Ragnar the Murderer (2 page)

*  *  *

So for the next two weeks, the sisters met the Danes at the well. Conversation was understandably limited, but they managed.

Aelfwyn often found herself fetching the water while Saehild dawdled. The Danes politely waited for her to get all the water she needed, but she could hear they were both talking to Saehild, competing for her attention. It wasn’t fair. Why should she do all the work while her idle sister sat around resting? She banged the bucket and pail around carelessly, making as much noise as possible. She crashed around so much that one of the pails slipped out of her hand and down the well.

Shrieking, she clutched at it, but luckily, a Danish hand moved quicker. Ragnar grabbed at the pail and almost fell down the well reaching for it. His arms were far longer than hers but even he only just saved it in time.

Aelfwyn snatched it from him. “Thank you,” she muttered.

“
You are welcome.”

She looked up to see him suppressing a smile, but carried on filling her pails in silence.

“
So, you come to our feast in two weeks?” Bjarni said to Saehild. Ragnar rolled his eyes.

“
Sorry about him,” he said. “He likes women better than work.”

Aelfwyn felt a giggle rising in her throat.

“
I’m sorry about my sister too. She is the same. Except men, not women of course.”

He laughed.

“
Is she married?”

“
No.” Aelfwyn sighed. How often had she been asked this by one of her sister’s enamoured suitors? “My parents say not before she is fifteen.”

“
She better get married soon. Or she will be in trouble.”

“
What do you mean?”

“
I mean- er- she will be in the bed of a man soon if she behaves like that. Sorry.”

Aelfwyn looked back at Saehild sitting on the surrounding wall with Bjarni. She seemed to be teaching him Anglisc, amid much giggling. They sat very close, gazing into each other’s eyes.

Ragnar realised he had never seen such a small woman as Aelfwyn before- he could see right over her head, even when she stood up and he sat down. He didn’t realise adults could be so tiny. He surreptitiously put his hand next to hers and was amazed it looked about twice the size. His fingers were like sausages compared to her twigs. No, not twigs, something softer, like-

She turned back and he snatched his hand away quickly.

“
I am not my sister’s keeper. I mean, I am not her mother or father.”

“
That is true.”

“
It’s her business what she does. I am used to men chasing after her.”

“
What about you?”

“
What about me?”

“
You have men chasing after you, as you are the older sister?”

“
None of your business!” So he hadn’t made the usual mistake.

He got on with filling his pails in silence.

“
What about you, Dane?”

“
No, I do not have men chasing me. I would cut their heads off.”

They exchanged glances, then burst out laughing. Aelfwyn glanced warily at Saehild. So much for her disapproval of associating with Danes, she behaved the same as her sister.

“
They do not see us, do not worry.”

So he also guessed her thoughts. Obviously a worldly wise man.

“
You come to our feast also?”

“
Oh! Er- yes. Maybe I will.” She blushed with surprise.

“
It is Jolablot, the coming of spring.”

“
It isn’t spring yet.”

He shrugged. “It will come. We like to feast, spring or not.”

*  *  *

Too soon the fortnight ended and the two Danes had to finish their water duty, which saddened them all.

“
Jolablot starts at the next full moon,” said Bjarni on the last day at the well. “We will meet you at the burnt tree between our villages.” They said their goodbyes and went their separate ways.

“
Oh God, I am so excited!” squealed Saehild, almost spilling the water. “Something to look forward to.”

The wedding feast of Eappa and Geatfleda had been the same as any other, with the same old people saying and doing the same old things, so a Danish feast would be a novelty.

“
How can we stop our family finding out?”

“
We could ask Sigulf to keep watch. When he went out to meet a girl last week, I told Father he was helping with the lambing, so he owes me.”

“
Very well.” Aelfwyn felt a flutter inside. Their first Danish feast. What would it be like? Tired of being sensible and careful, it was time to relax and enjoy herself. The Danes at the well hadn’t been frightening or violent, so surely the others could not be either.

*  *  *

After the next day’s tasks had been completed, Aelfwyn’s father, Aldulf, called her to him.

“
Daughter, you are now eighteen and no sign of a husband. I have taken an offer from Eadbald for your betrothal. As you know, his wife recently died and he has eight children to care for. He has long admired you and it is time to make a contract.”

“
B-but Father, Eadbald is over thirty.” She visualised the portly man with his customary vacant expression. A potter and rather unexciting.

“
That is no age! I am over thirty too. Consider yourself fortunate to have one offer. Your mother and I want to marry you off before Saehild’s wedding, which will surely be soon as she has so many suitors.”

Aelfwyn saw the end of her girlhood approaching. A sensible wife, married to a man old enough to be her father. Tears formed.

“
Oh leof, don’t cry. You are fortunate to have a family like yours. Other parents would have married you off many winters ago, but we were hoping…” the sentence trailed off.

“
Very well father.” She bowed her head.

She told Saehild, unable to keep the disappointing news to herself. Her sister sympathised for once, forgetting her own concerns.

“
There is nothing I can do,” Aelfwyn said. “They could have chosen a worse husband for me. Eadbald isn’t a bad man.”

“
Just unbelievably boring. Never mind, perhaps you’ll meet someone at the feast.”

“
As if Father would let me marry a Dane. Don’t be silly. I shall just enjoy the feast as my last taste of freedom and the end of my girlhood.”

