Page 25 of A Song of Ravens and Wolves
After some time, I sat on the bench fully dressed, while Estrid and Halldora wrapped my shoulders with fur, fastening it with broaches, twisted into the shape of wolves.
‘There,’ Estrid said, taking a step back and surveying me from every angle. ‘You are ready.’
Estrid, like all good Gothi, was involved in every birth, marriage and death in our Earldom. She brewed up herbswhen we were sick and she mended scraped knees, although sometimes the scraped knees had been caused by the mead she had brewed. She was stalwart and sturdy and had it not been for her council, I would not be the woman I have become.
Thankfully I was dressed to her satisfaction and beginning to feel myself again. My head no longer throbbed, for all they had tied my two braids so tightly that the crown nipped and pulled at my scalp.
Halldora handed me another small glass of mead. I sipped it carefully and shuddered. The hot, sweet syrupy drink slipped down easily. I walked to the edge of the pool and stared at my reflection in the water, heart pounding wildly. ‘Hold fast,’ I said to myself. ‘This will all be over soon.’
When it was time, Estrid took me by arm and led me outside. At the foot of the steps, what must have been half of the village were stood around exchanging pleasantries, but all fell silent as we descended the hillock. All were in attendance for their Jarl.
As we moved on, others became more vocal in their admiration for Estrid, the Gothi who would preside over the wedding. Our wedding. Drunk on mead I had ignored the gravity of my predicament. It came like a fist to the stomach. I gripped tightly onto Estrid’s arm.
Through the throng, I could not see my groom. I prayed that he had decided against such a marriage. That he would sooner take a Norse bride and send me home. Suddenly, my mind was filled with thoughts of Donada. I had to try and make it through the wedding without crying. I could feel the tears about to spill out onto my cheeks. My sister was safe and as long as she was, that was all that mattered.
It was a warm day. At least that is how I remember it. The sky was overcast and heavy with rain. The mist that had lingered since my arrival had gone out with the tide. We were to be wed in a field beyond the Mead Hall beneath the open sky.
As we neared the field, silhouetted against the stone circle, I caught a glimpse of the Jarl, an impressive sight - standing a head above the others. Broad of shoulder and thick of neck, with the most striking features. His fair hair had been pulled neatly back and plaited like my own, which cascaded down his back. His eye sockets were black as charcoal and his beard neat and interspaced with wooden beads. He wore a tunic of cream that covered him to his collar, belted at the middle with an inscription of runes in blood red.
If I have one regret, it is that I wasted too much time. We always think we have more. That there will be a tomorrow. That the things we want to say can wait. That we can go to sleep on an argument because we will be forgiven tomorrow. That is until tomorrow is taken from us in the blink of an eye. Two lifetimes would not have been enough to say all the things I wished I had said to him.
As I approached him, he gave me a mischievous smile.
Estrid placed me to his left. I jumped as he stepped towards me, placing a gold necklace, littered with the most beautiful glass beads around my neck.
‘It is best we wed quickly before another man tries to take my place.’ He whispered in my ear, fingers brushing my neck. ‘You are every inch a Jarl’s wife.’
My heart raced. It is a terrifying thing to stand before any god and wed someone. Then, before their false gods, I felt no more than a grievous sinner and could not see any hope of salvation. If I brought him a child into the world it would be raised as a Dane and then there would be no hope of redemption.
The rest of the party pressed behind us, preventing any chance of escape. My hysteria mounted until it almost became a scream, I turned in panic to the Jarl.
‘I canna marry you!’ it came out in a rush.
He looked down at me. ‘It is a bit late to back out now.’
‘I don’t even know your name.’
‘Sigurd. Sigurd Hlodvirsson, but my friends,’ he looked around at the men standing behind him. ‘They like to call me Sigurd the Stout.’
They sniggered. ‘Sigurd the fat, more like,’ came a shout.
‘Sigurd Hlodvirsson,’ I repeated the peculiar words. ‘I am Olith Meic Cinaeda.’
‘It is my pleasure to meet with you, Lady Olith Meic Cinaeda and now, would you become my wife?’
I swallowed hard. My muscles tensed just as they did on a hunt.
‘Yes,’ I squeaked.
All around us began to applaud but were soon silenced when the Gothi spoke.
‘Fairest Frigg, Fensalir’s Lady, most gracious of goddesses hear my hailing,’ Estrid said turning to me. ‘Olith, you must hold this sword in trust for your firstborn son.’
Sigurd handed me the sword that he had robbed from the grave of his ancestors.
‘And now, you must present this new sword to the groom.’
Halldora took the sword from my hands and passed me my own, which had been given to me by my father the day I’d left for Orkney. Looking back, I sometimes wonder if it was my father’s disregard for the Dane’s customs that changed our fate and brought so much misery upon us. If I had been able to pledge my fealty with the sword of my ancestor, maybe it would have saved us.
