Chapter Fourteen
It came as something of a surprise to Merewyn to realise that the Vikings lived in many ways just as the Celts did. The people of Agnartved were farmers for the most part, and traders. Their clothing was not dissimilar to the garments Merewyn had been accustomed to at home, their diet reasonably familiar. Their Nordic language was proving less difficult to master than she had feared, especially with Mathios and Rowena to aid her. Within just a few weeks Merewyn was able to understand much of what she heard about the settlement and could make herself understood, more or less.
Many of Mathios’ people remained wary of the stranger in their midst. Foreigners were common enough in the settlement, but as thralls, not equals. Certainly not as the bride of their Jarl. The women viewed her with suspicion, the men with curiosity. Merewyn suspected that the men who had wintered in her cottage would have spoken of her to their comrades and families and she hoped their accounts were favourable. Perhaps the matter of the mandrake would not be mentioned.
Rowena was distant at first, though polite enough. She continued to manage the household and the boys, though after the first few days Merewyn was permitted to assist her around the longhouse.
Mathios’ home was huge in comparison to the one-roomed cottage where Merewyn grew up. The longhouse was of similar construction to her farm, though the footings were of stone rather than wood. The dwelling was wood-framed and the outer walls were made of planks, a few stout logs, and in places wattle and daub. The roof was thatched, with no hole for smoke to escape. The fumes from the fire that burned night and day in the central fire pit rose up into the rafters and eventually dispersed through the thatch. The scent of wood smoke permeated everywhere. There were no windows. The only illumination came from the door, which stood open for most of the day whatever the weather in order to let in enough light to complete daily tasks. They used lamps too, fuelled by oil, but they were inefficient for close work.
She suspected the building had been extended over the years, and now the dimensions measured some eight paces in width and over sixty paces in length. A series of thick wooden poles ran down the centre, spaced perhaps twenty feet apart. From the apex the roof sloped down, and at the outer edges the walls were no more than five feet in height. This space was mainly used for storage, and for sleeping, with most of the activity of the household conducted in the centre or close to the door. Some areas were partitioned off with curtains to afford a degree of privacy. The sleeping area she was to share with Mathios was an example of such a concession, and Merewyn was glad of it.
Rowena, too, had her own quarters. The boys slept on pallets close to the fire, as did the three house thralls who served their Jarl’s needs. All were female, aged from perhaps twelve years to middle age. They spoke the Norse tongue when conversing with Rowena or Mathios, but used a language of their own when they spoke among themselves.
“They are from France,” explained Rowena. “Three generations of the same family, taken together on a raid and brought to market here in the Norseland. Mathios purchased all three and has allowed them to remain together.”
“But even if they are together, to be enslaved seems so cruel,” protested Merewyn. “Can we not—”
Rowena patted her hand. “Our slaves are safe here, well fed, and treated kindly. Their tasks are not especially onerous, as you can see for yourself. Would the life of a peasant in their homeland be any better?”
Merewyn had to admit that her own existence in the months following the raid by the Vikings had been infinitely worse, and even before the attack, her family’s lives were harsh and unpredictable. One poor harvest could spell disaster. They had to work hard, toiling for long, back-breaking hours in the fields to scrape out a living. Mathios’ thralls enjoyed a life of relative ease in comparison.
On her second morning at Agnartved, Merewyn, Mathios, Rowena and the two boys took their dagmal together. The meal consisted of honey, porridge, and dried fruit. The boys had buttermilk to drink and the adults a mug of mead.
“Are you busy today?” Merewyn set down her cup and gazed across the table at Mathios.
“I was intending to accompany Olav on the hunt. Our stores are depleted following the winter and now that we have returned, it is a priority to ensure we have enough food for all.”
“Of course. I see that.”
“Was there something you wished to do, Merewyn?” He gnawed on a hunk of bread as he regarded her. “If it is important, then I am sure—”
“No, no, you must hunt as you have said. I would not wish to interfere.”
“Merewyn…” His tone had lowered and he managed to inject a note of warning into it. “If you want something, you must say so.”
She stiffened her spine. He was right, of course, and could only say ‘no.’ “I was hoping to see Connell today, but I do not know Arne’s wife, Sigrunn, and I am unsure of my welcome in her home. I thought that perhaps you could accompany me on this first visit.”
“Ah, I see. There is no need. Their longhouse is but a couple of minutes’ walk away and Sigrunn will welcome you. Arne will be with us on the hunt so she may appreciate the company.”
