CHAPTER 11
That winter, there had been talk by several families of joining together and setting sail sometime during the following Spring. Life had always been hard in the small northern valley and stories had begun to filter through of other lands not too far away where the climate was more pleasant and the inhabitants less warlike. As soon as the excitement of the comet’s presence had faded, discussions returned to the possibility of finding that land which promised a better soil and milder climate than the narrow fjord valleys which had been home for so many generations. There were known to be rich wooded lands and marshes that teemed with wildlife where a man could provide his family with plentiful food and where winter snows only lasted a few months in the year. Explorers had described such a rich land that lay to the south-west across the wild and stormy seas beyond the safety of the fjord waters. Maybe, that light that had appeared in the sky had been a sign sent from the gods, a sign to tell the men of Sleggvik that now would be a time to prepare for such a voyage. And the more they talked, the more excited everyone became. They decided that as soon as the weather cleared and the fierce winter gales that whipped the waves into a fury had lost their anger, they would send out scout boats to find such lands.
Halldorr became quite interested in the prospect of an exploratory voyage, for he was still haunted by the stories Næmr had told him of her beautiful homeland. Perhaps, somewhere on Midgard there was an entrance way to her world, maybe on the edge of the sea. He’d heard of strange rocks that others had seen on a vast, grassy plain in the island kingdom of the Saxons. Maybe, if he discovered a land richer and more fertile than his own, he could be a great leader of men.
Halldorr had dreams and his dreams made him restless. He dreamt of a future where his sons would have space to grow strong. He dreamt of a place where he could raise his own family without the frequent squabbling over a land that was difficult to farm. He dreamt of a time when he would no longer have to argue with his brother-in law and cousins over how the oxen were to be hitched to the plough. He could demand that the oxen be hitched up to a neck yolk, instead of having to attach the ard to the horns. He dreamt of never having to feel the pangs of hunger when the fishing boats were away and food sources were low. And he dreamt of the child Næmr told him she was carrying. And he wanted to make all those dreams come true. He had a goddess and she had told him of things that no man had ever had in dreams. With her help, he was certain his dreams could come true.
The men continued to talk about their next raid; Halldorr, to dream until his dream became an obsession and he became moody and sullen. Næmr noticed the change in her husband and thought that it was the effects of the long winter days when the cold and the darkness left many warriors depressed. She knew that a restlessness would soon stir within him. As soon as the weather changed and the warmer air drifted north, the men and their boats would be crossing the seas.
“What’s troubling you, Halldorr?”
It was late in the evening and she was having difficulty sleeping as the child in her belly was pushing inside. The thralls had already found their sleeping places. Sleeping mounds of heavy rugs lay clustered on narrow bench seats against the walls. Only heavy breathing and the occasional cough or snore told Næmr that she and her husband were not alone in the house.
“It’s the way some are starting to grumble,” he said propping himself up on an elbow. “Some of the freemen are talking about taking their families away from the village. They say there’s better land and new opportunities and I’ve been thinking of what you told me about your land . . . ”
“But aren’t you happy here?” she asked, immediately having doubt in her mind.
“Happy? Yes. Contented? No. Life’s hard. Winter’s so long and you’ve told me about a place where life’s much better. Surely, there are other places like that.”
Næmr sat bolt upright. She suddenly had a deep-rooted unease.
“You’re not seriously thinking of leaving the farm?”
“It’s worth thinking about.”
Her voice registered alarm.
“What, now?”
“Not now, my dear. When the weather’s better.”
“But what about your father? Jarl Sirgud has the impression that you will take over the running of the farm when you come back from this season’s raids.”
“I realise that. But as soon as my father dies, there’s my sister Ingrid’s husband and cousin Alf and others who will make a claim to his lands. Besides, there are also those who have greedy eyes for some of his best pasture.”
“Isn’t it yours by right?”
“Not exactly,” he replied. “I need to prove to my father’s followers that I am deserving of their continued loyalty. It takes years for a man to build himself up into the position my ageing father holds. Without their support, we would be vulnerable. There are those like Bodvarr who are greedy and sly and any one of them would try to grab the land for themselves.”