Twegen

At last the evening of Jolablot arrived. Pretending to go to sleep, Saehild and Aelfwyn lay quietly until sure everyone else slumbered. Then they carefully pushed back the covers of the bed they shared with their younger sisters, and scrabbled under the bed to find the brooches they had hidden in a calf skin bag.

Sigulf beckoned them out of the front door. At sixteen, he had his own secret love errands, so he was bound to helping his sisters with theirs.

“
Be careful,” he said. “Those Danes can get very wild at their feasts. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“
Don’t be silly,” hissed Saehild. “We can handle anything. Anyway, they wouldn’t dare assault daughters of an Anglisc ceorl. What would our thegn do to them then?”

As the sisters hurried towards the burned tree, they fastened the ornate brooches to their clothes. They hadn’t bothered with their head-rails as they were sure the Danish women would be sporting all sorts of attractive hairstyles. Aelfwyn was of an age to braid her hair and had managed to keep this secret from her parents this evening, so a braid hung down either side, while the rest of her hair swung loose.

Saehild simply let all her hair fall free about her shoulders. She had washed it that morning, adding vinegar to make it shine. Her blue eyes and clear skin glowed. Aelfwyn couldn’t help being proud of her beautiful sister.

She didn’t realise that actually Saehild envied her darker hair, a soft light brown instead of the usual blonde with grey green eyes instead of blue. Saehild thought if she had Aelfwyn’s colouring as well as her height and strong figure, she would look perfect, but she couldn’t have everything. Just having Bjarni would suffice.

Saehild’s blue over dress symbolised virginity. It brought out the blue of her eyes and set off her creamy skin and golden hair perfectly. Her shoulder brooches didn’t match, the gold was from her grandmother, with scallops round the outside and dots surrounding the intertwined leaves.  Her father had given her the other, plainer brooch, silver with a man’s face on.

Aelfwyn wore her green dress, also to bring out the colour of her eyes. Her mother had complained in the past how it was hard to find a colour to complement her darker hair and skin. But Aelfwyn was grateful she’d made the effort and dyed the wool the correct colour. She wore matching silver brooches however, with an open cross in the centre surrounded by interweaved twists.

The burned tree seemed deserted, but as the girls reached it, Bjarni and Ragnar stepped out from behind. They were not wearing their Huskarl uniforms but for once different colours: Ragnar wore a golden brown tunic edged with a wool pattern of animals, his trousers a rusty red.  Bjarni’s tunic was violet, edged with blue silk, his trousers blue. Both wore round wool caps and intricately worked leather belts.

“
Good evening,” said Bjarni, eyeing the giggling Saehild up and down. Aelfwyn felt too shy to look at anyone.

“
At the feast, it is better if you do not talk and laugh too loudly, just keep quiet and do not attract attention,” instructed Ragnar.

“
He’s so bossy,” muttered Saehild to Aelfwyn. “When he’s my lover, he’ll obey me.”

“
Sh!” Aelfwyn blushed at her sister’s audacity. Ragnar’s hearing was as acute as a bat’s, he must have overheard.

“
We intend to enjoy tonight. It’s Aelfwyn’s last night of freedom,” said Saehild melodramatically.

“
How so?” asked Bjarni.

“
She is going to be betrothed to an old man in our village.”

“
Saehild!” Aelfwyn blushed again.

“
Why?” asked Ragnar.

“
Our parents think she is not going to get any other offers.”

Aelfwyn really wished she hadn’t told her sister. The Danes did not know what to say, perhaps they were embarrassed too.

“
Anyway, we should all enjoy tonight, whatever happens tomorrow.” Aelfwyn tried to be more positive.

Ragnar laughed. “That is what Danes say. You will fit in well.”

They set off for the feast, uphill past the wood to Hallfridby.

*  *  *

The Danish feasting hall was huge, a wooden building with a slightly curved roof.  Wooden poles supported a lower porch roof all round the outside with the main door at the short end of the building.

The sisters entered with their Danish escorts, aware that they were the subject of speculation. Saehild stopped and shook her hair with a flourish, adjusting her dress sleeve and enjoying being observed. Aelfwyn tried to avoid the Danes’ gaze- difficult as she stood in the centre of the room. She heard them all whispering about her too, picking out the odd recognisable word.

There were benches round the side of the hall with tables set in front of them, leaving room in the middle for the entertainment to take place. Torches were set in the walls, the flames flickered intensely, showing the long wooden pillars supporting the ceiling in a U shape and beams lining the roof. Aelfwyn wondered how the building hadn’t burnt down, but she assumed the wood must be coated with something to prevent it catching fire.

The Jarl, a ruddy faced, grey haired man of forty, banged on the table with his fist. He sat next to his wife, the lady Yngvild. In her late twenties, the lady had a round, friendly face and pale complexion. A head-rail hid her hair modestly, to the sisters’ surprise, giving her an air of respectability.

The Danes turned to their lord. He made an announcement, only about half of which the sisters understood.

Bjarni and Ragnar exchanged glances and led them to two vacant seats. The two men sat down, leaving the sisters standing. They were a distance from the Jarl, as befitted novice Huskarlr.

“
We sit. You serve.” Bjarni said, with regret. Aelfwyn noticed that all the seated guests were men and boys, while women and girls served them food and ale. So, similar to Anglisc feasts but at the same time odd.

The harp and lyre’s melodious tones began, filling any awkward silence.

Danish women pushed past Aelfwyn and Saehild, carrying horns of ale. Bjarni and Ragnar took one each and turned away to their friends.