Page 21 of Viking Warriors: Vol. 1-3
I saw at once the cause for Astrid’s fear; for a red welt was rising on Ylva’s cheek.
“She woke with it.” Astra wrung her hands. “And there’s another appearing on her back.”
The baby grumbled in the corner, but Astrid made no move to comfort it.
I helped in lifting off Ylva’s clothing to reveal the oldest sore: angry red on her shoulder, the skin broken at the edges, oozing yellow pus. The ones upon her neck were little better. I wasted no time in applying the remedy, smoothing it upon the broken skin with a wooden spatula.
“Twice a day, apply a small amount. Tie a strap of linen over the top to keep the poultice in place,” I explained. I’d brought several strips of cloth with me, which I laid on the side, beside the pot of salve.
I gave Ylva a smile. “We’ll have you better soon. Be brave.”
In truth, the rapid spread of the young girl’s sores made me anxious. The fields were abundant in plants and herbs with curative powers, and I’d also begun cultivating my own, on the sheltered side of the longhouse, but the virulence of her affliction persuaded me that she needed a stronger remedy. There were many plants with soothing properties for the skin and I usually found the most potent growing in the forest.
Secreted in a leather pouch, I still had the Death’s Cap mushroom I’d picked long ago and kept: its poison a talisman for my safety. I might have used it in those first days of the arrival of Eirik’s men, when they’d plundered our village: might have killed them all, had I wished to do so. Some sense of humanity had stayed my hand. My role was to heal, not to harm. Yet, I’d kept it.
I’d ask Asta if I might accompany Helka into the woodlands, it being her custom to go hunting. She’d guide me deeper than I’d be able to venture alone.
I bid Ylva farewell, and Astrid walked me outside. I was reluctant to leave, knowing the troubles she bore.
“Avoid touching them, and keep them covered,” I urged, kissing Astrid upon the cheek. “I’ll visit again soon.”
She nodded. I sensed there was much she wished to say, but there was no need. We understood each other.
“If anyone else needs me, I’ll be ready. Tell them to watch for me.”
I felt sure that Ylva was not alone. Behind closed doors, there would be others who fretted and feared. If I could help them, I would.
I embraced Astrid once again. Looking over her shoulder, I saw a woman standing no more than twenty steps away, watching with a ferocious expression. She carried a sturdy baby on her hip, fair-haired and with eyes of the lightest blue. The woman’s own hair, plaited to one side and falling to her waist, was a rich auburn-red. Even from a distance, I could tell the child was a boy, his features being pronounced in the way they rarely are among girl-children. He looked back at me earnestly, chewing upon something hard clutched in his fist.
“Who’s that?” I asked Astrid. “Has she come to find me? Do you think she suffers as Ylva does?”
She turned to look but spun back swiftly, moving her body to block the woman from my sight. Astrid’s eyes darted away, not wishing to meet mine, but I persisted.
“She means to talk to me, surely?”
It clearly pained Astrid to tell me, but my squeeze of her hand persuaded her to be frank.
“It’s Bodil, married to Haldor. Her oldest son was among Eirik’s men when they wenta-viking; it was his first trip across the sea, his first raid.” Astrid hesitated, for it was a subject that grieved her. “Like my husband, he did not return.”
I felt a pang of sadness on Bodil’s behalf. No wonder she regarded me with such a damnable glare, for her son’s death had been at the hand of my former people.
I looked again at the child in whose face there was something familiar to me. Astrid had not told me all, I was convinced.
“And that little one?” I asked.
Astrid chewed at her lip. I was sorry for it. She’d suffered enough but I couldn’t let the matter rest.
“I know what you’re thinking,” she said. “He’s a strong boy.” Her eyes skirted away again. “He might be Haldor’s… or he might not.”
I could see for sure now. Those eyes were unmistakable, as was the bold set of the chin.
“Her husband knew, I think, but perhaps not.” Astrid went on. “She weaves and sews well. There was a time when she was often at the longhouse, making clothes for Gunnolf and Asta.”
“And for Eirik, too?”
Astrid’s eyes told me all.
I kept to the other side of the way as I hurried past, but try as I might, I couldn’t avoid the burning of her gaze. As I drew level, she spat fiercely upon the ground and hissed a fevered curse.
