Hidden (31 page)

I laugh. “Catch your breath, Mel. I believe you.”

“And, Brigid, there's a waterfall so high, it kicks up a wall of spray. On a sunny day a rainbow arches over it. You can count on that.”

I turn my head so I'm facing into the wind. “The wind has been blowing from the east ever since I got here.”

“It's always that way.”

Always? And I think of the fjord up near the first Jutland home I lived in—the pit house. The wind there always blew from the west. Winds can be funny like that. They can characterize a place. I think of Jutland. I've lived in the north and the south, in the west and the east. I know that peninsula. Places can come to mean so much.

“I don't—”

“Stop, Brigid. Don't say it. Think about it. Talk with Alf. Spend the winter here together and see how you like it.”

“I want to go back to Eire with him—and, we had hoped, with you—for the wedding. I want to be married in a church, even after all this time.”

“Alf has agreed to that? Then he's a better Norseman than any I know. We have no churches here. Lots of Irish people, but no churches; all the Irish are slaves. You can marry Alf here the Norse way. Then, if you still want, you can get remarried in Eire later.”

Óláf splashes us. “Let's go home and eat. And afterward
I want to take you to see something. Just you.” He points at me. “Mother can't come.”

I look at Mel.

She smiles and raises an eyebrow. “I think my son likes having an aunt.”

“Can Alf come?” I ask Óláf.

“Can he keep a secret?”

“A secret?” says Mel. “Hmmm. Now I'm getting curious.”

“You can't know,” says Óláf. “But Aunt Brigid can. And maybe Alf.”

“Definitely Alf,” I say. “I trust him.”

“All right,” says Óláf solemnly. “Then I trust him too.”

So after dinner we set out, Óláf and Alf and I. I have warned Alf that he must earn Óláf's trust. He has vowed to do precisely that.

It's past dusk—the reds and yellows of the autumn leaves are neutralized to grays. The boy leads us through trees to a lagoon where icebergs float in gentle moonlight and colors can be seen again—stark white against the deep blue of the water. I graze Alf's hand with my fingertips, and he moves closer to me till our arms touch through our sleeves.

“It's beautiful here, Óláf. Thank you.”

“It's better when the icebergs crash into each other.”
He picks up a rock and throws it. A funny black-and-white bird with an orange bill and feet takes to the air. I hadn't noticed it before. “Watch,” he says with urgency, pointing up. “Something good is about to happen.”

And then the clear, dark northern skies dance with color. It's a spectacle, a festival of the heavens.

“It goes on all through winter, way till spring comes again.” Óláf laughs. “Mother told me you both watched the lights as girls, but then you disappeared. So, ha! Now you have the lights again.”

“Enchanting,” I say. I don't have the heart to tell him that the northern lights grace Jutland, too.

Óláf takes my hand. “But there's more. Come on.” He pulls me a bit, then walks ahead in his impatience.

We follow. A brown-gray fox with a white tail and tummy and white on the insides of his ears appears from nowhere and walks along the rocks beside us. I hurry and catch Óláf's arm. I point and whisper, “He seems to have no fear of us.”

“Why should he?” Óláf says in a normal voice. “I'd never hurt him. Would you?”

“No. But how can he know that?”

“No one hurts him,” says Óláf.

“What about predators?” asks Alf.

“What are predators?”

“He is, for one,” says Alf. “A predator is an animal that eats other animals.”

“Then he's the only predator here, except for us,” says Óláf. “And, like I said, I'd never hurt him. He knows that. He was stalking the puffin, so I threw the rock to warn the bird. But he never would have got it, anyway. He's foolish; that fox can't catch birds.” Óláf turns away from the lagoon and walks through a rocky area and around trees. He stops.

In front of us is a low hut made completely of stone. My breath is gone.

“What is it?” asks Alf.

“An Irish hermit's hut,” I say.

“Who built it?”

