Sigrun's Secret (5 page)

‘How’s Thora?’ I was asked from all sides. Someone clutched my sleeve, I think it was Hild; I caught a glimpse of her worried face. Someone else was tugging at my other arm. ‘Will she be all right, Sigrun?’

I felt crushed by so many expectations. ‘I think so,’ I said, dazed. ‘Her leg is broken and she needs quiet. I think, well … I must get her some medicine.’ I felt a wave of dizziness come over me, and I swayed a little.

‘Let Sigrun alone!’ Asgerd ordered the others. ‘Can’t you see she needs some peace to think about a cure?’

At once there was space and air around me and I could breathe again. I gave Asgerd a tremulous but grateful smile. ‘What can I do to help?’ she asked, hiding her own concern under a brisk manner.

‘I’m going to brew a tea from willow bark,’ I told her. ‘So I’ll need hot water.’

Asgerd nodded and picked up the water pitcher, but it was empty.

‘I’ll fill it,’ said a quiet, calm voice, and Ingvar took the pitcher from Asgerd’s hands and left the house.

‘Don’t mind the others fussing you like that,’ said Asgerd in an under-voice. ‘They’re worried. Your mother’s the heart of the household, and we all want her to be well.’

‘I understand,’ I told her, and bit my lip. All these people, all my family and friends, were depending on me. It was a good thing they couldn’t see how I doubted myself and my abilities.

I went to the storeroom, my mother and Asgerd’s domain, and unlocked the door with the large iron key. I loved this room, with its rich smell of stored butter, cheese, dried fish and meat, and barrels of
skyr
, the milk curds we preserved the summer berries in. As autumn approached there would be grain and vegetables too, stored against the coming of the long, dark winter.

Today, it wasn’t the food that interested me. I went straight to the medicines. The powerful and dangerous medicines, my mother kept in a locked chest. I didn’t need those today, thank the goddess. I would scarcely trust myself with them. The willow bark was stored hanging from the rafters with many other dried barks and plants. I broke off a tiny piece, locked the door carefully behind me and took the bark to the fireside.

I stooped to pick up a stone pot and began to grind the willow bark in it. Most people had found tasks to do now, or Asgerd had found some for them, and I was left in peace to work. As I pounded the bark, I found my hands were shaking and had no strength in them. This brought tears to my eyes. Mother needed me to be strong and here I was, as weak as a new-born kitten and now crying into the bargain. Ingvar returned with the water, and gave it to Asgerd to heat. I hurriedly turned my face away so he wouldn’t see my tears, but it was too late. He was already crouching beside me, one hand on my shoulder.

‘Sigrun, are you all right?’ he asked.

I nodded, not trusting my voice.

‘Here, let me do this,’ said Ingvar, taking the tools gently from me and beginning to pound the bark himself. Like fetching the water, this was women’s work, and the surprise at seeing him undertake it stopped my tears.

‘Thora will recover, Sigrun,’ Ingvar said as he worked. ‘My father broke his leg too, when I was just a baby. He doesn’t even limp.’

‘I know,’ I replied, dashing the last tears away with the back of my hand and trying to regain control of myself. ‘But he had my mother to set the bone for him. She’s told me about it. My mother only had … me.’

‘You should have faith in yourself,’ said Ingvar. ‘The rest of us trust you.’

‘Do you?’ I asked him sceptically. ‘Tell me truthfully; if you’d broken your leg, and I and not my mother arrived to set it for you, wouldn’t you wish it was her?’

‘Absolutely not,’ Ingvar assured me. ‘I would be pleased you were going to tend me.’

I was certain Ingvar was lying. But his lie sprang from kindness, and I was grateful for it, so I smiled a little and said nothing.

‘Here you are,’ said Ingvar, handing me back the bark. ‘Will that do?’

I shook the finely-ground powder. ‘Thank you,’ I said. I put it into a goblet and poured a ladleful of hot water into it, stirring carefully.

‘What did the runes say, Sigrun?’ asked Asdis from across the fire where she was sitting sewing.

I looked over at her, the flickering orange light dancing on her concerned face, and all my courage drained away again. She was assuming I’d already consulted the runes as my mother always did in cases of sickness and injury.

The runes. Dear Freya, please. Not the runes. The small leather bag of pebbles was lying beside my furs in the sleeping loft. My mother had given them to me for my tenth birthday, each pebble painstakingly painted with a sacred rune. She’d told me their secrets over the years, instructing me in their use, explaining and demonstrating often.