Næmr went pale and shuddered when she heard the name of Bodvarr. She was determined to warn her husband of his evilness.
“Don’t mention that name! I don’t like or trust him. Watch him carefully, Halldorr, if it’s the last thing you do.”
“He’s one of the reasons I want to leave. To get you well away from him. I’ve noticed the way he looks at you with contempt in his eyes. I don’t like him! I look to the day when I can be rid of that man.”
Næmr took his hand and placed it on her soft, warm swollen belly.
“Here, feel our bairn. Did you feel it move? Yalda says it’s not due until the early summer. I couldn’t make any journey until then.”
He realised he had to wait for it would be risky to expect her to travel. They would have to wait until their child had been born.
“As soon as the thaw sets in we’ll set sail for the raids. Before I return, I’ll take one of the boats and sail south-west until I find a place where we can farm. I’ll return as soon as I can. If all goes to plan we can set sail with Bjorn and his family.”
“Is he also interested in leaving, too?”
“Yes, together with a couple of more families. We’ll have room for some of our thralls to help us build a new life when we arrive.”
“And you’re sure that’s what you want?”
Halldorr had been moved by the fragments of the stories Næmr had told him about how her own people had crossed the seas to find a new home for themselves. If they could navigate by the stars and tides and discover new lands, then, surely, with his own people’s experiences of sailing, new oportunities were within their grasp.
“You have planted the seed of hope in me. Now I must find a place to nourish it,” he told her.
In some respects, Næmr wished she had kept her memories to herself. She blamed herself for putting such ideas into her husband’s mind. Before the arrival of the comet, Halldorr had appeared happy and contented; now he appeared broody and dissatisfied.
“If you must go, please take care. I’d rather have a husband here than one in Valhalla. Promise, promise.”
He nodded and soaked up the pleasure and enjoyment he felt kissing her full and sensuous lips.
“I will, my lovely dark-haired Næmr. A new life, Næmr, think of that. A happy life. Something we can to look forward to.”
How she loved him when he showed the softer side of his character. It was hard for her now to think of him as a warrior, one of the dreaded raiders who terrorised those who lived in different lands.
He kissed her again.
“Sleep well, my wife.”
He rolled over onto his side and within a short while she could hear his steady, rhythmic breathing that told her that he had quickly fallen asleep.
The weather didn’t begin to settle until late in the Spring. Two of the fishing boats that had gone out into the storm-swept waters of an unpredictable sea had failed to return home, and the anguish felt by the families who had lost their loved ones, together with the loss of the fish, brought feelings of frustration and
anger. This season had seen very little of the valuable cod normally caught so there was not enough spare fish even to dry and take to the spring market at Helgo. Late season gales lashed the coastline bringing down several large trees and smashing many of the small fishing boats that had been pulled up high above the water line. The valuable longboats had been dragged ashore and stored under cover so at least they escaped any damage. Planting had to be delayed as the soil remained cold and wet well into mid-Spring. Traders had set off with their meagre haul of skins and furs, together with the remaining treasures from the previous summer raids in the hope of securing enough food to take the villagers through the unseasonable weather. It became imperative that the longboats set sail as soon as possible in order to return home for a second voyage.
As soon as the wind swung round to the south-west, the slender longboats were dragged out from their shelters and pulled down to the choppy fjord waters. Before they could be used again, their sides had to be re-caulked to make sure they would withstand the pounding seas and new ropes had to be made from walrus skins that had been stored over the winter.
Halldorr spent many hours checking and re-checking to ensure everything possible had been done to make this voyage a success. The thralls that had survived the hardships of winter worked long hours, from the first sign of daylight until the golden sunset began to change into the deep blue-black of night. After many weeks, the boats were ready and the time had arrived to load them up with provisions which would see them through the early weeks of their voyage. The warriors would then have to rely on their skills, plundering seaside settlements to ensure their survival during the period they were away.
