Chapter Seventeen
“Perhaps when you have finished hurling my wife about the settlement I might make proper introductions.”
The exuberant pair ignored him so Mathios cleared his throat and tried again.
“This is a most touching reunion but I would also like to properly make the acquaintance of my new brother. Merewyn, if you might—”
She broke free and rushed at Mathios to grab him in a hug too. “Thank you, thank you, thank you. I know you said, you promised, but I never thought…”
He kissed her hair and did his best to extend his hand to Bowdyn. “My name is Mathios, Jarl of Agnartved. Merewyn, your sister, is now my wife.”
The man took his hand, though the suspicion was back in his hooded brown eyes. The man shared Merewyn’s dark hair, though his was cropped short. The family resemblance was unmistakeable, as was the undisguised hostility. Mathios was reminded of those early weeks with Merewyn.
“Come, we shall retire to my longhouse where we can speak more privately. Torsteinn, you will accompany us in order that we may complete the formalities.” Mathios released Merewyn, who immediately linked her arm through that of her brother to steer him in the direction of their dwelling. Mathios hung back and walked beside Torsteinn. He would leave her to it. The Celtic thrall would have questions and she could answer them as well as he might. He was thankful when Rowena fell into step on his other side.
“Where are my sons?” he enquired. He would explain later but for now, whilst circumstances still appeared somewhat volatile, he would prefer them to be absent.
“With Sigrunn,” murmured Rowena.
Satisfied, Mathios turned his attention to other matters. “You will have ale, I daresay, and of course we have food. You will need to find a sleeping space for him also, since he should share our longhouse while he is here.”
“I believe I can manage that, Jarl.” As they neared the Jarl’s dwelling, Rowena summoned her house thralls and sent them scurrying in search of suitable refreshment. Meanwhile Mathios ushered his companions into his home and bade everyone be seated. Merewyn sat beside her brother, and Deva on the Celt’s other side. He and Torsteinn sat on the opposite side of the table that ran down the middle of the hall. Rowena directed the servants and within moments they all had full drinking horns and a platter of breads and cheese was set before them. Mathios thanked his stepmother, who herded her thralls from the longhouse and closed the door behind them.
“I trust your journey here was not too arduous.” Mathios pushed the plate of cheese toward Bowdyn. “Please, help yourself.”
“I am not hungry.”
Mathios accepted that, though he surmised the man must be thirsty as the horn was quickly emptied. Rowena had left the pitcher on the table and he reached to refill Bowdyn’s drinking vessel.
“Have they harmed you? Our parents? Our home…?” Bowdyn turned to face his sister. “You say you are wed to this Viking, but how?”
“Mathios is not one of those who attacked us. He came to Northumbria a year after the raid in which you and Deva were taken.”
“Another attempt to loot and pillage and destroy.” His tone was flat.
“No, though at first I feared it was so. Mathios and his men were shipwrecked on our coast and sought shelter. They were stranded over the winter.”
“What became of our parents?”
“They… they perished. Our father died during the raid, our mother some months later.”
“So, you were left alone?”
“Yes. No… I… we have a brother. A baby brother. He is called Connell.”
Bowdyn frowned. “Our father’s name?”
“Yes, though the baby was sired by one of the Viking raiders. Our mother was… I mean they…”
Bowdyn took her hand. “I know how these Vikings treat captive females. I can well imagine how this came about. So, the child survived?”
“Yes. Connell is here, at Agnartved, and has been adopted into a Viking family. He is well cared for.”
Bowdyn ignored Mathios as he held his sister’s gaze. “And you, Merewyn? Are you well cared for?”
Mathios remained silent, waiting for his wife’s response. He did not have to wait long.
“I am. Mathios is a good man. He loves me, and I love him. You have arrived amid our marriage celebrations but you should know we were wed before we left our home.”
“Yes, you said as much. Am I to understand that you have truly wed this Viking by your own choice? After what they did to us? You know of their foul deeds, their violence, their vicious cruelty. Our family was slain, our mother raped. My brother and I were taken as slaves, yet still you marry this man…” Bowdyn sprang to his feet as though he would reach across the table and throttle Mathios with his bare hands.
Mathios held his ground, and gestured to Torsteinn to do likewise. “I understand your anger, your sense of loss, of injustice, but none of this is Merewyn’s fault so you should not blame her. She is my wife, I love her and I will protect her. This is my house and I have welcomed you here so you will oblige me by taking your seat once more. We are a family, however unlikely that may seem, and however painful the circumstances which made it so.”
