Page 49 of A Song of Ravens and Wolves
I touched a hand to the feigned curve of my belly. I was not ready. Not ready at all.
Chapter 18
Where Wolf’s Ears Are, Wolf’s Teeth Are Near
My father and his men breezed in like a storm, sending the smoke from the central fire pit swirling. His priest waddled after him, like a pet dog coming to heel. He was more obedient than my own. I got to my feet, pressing my hands together to try and stop them from shaking.
Through the sea of heads, I studied. Eyes. Nose. Mouth. Lip. Each one in turn. With every face I checked and each one I was met with disappointment. Elpin was not there.
‘Daughter,’ he oozed, taking every inch of my braided hair, my furs and my jewellery. ‘How good it is of you to welcome us.’
‘Laird King.’ I bowed before taking my seat again and offering them the benches. ‘It has been too long. How are my sisters?’ The benches ran either side of the fire like a trough. I imagined what it must be like for the Jarl, talking with his men of policy and plunder. It is how I always imagined The Thing would be, and I was not wrong, although now I prefer it when we have more women attend.
‘I trust your crossing was calm,’ I said. ‘What brings you to the isles, Laird King?’ I picked up a flagon of ale and began to pour, it would not do to leave him waiting.
As I leaned in, the sharp odour of their tunics, the smell of wild garlic and boar reminded me of home. Nights that my mother had made feasts for my father’s men, women and children all squeezed beneath the thatch, hearth fire burning. It had been so alive. Such wonderful times before my mother lost Naiton.
‘Can a father no come to see his daughter?’ he said, draining his cup.
A father could. Not mine. I was nothing more than a pawn to be moved around his board until someone was in checkmate but then, I did not know that it was my husband we were playing against.
‘Aye, I’m very grateful you could make the journey.’ I smiled sweetly, pouring him another drink. ‘Do you have business with my husband?’ I handed him the cup.
‘Not business as such.’ He licked his lips. ‘Is that falcon of yours dead yet?’
He was trying to goad me.
‘No, he is alive and well. Have you brought your falconer? You could have done me the honour of hunting with me in my new home. I have heard much about the unusual game here.’
‘I’m no here for such pleasantries. I am here conduct for a trade of sorts.’
‘A trade?’
‘Your man has something belonging to me.’ He looked me up and down. ‘Now, I have use of his men and I am here so that your husband might honour the dowry.’
Hate is a strong word but it is not strong enough for how I felt about my father. If I had my time over, I would wish that Thor would strike him down with a bolt of lightning, right then and there and then for Odin to take his eyes and let Huggin and Munnin peck at the last of his flesh.
‘Honour the dowry? I cannot imagine you were not well paid, Laird King?’ I hoped my face did not betray me, but I did not trust him. ‘What else could you possibly want my husband to do?’
‘There are Danes.’ He addressed Thorkell, not me. ‘Jarl Finnleik and his men, they have raided farms and villages,surrounding them and killing them. Those that did not fight, the old and the women and children, they were taken as slaves.’
Jarl Finnleik. I had heard that name before, but the memory was as slippery as an eel. I rolled the name around in my head. I wished I had remembered, before what came next. Maybe I would have done more. Begged Sigurd to step in?
‘Taken to the big slave markets in Frankia no doubt or sent back to Danish lands.’
‘What makes you think they were Danes?’ Thorkell’s tone did not change, it never did but I could tell his anger.
‘I know they were Danes.’ My father did not like to be questioned.
‘We do not go to war with Danes.’ Thorkell did not raise his eyes. He carried on picking at his fingers with the tip of the small dagger he’d taken from his waistband.
‘You do not speak for the Jarl.’
‘He does not. But I do,’ I said.
My father’s head snapped towards me. ‘You?’
‘When Jarl Sigurd is not resident, it is I who speaks for my husband.’
