Chapter Fourteen
Kristin stood at the prow of their vessel as it bobbed at anchor in the port of Oviedo. She lifted her gaze from the crowded quayside to peruse the mountains of Leon beyond. The landscape rose up, a majestic backdrop to the bustling cut and thrust of commerce. About her she heard countless tongues, most of which she did not recognise but that was of no consequence. Trade was conducted as much by gestures and counting fingers and Kristin had become fluent in that over the course of their voyage. She had bartered for silks in Flanders, sold copper to a Venetian merchant in Calais, took on bales of cotton in Cherbourg and traded furs in Brest.
When she was a child her father told her tales of such places, she knew the names but had only dreamed of actually visiting them for herself. They stayed in Nantes for several days, then sailed slowly along the coast of Poitou, then Guyenne.
Nyle drove a hard bargain but had purchased several barrels of fine wine in Bordeaux, and they had traded the last of their copper for spices in Bayonne. Their final stop, having hugged the coast of Navarre and then Castille, was the kingdom of Leon and the heaving port known as Oviedo. Here they had offloaded the last of their woollen fabrics and jars of honey in exchange for saffron and ginger. It was time to return home.
Nyle approached and stood behind her. “A decent cargo.” He cast his assessing gaze over the bales of silks, cases of spices, barrels of wine. “We have done well.”
She nodded. Their goods should fetch a fine price back in the Norseland, or they might stop to trade again on the way home. She had a fancy for some Breton glass and silverware. Bowdyn had found a fine Castilian stallion he was keen to acquire, but they would need to offload some of their goods to make room for the beast.
“We take on supplies here, and again at Bayonne. With good winds we should be back at Agnartved in three weeks. A month at the most.”
“You are eager to see your home once more?”
She considered that for several moments, then shook her head. “Not so much my home, but I look forward to seeing friends again, Merewyn, in particular. She will have had her baby by the time we return.”
“This is true, and we shall be doting uncles, Bowdyn and I.”
“The babe will not be short of adoring relatives.” She was saddened for a moment, pondering the fact that she had no kin. Her father had been her only blood relative.
Perceptive as ever, Nyle took her hand in his. “We are your family, and you ours. It is enough.”
“Yes.” The wind caught her hair and whipped the plait about her shoulders as she tipped up her face for his kiss. “It is more than enough.”
* * *
The weather was not on their side so it was five full weeks before the Nordic coast came into view. Starkad yelled the news when he sighted their homeland for the first time and all five of them drank in the vista. Kristin had always considered her home beautiful, but now she had other shores with which to compare and the Norseland was not found lacking. Steep, towering fjords guarded the coast like austere, forbidding sentries. Snow-capped mountains soared behind; at their feet, the lush green lowlands where sheep and cattle grazed, and the dark turquoise-grey seas teemed with fish. Theirs was a fertile land where life was harsh, but the rewards were there for the taking. On this voyage she had seen poverty the like of which she had never envisioned, and opulence beyond imagining. Freedom was no guarantee of prosperity and a full belly, she now knew.
“How long before we reach Agnartved?” she asked the old weathered seafarer who had navigated their course home.
“A day,” Starkad answered. “Two at the most.”
She hugged her stomach as excitement welled. How she looked forward to being reunited with the woman who was as close to her as a sister, though the meeting would not be without its sensitivities. Would she and her handsome Celts be able to keep the intimate nature of their relationship a secret from their sister? Did Kristin even wish to?
The next day the familiar sight of their own harbour came into view. It seemed that Nature herself was ready to come to their aid at last. The wind picked up and their sail billowed to sweep them across the final few miles. Kristin balanced with ease at the bow of the knarr, swaying with the motion of the deck and flanked by both her Celts as the sturdy little vessel danced across the waves on their final approach. As they ploughed through the choppy waves to reach the harbour they could discern two figures standing on the jetty.
“Merewyn is there. And Mathios. She is carrying a baby.”
“A boy, I’ll wager.” Bowdyn had insisted all along that the newest member of their family would be a male.
“A palm of silver says it is a girl,” Nyle insisted.
“You were ever too easy to separate from your coin, brother,” teased Bowdyn.
Kristin gave them both a sharp nudge in the ribs. “Stop bickering. We must decide what to tell Merewyn.” Kristin could not believe she had left it to this stage before raising the matter with her lovers.
“Tell Merewyn?” Both brothers seemed equally bewildered.
“About us. About the way we… the way we are.”
“Ah, I would not fret on that score, little Viking. She will work it out soon enough if she has not already. Mathios, too.”
“But they must not. What will they say? What will they think?”