Bowdyn glowered at Mathios under his lowered eyebrows for several long moments, then slowly sank back onto the bench. “My sister may accept you as her husband, but I never will.”
Mathios hoped that would not always be so, but did not say as much. Instead he returned to the legal matters before them.
“I told you of my intention to free you. For this we will require Torsteinn to formally affirm that he relinquishes his right to you as his thrall and that he freely delivers you into my ownership. I will, in turn, declare you a free man. This will take place tomorrow, before the assembled karls and members of the Jarl who are present for our wedding. Thus our laws will be satisfied and no one will later challenge your status here. You will be free to remain at Agnartved, or to leave as you choose.”
“Remain here? Why would I wish to remain here?”
“I understand, and as I have said you will be free to leave whenever you choose to. However, I know your sister, my wife, would appreciate your company, at least for a while.”
“Merewyn will understand that I cannot stay. I have to find my brother. Our brother. Nyle is still a slave and I cannot—”
“I am aware of your brother’s fate and I have instigated a search. I hope to be able to locate him.”
“You… you have done that?” Beside him Merewyn gasped. “But I thought… I never imagined… How will you find Nyle?”
“Torsteinn was able to tell me where he was last seen, in the slave market in Holvik, so I sent Olav to question the slave trader who sold your brother. If we are able to trace him I shall purchase Nyle and free him also.”
“You would do that? Why?” Now it was Bowdyn who contemplated him, his features mirroring his confusion.
“For your sister, my wife. I cannot undo what was done at your farm, and I make no apology for the actions of others of my people. We are what we are, though I hope you will believe that neither I nor my warriors would have wreaked such destruction without cause. But I love Merewyn and I will do what I can to make this right. For her.” He paused, contemplated those gathered about him for several moments, then directed his words at Bowdyn. “Your parents are gone, and for what it may be worth I do regret that. But you live still and I hope the same will be true of your brother. If so, you will see him again and you can both choose what to do next. You will have your lives back.”
* * *
The rest of the evening passed in relative peace. Mathios returned to the feasting, received yet more hearty felicitations from those who had been too inebriated to offer their good wishes previously. Merewyn joined him for part of it, her surly brother in attendance. Bowdyn locked gazes with Mathios from time to time and seemed perhaps marginally less hostile though Mathios could not be certain. He supposed the man was entitled. He had no doubt whatsoever of his wife’s jubilation though. She chattered without ceasing, delighted at the prospect of being reunited with her other brother also. Mathios hoped that would come to pass. Deva had been correct when she pointed out that a strong, able-bodied slave was a valuable commodity, but a belligerent thrall would not last long in most Viking settlements. He could only hope that the man had come to his senses and not provoked his masters unduly.
It was late by the time Mathios led his wife back to their longhouse. Bowdyn followed, though he appeared uncomfortable. Mathios was aware that the Celt had lived among the Norsemen long enough to know that a thrall’s place was in a barn, or maybe the darkest corners of the roughest longhouses, with the animals. A thrall was generally considered to be little better than cattle and most certainly a slave did not accompany the Jarl to his home and sleep within those salubrious walls.
Well, mused Mathios, as he eyed his reluctant new brother, he’d better fucking well get used to it.
* * *
The legal formalities were concluded the following morning, before the assembled Jarls and karls. Mathios’ actions clearly surprised more than a few of them, but they muttered and shrugged and returned to their drinking horns soon enough. Mathios gestured to the closest thrall and bid her bring them food and ale. When the refreshments were delivered, he handed a mug of foaming ale to his new brother.
“You will drink to my marriage?”
Bowdyn’s snort of derision was answer enough.
“I see. Then to your freedom, and to the future?”
Bowdyn took the mug and raised it. “Aye, to the future.” He took a long draught, as did Mathios. It was progress of a sort and would have to do. And at least this bloody feasting was nearing its end.
* * *
Three days had passed since the conclusion of the wedding celebrations. Their guests had departed and the settlement was returning to normal. Rowena fretted about their depleted food stores and urged Mathios to assemble a hunting party to replenish their supplies. Already their fishermen were at sea and the weather was kind so they would have food for their own needs and plenty with which to trade. Mathios welcomed the return to the usual routine, though he was sorry to say goodbye to Torsteinn.