After all these years they still meant nothing to me. They spoke a language I didn’t understand. I read them slowly, clumsily, always unsure how to interpret their message. It was a shameful secret I hid even from mother. The goddess knew my failure, but to the rest of the world, I pretended. I became aware I was still staring at Asdis, and that she was waiting for my reply.

‘I’ll read them later,’ I mumbled. ‘There’s no need to consult the runes over such a simple remedy as this.’

She frowned, but didn’t press me. My legs shook a little as I got up to take my mother the medicine. Ingvar’s words had soothed me, but Asdis had undone that with her question, and it was with some trepidation that I went in to my mother’s room. I hoped she wouldn’t think I’d selected the wrong medicine.

I found her and my father hand-locked, talking fast in urgent voices. They broke off as I entered.

‘I brought you … ’ I began, and then my voice trailed off as I looked from one to the other of them. ‘What were you talking about?’ I asked.

‘There are plans to be made, Sigrun,’ said my father. ‘We’ll tell you all you need to know soon enough.’

I felt anger rise in me and shut my lips tightly to keep it in. I was frightened and doing my best to help, and
still
they wouldn’t trust me with whatever secret they were keeping from me. ‘Why won’t you tell me now?’ I asked, trying, but not succeeding, to ask calmly.

Father seemed not to notice I had spoken. He bent and kissed my mother’s hands passionately and then withdrew. I stood frozen. I didn’t know whether fear or hurt was uppermost in me as he brushed past me without another glance.

‘What have you brought me?’ my mother asked. Her voice was so faint and weak that my fear won. She needed nursing, not a confrontation. So I swallowed down the turmoil of thoughts and feelings within me, sat down beside her and offered the goblet. She sniffed at it and pulled a face.

‘Willow. I can bear the pain, Sigrun, my dearest, without this.’

‘I know. But you need to rest. And there may be fever. It’s what you would prescribe to anyone else.’

My mother grimaced and sipped at the liquid obediently.

* * *

The rest of the day was long. My father kept everyone close to the house and set guards to watch the approaches. We ate and worked mainly in silence, a numbing sense of fear and uncertainty stealing over all of us as we realized my father expected serious trouble. A pregnant woman and a mother with tiny children were sent to Helgi’s to stay. My father took them himself and stayed a while, probably to consult his friend.

‘Can you think why anyone would want to harm us?’ I whispered fearfully to Ingvar as we sat down together to eat nightmeal. ‘We’re on good terms with neigh bours near and far. We heal their hurts and deliver their babies.’

‘It’s as much a mystery to me as it is to you,’ he said. ‘It must be something to do with those men that came this morning. I’ll stay here until Bjorn feels safe again, if you’d like me too?’

‘Of course,’ I said, and then blushed.

Sleep was a long time coming that evening. The atmosphere in the house was edgy. My father retired into his room to be alone with my mother as soon as nightmeal was over. I lay in the sleeping loft, unable to get comfortable in my furs, endless and frightening possibilities turning over in my mind. Late in the night I fell into a deep sleep, from which a shout abruptly roused me. I sat up, confused and disorientated, my heart hammering.

My mother’s voice was speaking below, quiet but agitated. Something was wrong; perhaps she was in pain. I dragged my kirtle over my head and scrambled past the other young women towards the edge of the loft. I could hear other voices down in the main house now and movement. What was going on?

As I climbed down the ladder, there was enough light to make out the men of the household, every one of them up and dressed with weapons in their hands. My heart almost stopped in pure fright. ‘Father?’ I cried, seeing him standing by the door, peering out through a crack he’d pulled the woollen stuffing out of.

‘Hush, Sigrun!’ he said, his voice low, but urgent. ‘Wake the women and children and take them into the hidden passageway. As fast as you can. Keep as quiet as possible.’

‘Why? What’s going on?’ I asked, feeling my mouth go dry and my hands start to shake.

My father looked at me and hesitated. ‘Don’t be frightened,’ he said. ‘We’ll keep you safe.’

His words made me more afraid than ever. What was so terrifying that I couldn’t even look at it? Giants? Demons? Trolls? I slipped past him, and put my own eye to the gap he’d been looking through.