“Of course.” Merewyn lowered her eyes. She had always been of a shy disposition and could not contemplate visiting a woman who was a stranger, especially knowing that she would find conversation difficult if not impossible since Sigrunn was unlikely to speak English. But if Mathios could not spare the time today she would postpone the visit.
“I will go with you.” Rowena made the offer as she smeared honey onto bread for Galinn. “We will all go. I wish to consult Sigrunn regarding the wedding ritual, so it will be good to talk whilst the men are otherwise occupied, do you not agree?”
“What? You will come with me?” It had not occurred to Merewyn to ask Rowena. The other woman always seemed so busy.
“I would love to. Galinn and Petrus would enjoy the outing too and they should get to know their new cousin.”
“Their cousin?” Merewyn was bemused.
“Well, strictly speaking I believe Connell is now their uncle by marriage, but cousin seems more apt. We shall complete our tasks here, then walk over to Arne and Sigrunn’s longhouse by midmorning. Does that suit you?”
“It… it suits me very well. Thank you.”
“Then that is settled.” Mathios got to his feet. “I must be off. Enjoy your visit and do not allow Rowena and Sigrunn to get carried away with their plans for our wedding. Remember, it is to be a simple affair, and I will agree to three days of feasting, no more.”
Three days? Merewyn could not imagine sufficient food assembled in one place to sustain three days of feasting but these Vikings clearly had other ideas. “Of course,” she agreed, “no more than three days.”
* * *
Despite being accompanied by her new family, Merewyn was apprehensive as they crossed the settlement in the direction of the longhouse occupied by Arne and his now expanded family. A lad of perhaps thirteen summers perched upon a stool in the doorway of the dwelling, three fat trout on the ground at his feet. He was busily engaged in gutting and cleaning the fish and glanced up as they arrived before him. Rowena spoke to him and he scurried indoors. A moment later Sigrunn appeared, Connell balanced upon her hip. She flung the door open wide and gestured them inside.
Cautious, Merewyn followed Rowena in, and sat beside her new friend on a bench close to the fire pit. Sigrunn chatted nonstop but the words were lost on Merewyn. Occasionally Rowena leaned toward her with a rapid translation.
“She is happy to see us, was intending to come and visit you before much longer.”
“Sigrunn has broth and fresh-baked flatbread and invites us to eat with her.”
“She thanks you for the gift of her child.”
“Oh, no,” Merewyn protested. “Connell was not intended as a gift. I know he will be better off here and I wanted what was best for him.”
“She is grateful even so and loves him dearly.”
Merewyn could see that. Connell appeared contented and happy. She was reassured that her choice had been the right one, however painful.
“Please, could you ask if I may hold him? Just for a few moments?”
Rowena conveyed the request and at once Sigrunn bustled across from the fire pit where she was busily hurling logs to feed the already cheery blaze. She deposited the squirming child on Merewyn’s lap and delivered a torrent of rapid Norse.
“She says that you have no need to ask for anything within this longhouse. You are family.”
“But I didn’t want to interfere, now that Connell has a new family.”
Rowena exchanged a few more words with Sigrunn then turned to face Merewyn. “It is important that you understand how Sigrunn views this matter. She loves Connell and will be a good mother to him. Arne will be a good and loving father also and Connell will want for nothing. But he will always need his sister. Sigrunn wishes to think of you as a daughter to her, and you will always be welcome in her home.”
Merewyn could only stare at the two women, strangers to her but scant days previously but who had welcomed her and shown her the warmth and love she had almost forgotten existed between women. Ronat, her own mother, would have liked these two, she was certain of it.
“Thank you,” Merewyn managed. “I… I… you have been very kind.”
Rowena patted her hand, then reached to stroke Connell’s rosy cheek. “He is a fine boy. You must be very proud of him.”
“I am, yes.”
Rowena nodded. “He will grow to be a strong and courageous warrior. Now, shall we turn to the pressing matter of your wedding?”
Much of the rest of the conversation was conducted in Norse and Merewyn caught but snatches of it. Occasionally Rowena explained what they were saying, but for the most part Merewyn was content to let them arrange matters as they saw fit. After all, what did she know of Viking wedding rituals? Merewyn played with Connell, and with her new stepsons, and was delighted when Rowena suggested that she go with the three little ones for a stroll around the settlement. “It will be a chance get to know the village, to chat to the women when the men are not about, and our settlement is not so large that you could get lost. We shall see you later.”
“But what if someone wants to talk to me? I cannot—”
“You can smile, they will soon realise. Go on, there is nothing to fear. You are Mathios’ bride so everyone will want to see you.”