Næmr almost wished she could have gone too, to share in the excitement of travel. Like every wife, her job was to run the family farm while her husband was away. Her abdomen had begun to swell and she knew that as the months passed, she would become ugly and fat. Better that her young husband would be away during that time. She wanted the child. It would bind her to this world and make them a family. She would give him many sons and this child would only be the first.
Yes, she thought. It is a good time to look forward to.
She wondered if the child would be fair like Halldorr, with bright blue eyes to remind her of her homeland skies? She could not be certain of that. There was one thing she was sure of, though: that the child she was carrying was a boy, strong and healthy and a future leader of men.
The families that lived in the longhouse grew tense as the forthcoming departure got closer. Sirgud repeatedly expressed regret that he was too old to go on the raid. He was proud that his son was to lead this expedition, for once more his family’s name would be upon everyone’s lips and honour would be theirs when the longboats returned.
“The weather looks settled for a day or two. We’ll set sail - tomorrow, at dawn.”
Halldorr announced the departure when everyone, freeman and thrall alike, had gathered around the large wooden table to eat porridge that calm, early morning. Næmr had not realised the weeks had passed so quickly so when she saw the large number of people at the table, she guessed the day had arrived.
“You’re going? So soon?”
She broke off a hard chunk from the loaf on the table and put it in her mouth, giving time for her saliva to soften it. She knew in her mind that the time had arrived but her heart did not want to let go. The freemen and warriors who had already sworn their allegiance, looked from Næmr to Halldorr. They sensed the young wife was upset.
“My father will look after you,” Halldorr said to soften the blow. “Do you want me to ask Mistress Yalda if she could spare Heggar? You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
She nodded and left the table to the men for it was clear they had much to discuss. She picked up her needlework and sat beside the fireplace, listening to what the men had to say. Household ambatts and thralls quickly cleared away the dishes and scraps of food and left the area to attend to other tasks.
“Will you be sailing due south again this year, my son?” Jarl Sirgud asked his son.
He called for a thrall boy to fill his mug with ale.
Halldorr looked intently from face to face of the men who were about to set sail with him for the strange lands. They were steadfast and loyal, each one. The young jarl stroked his chin and thought about the possibility of sailing west as they usually had done. Only this time there would be an element of risk. The boats would be sailing across wild seas and the men would be venturing deep into Wessex territory.
“No. Not this time, father.” He wondered how his father would take the news. The elderly jarl was always good at concealing his feelings. “We’ve decided to join with a number of other ships and sail to the south-west.”
“Saxon lands? That’s a dangerous place. They’re a warlike people,” the elderly jarl affirmed.
Sirgud drained his mug and got up to move closer to the fire. Halldorr noticed his father had become stiff and slow but in spite of that not much escaped his notice and even though the men had been extra secretive about their destination, the jarl had intuitively worked it out for himself. Halldorr followed his father over to the glowing embers and, together, they sat and discussed the route the ships would be taking.
“We’ll sail west from here until we find the coast. Our flotilla will split. One group will move north past the islands in the north. I’ll lead a group south into the underbelly of the Wessex lands. The waters should be calmer near the shore and we should be able to catch enough fish to replenish our supplies.”
Næmr had a fit of coughing. Halldorr left his father and went over to his wife. Any little ailment made him worry for many men lost their wives during this dangerous time.
“You all right?”
“I’m fine. It was just a bit of smoke. Went down the wrong way.” She reassured him. “Really. It’s you I’m concerned about.”
“You knew this day would come.”
“I know. It’s not today. It’s the dangers you’ll face later on that bothers me. That land, Wessex you say, will be well inhabited. The people there will most surely join to fight you off. You’ll be a threat to them . . . to their land and to their people.”
He kissed her lightly on her forehead.
“Don’t fret. I’ll take care. After all, we’re not the only boat going this time. A new and powerful leader down the coast has invited us to share in his glory. He’s had information that we’ll be made welcome this time for he’s been told the people of Wessex have need of fighting skills such as ours. When we help them drive away their enemies, it’s said they’ve promised us riches beyond our wildest dreams. With my share, I can bargain for some land.”
What Halldorr had said did not allay her concern. She went over to the chest where she kept her bone carved dragon pendant and opened its lid.
