Chapter Nineteen
Mathios gazed about him, and wondered quite how he had managed to fill his longhouse with such a disparate bunch of people. Even more odd, they were all kin to him in some way or other.
Merewyn sat to his right, brimming with happiness. For that fact alone Mathios was prepared to endure the bizarre company in which he found himself. Beside her sat Nyle, the brother who Mathios had yet to come to know. He had almost fallen over the man when he returned from trading with his closest neighbour, Holmr, Jarl of Hraniborg. No introduction had been necessary; the man asleep on a pallet on the floor of his hall was identical to Bowdyn apart from the fact that he was clean shaven and his dark brown hair was cropped short. Mathios now knew that Nyle was possessed of a dry sense of humour also, another trait that set him apart from his brother. And his appetite was second to none. He had already consumed two bowls of Rowena’s chicken broth and was asking for a third.
Opposite Nyle, Bowdyn ate with considerably less gusto, clearly brooding about something. When was he ever not? Mathios picked up the pitcher of ale that stood on the table. “Your horn is empty, my friend. Allow me…”
Bowdyn managed a curt nod of acknowledgement and abandoned his food in favour of cradling the drinking horn in his hands. It was clear he did not wish to be engaged in conversation so Mathios let him be.
Next to Bowdyn sat Sigrunn, with Connell balanced upon her knee. Despite his dark and brooding demeanour, Bowdyn could not help but smile at the attempts of the small boy to manage his own spoon. It was fortunate that Rowena had made plenty of broth for much of it did not find its way to Connell’s ever-open mouth. Not for the first time Mathios had cause to be grateful to his stepmother for her artful handling of the most awkward situations. It was an inspired move to invite Sigrunn, Arne, and their adopted son to help alleviate the tension.
On the other side of Sigrunn, and opposite Arne, sat the source of the somewhat strained atmosphere. Kristin Lofnsdottir was a fine-looking woman, a fact not lost on either of the Celtic males at his table if Mathios did not miss his guess. But whilst Nyle treated the Viking female with his own brand of wry mockery, Bowdyn appeared to dislike her intensely and missed no opportunity to make that plain.
He had cause, of a sort. Kristin had brained Nyle with an earthenware jug if Mathios had understood the sequence of events correctly, but the Celt’s skull was hard enough and no lasting damage seemed to have been done. And her scheme had worked. Nyle was here, delivered safe and more or less well. All in all, they could do without Bowdyn’s antipathy.
Rowena was seated next to Kristin and made valiant efforts to engage the Viking woman in conversation.
“So, you are very recently widowed, we understand. Yet still you have found the time to bring Nyle to us. We are most grateful.”
“It was nothing.”
Rowena waved that away. “You must be grieving, and by aiding us you have allowed us to intrude upon your sorrow.”
“Not in the slightest.”
Bowdyn let out one of his characteristic snorts. “You mean to tell us you are not grieving in the slightest?”
Trust Bowdyn to arrive at the least sympathetic interpretation of the woman’s words. Mathios sought to soothe matters. “Our guest means that we are not intruding in the slightest. Is that not so, Kristin?”
She flashed him a quick smile and gave an elegant little shrug. “Both interpretations are accurate, Jarl.”
Ah. Right. Mathios cleared his throat and tried again. “How did your husband die, if the story is not too painful to share?”
“He died of a seizure, brought on, I suspect, by…” she glanced at the two small blond boys seated opposite her, on Rowena’s right side, “… overexertion.”
“I see.” So old Baldvin Ryggiason met his end whilst fucking? Mathios vaguely remembered the man from his visit to Ravnklif when he and Bowdyn had laid the trail intended to find Nyle. Baldvin must have been sixty years old if he was a day and of a decidedly portly build. He could easily envisage the scene. What Mathios did not so readily understand was what a lovely young woman like Kristin Lofnsdottir was doing married to such an individual. He supposed it was a matter of business as much as anything, most marriages between Vikings of the Jarl were, though that rather undermined the theory that Baldvin had perished in the throes of passion. He was curious to learn more.
“I expect you had not been married long, given the difference in your ages.”
