The Prisoner of War (Pilot): Part I of the Serial Novel, Page 3
E. M. Amabebe
Chapter Three
SVANHILD
That evening, after supper had been served and cleared away, Marda examined the prisoner. Marda was Agnar's youngest brother's widow; she had come to live with them after her husband's death, bringing with her two young children and an extensive medical knowledge. She looked the prisoner over carefully, cleaned and dressed his wounds, and finally informed Agnar that although he was dangerously injured there was no reason he should not recover, provided, of course, that the wounds did not become infected. She recommended treating the smaller lacerations with a salve made from Usnea moss, and calling in the surgeon from Brod to cauterize the two larger sword wounds.
She delivered her to opinion to a small conference composed of Kolgrimma and the remaining men of the house, who had gathered on a bench opposite where the prisoner lay and were observing him dubiously while speculating on the likelihood of his royal provenance. Ragne stood nearby, clearing away the last of the dinner meal and listening as unobtrusively as she could.
When the little conference had received Marda's medical opinion, their next task was to decide where to put him. His injuries could turn to sickness, so he could not stay in the longhouse even if there had been room. The barn was suggested along with various outbuildings, but each was discarded as impractical for one reason or another. At last, after much debate, Helgi Grimrsson, the freeman who managed Agnar's farm, suggested that they clear out the old goat shed at the far end of the enclosure and put the prisoner there. Certain repairs would have to be undertaken, it was true, and there was a large hole in the roof, but this could be turned to advantage since they could build a fire pit inside to keep the shed warm in winter.
So early the next morning Kolgrimma set off up the path that led across the west pasture, determined to make the goat shed worthy of a foreign prince who might one day describe her housekeeping to his court. She brought with her Audgunn, Ragne, and Hvit, Audgunn's twelve-year-old sister, and loaded them with as many brooms, buckets, rags and various other cleaning supplies as they could carry. A boy followed behind them to remake the hole in the roof and install a smoke flap, and behind him came Arni, a slave who had been in Agnar's service for nearly three decades, and who had been given the job of building the fire pit because of his skill in stonemasonry. Last in the procession were two men bearing the prisoner on a stretcher.
The shed was located almost at the western boundary of Agnar's enclosure, on a small area of flat ground nestled into the gently sloping field that rose up into the steeper, free pasture that edged the valley. Almost no one ever passed the spot, save for cows and goats and the occasional Brod-bound traveler hoping to save himself a few paces by cutting across Agnar's field. The shed itself was a small building, perhaps ten by fifteen feet, with a low roof and no windows. For two seasons it had been more or less abandoned, and it was unfurnished save for a few broken remnants of a stall and a low table-like platform that had been hastily set up to serve as a bed for the prisoner.
The party filed inside and stood for a moment in the darkness. The smell of goat droppings and old, wet hay was heavy on the air, and there was not a sound save for the buzzing of flies. The men set the stretcher on the ground and then, amid much muttering and complaining about the prisoner's weight, transferred him to the makeshift bed. Then they went out without a word.
As soon as they had gone, Kolgrimma sprang into action. She barely glanced at the prisoner, but immediately snatched a broom and began to ferociously dust the cobwebs from the rafters. Then, having made a survey of the task before her, she set the girls to work with all the energy of a general commanding an army. Hvit was to assist Arni by handing him rocks for the base of the fire pit; Ragne was to clear away all the dust, straw and goat droppings from the floor; and Audgunn was to go over the walls, filling in any chinks with daub. Kolgrimma herself divided her time between wiping down the woodwork, giving unhelpful suggestions to Arni, and shouting directions up to the boy through the hole in the roof.
Normally Audgunn hated housework, but this morning she applied herself as assiduously as if she were learning a valuable lesson in horse breaking or tracking, or practicing her letters with Alban the priest. She moved through the shed with her bucket, searching out holes that might let in a draft once winter began, and neatly filling them. Every now and again, when Kolgrimma's back was turned, she stole a glance at the motionless figure a few feet away.