“Halldorr, I want you to wear this,” she said holding the ornament in her hand. “If its magical powers kept me safe, surely it’ll do the same for you. Promise me that you’ll wear it while you’re away.”
She turned it over so that the words on the back were uppermost in her hand.
“Strange symbols. What magic does it have?”
“The promise to keep you safe.”
Her large dark eyes clouded over and he knew that she was trying to remember that place far away from him, that distance place where he could not go.
“A long time ago. Such a long time ago.” She sighed. “It was given to me. The dragon-like figure would protect me but there’s something else about it and at the moment I can’t remember it. Oh, Haldorr, it bothers me.”
“Never mind! Odin, Koro, or who ever he is, knows all. We should not question his wisdom, Næmr.”
She looked at him and smiled. She reassured herself that when he returned all would be fine.
“It protected me. I hope it does the same for you. You will promise to wear it, won’t you?” she asked.
She dropped the pendant in his palm. Halldorr’s fingers curled around the bea
utiful object and as he felt its smooth, curved shape he was convinced of the magic it contained.
“But . . . ”
“Promise!”
She placed her fingers over his mouth to prevent him objecting. Then, she took back the pendant and held it up before his eyes.
Its decorated, elongated body swept in sensuous curves between the open mouth and a long arching tail and did not look too dissimilar from the dragon figurehead that decorated his longboat.
“Promise me, Halldorr,” she said firmly.
“Then, I promise.
He stood still while she draped the chain around his neck. She fastened the clasp.
“There it’s on.”
“You can have it back when I return. After all, it was made for you, not me.”
He held her hand to his lips, kissed it tenderly before drawing her so close, so that for a full minute they shared each other’s breath with an embrace that made them, one.
Næmr felt a yearning for him in her breasts. She could feel her nipples tingle as they grew larger with expectation. The intensity of her arousal had increased since she had become pregnant and she clung to Halldorr as if she would never let him go.
“Dear Næmr,” he finally said when he felt her arms relax around his body. “Won’t you walk with me to the water’s edge?”
“To the boats?” she asked letting him be free.
“There’s one last check I need to make before we set off tomorrow at dawn. Vestlasa has given you leave of the ceremony as you are with child. But come, I wish to show you something before I go.” Halldorr suddenly remembered his father and turned to the elderly jarl. “Did you want to come, father?”
“No, Halldorr, you two go. My belly’s full. Besides, I wouldn’t enjoy the walk. My knees are aching and my back’s gone stiff. I’m no longer the young man I used to be. I’ll stay here and rest awhile.”
Halldorr picked up his knife which he kept close to the door frame and stuck it in behind his wide leather belt. His armour and shield hung ready. Spark of Battle, his sword gleamed bright in the flickering light of the wall torches. In the morning the two sleek dragon boats, with their excited young warriors, would be rowed down the fjord where they would sail out into the open sea.
“How will your father take it when you tell him we are going to leave?”
“I hope he will understand. He’s too old and set in his ways to come with us.”
“His health’s not the best,” said Næmr.
She had noticed that Yalda visited him more often to administer some of her herbal medicines. It would not be fair to expect the elderly jarl to make the dangerous sea voyage. But to leave him would be sad for she had got to know and like her husband’s father.
Arm in arm the two walked like lovers entwined. The two moored longboats boats lay silent and still like two huge beached whales, the soft gentle slap and slosh of small waves kissing their clinker hulls. Soon, men would set them free and ride their dragons down the finger fjord and steer them to adventures that lay beyond the edge of the sea.
“This is the boat I’ll sail.” Halldorr pointing to one of the huge thirty meter vessels, its deep red square sail wrapped tightly around the masthead spar. “Storm Maiden. She should serve us well, don’t you think?”
Næmr hoped with all her heart that what he was saying would prove true yet something wrenched her heart in two. For a minute or two she grasped her chest. Her heart beat wildly. The beats were uncontrolled. It made her feel dizzy and sick. It was a horrible feeling and she though she might fall as Halldorr’s voice came through fainter and fainter. She blinked her eyes to bring the shape of the boat into focus again and slowly the voice of her husband returned.