“Less than two years, Jarl. I was Baldvin Ryggiason’s fourth wife.”
“It must have been a shock,” observed Rowena. “Did he just… collapse?”
“I do not know the exact details. I was not present.”
“I see. Then, how…?”
“My husband had many… friends. I believe he was in the company of a young man when he was taken ill.”
Nyle had just taken a rather large mouthful of broth and was seized with a fit of violent coughing as he tried to dislodge the lump of chicken stuck in his windpipe. Merewyn thumped his back whilst the rest of those present gaped at Kristin in stunned silence. Even the children, who had not been privy to the underlying meaning of Kristin’s words, observed a nervous quiet. Rowena was the first to remember her manners.
“A shocking end, no doubt, but mercifully swift. Has the funeral taken place already?”
“It has. My husband enjoyed a most glorious farewell, though I must regret the loss of one of our finest ships for the purpose. Still, that is now my stepson’s problem rather than mine. I intend to use the twenty silver pennies that the Jarl was generous enough to provide to fund the purchase of another vessel, and I shall endeavour to continue to travel and trade for I find I have an aptitude for it.”
Satisfied that Nyle was not, after all, on the point of choking to death, Merewyn resumed her seat and rejoined the conversation. “Do you not have sufficient ships already at your disposal, even with one used as a funeral pyre? Did you not say your husband owned seven ships in all?”
“I did say that. However the entire fleet is now the property of Eigil Baldvinson, my husband’s eldest son. There are other half-siblings also, but none are to inherit anything. All my husband’s wealth is now Eigil’s and he has made it plain enough that I need not anticipate any aid from him. I confess I was somewhat at a loss regarding my future as I had no wealth of my own when I married, then when I encountered the missing Celtic thrall sniffing about our boats, I recalled the mention of a reward and decided I could make good use of the funds.”
“So you clobbered me over the head and threw me onto a rickety old cart?” Nyle managed a glower to rival that of Bowdyn.
“Had I not done so, I doubt you would have agreed to accompany me. Further, you were behaving in a manner which could only be described as dishonourable. You deserved a clout to the head.”
To Mathios’ surprise, Nyle seemed not to wish to challenge this accusation. He shrugged and muttered something about not being blamed for trying.
Kristin’s view of the matter was less sanguine. She pointed her small eating dagger at the unrepentant Celt and narrowed her eyes. “A thrall may not lay hands on a Viking female, not ever. The penalty is death and you knew that. However, tempting though it was to see you justly punished, I have no use for a corpse. You were worth twenty silver pennies to me alive and I would never turn my face away from a decent trading opportunity.”
Mathios made a decent attempt at a straight face, and might have succeeded had he not caught sight of Merewyn’s struggles to stifle her own mirth. He surrendered and in moments the entire table was laughing uproariously, even the bemused children. He thought afterwards that even Bowdyn managed to crack a smile, though he could not swear to it. When he was sufficiently in control once more, Mathios grinned at his unusual guest.
“Kristin Lofnsdottir, I believe we all find your company most entertaining. Am I to understand that your circumstances in your late husband’s home have become difficult since his unfortunate passing?”
“I believe they would be described as strained, Jarl, yes.”
“In that case, and if you would find it more convenient for your future plans, I would like to extend a welcome for you to use Agnartved as the base for your trading expeditions. I am sure you will find our harbour and jetty suitable, and we have boat builders here if you should wish to construct your own vessel. The twenty pennies may not suffice, but—”
“But if you require more funds I would be happy to loan you what is required.” Merewyn turned to Mathios. “I do have enough, do I not? In my bride-price?”
Mathios smiled at her, genuinely pleased if somewhat taken aback. “Certainly you do, my love, and it would be a shrewd investment. You and Kristin would make a fine partnership.”
“I believe so too,” Merewyn agreed, turning to face Kristin on the other side of the table, “provided you are willing to enter into an arrangement with a Celt.”
The blonde Viking woman contemplated the dark-haired Celt for a few moments, then smiled. She extended her hand. “I am, and I believe we shall do very well together, lady.”