“My friend,” says Óláf. “They'd kill him if they knew he was here. Not even Mother knows. I'm the only one. You must never tell. Want to meet him?”

I can't believe he says all that so casually. I nod.

Alf nods.

Óláf crawls into the hut. His high-pitched voice carries to us, speaking Gaelic. Mel was good to teach it to him. He comes out followed by a small man with long white hair. It's so dark now, I cannot really see his eyes. Or maybe that's because my own are blurred with tears. This man walks stooped like Papi did, back in Ribe. I wonder
how he feeds himself, though I can see he survives on practically nothing. He's skin and bones.

“Good evening,” I say in Gaelic.

“Good evening, aunt of Óláf.” He looks at Alf.

“Say something to him,” I say to Alf in Norse.

“Greetings, old man,” says Alf in Norse.

“Do you live here all alone?” I ask.

“The Lord is with us. We are never alone.”

“Are there other monks here?”

“Three of us came together. But we separated. I don't know if they are still of this world.”

“How? How did you come here?”

“In a skin boat with a twig frame.”

“I have just spent ten days in a ship on that raging ocean, and sometimes I feared for my life. How could a skin boat make the journey?”

“How can a bird fly over the seas? We all have his help.”

I feel at a loss. “Do you want to go home?”

“I am home.”

“Can I do anything to help you? Get anything for you?” But I know his answer before he says it.

“The Lord gives me what I need.”

“Thank you for talking,” I say.

“Speaking Gaelic is always worth the effort.” The monk crawls back into the hut.

“See?” says Óláf. “Mother was wrong. Not all the Irish here are slaves.”

“What was that all about?” asks Alf.

“Our future,” I say, keeping the tremble from my voice.

“Explain, cryptic woman.”

“Let's leave for Eire tomorrow, if we can.”

“Good. This is sounding good.” He puts his arm around me and pulls me to his chest. “I cannot wait to wed you.” His voice is gruff with desire.

My eyes are on those lips, so close and delicious. “The boy,” I whisper.

Alf releases me gently. “Would you like a ride on my shoulders, Óláf?” He goes to stoop, but Óláf climbs his back like a squirrel up a tree.

“Immediately after the wedding,” I say, “we'll go live in Jutland. Jelling if you want. Or Ribe. Or Heiðabý.”

“I'm allowed the choice? Are you sure, imperious one?”

I grin. “I don't care, as long as I can visit the people I love in Ribe and Heiðabý.”

“Then I choose Heiðabý. That's where we met. And Hakon will be so glad to have you back for good, not just visiting.”

“Have you talked to Hakon?”

“It was his idea to light fires up and down the land as signals for having spotted the women pirates. He didn't
know you were their captain, of course. He just wanted to help strategize. He's a natural at it.”

And now I'm sure. I'm so completely sure. “You and Hakon together, you will help the kings of all the cities of the Dan people understand that Christians are no threat.”

“Was that old man a Christian?”

“An Irish monk.”

“He's no threat.”

“Exactly. You'll explain to everyone. Let's go home, Alf. Let's go home.”

alf
: elf

bj
ó
r
: fermented cider

borg
: height

byrnja
: shirt of mail

Dan
: Danish

djúpauðga
: deep-minded

draug
: ghost

dreng
: king's aide, usually young

dróttinn
: military leader

feræring
: fishing boat

fuðflogi
: homosexual man

Heiðabý
: Hedeby

hempægar
: king's personal fighting men

hild
: battle

hjálm
: iron helmet

høggorm
: serpent

hval
: whale

Kristinn
: Christian

Írland
: Ireland

Ísland
: Iceland

járnbrák
: iron slick

krage
: tree-trunk ladder

magri
: lean

melrakki
: white fox

mjøð
: mead

Nóreg
: Norway

øg
: terror

pái
: peacock

papi
: hermit; monk

rauði
: red

sefask
: be calmed

sjøvættir
: sea spirits

skald
: bard

þegn
: king's aide, usually old

þing
: assembly

tordýfill
: dung beetle

valsham
: hawk-plumage cloak

This book is a companion to
Hush: An Irish Princess Tale
. The heroine in the first novel is Melkorka, a character who appears and reappears briefly in the Icelandic sagas
Landnámabók
and
Laxdœla
. Her younger sister, the heroine of the present novel, was made up in the first novel, and so I was free to create whatever story I wanted for her. I blended her story with the well-known story of Alfhild, the first Norse woman pirate so far as anyone knows, and the character I find most striking in the Norse Amazon tradition.

