9th Century
Five days later, I stand next to the Jarl as his wife-to-be in front of a great structure built of sticks and logs all carefully intertwined so as to hold themselves up. Around this structure stand the higher Vikings – Eirik's men, their wives if they have them, Hildy, the healers – all women – and, at its foot, Asgald's parents. Their faces are stern but I see them clutching at each other under the furs that blow up in the gusting wind. The sun has just set and darkness creeps across the sky from the east. The stars emerge over our heads and Asgald, the young warrior, lies dead atop the pyre.
There are many long pauses in the ceremony, many times we find ourselves facing silently into the biting winter winds. No one turns away. I do not understand the words being sung, or all the meanings of the gestures being given, but it could not be more obvious that respect is being paid.
Finally, Eirik himself steps forward, approaching the young man's parents and kissing them gravely on their foreheads. They kneel before him, each kissing the back of his hand and then standing again. Still, the only sound is the howling wind.
"He was green!" Eirik suddenly bellows, turning to face his people. "He was green but he was not weak! His was the strength of the young birch, flexible still, yes, but speaking of the real hardness of the full-grown man to come. Perhaps I should be glad of his death, for he surely would have challenged me, in time..."
The Jarl's voice rises over the weather as he speaks of Asgald's life, of his childhood in their homeland and his skill as a warrior. I do not know how long his speech is, because most of my body is numb with the cold, just as most of my mind is too caught up in the spectacle unfolding in front of me to be thinking of anything else.
"We light the fire now," Eirik shouts, holding a wooden torch wrapped with linen and soaked in oil over his head, "to bid the valkyries come and take his soul to the Great Hall! We do this even as all of us here know they are here already, howling with the wind, demanding the young warrior for their procession!"
I watch, awed, as the Jarl, clad in his finest furs and bare-chested even in this chill, steps to the side and dips the torch into a small fire to light it. He hands it to Asgald's mother, who steps stiffly forward and pauses for just a moment before holding it to the base of the pyre. The kindling catches almost at once and the fire begins to spread. Next, the young man's father does the same, holding the fire to the opposite end of the pyre. When he steps away he grabs for his wife desperately and I see that they will fall if either one of them loses their grip on the other.
Everybody stares, transfixed, at the funeral pyre. Tears fall and freeze immediately on windblown cheeks. The Jarl takes the torch and steps towards the center of the structure, holding it again to the base. The fire is everywhere now, licking and crawling its way upwards, reaching for the stars.
"A son!" Eirik shouts, holding the torch aloft again. "A brother! A warrior! Asgald! He flies away from us now, to Valhalla!"
The last two words – 'to Valhalla' are screamed, and I swear I hear Eirik's voice crack on the final syllable. I can't be sure, though, because the words are echoed now, by the assembled crowds.
"To Valhalla!"
And just as their voices mingle with their Jarl's, a shower of sparks explodes from the fire, bright orange against the black of the night, and my breath is stolen from my chest.
I am not religious. I was not raised religious. I do not believe in God, or Gods, or any of it. But something happens there, as I stand beside the pyre – a sense of leaving, a loss, as real as the quick turn of one's head when somebody leaves the room in a hurry. You're imagining things, Paige. You've been with these people too long, you're starting to adopt their superstitions.
Maybe so. Maybe I am starting to adopt their superstitions. But my heart is pounding and I am looking around, wide-eyed, at the solemn Vikings, barely able to hold back my astonishment. Did you hear that?! I want to ask, even though I'm not sure it made a sound. Did you see that?! Even though I am not sure I saw anything beyond sparks.
A short time later, after the fire has reached its peak and begun the work of turning the young warrior's earthly remains into ashes, the Jarl leads us back to the longhouse, where a feast awaits. The parents stay behind, and I grab at Eirik's hand, trying to tell him they're not with us. He knows what it is I'm going to say.
"They will stay until the end, girl. Alone. It's as it is."
'It's as it is.' The Vikings say it all the time. I reach for Eirik, wanting the comfort of his arm around me, but he holds me away and speaks sternly.
"It's not the time, Paige."
I fall back, a little hurt, mostly overwhelmed by what I've just witnessed. The people are silent as we make our way back. In the longhouse, they begin to talk somberly, a low murmur that never picks up. I am not seated with the Jarl for this feast, but at the opposite end of the table, with the women and the old men and boys. Casks of ale are brought in, along with huge platters of cold ham, bowls of fresh butter and dark, heavy loaves of bread. A simpler feast than usual, but just as generous. My stomach rumbles at the smell of the food, but there is another speech to be made – this time, by Veigar.
By the time he finishes I'm almost salivating. I look to the women seated around me, waiting for the signal. Hildy soon grabs one of the loaves, tearing off what looks to be a good half of it and I reach for my cup of ale, prepared to fill my belly.