His friend was among the last to leave but had promised to make a detour to visit Agnartved again on his return from the Byzantine a few months hence. Merewyn was delighted. She and Deva were firm friends. Bowdyn’s view on the matter was less easy to discern. Although Torsteinn had been his master, Mathios detected a grudging respect between the pair. Perhaps they had arrived at an understanding after all, though that was more than could be said for his own efforts to make peace with Merewyn’s taciturn brother.
The man stalked around the settlement exchanging a few words here and there. He had picked up sufficient of the Norse tongue during his years in captivity to be able to converse, but was short of people to talk to. The other thralls avoided him, and the karls of Agnartved were equally uncertain. Bowdyn was not one of them since he slept in the Jarl’s longhouse and was brother to the Jarl’s wife, yet neither was he of the Viking ruling class. There was nothing Mathios could do to assist Bowdyn; the Celt would have to find his own place here, or he would leave. At least as a free man the choice was his.
“You will hunt with us?” He issued the invitation to Bowdyn as they shared the dagmal. “The day looks fine, we should be able to take down a stag or perhaps a wild boar.”
Rowena, Merewyn, and the two boys were also present. Petrus chirped in at once.
“I will come, Papa. I can ride my pony better than Galinn and I can spear a boar.”
“You cannot!” Galinn was outraged by the slur and demonstrated his disgust with a punch to his brother’s ribs. “I am the better rider, and I can lift a heavier sword that you can. Papa will take me, not you.”
Mathios grinned. He had this argument every time a hunting expedition was mentioned. “Neither of you is coming hunting. You are too small still. It is too dangerous.”
Petrus was not giving up. “But Papa, we could—”
“No. And you, Galinn, will stop laying into your brother if you please. When you are both tall enough to sit a full-size mount we will discuss the matter again.”
“That will not be long,” observed Merewyn. “I swear you have both grown a hand’s width in the time I have been here.” She handed a mug of buttermilk to Petrus. “Here, let this aid you in your quest to grow big enough to hunt. And you too, Galinn, since however much you two may fight, you will go together or not at all. It is so with brothers. Bowdyn will tell you.”
The Celt furrowed his brow, clearly displeased at being dragged into the family banter. However he did answer. “Aye. My brother and I fought incessantly all our lives, but we did everything together even so.”
“You will miss him,” observed Rowena, her voice soft.
“Aye, I do.” Now he met Mathios’ gaze. “When might we expect news from Holvik?”
“Soon, I hope, though it depends on whether my warriors had to journey far to locate the man who purchased your brother. They will return as soon as they are able, and we will consider whatever news they bring.” He paused. “So, you will join us for the hunt? I understand you are good with horses and I have a mount which might suit you.”
Bowdyn shrugged. Mathios took that as assent.
* * *
The day went well. Bowdyn turned out to be a skilled horseman and an asset to their party, which would aid him in becoming accepted. Vikings respected strength and skill, and neither did it hurt that he had the stamina of two men and was willing to do his share of the work when it came to hoisting the stag they brought down onto a pole and hauling it back to Agnartved. It was a raucously jubilant band of hunters who made their triumphant way back as dusk fell.
Olav was waiting for them at the stables. Mathios dismounted, flung the reins to a lad hovering close by, and clapped his comrade on the shoulder.
“It is good to see you, my friend. Do you have news for me?”
“I do, Jarl, though not the news you hoped for.”
Mathios’ heart sank. He did not relish the prospect of informing Merewyn and Bowdyn that their brother had perished before he could be rescued. “The man, Nyle, is he dead?”
Olav shrugged. “I cannot be sure. The news was not promising at first. We found the trader Nikulas Njallson…”
“Mathios! I saw Olav return. What news is there?” Merewyn came running across the hard-packed earth underfoot, her skirt flying in the wind. She had rushed out of the longhouse without her cloak but seem oblivious to the stiffening breeze.
Mathios removed his own cloak and wrapped it around her. “We were just coming to that. Shall we get inside where it is warm and we shall all hear the report? Rowena…” He beckoned over his stepmother who had followed Merewyn at a more sedate pace. “Perhaps you could supervise the storage of our fine stag, ready for butchering when it is light again.”
“Of course.” She hastened off to instruct her thralls.
Meanwhile Bowdyn had returned his mount to the stables and now approached them. He took in his sister’s agitated demeanour at a glance. “There is news?”
“Yes.” Mathios tilted his head in the direction of the newly returned Viking. “This is Olav, my warrior who I sent to Holvik. Let us all return to the longhouse where we shall hear his account.”
