Betsy Tobin Page 9

  Gerd slaps her hand down hard on the wood. “The necklace is as much yours as theirs,” she says crossly. “You were instrumental in its making.You should get your share.”

  “I will, I will,” he says, trying to appease her.

  “When?” She waits for an answer.

  He feels the burning once again in his face. His entire body is alight. “Soon.”

  His mother stares at him mutely.

  “Soon,” he repeats.

  “Good.” She leans forward and moves another piece, smiling now.

  Berling looks at the board hopelessly, thinking of his brothers.

  What would they have him do?

  FULLA

  The morning after Dvalin’s departure, Hogni and Fulla leave for the Althing. It is a perfect midsummer day. Large white clouds billow and drift aimlessly across a pale blue sky. From the farm at Laxardal, they ride west across the grassy dales towards the sea. By late afternoon, they reach the shores of Hvammsfjord, where the Lax river meets the ocean.They turn south and ride along the shore for a time, watching heavy breakers roll in along the black sands. Far off across the water, a dark purple mountain looms on the horizon, signalling the furthest western reaches of the country. The fjord is dotted with small dusky islands, barren outcrops of rock, desolate and uninhabitable. Dozens of swans and gulls wheel overhead, their cries at times swallowed by the wind. Fulla relishes the sight and smell of the ocean, for it has been many months, all through the long winter, since she has been to the coast.

  That night, they make camp within sight of the sea, and are lulled to sleep by the sound of breakers rolling into shore. The next morning they wake to heavy fog. After a quick breakfast of flatbread and cheese, they turn inland, heading south across the foothills of a vast range of deep red mountains. Gradually, they leave the fog behind them, and the sky above the jagged peaks warms to a pale yellow. