Page 29

T he journey back to Hafrsfjord was considerably less arduous than the first time Mairead covered the route, not least because she was not expected to cover the distance on foot.

She rode with Gunnar, or made use of one of the small wagons they took with them to carry supplies.

Tyra was usually in her arms, or tucked within Gunnar's cloak.

A delighted Donald rode his own small mount.

Despite being new to horsemanship the boy sat the horse with a straight back and controlled the animal with an ease which appeared far more practised.

Gunnar had told her of her son's prowess, now she saw for herself.

At night they slept under the stars, and she enjoyed the warmth of Gunnar's body as she snuggled up to him, Tyra nestling between them.

They were on the road for three days before the roofs of the coastal town came into sight.

As they neared the port Mairead scanned the boats moored in the harbour, seeking the one which had brought her to this land.

She could not be sure if it was there, and perhaps that was for the best since those were not among her more pleasant memories.

"How long will we stay here?" she enquired of her husband, seated behind her in the saddle.

"The market takes place tomorrow. I am hoping to sell all our livestock within the day and acquire the goods we require. If I am successful we can leave for Skarthveit the following day if you wish. Or would you prefer to remain here for longer?"

"No, I am happy to leave as soon as our business is concluded." She did not wish to let Gunnar know how much she dreaded the coming meeting with her new family, but saw no merit in delaying the inevitable. She turned to gaze straight ahead as their party made their way down into the bustling port.

Gunnar's business was transacted with all the speed and efficiency he had hoped for and it was a well-satisfied Viking chief who ordered his men to load the newly purchased supplies onto their wagons and prepare to depart for Skarthveit.

Mairead was startled to see a new slave among her husband's purchases.

"Gunnar, why have you purchased that poor wee lass?

She looks quite terrified." The girl in question, aged about eighteen by Mairead’s estimation, huddled among the sacks of grain on one of their wagons, her blue eyes wide with apprehension.

She shrank away each time any of the Viking warriors approached the cart.

Gunnar glanced in the direction of the trembling girl.

"I find that my longhouse is suddenly full of children, and with a new mistress to serve also, Aigneis needs help. The wench will do well enough."

"But, I can assist Aigneis. We do not require more slaves."

"You would prefer I leave the lass here to take her chances? If you truly do not want her with us I shall put her back into the market, but I consider it best all round that she comes to Gunnarsholm."

"She is very pretty," observed Mairead doubtfully.

"Aye, Steinn has already pointed that out," agreed her husband. He turned to face her, cradling her face between his hands as he held her gaze. "Do you object to the wench? I will not bring her to our home if you do."

Mairead shook her head. "No, I do not object. But, I am not comfortable that we should own slaves."

Gunnar merely shrugged. Although his memories of his natural mother were at best hazy, he had been very young when she died, Gunnar could never truly forget that he was himself born a thrall.

As an adult, and a member of the ruling Jarl, this still tempered his attitude toward his slaves.

He was not a man much given to personal reflection and rarely thought of his humble origins, but at some level he was aware that to do otherwise would be to dishonour the woman who gave him his life, and whose name was now carried by a child he loved.

"It is a name only. There is no difference at Gunnarsholm between thralls and karls. No one wears chains, all are fed equally, all are well housed, all must work. All must obey me as master."

"I know, but?—"

He bent his head to kiss her mouth. "It is our way, sweetheart. The girl will fare well enough with us."

Mairead managed a small nod. "What is her name?"

"I do not know. She is a Saxon, that is all I can tell you. Perhaps you might go and speak with her, offer some reassurance that she is not about to be raped or beaten." He furrowed his handsome brow as he regarded the cowering wench. "By Thor's balls, she needs it."

"I know little of the English tongue but I shall do my best." Mairead returned her husband's kiss then started across the dirt track in the direction of their wagon. It never occurred to her to doubt Gunnar's assurance.

They had spent just two nights in Hafrsfjord, quite long enough as far as Mairead was concerned.

She had learnt enough of the Norse tongue by now to understand most of the speech around her.

She picked up on the muttered threats and sly looks her husband seemed to attract, especially from the followers of one Jarl in particular.