“Whatever they wish. It is of no matter to us.” Nyle slung his arm across her shoulders in a familiar gesture of reassurance. Kristin started to lean into him, out of habit, but caught herself in time. She refused to look at either Nyle or Bowdyn as the knarr covered the final yards between them and the harbour. Starkad hauled on the sail to guide the vessel in and Geir slung ropes to willing hands on the shore. Soon their knarr was tied up on the jetty and Nyle offered her his hand to assist her over the gap of a couple of feet she would have to leap to reach dry land again.
Kristin’s boots had barely touched the ground before she was caught in Merewyn’s excited embrace. The smaller woman was stronger than she looked. She chattered happily, welcoming Kristin back, overjoyed at their safe return.
“You have managed to bring these two back also,” Merewyn squealed and flung herself at Nyle first, then at Bowdyn. Kristin found herself holding a small, squirming bundle and peeped down into the prettiest little face she believed she had ever seen.
A boy, indeed! She bent to kiss the little one. “Hello,” she murmured, “how beautiful you are.”
“Aye, and she knows it. But you are right. Our little Ronat is truly a gift from the gods.” Mathios opened his arms to her. “Welcome back, Kristin Lofnsdottir. We have missed you.”
* * *
Their cargo brought a fine price. The wines they took to Hafrsfjord to be auctioned in the marketplace there. Their glass and silver were sold in Tunsberg and Kristin was delighted at the profit they yielded. She had, for the most part, selected the goods they acquired whilst her Celts did the bartering. They made a formidable team. The silks and other fabrics were sent to Herjandair, the spices to Biorgvin. Within weeks of their return the trio were seated around the table in the longhouse they shared openly, their accumulated wealth in a glimmering heap before them. Silver coins in the main, Kristin was well pleased with the fruits of their efforts.
“We should build a second knarr,” she suggested. “That way we would make even more from our next voyage.”
“A fine notion,” Nyle agreed, “but how long would it take to construct a new vessel?”
Kristin shrugged. “A few weeks.”
“Months, more like,” put in Bowdyn, “and in the meantime, we would be stuck here, idle.”
“But in the long run,” persisted Kristin, “we would prosper.”
“She is right, brother.” Nyle poured them all a mug of ale. “A second vessel makes sense, but we need not incur a delay waiting for it to be ready. We could purchase a new vessel. There must be enough coin here, surely, to cover the cost.”
“Where might there be a knarr for sale?” wondered Kristin. She considered the purchase of a vessel an excellent suggestion.
“Ah, now there I could help you.” The trio turned to regard Mathios outlined in the doorway. “May I join you?”
“You are welcome.” Kristin beamed at him. “Especially as you have brought Ronat with you. Please, allow me to hold her for a while.”
Mathios surrendered his baby daughter to Kristin in exchange for a mug of ale. He settled himself at the table and regarded the pile of silver before him. “I am impressed. I am particularly impressed with Merewyn’s share, which she has hoarded most carefully. I fully expect my wife’s wealth to be greater than mine before long.”
“I am glad she profited,” Kristin replied. “I could not have done this without her aid.”
Mathios shrugged. “I daresay you would have managed, but she was pleased to help and has done well from it. So, you are in the market for an additional vessel, I gather.”
“We are. You know of one for sale?”
The chieftain nodded. “I have heard that Leidolf Baldvinson has met with poor fortune of late. The word is that he purchased several barrels of rancid wine and tried to sell it, but word got out and he had to pour the lot into the sea. Then his warehouse caught fire and he lost several bales of wool, and that is without the coin he regularly wagers away at the gaming tables. He has announced his intention to go viking in order to refill his coffers but does not possess the dragon ships to do so. He has been doing the rounds on the various settlements hereabouts seeking the loan of longships but I gather most chieftains are reluctant to entrust their precious ships to him. Hence, he is willing, I gather, to sell two or three of his trading vessels to meet the costs of his expedition. He is confident that he can recoup his losses by raiding, but thus far he has failed to find anyone willing to purchase his ships. I suspect he would be amenable to an offer and you might get yourselves a bargain. He has not many weeks left before the viking season will be passed for another year and his plans will come to naught if he cannot acquire his longships soon.”
“You are suggesting we should provide him with funds to enable him to purchase dragon ships in order to rob innocent, defenceless villagers?” Bowdyn slammed his mug down on the table. “I think not.”
Mathios nodded. “I understand your reluctance, but there is, I believe, a decent bargain to be had here. If you do not take his trading ships off his hands for a pittance you may be sure someone else will and the raids will go ahead anyway. You should consider it.”
“Bowdyn is right,” agreed Nyle. “Tempting though it may be, we could not trade with him knowing that was his purpose.”