They worked for the rest of the morning, and little by little the goat shed began to look habitable. Around midday Arni and Hvit went out with a wagon to collect more rocks for the fire pit. Kolgrimma followed them out the door, calling instructions after them until they were out of earshot. For a while she could be heard outside berating the boy on the roof, but eventually the squabbling subsided and soon all was silent. When Audgunn peeked out of the doorway ten minutes later, she saw that the old lady had sat down on a rock in a bright patch of sunlight and was leaning against the shed with her eyes closed.
With the commander asleep, work slowed on all fronts. Audgunn came back inside, took a chunk of bread from her pocket, and handed half to Ragne. Both girls squatted against one wall and began to enjoy an early afternoon snack. Not a sound could be heard from outside: the boy on the roof was either napping or had abandoned his post, and even the birds seemed to have taken a siesta. All through the morning the sun had gently baked the shed, and now this warmth combined with the darkness and the heaviness of the bread to create a pleasantly soporific effect. Audgunn stretched out her legs, leaned back against the wall, and considered whether it would be imprudent to shut her eyes for a few minutes.
She had just slipped into a doze when the sound of voices on the path disturbed the quiet of the shed. Both girls sprang to attention; in a moment Audgunn was back to her bucket and Ragne had recovered the rag with which she had been wiping down the woodwork. They stood poised and ready, listening as the voices drew closer.
“Good morning, grandmother.” The voice belonged to Svanhild, Orm Raven Eye's only daughter. Ragne stiffened. She had little love for Svanhild – the other girl was the closest thing she had to a rival.
Svanhild Ormsdottir was generally acknowledged to be the most beautiful maiden within three days ride. When men saw her they whispered admiringly about her ivory complexion and silky black hair, her slender figure and bewitching smile, and about what an enviable match she would make for any man lucky enough to win her. She and Audgunn had grown up next to each other, but they had little in common and had never shown much interest in one another. During the past year, however, something in their relationship had changed, and much to everyone's surprise a friendship appeared to have sprung up between them. Soon it became common to see Audgunn accompanying her brothers on visits to Orm's house in the evenings, or to catch a glimpse of her and Svanhild walking together on errands, arm in arm, or gossiping with a group of girls on the little cliff overlooking the water.
Agnar had watched the growth of this friendship with cautious optimism. Like Svanhild, Audgunn was often spoken of as a local beauty – some even said she was the fairer of the two girls – but never once had it been said that she would make a good wife. There was generally much head shaking when Audgunn's marital prospects were spoken of, and any praise lavished on her looks was usually accompanied by complaints about her quick tongue, her wildness, and her headstrong ways. Of course, she was still young, but for her own good, Agnar hoped his daughter would grow to become a little less like an unbroken filly and a little more like Svanhild.
And indeed, with time the alliance between the two girls had led to changes, albeit small ones at first – Audgunn actually wearing a brooch her uncle had given her instead of stashing it away in a casket somewhere, Audgunn rebraiding her hair in the middle of the day if it became messy, Audgunn asking that her clothes be mended instead of ignoring holes and tears until Kolgrimma scolded her. Her father watched these developments with cautious optimism; it still seemed too much to hope, but per
haps his daughter might grow into a refined, graceful young woman after all.
But the same changes that Agnar watched with hopeful anticipation, Ragne observed with a heavy heart. Ragne loved Audgunn the way she was – bright, wild, impetuous, and above all, kind. She did not want Audgunn to become like the other girls in the valley, who were cool and aloof towards her, treating her with distant politeness when they were not openly dismissive. Audgunn was the only real friend Ragne had, and each time she went off to visit Svanhild or sit near the water with the other girls, Ragne wanted to grab her arm and beg her not to go.
Of course none of this was really Svanhild's fault. Ragne had always known that no matter how well Agnar and his household treated her, a fatherless slave and a chieftain's daughter could not live like sisters forever. But knowing a thing was inevitable did not make it easier to bear, and try as she might, Ragne could not help resenting Svanhild for hastening the change that would take her closest friend from her.