The glimpse I caught before father pulled me away made my blood freeze in horror: I could see black-clad men on horseback around the house. Some were carrying drawn swords, others had lit torches, the flames flickering and jumping in the wind. My mother’s vision had come true.

It wasn’t dark out. Instead the world was bathed in that subdued, early morning light before the sun rose. So why did the men need torches? I looked up at my father, frightened, clutching his arm. ‘What do they want?’ I whispered in a strangled voice. Father laid his free hand over my grasping fingers.

‘We’ll find out soon enough, but you can see it’s nothing good, Sigrun,’ he whispered. ‘I need you to be brave. Now you’ve seen, do as I tell you.’

I fought the fear that chilled me and hurried to obey him. Climbing back into the loft on limbs that were clumsy with terror and the need for haste, I woke the young women with hurried shaking and a finger to their lips to hush them before they could speak. ‘Don’t make a sound,’ I whispered each time. ‘Dress warmly and come downstairs. We’re in danger.’

We were all down the ladder in just a few moments, some girls whimpering in fear. The married women who slept downstairs were already up and dressed, waiting for us, their children clutching their hands. A dreadful thought struck me.

‘What about mother? She can’t walk with us.’

‘I’ll take care of Thora,’ said my father grimly.

‘But … can’t we carry her?’ I asked. I knew as I said it, it was stupid. None of us were strong enough to carry anyone in the confined space of the tunnel; her leg would be horribly jarred.

‘Trust me, Sigrun,’ ordered my father. He was efficient, decisive, and cool, giving orders and expecting them to be obeyed at once. It was a side of him I rarely saw, but I knew it well enough not to argue.

‘Go now. Stay hidden in the passageway.’ He turned abruptly. ‘Ingvar, go with them, please.’

Ingvar stepped forward from the shadows. ‘I want to fight,’ he objected, gripping his sword.

‘It may not come to that.’

‘But I … ’

Father stepped forward and grasped Ingvar’s arm. ‘I have another task for you, if you have the courage for it.’

Ingvar’s eyes flashed in the gloom and he stood straighter.

‘When you’ve taken the women into the tunnel, follow it right along to the far end, take my fastest horse from the stable and ride to your father’s for help. Do you dare do that? There’s a risk you’ll be caught.’

‘I dare,’ said Ingvar. Swiftly, he led us all to the tunnel. As we reached it, I turned again and ran back to my mother’s room. She lay on her bed staring at the ceiling, her hands clenching and unclenching. She jumped as I knelt beside her.

‘What are you doing?’ she asked fiercely. ‘Go with the women, and stay safe!’

I bent and kissed her cheek, and then I ran after the others. Asgerd lifted the false section of wall made of woven sticks and rushes. We all ducked under it and descended the rough steps carefully. The secret passageway had been built for precisely such an emergency as this. It was lined with rocks and clay, and smelt damp and musty with disuse. It led underground, up the hill some distance to a hidden exit just above the stables.

We all halted as the last person entered the tunnel and the wall was closed behind us. It was hard to see who was who in the murky darkness, though I could make out a cloud of indistinct, pale faces. I made my way past them one by one, hoping to find Ingvar.

‘Who’s attacking us?’ asked little Jorunn in a high-pitched voice, clutching her mother’s hand.

‘Shhh,’ said Astrid, crouching down and hugging her close. ‘No one’s attacking us.’

There was a buzz of frightened whispers and a few suppressed moans.

‘You must be quiet,’ Ingvar’s voice spoke from right beside me, deep in contrast to the women’s voices. ‘If you make a noise, you’ll give us away.’

The frightened murmur hushed at once apart from a quiet sobbing. I couldn’t tell who it was. In the darkness, Ingvar took my hand and pressed it.

‘Please be careful,’ I whispered. I felt sick at the thought of him riding out alone past all those men.

‘I’ll be too quick for them,’ Ingvar promised. Then he let go of my hand and moved off up the tunnel, his footsteps fading quickly.

‘Will we be safe here?’ whispered Halla.

‘No one will find this tunnel,’ said Asdis’s voice in the darkness.

‘We don’t know that,’ I whispered. ‘It’s never been used before.’

‘It has,’ said Astrid, and even her whisper shook with fear. ‘We hid here twice when I was a child.’

I fell silent, realizing there were more secrets being kept than I had any idea of. I felt betrayed. ‘Men clothed in black,’ I said, remembering my mother’s vision. ‘What’s the significance of black?’