“ . . . and so she is Storm Maiden. She reminds me of you as out of the storm on Jotenfjell, love came into my life. With your dragon pendant next to my heart and my boat with your spirit, you’ll always be with me.”
Suddenly, Næmr had the craziest of ideas come into her head. She spoke upon an impulse without considering the implication her words were to have.
“Let’s carve our names upon the hull! People do it on trees. Two lovers, one heart. Let’s carve our initials so that our names are woven together. Forever.”
“You mean put the sacred runic signs on the boat?”
He was alarmed at her suggestion. It had never been done before and he was unsure of how the gods would react.
“No. Not the sacred runes. Different writing.”
Halldorr looked puzzled. How else could one write if runes were not used? He was not sure that Odin would approve of using the script for anything other than important things. But Næmr, like an excited child, chattered on.
“I’ll write down those signs I showed you on the back of my dragon pendant. Let me show you how.”
“Will the gods allow - ?”
“Of course!” she snapped in haste to ease Halldorr’s doubt. “Why not? I’ll show you. First, on this piece of wood.” She stooped down, for bending was now difficult, and held the wood splinter for him to see. The side of the boat still smelt fresh of tar for it had not been caulked with a mixture of wool and tar in readiness for its ensuing voyage.
He handed over one of the knives he always kept tucked into the top of his belt and watched her as she began to carve the strange shapes. She showed him.
“Aha! Where are you going to put it?”
“You’ll see. Don’t be so impatient, Halldorr. The other side’s best, I think.”
“How will you reach? The other side, I mean? You won’t be able to reach it from the shore.”
It was fortunate that the longboats had such a shallow draft and could be moored in shallow water but even so, one side of the hull had been turned away from the shore. He watched her as she squatted and began to untie the laces that held the top of her boots together. Feet astride, he stood, his hands resting on the knife handles sticking up from his belt.
“Næmr, what are you doing?”
“I’m removing my boots.”
“What for?”
“Without them I can easily wade into the water and reach the other side of the boat.”
“Wouldn’t it be better on this side?” he asked.
“No. I like the other better.”
He couldn’t understand why but let the matter drop. He had come to realise that such was sometimes the way of women and it was better, sometimes, that their husbands did not disagree. Especially when they were with child.
“Wouldn’t it be easier and quicker to get into the boat and lean over the side?”
She laughed.
“What, with my round belly?” Then, just as suddenly she looked alarmed. “Oh no! I can’t do that! Haven’t you forgotten? Women aren’t allowed on dragon boats, are they?”
“Not that I know,” was his answer.
“Maybe, not. I don’t want ill-fortune to ruin your fun.”
“It won’t.”
She continued to tug at her boots until they came off and when her feet were bare she lifted her long skirt up above her knees. It seemed so natural for her but Halldorr did not know what to do. She gripped the knife blade in her teeth and waded out a few feet just beyond the point of the bow.
“That’s not very much like a lady,” he commented.
“I’m no ordinary lady!” She grinned at him. “Now, let’s see,” she murmured as she sought the perfect spot.
Supporting herself against the hull with one hand, she carefully and deliberately began to chip away at the plank with the other. She chiselled out a vertical mark, the first cut for the first letter of her name.
She straightened her back.
“Come on, Halldorr. Have a look.” Her warrior husband climbed into the boat and leaned over the far side. “See? N for Næmr!”
She completed the letter, making sure it had all been well grooved into the wood. She leaned forward again, wielding the knife more skilfully and inscribed the letter ‘A’. Even though the cuts she had to mak
e were straight, she found it difficult to do with the blade of the knife. She laughed.
“I’m not much of a carver. You’d never think that some of my relatives do this for real! There. Done!” She moved back to admire her work. “N - A -.”
“N - A - ,” Halldorr repeated.
Halldorr watched his wife carve the strange signs deep into the timber. When she had finished her name, she ran the knife tip along the bottom of the letters, reading the completed name as she did so.
“N - A - M - R . Næmr ! See, that’s how my name’s written.”
“Næ-mr,” he repeated.