Mathios shrugged and finished his ale. “I thought you would say that but felt I should mention the prospect anyway. Leidolf has not been here yet, but I expect him any day. I shall tell him there is no trade to be done at Agnartved.”
* * *
Kristin’s former stepson arrived three days later, accompanied by his younger brothers and a half dozen of her husband’s old karls. Kristin observed their arrival from the entrance to her longhouse. She supposed she would have to pay her respects since it would be considered churlish and a slur not to do so.
Nyle narrowed his eyes when she announced her intention. “Would you like us to come with you?”
She shook her head. “There is no need. I can handle him.”
“Even so, we shall be at your back.”
Kristin was grateful, despite her denials. “I hope he does not remain at Agnartved for long. I do not trust him, he makes my flesh crawl.”
“He treated you badly, robbed you of your bride-price, would have dishonoured you given the opportunity. You felt you had no alternative but to flee his house. You are entitled to despise him, and you may be sure that we will accompany you when you are forced to encounter him again. It is unfortunate that his visit coincides with Torsteinn’s arrival as there is to be feasting for the next few nights and even though the celebrations are not in his honour, Leidolf is likely to want to remain for that.”
“I suppose so.” She shuddered. “Very well, let us get it over with. Then I intend to avoid him for the rest of the time he is here.”
Flanked by her two Celts, Kristin made her way across the settlement in the direction of the jarl’s home. By the time they arrived at Mathios’ longhouse, the usual place where visiting chiefs would be entertained, Leidolf was already ensconced in a chair at the front of the dwelling, ale in hand and Rowena was rushing to bring him food. Merewyn scurried about instructing her house thralls on the provision of refreshments for the rest of his men. She paused to greet her brothers and Kristin.
“Have you seen my husband? He should be here to greet Leidolf, but he has gone to look over Torsteinn’s cargo of Byzantine carpets. I wondered if you might have spotted him on your way here.”
“No, we have not,” explained Nyle. “We shall pay our respects to the visitors, then we will go seek him out for you.”
“I would be most grateful,” Merewyn whispered. “This man is an oaf and his karls are vile, grabbing at any female thrall who passes within reach. I have sent most of them away and must now serve the men myself since they will not dare to lay a hand on me.”
“Let them fucking try,” snarled Bowdyn.
Kristin firmed her jaw, lifted her chin, and stepped forward to greet her former stepson.
“Leidolf. I trust you are well. Your brothers too,” She inclined her head to the younger men on either side of Leidolf. “Dreng, Jorund. It is good to see you again.”
Leidolf eyed her with undisguised lust. “So, I had heard you were here. That makes sense, I suppose, since Mathios of Agnartved is said to have poor taste in females.”
Merewyn let out an angry hiss. Rowena somehow contrived to slop ale over Leidolf’s trousers. Nyle clenched his fists and took a step forward.
Tempting though it might be to let her Celts teach her stepson the proper and respectful way to treat his host’s family, none of that would aid matters, Kristin thought. The man was a pig, there was naught to be done to improve his manners were she even minded to try.
“I see I find you unchanged in the months since last we spoke. I will bid you good day.” She bowed again and turned to leave.
The next few moments passed in a frenzied blur. One moment Kristin was preparing to sweep away with as much dignity as she might muster, and the next she witnessed Leidolf hurled to the ground with Bowdyn upon him, punching his jaw as though he sought to murder the man right there on Mathios’ doorstep.
“What are you doing? Stop!” She tried to grab Bowdyn’s flying fist but was almost toppled herself in the effort. Nyle caught and steadied her, then attempted to get a hold of his brother and haul him off the Viking.
“What the fuck are you doing? Leave him.”
“You are dead. Dead,” snarled Bowdyn, intent upon pummelling the Norseman into unconsciousness or beyond. “I shall kill you myself, with my own bare hands, you fucking murderer.”
“Let him go.” Nyle tried again but failed to halt Bowdyn’s attack. It took his efforts and those of four of Leidolf’s followers before Bowdyn was hauled off the Viking and Leidolf staggered to his feet. His nose looked to be broken, and though Kristin could not find it in herself to feel sorry for him, she could see that this episode spelled trouble. Leidolf was beyond incensed and already reaching for his sword as his men held Bowdyn between them.
“Celtish cur. I shall slice off your balls, then your fucking head. How dare you lay your hands on a Viking. Do you know who I am?”