“Nikulas Njallson did not at first recall a slave by the name of Nyle, but he did remember the incident when a Celt struck a guard. Apparently, your brother took exception to being prodded with the butt of a whip and grabbed the implement intending to use it on the guard. He was overpowered, naturally, and spent a few nights in the keeping pit where Njallson imagined he might learn better manners. Seemingly it did not work as the man was no less aggressive when he was brought up from the pit to be sold to Arkyn Arkynson.”
“Keeping pit? What is this?” Merewyn grasped Mathios’ arm. “How would it teach my brother manners?”
“The keeping pit is a large hole, perhaps six or seven paces wide and equally long, and maybe ten feet in depth, with a cover over the top to keep out the light and prevent escape. The cover is usually weighed down with rocks for good measure. Troublesome thralls and other criminals are imprisoned in the pit to await whatever fate is considered appropriate.” Mathios turned to Olav. “A few days, you say?”
“Aye. He was hungry when he was pulled out, and thirsty too, though there was apparently an underground stream which kept the place damp and cold but also provided a few drops to drink. The Celt came out fighting but was subdued again, this time by his new owner.”
“Yes. Arkynson. I know of this Jarl. His settlement is to the south.”
Olav nodded. “We went to Arkynsund in search of the Jarl. We were fortunate to encounter him just as he was about to embark on a Viking expedition to the western coast of Scotland. However, the thrall Nyle was no longer with him.”
“He was sold again?”
“No, Jarl. He escaped.”
“Escaped! By Odin’s balls, this we did not need.” Mathios was well aware that an escaped thrall was a fugitive, reviled by all Norsemen. The man he sought would be in hiding, legitimate prey to any who came across him. Nyle would find little in the way of aid and his fate was unlikely to be a good one. He would either be killed by other Norsemen or perish in the inhospitable terrain with neither shelter nor food to sustain him. “How long has he been on the run?”
“Only two weeks, Jarl. We were given to understand that Arkynson purchased him to work as an oarsman, and the Celt survived three arduous voyages aboard his master’s dragon ships. It appears he did not much fancy a fourth, and when an opportunity presented itself in the form of a drunken guard he slipped away. Arkynson sent men after him, but though they found tracks they soon lost the trail. He is gone.”
“Two weeks. He could be anywhere. Did Arkynson post a reward?”
“He did, and it has not been claimed so we can assume that the slave has not been found, whether alive or dead.”
“How much?”
“Twenty silver pennies, Jarl.”
“I shall double that, for information or the return of this slave. Send word out to the other settlements, especially those between here and Arkynsund, and up to fifty miles south of Arkynsund also.”
Olav rose to do the Jarl’s bidding. “Is there anything else, Jarl?”
“No, I—”
“Yes!” Bowdyn had listened intently. Now he rose to his feet also. “We must find him. I am not prepared to sit here and wait for news. Where is this place, Arkynsund? I shall go there and—”
“No, it is not safe.” Merewyn spoke quietly but still managed to make herself heard. “You run the risk of being mistaken for a runaway thrall yourself, despite the pronouncements made at our wedding. I could not bear to lose you too, not now.”
“I must try to find Nyle. Surely you see that.”
“I do, but…”
“Where would he go?” Mathios silenced the rest by raising his own voice above the babble. Bowdyn and Merewyn turned to regard him. Mathios fixed his gaze on Bowdyn. “You are his twin. You know him better than anyone. If you were in his situation, what would you do once you had escaped? Where would you head for?”
“I am not sure. He does not know this land, and…” Bowdyn paused, then grinned widely. “He would make for a port. He would want to return home, so would need to find passage somehow on a ship. So, he would stay close to the coast and seek out a port where he might contrive to get aboard a vessel of some sort.”
That made sense. Mathios nodded. “Olav, when you have sent out word of the reward you will assemble another party of men, fresh ones this time. We shall call at every port, harbour, and coastal village from here to Arkynsund to make sure they know that I will pay handsomely for any information, better still anyone who can return this thrall to me unharmed.” He turned to face Bowdyn. “You will come with us. Your brother is your twin, yes? Identical to you?”
“He is, though he may not have a beard now.”
“We cannot know that, but whether he does or not I am hoping the similarity is striking enough that someone having seen you may recognise him. Do you think it is so?”
“Yes, it would be so,” agreed Bowdyn.
“Then you shall go with us. Olav, how soon could we leave? I do not wish to miss our quarry if he does manage to scramble aboard some fishing ship.”
“First light, Jarl.”
“Very well. I shall see you by the stables at dawn.”