 |  |
––––––––
WHEN THEY ARRIVED AT the small plot of land with one cow, two chickens and a garden that needed tending, Stefan had shoulder length hair, no braids and no belt around the outside of his tunic. Scots, particularly Scots who worked the land, could not afford leather belts and Kannak’s mother was sure to be suspicious. He helped her down, dismounted and then watched her go into the small cottage and close the door.
Finally, Stefan had a moment to himself and he stroked the side of the horse’s neck as if to draw comfort from the animal. His mind was spinning and when he leaned his forehead against the horse and closed his eyes, he could still see the image of his father’s lifeless face. It was all he could do to keep from crying, but he held back his tears just as he knew his father would expect him to.
He should go back, he thought, for who was there to bury the Viking commander? Would the Scots give him a Christian burial; would they defile him somehow in their rage or would they leave his body to rot where it lay? Not knowing was more than he could abide and he had to go back. With one swift movement, Stefan swung back up on the horse and rode away. He only slightly heard Kannak screaming his name behind him.
*
IT WAS ALMOST DARK when he slid down off the horse, crept back down the hill toward the village and looked for his father’s body. Blood yet stained the ground, but his body was gone. There were marks in the dirt, a sure sign that the body had been dragged and cautiously Stefan followed the marks, mindful to stay out of sight of the village.
But then he felt a foreboding and went back. He didn’t expect it, but the horse was right where he left him and when he mounted not knowing where to go, he let the stallion take him back to the same spot where he watched his Vikings row away. On the shore were men holding torches and the bodies of several Vikings lay side by side in his father’s abandoned ship. The remains had been carefully laid out on the deck, each surrounded by dry straw. Their arms were crossed over their chests, and a measure of cloth lay over their faces just as their own families would have done.
A priest appeared to be giving last rites as the Scots shoved the ship away from the shore. Then three Scotsmen tossed in their torches and set it on fire.
It was a fitting burial for his father and because of it, the anger he felt for the Scots who had taken his father’s life began to subside. He wondered, if only for a moment, if the Norsemen would have been so considerate of men who came to murder and plunder in their land. He wondered too if the Vikings would carve a stone in his father’s memory when they got home. Surely they would and someday he hoped to see it.
He raised his gaze to the horizon and tried to see if the ships were still there, waiting until after dark to land and look for him. But they were gone and then he remembered his father’s words: “Yer mother made me promise not to let ye go to sea.”
Still he stayed, seated on the magnificent black horse on the crest of the hill until the last lick of flame was quenched and the ship sunk. He wanted to and thought he should cry, but now the tears would not come. Perhaps in the few short days he had with his father, he had become a man after all.
*
“YE BROUGHT US A VIKING, Kannak, and now the horse be gone.” In the darkness of the cottage, Jirvel stood in the doorway to her bedchamber, took a deep breath and tried to hold back her ire.
“He agreed to help us.”
“And ye believed him? He be a Viking, Kannak.”
She hung her head. “I am sorry, mother. I will walk to the village for what we need tomorrow.” Kannak could not stand to hear the hurt in her mother’s voice, sat down on her bed and took off her shoes. “I am too hungry to think. Is there nothing to eat?”
“Milk.”
“I am sick o’ milk and cheese. Be there nothing more?”
“Not unless we kill a chicken.”
It was useless. The chickens only laid one egg a day as it was; killing one meant fewer eggs to eat by half and that would only make things worse. She stretched out on the bed, pulled her cover up and closed her eyes. “I will think o’ a way out o’ our troubles tomorrow.”
*
BY THE TIME THE HORSE took Stefan back to the cottage, the candle light had been extinguished and it was dark inside. He quietly dismounted and watched the horse wander off, then tried to find a place to sleep for the night. In the dim moonlight, he spotted a structure that was little more than a roof, a back wall and two posts holding up the front of the roof. He moved some baskets out of the way and sat down.