“Good morning, grandmother,” Svanhild said again. Through the doorway Ragne could see her stoop to touch Kolgrimma's shoulder, startling the old woman into wakefulness. Ragne turned away. Svanhild had no trouble making people love her when she wanted them to. She had a talent for saying the right word, touching a hand to create intimacy, smiling in a way that gave the flattering impression that she cared for their approval. Ragne had seen her do it a thousand times, although the beam of Svanhild's goodwill had never once shone on her herself.
“Ah, don't dirty your pretty fingers on me.” Kolgrimma's voice carried in from outside. “I'm covered with dust.” Her tone was brusque, but did not quite hide her obvious pleasure that Svanhild had addressed her with the honorific grandmother. “Are you looking for Gunna? She's inside, but don't distract her from her work – I want to be finished before evening.”
A moment later Svanhild swept into the goat shed like a queen traversing a grand hall, followed by her cousin, Thyri. Although the day was warm she had wrapped a red shawl around her shoulders, and it set off her milky complexion and the long black cascade of her hair.
“Gunna!” she called, coming to a halt in the center of the room. “Finally I find you!” Her eyes swept quickly to the prisoner, whom she appraised sharply and swiftly before turning her attention to her friend. “I thought you might kohl my eyes,” she continued, coming over to Audgunn and taking her hand. “You're the only one who does it properly. Thyri's fingers are so thick and clumsy she makes me look like an owl preparing for a battle.”
“Well, that's because you don't keep still,” said Thyri defensively. She was standing in the doorway, as though reluctant to follow Svanhild inside.
“Is our Svanhild practicing for when Thander returns?” said Audgunn in a teasing whisper that was still loud enough for the other girls to hear. “Rumor has it he prefers fair women.” She tossed her thick blond braid. In fact there was no rumor of the kind, but Audgunn liked to tease.
Thyri snickered quietly, and even Ragne had to smile at the flicker of panic that flashed through Svanhild's eyes before Audgunn laughed and pinched her to show that it had been a joke. Svanhild coughed daintily and pretended not to have been fooled, though a faint touch of pink lingered in her ivory cheeks.
Thander the Fatherless was one of Orm's three foster sons, and the third-eldest of his six boys. Svanhild had set her heart on him years before, and although he had never shown any particular interest in her – or, as far as anyone knew, in any woman – she still secretly liked it when their names were linked, even if only in teasing.
“It's the duty of a woman to make herself pleasing to the eyes of her menfolk,” said Svanhild haughtily. “Especially when they've been away for so many months.”
“Ah, so it's a duty then?” asked Audgunn with feigned seriousness. “Since when are you so keen on duty?”
“Aren't I always?” said Svanhild. Her eyes again flickered to the prisoner. “Will you help me with the kohl or not?”
“Of course I'll help you,” said Audgunn. “Just as soon as I can get away.” She held up her bucket and made a face.
“Do they know yet what sort of man he is?” Svanhild asked in a voice meant to imply that she didn't care one way or the other, though her eyes had now traveled to the prisoner at least three times during the course of their conversation. “Have they found out if he has noble or common blood?”
Audgunn looked at Ragne, who was standing in a corner, almost hidden in shadow. “Did you hear anything about what sort of man he is?”
Ragne turned to face the two girls. “They don't know yet,” she answered quietly.
“My father wants to send a messenger to ransom him before the end of the month,” said Audgunn, her voice low. She knew the prisoner almost certainly couldn't understand them, but it still felt rude to speak about him in his presence as if he were a slab of beef. “When he returns we'll know better who he is.”
“It'll most likely be spring before that messenger gets back,” put in Thyri from the doorway. “Wouldn't that be a joke – your father nursing a prisoner for a whole winter like he's royalty, and then he turns out to be a common farmer?”