She noticed that he seemed to be fascinated by the unfamiliar pattern. She shared in his enjoyment for his accomplishment.
“Now, I’ll write your name. Vertically to meet mine.” Again she steadied the knife blade on the edge of the ship and began to describe the first letter of his name. “I don’t need to do the ‘A’ as I’ve already got it.” She continued with one ‘L’ and stopped at that to give her aching arm a rest. “So far – Hal - .”
“Hal,” he repeated. “What about ‘Halldorr’?”
“It’s coming. Now, ‘D’ and an ‘R’. It’s hard carving these letters.” She finished and waded back to the shore. “There! H A L D R. . . Halldorr. Our names will be there forever. For ever, and ever, and ever.”
The lettering was not a refined job but Halldorr was impressed. He had never been able to interpret any of the sacred runes and now his own Næmr had shared part of her supernatural knowledge with him. He was certain now that the voyage would be a complete success.
“That’s very clever! Will you show me how to write like that?”
“Sure. They’re not like the sacred runic signs. These are quite different. When you come back from the voyage I’ll teach you. All those I can still remember.”
She laughed, and he laughed with her, and together they shared their secret of the strange writings that had been carved on the side of the ship.
“Næmr, you’re a real carver!”
“Hardly!”
“You’ve put your carving on my boat.”
“But nobody will know what it is . . . or even know it’s there. It’s not like a real carving. Not like the dragon head on your boat.”
“It’s real enough for me. And it’s sacred because you’ve done it. It’s your drakkar as well as mine. I’m the ‘Storm’ and you’re the ‘Maiden’ - Storm Maiden.”
“I think of it as a declaration of our love. Like on the tree. Don’t you forget that, Halldorr!”
“I won’t.”
They joked and laughed with each other. They were so happy and as soon as the voyage was over he promised to take her away.
Early next morning, Halldorr slipped quietly out from under the fur coverings. He kissed his sleeping wife on her forehead and crept through the blackness, groping his way around the tables and benches until he reached the door. He gave the sleeping house boy a kick with his boot. He would need an extra pair of hands to carry the remaining items needed down to the longboat. The young thrall stirred under the pile of straw that was his bed.
“Wake up, boy! Here, take this!”
Halldorr threw a large bundle on top of the boy as he sat trying to shake his body out of a deep. Halldorr felt along the wall until his hand reached the pegs that supported his precious sword, Spark of Battle. It had served his father, Sirgud, and his departed brother and now it was Halldorr’s right to carry it into battle. Carefully, he lifted it down and, holding its decorated gilded hilt, he pushed the blade well down into the sheath that was attached to his wide leather belt.
“Aren’t you up, yet?” He kicked the boy again. “Move it!”
The order was a hissed whisper but it was enough to rouse the boy into action. Halldorr gave him another short kick with the toe of his boot. The boy woke up with a start and grabbed for his outer shirt on the foot of his bed. He began to gather up the things Halldorr had prepared the day before.
Halldorr walked past the large wooden table but before he went towards the door, he hessitated and placed something down on its surface. It was the dragon pendant - Næmr’s pendant. Then, drawing aside the door cloth and unlatching the heavy wooden door, pushed the boy outside.
The early morning dawn was still dark and the air was cool. Only a faint glimmer of daylight squeezed between horizon and cloud as warrior and boy walked down to the boats.
When Næmr awoke, the two dragon boats had already left. She was sad to have missed Halldorr but she knew that the parting would have wrenched at her heart. It was better this way. Besides, she had Yalda and Heggar’s visit to look forward to. Yalda had agreed to swap Heggar for one of Næmr’s ambatts. Næmr had missed the girl since she had moved house for during the period she was at Yalda’s, they had built a close friendship. Yalda had promised Halldorr that she would keep an eye on Næmr until the baby had been born and with Heggar there, she had an extra good excuse for constantly calling in.