Yet with no cover to keep him warm and a thousand thoughts running through his mind, sleep avoided him. He remembered the pouch filled with coins, pulled it out from under his tunic and examined the contents. He removed two coins, dug a hole near one of the front posts and buried the pouch. Then there was nothing to do but wait for dawn, which would come early this far north, just as it did in Norway. Soon he would find it difficult to go to sleep in the daylight, but for now a short night would be a blessing. And while he waited for dawn, he realized that somewhere in the middle of the ocean, he turned fifteen.
*
SHE WAS DREAMING; SHE had to be. The glorious smell coming from the pot placed directly in the embers of the fire in the hearth was so magnificent, she dared not open her eyes for fear it would dissipate into a mist so light a breeze could carry it away.
“Kannak, wake up. He be back and we have food.”
She dared to open one eye and then slowly opened the other. The magnificent smell was not a dream and she could not help licking her lips in anticipation. Then she spotted Stefan sitting at the table watching her with a grin on his face.
“Wake up, wee bairn,” he said.
Annoyed at being called a baby, she abruptly sat up and glared. “From which o’ our neighbors did ye steal this food?”
Stefan’s grin turned to a scowl of his own. “I neglected to ask his name.”
“Ye have brought a curse down upon us. There be a penalty in our clan for stealing and we will all be dead afore the noon meal.”
“If that be the case, I suggest we eat all the evidence.”
Jirvel was a striking woman at twenty-nine with her daughter’s same color of hair, although her eyes were blue and the years of hard work had robbed her of her youth. As her daughter did, she wore a long, gray striped unbelted frock made of wool.
It was Jirvel’s custom to watch and listen to people before she made up her mind to like them and so far, she believed she was going to like Stefan very much. He had, after all, come back, he looked to be a strong boy and he had weapons. Already she felt safer.
She turned the hot bread over once more in the pot, poked a hole in it to make sure it was done and reached for a bowl. The boy had a way about him that was pleasant and she was enjoying their banter. Stefan was exactly what her daughter needed. With no siblings, the girl had gotten away with far too much for far too long.
“Ye admit ye stole it then?” Kannak asked, putting on one shoe and then the other.
Stefan rolled his eyes. He picked the two gold coins up off the table and showed them to her. The wheat for the bread be yer store for the planting and with this ye can barter for better seed and enough to feed us until the harvest.”
“Where did ye get those?”
“If ye must know, wee bairn, I found them.”
“Bletherskite.” She did not believe a word of it. “They are English coins. Next ye will say ye favor the English. We dinna prefer them.”
“Nor do we?”
Kannak lightly bit her bottom lip and thought for a moment. “If we both hate the English, perhaps...”
Jirvel knew her daughter well enough to know Kannak would soon be challenging the boy, for what the girl loved most was competition and a good wager. “I suggest we eat and then see to the chores. There will be time for talking later.”
The cottage was a pleasant place, not so different from the home he grew up in, except it was much smaller and square instead of oval shaped. It had the pleasant smell of lavender and spices. A small table and three chairs were on one side of the room and Kannak’s bed was on the other. Several pots made of metal and baskets of different shapes and sizes were lined up near the walls, some obviously still in the process of being crafted. A small pile of heather sticks lay next to the hearth to use for fire wood and a doorway led to a second small room where he guessed Jirvel slept.
There were places on the wall to hang weapons, but the places were empty save for a long bow. Soon the bread got his attention and the smell of it made him want to lick his lips too. After the tasteless meals at sea, he was ready to devour all she could make. “Where be yer father?”
He directed his question to Kannak, but it was Jirvel who answered. “Eogan has gone off to war these three weeks and we have had no word of him.” She put the bread in a bowl and set it on the table. “Kannak says ye agreed to stay and help us. Is it true?”
Stefan nodded, tore off a small piece of the hot bread, blew on it and quickly devoured it. Then he turned his attention back to the longbow. “In my...at home I tended my aunt and uncle’s land. I am accustomed to it.”