Audgunn frowned, and Svanhild shot Thyri a silencing look.
“They say he was wearing some of the finest armor anyone had ever seen,” put in Ragne, trying to be helpful. She could see Audgunn was annoyed by Thyri's words.
“Who knows?” said Thyri. “Maybe everyone has armor like that in the South. My brother told me they're all rich as kings down there. And his wife's cousin once traveled all the way to edge of the south country.”
She came inside and stood next to Audgunn and Svanhild so that the three of them formed a little ring around the prisoner. All four girls were silent for a minute, their eyes fixed on the motionless figure.
“He has the same coloring as Ragne,” Svanhild whispered to Audgunn. “And the same dark hair. Perhaps they come from the same land. Have you asked her? Can she understand his language?”
Ragne turned her face away. The question was not intentionally cruel, but it underscored her difference from the rest of them, her foreignness and her unknown antecedents. It was insensitive too, because she and the prisoner did not look at all alike. He was tall and powerfully built, with sandy skin and silky black ringlets, while she was small and round, with dark skin and tight curls that were more brown than black. The only real similarity between them was that they were both far darker than any native-born Norseman.
Audgunn did not respond immediately to Svanhild's question. She knew her friend could be insensitive at times – particularly when it came to Ragne – and more than once it had put her in an awkward position. She tried to think of a diplomatic reply, but before she could open her mouth Ragne answered for herself:
“His jaw is broken,” she said quietly. “He can't speak.”
For the first time since coming into the goat shed, Svanhild turned her attention to the corner where Ragne stood. She was silent for a moment, observing the small, dark face as if noting its existence for the first time. Then something in her peripheral vision drew her attention; her eyes grew wide and she began to tug urgently on Audgunn's sleeve.
“Gunna look!” she hissed, pointing toward the makeshift bed.
The prisoner had opened his eyes. Svanhild, Audgunn and Thyri gasped in unison; Ragne dropped her rag and took a step back. All four girls stared.
In that instant the prisoner seemed to come to life for the first time. No longer was he just an empty body, an inanimate form that might sink away from consciousness at any moment. He was alive. The eyes added a vitality, a powerful pulsating energy, that the body alone did not possess. Suddenly, he could see them, and although he probably could not understand, he could hear them too.
His eyes swept the room, passing over Ragne and finally resting on the three girls gathered in a half-circle across from his bed. One by one he looked them over, his eyes slowly traversing each girl from her feet to her face.
Audgu
nn was well-accustomed to the looks of men. She had often been observed admiringly, even, on occasion, passionately – but no one had ever made her feel the way she did when the prisoner's eyes fell on her. His gaze was like a physical touch: it triggered something buried deep in her stomach, kindling an intense warmth that throbbed and spread up into her chest and down through her legs.
She suddenly felt self-conscious; her breathing seemed intolerably loud, and she felt clumsy and unutterably awkward under his gaze. It seemed a small eternity that his eyes were on her, an eternity during which she experienced a tumult of shifting emotions – excitement, embarrassment, fear, and a strange, indescribable blend of attraction and repulsion. The sensations were so strong and succeeded one another so quickly that the effect was dizzying. It was a strange, mysterious brew – one she had never experienced before, but which she was sure she recognized.
Then finally the long lashes dropped closed, and Audgunn felt that she could breath easily again.
No one moved. The only sound was a bee buzzing somewhere in a dark corner of the shed. It was Thyri who broke the silence: “Do you think we should we tell someone?” she said uncertainly.
“Did you see?” crowed Svanhild, forgetting to be ladylike. “He only has eyes for Gunna!” And indeed, although the prisoner's gaze had moved over each of the girls, it was Audgunn on whom his eyes had lingered longest. “I think he must be in love,” Svanhild hissed. There was a hint of meanness in her voice, and something else too: envy mixed with respect.
Audgunn blushed and turned away. She had not realized that what had passed between her and the prisoner had been so public.