The cool, unpredictable Spring finally ended and a warm Summer began to take its place. Mid-summer arrived, and even though this year there had not been much to celebrate, the festivities made a welcome relief. The villagers were not very pleased with the two fertility gods, Frey and Frigg, for since the month of the mysterious celestial light, fishing had been poor and the weather had not been conducive to the growing of crops this year. Næmr first got wind of the discontent when she overheard Yalda warning Heggar to keep a careful watch over her and to report back anything that did not seem right.
“Make sure Næmr is well guarded whenever she goes out. There are some in the village who are blaming her and her strange sayings for bringing the evil light into our skies and causing the fish harvests to be so poor. But I have faith in Næmr. I’m sure that once she’s delivered her bairn, good fortune will return.”
Næmr had been feeling uneasy since the time she and Halldorr had crept down to the dragon boat. She did not know why. She was certain she had obeyed all the laws of the village so she thought it was probably to do with some of the suggestions she had been making. She wanted several openings be cut high into the walls and shutters made which would cover the holes whenever the weather turned cold. She insisted that planks be put down on the earthen floor so that in the sleeping area the floor could be kept cleaner and warmer. But all these ideas had been received with scepticism and suspicion. Sirgud made it quite clear that such things did not concern any women: human or supernatural.
“Do be careful, Næmr,” Yalda warned on one of her visits. “I’ve known women to have been punished for less than anything you’ve said and done. If the priests turn against you, not even the gods would save you from the torment and humiliation you’d suffer. Please take care!”
“I will.”
But the words sounded hollow to her ears. Now that she could remember more things about her previous life, she found it more difficult to accept everything that went on in the village without question. She found herself not fitting into village life and with a household of her own she was finding there were so many restrictions on what she could do. If only she could be herself. If only Sirgud would listen to her ideas but he was not of her generation and he did not understand. Maybe when the baby growing inside her belly was born, then she would belonged.
“Be content in your duties, daughter,” was the only advice Sirgud would give.
Yalda had sent some of her carded wool over for Næmr to use. It would help make a change from the laborious job of unwinding old fabrics and turning them into clothing for the baby. Sirgud sat watching her stretch the yarn between her toes as Yalda had taught her. He was pleased to notice the skilful way she was able to use the spinning stone. Yalda had taught her well.
“Women are always the same when their men are away and a woman with child is the worst of all,” he grumbled.
Næmr patted her swollen abdomen. She could feel the baby stirring inside as a small leg stretched itself out and pushed against the bottom of
her rib-cage.
“I don’t think he’ll be long, now, father,” she commented. “He’s had enough of inside here and wants out. And I want that, too.”
Nine months of waiting were almost over. This child would provide her with a belonging. When her warrior husband returned, she would find her rightful place in this village, at the end of the fjord. She would finally have a place to stand.
The boats had been away for several months. The weather was on the change and there was a hint of chill in the air.
Heggar burst in through Yalda’s door.
“Yalda! Come quickly! It’s N . . . N. . . !”
The girl hopped from one foot to the other in agitation. Words tumbled from her babbling lips so fast that Yalda was unable to make sense of what the girl was trying to say. She sat her down on the edge of the bench-seat and told her to take several deep breaths before trying to repeat what she had been trying to say.
Heggar’s hysteria began to surface again and she could not get out her message.
“Calm down, girl and start again! One deep breath, Heggar. Now, what’s this about Næmr? Has something happened?”
The girl shook her head so vigorously that her thick red curls swished like seaweed in a heavy swell.
“No, mistress. It’s the bairn. I think the bairn’s wanting to be born.”
“How often is she calling out in pain?”
“Don’t know, mistress.”
“Have you any idea, girl?”
“No, mistress, but she’s making a lot of noise - moaning and gripping herself. What do I do?”
Yalda knew she had to calm the girl. Any extra stress on Næmr and the baby could be stillborn or even deformed. So many infants never got to see the light of day.
“Don’t panic. Frigg will protect her.” Yalda fumbled through her belongings and produced a small bronze statue of the goddess Frigg. “Here, take this! Take this back with you and tell Næmr to hold it. Frigg will know how to protect her. I’ll go to get Astrid. She’s brought more babies into the world than any woman in the village. Tell the household ambatts that help’s on hand.” Yalda gave the girl a hefty push to send her on her way. “Go, girl! Run! I’ll be close behind!”