Something odd happens, though, when the scent of the ale reaches my nose just before I take a sip. There's something sweet in it – sickly sweet, almost like rot. I slam the cup back down on the table and a couple of the women seated by my side look at me questioningly. So does Hildy. She laughs when she sees me try again, only to place the cup back on the table with even more force.
"It's the light ale tonight, girl. The dark is only for the higher people, not for communal feasts. Have you gotten so used to fine things already?"
"I, uh –" I start, meaning to deny Hildy's claim – I hadn't even noticed the ale was any different to what I drink with the Jarl in the roundhouse – but my words stick in my throat. My stomach suddenly feels very full. I look up, confused, and Hildy stares right back. I think she realizes what's about to happen before I do, because she's up on her feet before I've even managed to clap my hand over my mouth, hauling me towards the door.
We make it outside, thankfully, before I vomit over the frozen ground. I look up afterwards, sweaty and bemused, and then do it again.
"What the fuck," I mutter, angry at making a spectacle of myself like this, especially in front of Hildy, and also because I'm genuinely surprised. The feeling of sickness had been so fast, so out of the blue.
"What's that you say, girl?"
"Nothing," I reply, running my hands down over my thick woolen tunic, checking for splash-back. Hildy is standing there with her arms crossed over her bosom, smirking at me. Emboldened now, because my engagement to the Jarl is known throughout the camp, I make a face at her.
"Why are you looking at me like that?" I demand. "It's not like I could help it. You didn't even have to come out here with me, Hildy, I don't know why this has to be about you. You always –"
"Shut up, girl," she replies easily, before reaching out and grabbing one of my breasts. I leap away, slapping at her hand.
"What are you doing?!" I shriek. "Get your hands off me! I'll let the Jarl know you –"
Hildy grabs me by the shoulders – I am once again reminded of how surprisingly strong she is – and gets in my face before I can finish threatening her. "How the Jarl saw fit to take you as a wife I will never know," she says, rolling her eyes. "Perhaps he enjoys the fact that with you never shutting your mouth, he isn't called on to say much when he retreats to his roundhouse?"
I struggle and think about kicking at her shins, but Hildy holds me steady and fear of what she could do to me before Eirik hears my screams holds me back.
"Gudry and Anja say you missed your last moonblood, girl – is it true?"
"What?" I ask, indignant, as she finally lets go of me. "Moonblood?"
Oh, moonblood. My period. Wait a minute.
"My what?" I cry. "My moonblood? Why are Gudry and Anja – why the hell are you creepers talking about my moonblood, Hildy?!"
Hildy doesn't know what a creeper is, so she doesn't get angry at being called one. Instead I am treated to another eye roll, this one dripping with condescension. "You're to marry the Jarl, girl, are you not? Has he come to his senses and changed his mind? No, I think not. He announced it this week but the women have known for awhile now, the way it is with these things. It's Gudry and Anja's job to care for you, you understand that – right?"
I nod, prickling with annoyance at Hildy's tone of voice, the way she speaks to people like they are small children. "Yes," I reply shortly. "I understand that."
"Good. So you understand why we discuss your moonblood then. Do you? I see from that cow-like expression on your face that you do not. They watch your moon cycles for signs, girl. And your breasts – look at the way the tunic pulls tight over them, even now. Your belly won't be flat for long!"
'Cow-like?' Jesus. I stumble backwards a little and catch myself on the edge of the grain-house we stand beside. I don't know why I'm so affected by an insult, it's not like Hildy ever sees fit to hold back. Cow-like. Damn. But she said something else, too. I look at her in the darkness, and the whites of her eyes glow under the moon as it peeps out from behind a cloud. "What?" I say, breathless. "What did you call me? What did you, uh, say?"
She smiles then, and shrugs. "You're a trial, girl, but sweet in your way. Perhaps I can see some of what he sees in you. But you stumble against the grain-house like this comes as a big surprise! Have you not been in his bed for many a night now? Maybe I soften to you because I love our Jarl, and because I know what happiness this news will bring him – especially now, after we have sent Asgald to the Great Hall and the men hang their heads low."
Happiness? What is Hildy talking about? Why is my heart pounding out of my chest? A surprise? My belly. My belly won't be flat for long. My belly won't be flat for long?
My hands find their way to my midsection and my jaw falls open in disbelief. The sound of Hildy's laughter rings through the night. "It's your first, girl. I understand. Even as we know how a baby finds its way into our bellies, the first is always a shock. Gudry and Anja must be told of this – I'll fetch them now."
"No," I whisper, taking Hildy by the sleeve of her tunic. "No. Wait. Wait!"
She turns back to me, just for a second, and caresses the flat expanse of my belly. "Smile, girl. Motherhood will be good for you."
And then she's marching officiously off, already calling for Gudry and Anja, and I'm half-collapsed against the side of the grain-house as the fog of my short, panicked breaths dissipates into the night.
Motherhood.
Motherhood?!