“You had better be careful around him,” continued Svanhild, “or he might secretly regain his strength and grab you unawares.”
“Ho!” interrupted Kolgrimma, stepping over the threshold. “You girls stay away from that man!” She picked up the broom and shook it menacingly at them. “If I catch any of you making eyes at this Prince – or whatever they call him – I'll tell your father and he'll beat you silly.” She made a tsking sound, put down the broom, and stooped to collect her rag and bucket. “You girls are going to marry good Norse men, not foreign barbarians who will carry you off to the ends of the earth.”
Audgunn and Ragne quickly hurried back to their posts. None of the girls spoke.
“Audgunn, you can go ahead with Svanhild if you like,” said Kolgrimma grudgingly as Audgunn picked up her bucket and resumed work at the hole she had been filling. “Ragne and I can finish up here.”
Audgunn hesitated for a moment. She stole a fleeting glance at the prisoner, but his eyes remained closed.
“What's the matter?” said Kolgrimma sharply. She turned and eyed Audgunn suspiciously. “Is there something keeping you?”
“I'm going, I'm going. What's the hurry?” Audgunn said, brushing the dust off her skirt and starting toward the door. “Send Hvit to Svanhild’s if you need me.” She flashed Ragne an apologetic smile, grabbed Svanhild's hand, and pulled her friend out of the shed and into the sunlight.
Ragne watched from the doorway as the two girls disappeared down the path, arm in arm, followed by Thyri. Finally a rebuke from Kolgrimma made her return to her work. She could hear their laughter trilling behind them long after they were out of sight.
Chapter Four
THE SHIPS RETURN
The next day passed, and the next. Four ships remained at large, and anticipation of their arrival grew more fervid each day. Straightforward estimations - "five days" "a fortnight" "a week, plus three days in Karnes" - gave way to dire predictions of catastrophe. Some whispered that Ingolf, Agnar's eldest son, had run into Swedish pirates who had burned his ship and taken all survivors as slaves. Others claimed that all four ships had stopped at Olusund to trade, but had been robbed by bandits whom the men were now trying to hunt down. Kelis, Old Stein's widow, who some said had the gift of prophecy, claimed to have had a dream in which she saw four ships, each with a broken mast - a sure sign of impending shipwreck. But of course no one really knew. The ships might arrive that very afternoon, or not at all; they might sail in together, or separated by weeks or even months; they might return with every Gruntaler they had carried away, or with barely enough crew to man the oars.
It was a beautiful day, clear and bright and cloudless, but with a crisp chill in the air - the first real indication that autumn had begun. Audgunn was sitting on a bench outside Green Helm's great oak front door, singing to Marda's five-year-old son, Hjari, while bouncing him on her knee. Marda sat beside her changing her infant daughter's wrappings. Audgunn had just run out of children's rhymes and was racking her brain for other ways to entertain Hjari, when a boy came running up the path shouting and waving his arms.
"A ship! A longship!" he cried. "One of ours! Already at the beach!"
Within seconds the call had been taken up by the houseboy and one of the slaves working in the garden. Soon people were running from the house and down the path toward the shore.
By the time Audgunn reached the beach, the ships were already being unloaded and a good sized crowd had gathered near the water. It was indeed a spectacular homecoming: three ships had arrived at once - the two smaller Snekkes Agnar had inherited from his father-in-law, and the beautiful warship with the dragon prow that he had had commissioned when he became chieftain. Everywhere people were talking at once - bragging, joking, singing; recounting wondrous things they had seen during the voyage, or news from distant family members, or how life would be different now that there was a bit more silver in the family coffers. Wives were kissed, lovers hands' pressed, children hoisted onto shoulders, comrades clapped on the back - all amidst so much din, that it was a wonder anyone could understand what anyone else was saying.