Gunnar appeared unconcerned, even when Olaf Bjarkesson barged right into him in the crowds at the market.

Despite the teeming throng surrounding the stock pens Mairead believed the act to be deliberate, and she wondered at her husband's forbearance.

Gunnar merely nodded to the other man and offered him a bright smile, which seemed to infuriate his adversary yet more.

Bjarkesson disappeared into the crowd, his scowl fit to curdle milk.

"What was that about?" She tugged on her husband's sleeve to attract his attention.

Gunnar's expression was serious now, his feigned smile absent as he regarded her. "An old quarrel, aimed at my brother rather than me, though we are kin so..." He shrugged. "We had hoped this ill feeling would abate. Clearly, it has not."

"What did your brother do to him?"

"Olaf is of the opinion that Ulfric killed his sister and one of his brothers. He is wrong, but that is of little use to us now. The blood feud has gone on for years and, if anything, Olaf has become even more bitter as time has passed."

"His sister? And a brother?" Mairead clutched her baby to her as though she half-expected Olaf Bjarkesson to return and wreak his vengeance upon her child. "What happened?"

"Astrid Bjarkesson, Olaf's sister, was Ulfric's wife.

She died, and Olaf is convinced Ulfric murdered her.

It is nonsense, my sister-in-law died of a sudden illness.

It could not be helped. Ulfric was not even present at the time but Olaf will not listen.

The brother, Eirik, was betrothed to our sister.

He met his end in a raid on a Celtic settlement on Orkney and Olaf blames Ulfric for the boy's loss because my brother led the attack.

I was present also on that raid and can attest that Eirik made an ill-fated attempt to take on four Celts wielding pitchforks whilst he himself was armed with nothing more than a short sword.

The lad was a fool, a liability. He was young and stupid, but even so his death was a grievous loss to both families.

Our sister mourns her betrothed still, and Olaf refuses to accept that there was little Ulfric could have done to prevent the tragedy. "

"I can understand the man's grief, but..

." Mairead was uncertain quite what to say.

She harboured little sympathy for a Viking warrior who perished when seeking to attack innocent villagers.

Perhaps if her own community had been handier with their pitchforks she and the rest might not have been taken.

And she would not have become the wife of this darkly handsome Viking. Her children would still be fatherless, her little family would continue to eke out a living on the scraps handed out by others. No, she could not regret the events which had transformed her life.

Gunnar slung an arm about her shoulders and pulled her to him.

"I believe we can all sympathise. The bonds of kinship are important, but Bjarkesson cannot see reason.

There has been much muttering whilst we have been here, threats, murmurings of an attack planned upon my brother's settlement. Olaf goes too far."

"What will you do?"

"I shall warn my brother, certainly, and I will come to his aid if Olaf carries out his threats."

"Are we safe, at Gunnarsholm?"

"Yes, I am certain of that. My settlement is three days' ride away. Olaf is belligerent and vengeful, but he is also lazy. And his target is Ulfric, not me."

Mairead considered this reasoning and had to agree but still, she shuddered. Olaf Bjarkesson scared her.

"Tell me of your brother's home. What is it like?" Mairead again shared Gunnar's horse, Tyra sleeping quietly within her cloak.

Gunnar had sent the new slave, Edyth, and those men who could be spared straight back to Gunnarsholm so the party remaining with them was now much smaller.

It did not do to descend on another settlement, however warm and genuine their welcome, unannounced and bringing many unnecessary mouths to be fed.

They were nearing the other Viking settlement, the place called Skarthveit where, Mairead assumed, most of the Celts taken with her would have ended up.

The chief of her village, Taranc, was among those abducted along with his betrothed, Fiona.

The last time she saw the daughter of the lord of Pennglas, the girl was lying injured beside the road.

Mairead's own lowly status had meant that Taranc and Fiona were not among her friends, but she had come to like Fiona on the voyage over the North Sea and hoped she had fared well enough in her new circumstances.

Though he had lived in the same village Taranc was a stranger to her, really, but she knew him to be a fine man and a good chief. He would not accept enslavement easily.