But Hildy's right, even as it all seems too far-fetched to consider. What did I think was going to happen? I knew it was a possibility. I look up at the moon as the clouds race across its face, and I have to admit to myself that I more than knew it was a possibility – I actively hoped for it, in that bone-deep part of my soul that has nothing to do with reason or rational thought. Did I? Yes, I did. And now my shock might have more to do with not daring to believe it rather than any real confusion about how it happened.
I don't know how long I stay there. Long enough to start shivering. Gudry and Anja find me there, my teeth chattering against each other, and erupt with tender concern, tearing their own thin leather wraps from around their shoulders and throwing them over me.
"Why are you out here?" Anja demands as they lead me to the roundhouse where I am routinely tended to. "You're frozen! Paige! It's time for you to be careful with yourself now, do you understand?"
I'm so cold, when they get me undressed, that just dipping a toe into the hot bathwater causes a pins-and-needles-like explosion in my foot and I jump back, yelling.
"OW!"
"Forgive me," Anja whispers softly. "You need to warm up first."
They dip their fingers into a bowl of oil and begin to rub me down, pressing their lips together when I catch their eyes, to hide their shy smiles.
"It's alright to say something," I tell them. "You can talk about it. I just – I hope Hildy hasn't made a mistake. How does she know? How can she know?" I look down. "Look, my belly is flat."
I watch as Anja and Gudry give each other a look. "Your breasts, lady," Anja says, running one finger over a nipple. I am used to being touched by these girls now, so much so I don't even flinch away when they do it. It's the same as going for a leg waxing – a grooming ritual. "Look here, do you see? The flesh is darker."
My nipples do look darker. Or do they? Are my eyes playing tricks on me in the dim light from the fire?
"You'll be a mother by the next harvest," Gudry says, looking to Anja for agreement. Anja nods.
"Yes, around harvest time. And a wife, too."
My two friends are happy for me, even as they respectfully avert their eyes more than they used to, now that it's known throughout the camp that I am to marry the Jarl.
"Hildy will be telling the Jarl now," Gudry says, taking my hand and helping me into the bath now that I have warmed up enough to stand the hot water. I freeze.
"What?!" I cry, dismayed. "But I should be the one to tell him! Help me get dressed, I'll go and find the Jarl myself."
But Anja puts a hand on my wrist. "Lady, he'll know already. It's as it is, this is how we do it. Come, let us bathe you before you go to see the Jarl."
"Everyone?" I ask. "Even the servants? Does Hildy tell every man when his woman is pregnant before she can?"
Gudry giggles, the way she always does when she thinks something I've said is especially absurd. "No, lady! Only the highers, and the Jarl. Any baby is welcome, of course, but the Jarl's baby – the Jarl's first baby – that's special. There are customs to attend to. After you feel your womb quicken the women will take you into the woods for a moon ceremony and you will ask Freja for a good and quick birth, and a healthy child."
Before I leave the bathing roundhouse, Anja hands me a small cloth sack of what looks like dried herbs. "Put a pinch in your cup, and then fill it with boiling water if the sickness comes back."
And then the two of them, and Hildy, escort me to the Jarl's roundhouse. There's a feeling of formality, of gravity in the air. I'm not sure if it's the funeral for the lost warrior Asgald or the news of my pregnancy or some combination of the two. Perhaps it's all in my own head. Even as I am not as sure as the others seem to be that I really am pregnant, the possibility that I am isn't exactly lighthearted news. I know the statistics on birth before modern medicine. I know pregnancy in this place is a risk to my very life – and to my child's, if there is indeed a child in my belly.
When I see the expression on Eirik's face, a great sadness wells up in my heart. He's happy. As soon as the women leave us alone he's on his feet, cradling my head against his chest and then pulling me far enough away so that he can look in my eyes.
"Is it true?" He asks.
"How do I know?" I reply. "I have no idea! I can't take a pregnancy tes– I mean, I know as much as you do."
"But you have the mother's sickness. Hildy said –"
"The mother's sickness?" I ask, and it dawns on me it's just the Viking term for morning sickness. I know what that is. "Oh – yes, well, I did get sick. But I've been sick before, and it was never a baby."
"But do you feel any different?" The Jarl asks, looking me up and down, searching for the difference he asks about.
His eyes are full of hope – he desperately wants the news to be true – and it makes my heart ache. "I don't know," I tell him softly, caressing his cheek. "I can't tell yet."
He's gentler when he makes love to me before we go to sleep. As we lie in the weak orange light from the embers in the fire-pit, both on the verge of sleep, he runs his fingers over the string of bruises running between my hipbones.
"I didn't mean to hurt you, my love," he murmurs. "I shouldn't have been so passionate. I should have been more careful with you."
I roll over to face him and nestle into his chest, shushing him with a kiss. Minutes later, and just as I'm about to drift off, he places his hand on my stomach and sighs deeply before closing his eyes.