Heggar ran out of the house clutching the precious statue of Frigg close to her body. She hoped Yalda would not take too long. She was full of fear for she’d only been witness to one birth before. She had been only a young child then, and the agonising cries of the dying mother had filled her with an indescribable horror. She could not bear to think that anything like that might happen to Næmr.
Hours dragged, the sun crept high into the sky and still the baby had not arrived. Yalda had made up a special medicine she said would make the baby realise it could not stay in the womb for much longer. They made Næmr sit up, grasping onto what Astrid called ‘the birthing frame’. Astrid squatted behind Næmr and held her by the shoulders. They waited for the medicine to take effect and the contractions to become regular and strong. Næmr twisted and writhed every time her muscles went into spasm.
Yalda held some herbal spices under Næmr’s nose.
“Smell these. It’ll help take the edge off the pain.” Næmr gripped Yalda’s hand. “Hold on to Frigg!”
Næmr moaned again as another contraction arrived. Heggar covered her ears with her hands and retreated into a dark corner of the room.
“Don’t fight against your body!”
Astrid rubbed her hand down Næmr’s back. “Breathe! Smell the herbs!”
In the flickering light of the darkened rooom, Yalda noted the way Astrid’s hands deftly slid over Næmr’s expanded abdomen until her fingers found the place where the baby would appear.
“Bairn’s coming! I can just make out its head!”
Næmr relaxed her muscles after the last contraction. Her body would need all her strength to finally expel the child.
“It’s soooo – ooh! It comes again!”
The expectant mother leaned back, her face glowing with beads of perspiration, panting in short breaths like a thirsty pup.
“It’ll soon be over. It’s women’s pain,” Astrid said. “Men suffer the agonies of battle so it’s right we women experience pain, too. Now, push, puuu-sh, one last push!”
Astrid grasped the sides of the baby’s head and, with an extra large squeeze, it’s little blood-splattered body slid from its mother’s warm body into the cool, dark room.
“My baby cries!”
Næmr bent forward to glimpse the child. She felt relieved and jubilant, an ecstasy she never experienced in her life before.
“A boy!”
Astrid placed the tiny infant into his proud mother’s arms and admired, as she always did, how the mother cradled the baby and hugged him close to her breast. Even though Næmr was exhausted from the birth, the exhilaration of motherhood shined in her face.
“He’s beautiful, Yalda. So beautiful! Isn’t he the best baby in the whole world?”
“Yes. A beautiful bairn, healthy and strong. Wait ‘till Halldorr comes home. He be so proud of you and the bairn.”
As soon as Næmr recovered from the immediate effects of the birth, she remembered something her mother had told her.
“Astrid, can I have my baby’s birth parts? I must have his cord and birthing sac to give to his Earth Mother.”
Neither Yalda nor Astrid had heard of such a request before but they had become used to Næmr’s strange wishes.
Astrid handed over the tiny severed cord together with the birth sack. Næmr took them gently in her hands. She asked for a small piece of linen cloth in which she could wrap the precious flesh and blood that had connected her and her child.
“When I’m strong again, I’ll take this to Yggdrasil and place them in the soft belly of the earth for ever.” She wrapped them with utmost care, taking great pain to fold the material upon itself. “My baby will be tied to the land of his birth just as he was tied to me. When I’m gone, his Earth Mother will nurture and provide for him as I have done.” She called for Heggar and when the young girl had arrived beside the bed, Næmr placed the tiny package into Heggar’s cupped hands. “Put this in the top of my jewellery casket. It’ll be safe until I’m able to get to the tree.”
Her baby her nipple and sucked his mother’s sweet milk. It contained all the goodness of her body that would protect and nourish her child. He stretched one little arm burped a number of times, yawned, and then went back to sleep. He was blissfully unaware of what was taking place around him. He was a contented child. Næmr smiled at her tiny son. How much he reminded her of Halldorr. He had inherited his father’s fair skin but had Næmr’s thick, black hair. He was a perfect link between her world and his.