It seemed they did. Merewyn could not progress more than a few paces before she was waylaid by one villager after another. On each occasion she gave an apologetic little grin, which usually earned her a beaming smile or perhaps a piece of fruit or horn of ale. All were generous, keen to display their welcoming hospitality. The two small boys were also pleasant if demanding company with their never-ending stream of lively chatter and boisterous play. Connell was, of course, keen to join in and insisted on making the circuit of the settlement on his own far from steady feet. Their progress was slow but Merewyn enjoyed the excursion and managed to exchange pleasantries with many of the women of the village.
Once more, Vikings had managed to surprise her. She was starting to feel she belonged here.
* * *
“So,” Rowena announced when Merewyn arrived back at Sigrunn’s longhouse, “we have decided it would be best not to delay the wedding. You and Mathios already share a bed, so it is imperative we get the formalities concluded.”
“We are already wed, it was done before we left…”
“Of course, we know that, but it does no harm to repeat the process, for good measure. Arne has explained that you and Mathios have been… are… well, you have known each other for some time, several months in fact. It would not do to wait until the first child is well on the way, would it?”
“A child? But no, I am not—”
Rowena waved away her protests. “These things happen. We shall make haste. It is what Mathios wishes also.”
“I know that. Very well, but not too much feasting. That is also Mathios’ wish.”
Sigrunn set platters of food before them, sliced goat’s meat and salted pork, bread cooked over the hearth, and a bowl of dried fruit and honey for the children. She poured each of them a mug of mead whilst Rowena continued to explain the emerging plan.
“Nordic weddings usually take place on a Friday as that is the sacred day for Frigga, the goddess of marriage. Next Friday is too soon. Just five days away… even Mathios could not conclude the matters of property which will be required to have been settled before the ceremony can commence. There is not much to accomplish, just the bride-price, but the coins will need to be presented and accepted.”
“I am sure that whatever he decides will be more than adequate.” Indeed, Merewyn had not expected anything at all.
“No doubt,” agreed Rowena. “We shall arrange the ceremony for the following Friday, which will give us twelve days in which to summon guests and prepare sufficient food to sustain the feasting.”
“No more than three days of feasting,” Merewyn reminded the other women, “Mathios was most clear on that.”
Rowena merely nodded and pressed on. “We will require meat, fish, fruit, breads, and cheeses, and of course a great deal of ale. Weddings always require copious amounts of ale. The men will have to hunt and fish, the children can gather the fruit. It is fortunate that Mathios brought ale back with him or we might not have had enough.”
Sigrunn offered a comment that brought a smile to Rowena’s face. “There is a tradition in this land that a bride should visit the bathhouse, attended by her female relatives, and wash away her virginity in readiness for her marriage. We assume such measures will not be necessary.”
“No,” muttered Merewyn, “they will not.”
“In the Christian tradition a bride usually wears fine clothes. Do you have a preferred garment you would like to wear for the ceremony, Merewyn?”
“No, I do not, I… I have very few clothes. Perhaps I could—”
“We will make sure you have something new to wear. Sigrunn has some fine, soft wool in a delightful shade of blue which would fashion a decent gown. Your hair must be dressed, of course. I shall do that. And it is traditional for a bride to wear a gold circlet. I have mine still, from when I wed Agnarsson. You may borrow it if you wish.”
“Yes, please. That would be most kind. As for the dress, perhaps I could find a way to pay Sigrunn for it, once I have the money Mathios has said he will give me.”
Rowena waved away that suggestion. “It is our duty and our pleasure to ensure you are suitably attired for your wedding. As for the day itself, we shall select the finest goat to sacrifice, since it is important to attract the attention of the gods and goddesses but you need not concern yourself with any of that. Agnartved will be crowded with guests and all you need do is smile and make your husband proud.”
“I shall do my best. Are you sure this can all be accomplished in just a few days?”
“Of course. We shall send out messengers at once to summon the guests and you must return here tomorrow in order that Sigrunn may start to fit your gown. I shall examine our food stores personally and inform Mathios of what is still required. Our fishermen will be kept busy, but the seas are calm just now so there should be ample opportunity to land the catch we need.” She got to her feet and brushed a few creases from the front of her tunic. “We should be getting started.”
Rowena gathered the boys up while Merewyn took her leave of Connell and Sigrunn.
“I shall see you tomorrow.” She kissed her brother’s cheek, then gave Sigrunn a quick hug. They had much to do.