Kannak rolled her eyes. “She knows yer a Viking; she dinna believe the lie.”
He stood up and took the longbow off the hook on the wall. Effortlessly, he pulled the string back to test it. “Then she has far more wits about her than her daughter.”
Thoroughly insulted, Kannak stood up, straightened her frock and then put her hands on her hips. “Ye might as well put that back. Everyone knows Vikings go to sea and none are skilled enough to hunt on land. I wager yer the same.”
Stefan didn’t even bother to look at her. “What will ye wager?”
“Well...if ye win, I will haul all the water for two days.”
“And if ye win?”
“Ye will milk the cow, morning and night, for two days.”
“Lads dinna milk cows.”
“Then I am fortunate yer not yet a lad.” Kannak tore off two pieces of bread and walked out the door.
Jirvel watched him test the bow again and smiled. “God has surly sent ye to us, Stefan. Will my daughter lose her wager?”
“Aye.”
“Good. She needs to be set down occasionally. Spend the day hunting while we see to the marketing. The land can wait another day or two and we must keep ye strong.”
*
IN THE LIGHT OF MORNING, Stefan got his first good look at the land. The cottage was far enough from the tree lined river to avoid the spring floods, yet close enough for fishing and hauling water. He followed the path to the river, knelt down, cupped his hands and splashed water on his face. But when he looked at the reflection, all he saw was his father’s lifeless face. He closed his eyes tight, searched his mind for a pleasing image to remember and settled on the mighty commander standing in the stern of the ship with his legs apart and his arms folded. Finally daring to open his eyes and look again, the reflection he saw was his own. He looked as tired as he felt.
Stefan ran his fingers through his short hair and got up. Then he looked in all directions, decided he was alone, stripped down and took a quick bath in the cold water. It helped refresh him.
When he went back up the path, he paused a moment to admire the beautiful oak tree next to the cottage, with its sturdy branches and leaves enough to provide ample shade on hot days. Other oak trees and bushes lined all four sides of the property except where animals had trampled paths to the river over the years. In the middle was the farm land and it was obvious most had not been worked in years. He walked to the small garden, picked up a handful of dirt and let it run through his fingers. The soil was not so different from his home, nor was the climate, which so far, was just as warm if not warmer than home.
Once she was done with the milking, he let Kannak show him where everything was, helped both women mount the horse and then handed them the empty baskets and two flasks filled with fresh milk. After they were gone, he looked over the garden again and took stock of the tools in the shed. There weren’t many and the wooden shovel was warped, but with good care, and if the weather was not too harsh, he thought he could manage to grow enough to feed them with perhaps a little extra.
At least the heather was a good source of food for the livestock, what little livestock there was. Heather had a thousand other uses, most of which the Scots took advantage of, he noticed. From it they made baskets with straps to hang over the back of a horse, baskets for carrying sheared wool, for harvesting vegetables and even small baskets lined with cloth and hung by the fire in the cottage to keep their salt and spices dry. They also made brooms, brushes, floor mats and even woven paths across unstable soil.
Yet when the plants began to overgrow the land allowing wolves and red foxes to get close to the livestock, the only answer was a Muirburn. That took a good bit of watching, for fear the fire got out of control, and Stefan doubted the three of them could manage it without help.
It was not hard to figure out which basket was used for fishing, although it was clear to see the women owned no useable lines of twine or hooks. No wonder they were hungry. He vowed to show them how to hold a torch near the river’s edge at night, draw the fish to it and spear them with a sword or spear. Then he realized they had neither and found Kannak’s father despicable for leaving them so completely without.
It was a far cry from the life he imagined as a Viking, but he tried not to think about that. He would need shoes soon and all he owned, including his warm cloak, went down with the ship. There was much to do and keeping busy would at least take his mind off his sorrow. Stefan abruptly went back inside the cottage, got the long bow and found two arrows.
