Page 20 of Viking Warriors: Vol. 1-3
I felt sure that Faline was playing a certain strategy with the master of the house, allowing herself to be taken, but upon her own terms. As she served his mead and meat, Faline brushed her breast against his arm and nudged him with her hip. She would dart away, to watch him coolly, from Asta’s side, wetting her lips as he surveyed her, twitching with suppressed desire.
If Asta knew, she did not betray it. Rather, she readily came to Faline’s defence. “Don’t be angry with her,” she admonished, hearing me rail against Faline’s absences and her laziness; of my worse suspicions, I said nothing. “Some things are best let go, lest our bitterness eat us from within.”
I had not her generosity of spirit, though I admired it. In the days that were to come, I thought often of Asta’s serenity, and tried to emulate it, in the face of what I was unable to change. Yet, I coveted the respect given to her, and yearned for the dignity it would accord me to be Eirik’s wife. I wished for all to know that I was more than a passing whim of his bed; that his love for me was true, and that he valued me above any other woman. There had been many, of that I had no doubt.
Though I spoke nothing of these quiet resentments, I couldn’t resist asking Asta of the ceremonies that accompanied a man’s joining to a woman in marriage. She knew, I supposed, that I alluded to my own hopes, for she lowered her eyes, and gave only the briefest of descriptions, with none of the details I craved, in my wish to imagine my own wedding to the man I loved.
* * *
Itook my leave to walk through the village one afternoon, watching the younger children in their play—those not yet made busy in helping their mothers. They were the same as those from my own village—the same as children everywhere. Some were afraid of me; others laughed to hear me speak. I wondered when I might have my own child, to play alongside these—a child for Eirik to carry upon his shoulders, and who would grow up to belong. But, my bleeding came as it always had, and my belly remained flat.
As I stood, a boy of no more than two toppled and scraped his knee, with a howl. He ran to his mother, seated nearby, a baby at her breast, and buried his face in her skirts. She moved the baby to one side as the older child raised his arms to request the comfort of her lap but there was no room for both and she was obliged to shake her head.
I stepped forward, offering my own arms, for the baby had finished its feed, but she drew back and chivvied her son to run along. Perhaps it was the rise of his wailing once again or that she saw the shadow of hurt crossing my face, but she beckoned me to sit beside her.
With a nod, she passed the dozing babe into the crook of my elbow, and lifted the boy into her own arms. How beautiful the baby was, pale lashes resting upon rounded cheeks. I held him tightly, eager for his warmth, wondering how it would feel for those lips, pursed in sleep, to suckle at my own breast. My heart ached with the need to hold my own child.
“I’m Astrid.” The woman shifted the weight of the boy, who’d ceased his weeping and was now peering at me, though his arms remained wrapped behind his mother’s head.
I smiled in return and gave my name. I praised the health of her baby and her little boy, and we fell into halting conversation. She was more than ten years older than I, and her aspect was weary, but she remained an attractive woman. She had, but recently, become a widow, for her husband had been among those of Eirik’s raiding party who had not returned. The news pained me, for I remembered the day on which I’d tended the wounds of those men, and seen Eirik’s grief for his comrades lost. There were women of my former home, too, who’d lost their husbands, and at the hands of Eirik’s fearsome band. How fruitless it was, such violence, and for what purpose, I thought bitterly.
“Eirik has been good to us, giving us some of his own livestock.” Astrid sighed. “I would remarry, but there are few enough men for the women of this village.” She regarded me silently for a while before closing her eyes, rocking the toddler against her shoulder.
The baby had just begun to stir when a young girl appeared behind Astrid, letting her mother know that she’d go to the lower meadow to bring back their goats from grazing.
“You’re a good girl, Ylva.” Astrid stroked her daughter’s arm. “Keep on your shawl, remember, and hurry back.”
I couldn’t help but wonder at the linens Ylva had wrapped closely around her neck, for it was a fine day, and warm.
Astrid looked at me once more, and the infant I held, now balling its fists to its eyes and stretching in wakefulness. She slipped her boy to the ground, sending him to play, and reached to take the baby from me.
Her face was pale as she spoke. She was uneasy, but I sensed her desire to unburden herself, and speaking such things is sometimes easier with a stranger. There was no one near but she lowered her voice, nonetheless.
“My daughter suffers an affliction. She woke with an unsightly sore upon her shoulder several days ago, but now has two more, about her neck.”
I listened with concern. I’d seen my grandmother treat various skin ailments. I leaned forward, telling Astrid of my skill, and that I might be able to help. She appeared disbelieving though, doubtless, she would wish my claim to be true.
“I’ve given offerings to Eir, washed the pus with mead, and applied honey. It seems only to have grown worse.”
I commended her on her actions, but I was anxious, for I feared that the sore would spread its poison through her daughter’s body and that contact might spread the affliction to others in the family.
“Will Ylva let me see, tomorrow, if I return?” I had already begun to think of remedies I might try, and which combinations of plants would be most effective. “I’ll bring a salve, and we must hope for a cure. I’ll do all I can.”
Astrid smiled uncertainly. “She’ll do as I bid her.”
I rose to take my leave but had one more question to ask. Was anyone else in the village similarly stricken?
Astrid took my hands as she answered. The mothers of two other young women had come to her the night before, each under cover of darkness, having heard about Ylva’s ailment, and eager to know in what ways Astrid had attempted treatment. Neither had admitted to their children suffering but she had known, from their faces, that they carried the same burden.
My mind raced ahead, wondering how many might be keeping their condition hidden, even from those closest to them.
These were my people now, and I would do whatever I could to rid them of this anguish.
4
The next morning, I mixed a salve of equal parts hazel bark and comfrey leaves, smoothed to a paste with honey.
Astrid was waiting for me at her door and her distress was clear. She hurried me inside, leading me to where Ylva sat trembling in her under-tunic. Her eyes appeared huge in her pale face.