Melkorka and Brigid were princesses in Ireland in 900, but that doesn't mean they lived in a castle. Castles didn't come to Ireland for another couple of hundred years. In fact, there were no castles in Denmark at this time either. Instead everyone lived in homes made of wood and mud, often just branches and straw stuck together with soil, clay, sand, or animal dung, usually with only a couple of rooms. Royal families had plenty to eat and nice clothes and jewels. But their lives were not totally leisure; they helped out with chores, even though they had servants to cook and clean for them. And whole families (and often others as well),
rich or poor, slept together in a single room in both Ireland and Denmark.

The people of Ireland had organized themselves into alliances of families, called tribes or clans, of perhaps a few thousand people spread across hills and valleys. They lived in private homes and owned private land, but they also shared public land. The clans each had a king. A king's home was usually fortified by a wall and often larger than the ordinary home, perhaps with some extra rooms. Clans further allied themselves to form larger confederations with nearby clans. There were four main confederations in Ireland at this time, with four main kings. Melkorka and Brigid's father was a lower king.

Vikings had raided the island for a little more than a hundred years, stealing wealth from monasteries, massacring many, raping and plundering. In sum, they terrorized the Irish—they were criminal. But not all Norse were this way. Some of them established towns and settled down to mix civilly with the Irish. Dublin was such a town; it was huge compared to other towns, perhaps around three thousand inhabitants just within the town walls, and many more outside in the hills and valleys. It was in Dublin that Melkorka and Brigid's family met the problems you learn about in this book. When a Viking leader wanted to marry Melkorka, their father planned a trick to
slaughter him and his men. Since the plan was dangerous, the girls' mother tried to protect them by dressing them in peasant clothing and sending them off on a horse, not to return until the event was over. But while the girls were hiding out, a Russian slave ship captured them.

The custom of capturing people, particularly women and children, and keeping them as slaves or selling them into slavery was common in this time period (and, interestingly, was probably responsible for the spreading of certain genetic tendencies, such as the appearance of multiple sclerosis in places the Vikings traveled). The slave trade thrived, with captives moving between Europe, Asia, and Africa. In the Icelandic sagas, the slavers who stole Melkorka are Russian, so I kept them Russian in my story. However, the Russians were only one group of many who scanned the shores for slaves. Often captured women and children were brought to Miklagard, which is now called Istanbul and which was said to be the biggest city in the world at that time. People from east and west, north and south, met there for trade. That's what happened to Melkorka. But instead of being sold in Miklagard, the Russian slaver kept her as he headed back north, and he ended by selling her to a Viking, who took her off to Iceland. Iceland was, essentially, a Norse colony at that time. Starting in the late 800s, the Norse had been settling there,
although there is archeological evidence that Irish monks had settled there earlier.

Brigid, however, never traveled to Miklagard. She jumped out of the Russian slave ship as it passed through the Limfjord, way near the north of Jutland, in Denmark, straight into the icy water. Hence begins her tale, told in this book. Denmark at that time consisted of the same landmass as today plus the western coast of what is now Sweden. Across the southern border were the Franks, a people who had adopted Christianity and were viewed as a major threat by the Danes. Denmark, while a small and unimposing country today, was important at that time if for nothing else but its geographical position. It jutted up between the two seas and thus was in a position to control commerce between lands to the east and lands to the west.