of latrines and male sweat about it. I wrinkled my nose a little.

‘How unpleasant to be so many people crammed together for so long,’ I remarked.

Ingvar shrugged. ‘The weather is worse,’ he replied. ‘When you can’t escape the lashing rain, and it’s so cold you can’t stop shaking no matter how many layers you put on. Or when the ship is being blown before a storm in the darkness, and you have no idea if there are rocks ahead.’

‘You must have been afraid.’

‘At times. We all were. But it was exciting too.’

I walked along the deck, running my hand lightly along the side rail, worn smooth by use. ‘Where did you fight?’ I asked Ingvar, remembering the pirates.

With a grin, Ingvar wielded an imaginary sword. ‘We fought all over the ship,’ he said. ‘Here, I was pinned against the side.’ He leaned back, acting it out. ‘But I managed to kill my opponent with a lucky thrust.’ He thrust his arm forward and up and I imagined his opponent falling. ‘And here … ’ he stepped across the deck, ‘I was wounded, but I didn’t fully realize until later.’

‘Wounded?’ I asked shocked. ‘Where?’

‘A gash in the side,’ said Ingvar lightly. ‘It healed well.’

The realization that he could have been killed in that battle struck me, and I shuddered.

‘Are you cold?’ Ingvar asked at once. ‘I should have brought your cloak.’

‘No,’ I said. ‘I was just thinking battle must be terrifying.’

‘It isn’t,’ said Ingvar unexpectedly. I looked up at him surprised. ‘There’s no time to be afraid when you’re fighting for your life. There were other things I found far worse.’

‘Such as?’ I couldn’t imagine what he was going to say. I saw it was his turn to shiver, and only half aware of what I was doing, I drew a little closer.

‘We … raided a village,’ Ingvar said. ‘We sneaked up a river and burst on a peaceful settlement at dawn to kill, steal, and take slaves.’

‘You did that?’ I asked astonished. My father had strong views on the taking of slaves. I’d understood over the years that he was unusual. Many of the visitors to our farm had told tales like Ingvar’s. They considered it brought glory and honour as well as wealth. My father disagreed. He said it destroyed lives. Somehow I’d always thought Ingvar’s father agreed with him. He was his best friend, after all.

‘Just once,’ said Ingvar. ‘We were with another Viking ship off the coast of Scotland and they persuaded us to join them. But … ’

I waited for him to continue.

‘Oh, Sigrun,’ he said at last. ‘The terror and pain we caused them. The men from the other ship fought the men who tried to defend the settlement and killed them. That was bad enough. But then they couldn’t stop. They killed the old people too, and captured the children. And what they did to the women … ’

He turned away from me, in the grip of memories. ‘So much screaming, so much blood and death … ’ he whispered at last.

I was deeply shocked by the tale, and moved by Ingvar’s obvious distress. I drew closer, wanting to comfort him, but unsure how.

‘It sounds … ’ I began, but my voice tailed off. I didn’t know how to put my horror into words.

Hearing my voice so close, Ingvar turned. I wasn’t quite sure how it happened, but we moved together, hugging awkwardly. This was the greeting my mother’s vision had prevented earlier in the day. His body was warm against mine in the cold night air; his nearness made my heart beat faster.

‘Sigrun … ’ said Ingvar. He didn’t say anything else, just pulled me closer, folding his arms around me, holding me. I hugged him back, my cheek pressed against the rough wool of his tunic, understanding that he needed comfort.

‘I understood, that day,’ said Ingvar, his voice muffled against my hair, his breath warm, ‘that everything your father says about slavery is true. I imagined it was us—you and me and Asgrim, and my sister Gudrun too, snatched away while we were still children and watching while our parents were killed and … worse.’

I tightened my arms around him, appalled by the image he described.

‘Ingvar!’ A voice rang out somewhere near the longhouse. ‘Where’re you?’

‘It’s Asgrim,’ I whispered. Reluctantly, I let Ingvar go, feeling the cold air rush around me, chilling me where his arms had warmed a moment before. We both shivered, and looked at each other for a moment in the dim light. We weren’t ready to be disturbed, but there was no help for it. My brother was heading towards us.

‘Is’at you, Ingvar?’ he slurred, walking unsteadily across the shingle to the ship. ‘What you doin’ out here ina cold? Oh, it’s … ’ he broke off, noticing me. There was an awkward silence. I blushed, wondering what my brother was thinking.

‘Come on, Ingvar. There’sh drinkin’ to be done. Don’ wast’ the night talkin’ to my li’l shishter.’

I’d never seen Asgrim so drunk that he couldn’t speak clearly. Perhaps the mead had muddled his eyesight too, and he hadn’t seen our closeness of a moment before. I was relieved. I didn’t want to be teased and misunderstood for giving a friend a hug.

Ingvar helped me down from the ship and we accompanied my brother back to the house as though nothing had happened. But it had. I was filled with unfamiliar feelings. It was as though I’d discovered something important out there under the summer night sky. I just wasn’t quite sure what it was yet.

At home, everyone was unrolling sleeping furs and lying down to sleep. Some picked spots near the fire, others chose the wooden sleeping platforms against the wall. Families curled up together, husbands and wives sought quiet corners. My parents withdrew hand in hand to their sleeping room. No one but Asgrim wanted to stay awake.

I bade Ingvar a shy and distant goodnight, while my brother started telling him a long and incomprehensible story about a fight. I climbed into the loft where my sleeping furs lay. Eventually, peace descended on the house, broken only by an occasional crackle from the banked-up fire and the rhythmic sounds of snoring.

Somehow the peace around me couldn’t enclose me in its embrace. Despite the joy I felt at seeing my kin and friends back again, despite the excitement of renewing my friendship with Ingvar, a deep sense of unease disturbed me. My mother’s vision hung over us still. Something was deeply wrong.

I woke with a jolt the next morning. Anxiety gnawed at me immediately, but it took me a few moments to remember why. Then everything came flooding back: the double homecoming, the vision, and the secrets. Happier memories came too, to temper the fears: the walk on the beach with Ingvar and the hug.

It was early. The bright morning light was seeping through a few tiny cracks in the ceiling, but it was still cold. It was difficult to judge whether it was rising time as there was no darkness at this time of the year. But I could hear the cattle lowing restlessly from the pasture so milking time must be near.