* * *
The following days passed in a blur. Merewyn presented herself at Sigrunn’s dwelling every day for a week, until Sigrunn declared the new gown ready. It was a fine garment of soft blue wool, decorated with a brooch of silver at the shoulder, a gift from Mathios, and a belt fashioned from strands of fine silk. The silk had come from the east, Sigrunn informed her, brought back from a trading expedition the previous year.
Rowena harassed Mathios into setting out almost every other day to hunt and fish, and their larders were overflowing. It was not considered needful to salt and preserve the meat as they had the boar back at her cottage because the flesh would be eaten within a matter of days. However, it required to be prepared and flavoured, and cooked to perfection if the feasting was to meet the required standards befitting a respected Viking chief. All the women of the settlement were tasked with producing their finest dishes. Thralls scurried about fetching and carrying, chopping wood for fires, washing stained clothing and bed linens, ensuring all would be in pristine readiness for the great day.
Merewyn watched the frenzy of activity in something of a daze. Her offers to help were usually declined, politely but firmly. Rowena explained that the people of Agnartved wanted to do this for her, for their Jarl. Mathios was liked and respected, and there were those among the villagers who had believed him lost at sea when he did not return home the previous autumn. This wedding was their way of celebrating their Jarl’s safe return, they were determined to enjoy themselves and glad to do all that was required.
From the fifth day prior to the wedding, guests started to converge on the settlement. The Jarls of other villages, some close by, some as far as three or four days’ ride from Agnartved, arrived with their followers. Some brought their families too. All needed to be housed and the longhouses were filling up fast as pallets were laid out on every spare inch of floor. Mathios’ own dwelling was reserved for the most important visitors. His uncle, Magnus, second son of Agnar and brother to Agnarsson, arrived two days before the ceremony accompanied by a dozen warriors. All were found a place to sleep within Mathios’ own dwelling.
On the day prior to the wedding Mathios’ childhood friend, Torsteinn Haraldson, now Jarl of his own settlement and gaining fame as a prosperous trader, rode into Agnartved at the head of a column of wagons. He had brought his family, several thralls, and gifts of silks and spices to mark this auspicious occasion.
Mathios strode to the stables to greet his old friend, Merewyn at his side.
“It has been too long, my friend,” he called as Torsteinn slithered from his mount. The two embraced, slapped each other on the back, and exchanged playful punches.
“It has indeed,” agreed the newcomer. “Let me greet your new bride.” He seized Merewyn and planted a kiss on each of her cheeks before sealing his mouth across hers. Mathios tolerated that for a few seconds then applied his fist none too gently to the other man’s ear.
“You should find your own bride if you have a mind to eat a wench alive. I’ll thank you to leave mine alone.”
Torsteinn grinned at him. “You are right, of course. It is just that these Celtic females are so hard to resist.” He turned to the wagon that had trundled into the settlement behind his massive horse. “Deva, come and meet our host.”
Merewyn waited, curious, as a diminutive figure was helped by one of Torsteinn’s men to disembark from the rear of the vehicle. She wore a thick cloak in a dark fabric, the hood shielding her from the stiff spring breeze as she came to stand beside her tall Viking companion. Torsteinn wrapped an arm about her shoulders and smiled at Merewyn. “You two will get along, I am sure. Deva is a Celt too.”
The hood slipped from the other woman’s face and Merewyn’s knees gave way. She stumbled, would have fallen to the ground but for Mathios’ quick reaction. He caught her and steadied her.
“Sweetheart, are you ill? You look pale as death.”
So she might, for had she not just looked death in the face. She had seen a ghost, a woman she had presumed perished.
Trembling, Merewyn peered around Mathios to look again, to leave no room for doubt. “Deva,” she croaked, reverting to her native Celtic tongue. “Is it you? Is it really you?”
“It is,” came the whispered reply.
Merewyn was certain now. She recognised the voice, the low, gentle tone of the woman who in another life almost forgotten was to have been her sister. Deva was to have married her brother, Nyle, but instead she had been carried off with him and many others on that fateful day. She had been lost, enslaved or killed, with the others of their community, in the Viking raid on their home.
“You are alive. You survived.” Merewyn could not believe that her childhood friend really stood before her, seemingly unharmed.
Deva nodded slowly. “I did.”
“But… how? I thought… I never imagined…”
“I have been fortunate.” Deva moved closer to Torsteinn’s side but did not use the Nordic tongue that would have ensured he understood what was being said.
Merewyn ignored their guest’s bemused expression as she reached for Deva’s hands. “What about…? Do you know if… if…?”
“Bowdyn lives still. He is a thrall in my master’s settlement and is well. I am afraid I have no news of Nyle.”