Page 37 of Viking Warriors: Vol. 1-3

In the days that followed, Gunnolf made no further mention of his brother’s rash outburst. Eirik resumed his usual graciousness before his jarl but the merriment had been soured by the conflict between them. Perhaps some were afraid of incurring Gunnolf’s wrath, of being humiliated as Eirik had been; others, I believed, disliked seeing Eirik goaded and empathized with his ire.

My anger at Eirik’s crude treatment of me soon abated, for I knew it had been the ale that had stirred his old ways. He took care not to repeat the indulgence and gave me naught to complain of. I didn’t forget, however.

AsJulended, Asta’s appetite was poor and she still seemed troubled.

“You must eat, my lady,” I would urge her, placing the most delicate morsels on her plate. She thanked me but consumed little.

Faline, meanwhile, seemed content, oft smiling as if she knew some pleasing secret, hugging it close-guarded to herself.

Svolvaen, too, had its secrets.

As the new year began, the blacksmith came to our door, stumbling in from the cold. “I must report to the jarl.”

“Speak,” commanded Gunnolf, from his place by the fire. “And take some hot mead to warm you.”

The blacksmith, Anders by name, accepted gladly and drank it down. “I’ve two deaths to report.” He wiped away the froth from his mouth. “My brother’s youngest child and his wife’s elderly mother. They’ve suffered an illness these past weeks and kept abed. They died in the night.”

“I’m sorry to hear it.” Gunnolf took a draught from his own horn. “And what malady was this?”

Ander shifted foot to foot. “I know not what, my jarl, but that it made some unsightly rash upon the skin.”

My heart lurched.

Gunnolf’s eyes narrowed and he cast a glance at me. “’Tis well that the weather has kept them indoors and away from others, lest it spread.”

The blacksmith nodded his assent. “None other in the family seems affected but I’ll keep my watch upon them.”

He bowed to take his leave but Gunnolf bid him stay. “The bodies?”

“We’ve buried them in the snow, my jarl, for the great burning when the weather abates.”

“Better not to wait.” Gunnolf stroked his beard. “Today, if you can. Take wood from the store for the pyre.”

“I’ll come,” said Eirik, rising to don his cloak. “You and I may do it, Anders, with your oldest son’s help. We’ll save your brother the burden, stoking the fire high, to carry them onwards swiftly.”

The snow whirled into the room as they departed, bringing a gust that near extinguished the flames of our hearth. I rose to rake them over, placing fresh pine branches on the embers, as would easily catch.

I knew what had killed the child and the grandmother. Left untreated, the poison had festered.

* * *

Gunnolf, Helka and Eirik were talking late around the fire, as they often did. Asta retired soon after thenattmal, though she’d barely touched her smoked herring nor the buttermilk.

I drew the brush slowly through her hair, until its white silk shone.

“Lie down beside me, Elswyth,” she bade. “I don’t want to be alone.”

Blowing out the lamp, I nestled to her back and slept, until I woke with cold in my bones. I’d lain upon the furs rather than under them and the night frost was hard.

Lowered voices muttered in the great hall, punctuated at times by the rising of one above the others.

Taking Asta’s cloak, I crept forward to look through the shadows at the three backs hunched around the glow of the fire.

“With the first thaw, we must act.” It was Gunnolf who spoke. “I wish revenge on Skálavík.”

“What of Hallgerd’s pact with their old jarl?” answered Eirik. “They’ve kept their word. Near thirty years have passed with peace between us.”

“Time doesn’t weaken a blood feud,” snarled Gunnolf. “Our uncle Hallgerd lacked the stomach to bring battle to their door but we must avenge our mother.”