Free Shieldmaiden by Marianne Whiting Page B

if anyone comes at him from the right. And, Sigrid, he has his pride. Many times I’ve had to persuade him to stay here while others went raiding. But he would perish in battle. I worry every day he will leave and come to harm.’
    From time to time I tried to settle down to my marriage. Ingefried would remind me of Hauk’s good nature, the stone for my father, his acceptance of my son, his care for the elderly thralls and freemen of Becklund. It was true that Hauk tried hard to win me over. But I had my son as a daily reminder of Ragnar. My love for him smothered any grain of love or even friendship I could have nurtured for Hauk.
    The servants and thralls of Swanhill had never showed me the kind of respect I remember my mother receiving at Becklund. They obeyed me but with surly faces. I didn’t let it worry me. I had other things on my mind and as long as they did as I ordered, I didn’t much care about why. Whenever I beat a servant Ingefried would try and advise me:
    â€˜A little kindness gets you further than the stick and harsh words.’ But I didn’t listen.
    We had been married nearly two years when Hauk had a spell of bad luck. Sometimes he would return from a hunt with game for the spit but more often than not he came back empty handed. His attention to me diminished. I didn’t mind. I hardly noticed. I lived in a fantasy world where Ragnar would call for me and carry me away. Then the herring catch failed.
    â€˜It’s her fault,’ I overheard the thralls whisper. ‘She’s cursed by the gods.’ I could feel their resentful eyes on my back as I moved round the farmstead. At first I ignored it but soon it made me feel uncomfortable. I began to listen in when they thought themselves alone and, from behind a woodpile, I heard two of the women discuss me in unflattering terms. Then one of them said:
    â€˜All was well before she came, when Lydia was his woman.’
    â€˜He goes to Lydia again, you know. I saw them. Things could change around here.’ A malicious giggle then she continued: ‘And if they do Mistress Sigrid had better watch her back. He looks after her now but if he’s intent on returning to the soft arms of Lydia…’ They moved out of my hearing. I leant on the rough woodpile for support. It had never occurred to me I had anything to fear from the thralls.
    Hauk told us he was leaving.
    â€˜King Olav the Red is calling men to arms. I have a mind to join him.’ The statement was so unexpected neither Mother Thorgunn nor I reacted to it at once. I heard Lydia cry out and whisper to herself where she sat at the end of the table among the other slave women. Then Thorgunn found her tongue:
    â€˜You would fight for the King of Dublin? What good will that do you? You have no cause in common.’
    â€˜I will join his fight against Aethelstan and his rule. It’s time to make a stand and make sure we keep our own laws. Aethelstan is getting too powerful. We need a Norse king in Jorvik again.’
    â€˜The quarrels between kings have nothing to do with us, my son. You have a wife and child to provide for. You have me. I was looking forward to a peaceful old age. What will become of us here if you’re killed in battle? Honour won’t put bread on the table and as for whose law we live by, I doubt it will make much difference to ordinary people.’
    It was the longest speech I had heard from my mouse-like mother-in-law. But Hauk didn’t pay any attention to her. His eye was fixed on me. I opened my mouth but the words would not come. All round the longhouse, the servants and thralls stared at me. Every breath could be heard over the crackling of the fire. The words I ought to say, ‘husband do not go’, hovered in the smoke-filled air. But I was mute.
    When I didn’t speak, Hauk returned to the piece of alder he was fashioning into a bowl. The knuckles stood out white on the bronzed fist and his