For the first time in months, men seemed to be everywhere - the ships had been crewed not only by the men of Gruntal, but by the sons of all the surrounding countryside, and some men from districts farther afield who wished to sail under Agnar's standard. Audgunn recognized many of the faces in the crowd: there were Tryggr and Olaf, her cousins from over the western hills; there was her uncle Gudvarr the Stout, who seemed to double in size every winter, and yet still managed to come back slim and toned at the end of the summer; there were Arri and Starri and Baldur, who lived in Brod, but spent most of the winter camped around Agnar's hearth. Sveinn, famous for his temper, stood talking to his mother and was already beginning to grow red in the face; beside him, Hakon the Blonde, normally stoic as a block of granite, had hoisted his three-year-old son onto his shoulders and was giggling as gleefully as the child; Eystein and Jarni, infamous flirts, stood at the center of a group of girls, comparing scars from the wounds they had received. There was Audgunn's Uncle Hjorik, and her cousins Meili and Stein, and a whole host of other beloved faces, but it was only when she saw her favorite brother, Erik, that she broke into a run.
She almost plowed into him from behind, but he turned at the last instant, caught her up in his arms, and swung her around in a circle. "Ugh," he said, as he set her back on her feet. "You weigh as much as a sack of stones. Did you spend the entire summer eating?"
"That's all they do while we're away!" laughed her cousin Stein, whose silky hair and handsome face made him popular with women, despite his frequent condescending remarks. "They stuff themselves like squirrels!"
"Well they have to - when you're around one has to fight for every mouthful," put in Thorvir, Audgunn's third-eldest brother.
"Ah, how many evenings have I longed for a real home cooked meal," sighed Thorvald, her fourth-eldest brother, Thorvir's junior by three-and-a-half minutes.
Audgunn stood in a circle of her brothers, beaming at all the well-loved faces. The only one missing was Sigurd, who had sailed with Orm, his foster-father. Their ship had been expected more than a week before, and although the delay was not yet significant enough to cause alarm, even people not especially inclined toward gossip had begun to speculate that something had gone amiss.
"I have news," he said to his father in a low voice when he had finished relating the main points of the voyage. "On our return journey we stopped over at Karnes for a night, where I met Rorjer of Hordaland. He tells me that Harald of Vestfold has crossed the Doverfjell."
For a long moment Agnar said nothing. His eyes lifted from the crowd and moved off to the distance where the water disappeared into the horizon. "I thought such news might one day come," he sighed, and the creases on his brow seemed to deepen. "But I did not expect it to come so soon."
"I know." Ingolf too turned his gaze out to sea. "We had all hoped that he would be satisfied with his ancestral holdings and the border regions." He drew a long breath. "But people say he is ambitious, greedy. That he wants to turn the Northern Kingdoms into a great empire like that of Orm the Old or Erik of Uppsala. They say he may even be foolish enough to move against the Westlands."
Agnar stroked his beard silently. It was nearly a minute before he spoke: "Harald of Vestfold may be many things," he said. "But I do not believe him to be foolish. I fear he will bide his time, gathering his strength until the day comes when he can move against the Westlands without fear of defeat." The chieftain's misty blue eyes drew back from the horizon and fixed on his son's. "It is our task to make sure that day never comes."
The two men stood silently side by side until at last Agnar clapped his son on the back and smiled. "But this is a festive occasion, and such moments should be savored. Let us welcome you all home and save our discussions for tomorrow." He squeezed Ingolf's shoulder affectionately and the two of them moved into the crowd.
Catching sight of them, Audgunn raced over and threw her arms around Ingolf. "Welcome home!" she cried, hugging him. "I'm so glad you've come back in one piece!"
Ingolf smiled and stroked her braid. "When have I not?" he asked. "But where is Hvit? And Ragne and the others?" His eyes roved over the gathering on the beach. "Erik wagered that Hvit would be taller than you by the time we returned!"
"Erik, you should know better than to bet against me!" Audgunn cried, gleefully spinning around in hopes of a chance to further tease her brother. But Erik was gone. As she scanned the crowd, she only just caught sight of his blond head disappearing up the hill in the direction of their father's house.