“I know. I know who and what you are. You are a butcher, a murderer, the spawn of a slug and not fit to wipe up the shite of decent folk.” Bowdyn let out an enraged bellow and attempted to leap on Leidolf again. “I shall kill you, I shall tear you apart with my bare hands and enjoy the doing of it. I shall—”
“You’re mad. Deranged.” Leidolf took the opportunity, whilst Bowdyn was held fast by four men, to land a vicious punch to his jaw. “But do not fear. I shall cure the matter by separating your head from your filthy slave’s body.”
“No!” Kristin hurled herself at Leidolf, who flung her aside as though she was made of rags. Nyle caught her again and quickly handed her to Merewyn, then placed himself between the Viking bent on revenge and his even more enraged twin. Dagger in hand, he dared Leidolf to come any closer.
“I shall have both your heads,” the Norseman taunted. “You want to go first? Very well, I can accommodate you.” He extended his sword and swung it from one side to the other. “First, though, I shall take pleasure in slicing you up a bit at a time.”
“No, you will not.” Mathios’ angry tone echoed across the settlement. He strode toward his home, his men at his side and his sword in his hand. “Release my brother and put down your weapons.”
“Brother? You are mistaken, Jarl. This is a worthless Celtic cur who will soon be wishing he had not picked a fight with his betters. I intend to have his head.”
“If you value your own life, you will heed me. Now. This is my settlement. My word is law here. Have your men release my brother, or I shall kill you where you stand.”
For all the fearsome bluster and posturing of her stepson, he was no match for the deadly intent of the hardened warrior who now faced him. Kristin had never before witnessed such ferocity from Mathios but was left in no doubt as to why his followers held him in such esteem. The Viking chief was magnificent, and she was not the only one to think so. Even without the direct instruction from their leader, the men restraining Bowdyn loosened their grip. The Celt might have flung himself at Leidolf again, but Mathios signalled to his own followers to seize him and Bowdyn was dragged off, protesting, into the chief’s longhouse.
“I demand that you punish him. He attacked me, right here, in front of everyone. He should be flogged, then hanged. I shall expect—”
“What you may expect, Leidolf Baldvinson, is refreshment to restore you after your journey, one night to rest your men and your horses, then you may be on your way. Your business here is concluded.”
“But, I—”
“I trust I have made my expectations clear enough, but should you require reminding I would be happy to oblige.” Mathios pointed his great sword at Leidolf’s heart. “Do not test me, Baldvinson.”
Long moments passed. Kristin was by no means certain that Leidolf would see the wisdom in obeying even though further resistance would result in certain bloodshed. She despised her stepson but was not quite certain she wished to see him dead.
It seemed Leidolf did not harbour a death wish either. Slowly, he lowered his sword, then shoved it back into the sheath dangling from his belt. He plastered a smile on his features, though the effect lost something due to the bloodied nose and battered jaw, and one of his eyes was almost fully closed. “Ah, let us not fall out over a thrall. The man is of no account, a slave. I will let the matter drop. Come, let us drink, let us eat…”
“You may eat and drink, but tomorrow you will leave.” Mathios eyed Leidolf with cold disdain, then turned to where Kristin clung to Nyle’s arm. Belatedly, she realised she was shaking. “You two, you will join me in my longhouse. Merewyn, you also, if you please. The rest of you may go.” His jaw set firm, Mathios marched into his dwelling, followed by those he had summoned.
Bowdyn sat at the table in the centre of the great hall, his head in his hands. Rowena was attempting to dab at his bloodstained knuckles with a damp cloth. He lifted his head as Mathios and the rest entered. The jarl glowered at Bowdyn, then leaned on one of the central wooden pillars supporting the roof and surveyed those before him.
“I shall be requiring an explanation. What the fuck was that all about?”
Kristin looked to Nyle. He appeared every bit as baffled as she was.
“I know there is no love lost between you and your late husband’s kinfolk. Was that something to do with you?” demanded Mathios. “Because if it was…”
“It was not Kristin’s fault.” Bowdyn spoke at last.
“Oh, then perhaps you will enlighten me as to whose fault it was that I return to find you brawling with my guests and about to have your skull separated from your shoulders. I have been patient with your surliness and belligerence because I know you were badly treated and you were entitled to feel resentment, but I had thought we were beyond all that now.”
“I know him.” Bowdyn’s tone was clear, unrepentant. “I recognised him, remembered him. His is a face I will never forget.”
“You have met Leidolf before?” Nyle sat beside his brother. “Where did you meet him? When?”
“At our home. At Cynwrig. The last time I saw that man he and three others were dragging our mother behind the barn at our farm. He was one of those who raped her. Before that, the first time I saw him, he was standing over our father’s lifeless body, blood dripping from the axe in his hand. It was he who murdered our father and the first opportunity I get I shall slay him for what he did that day. He deserves no less.”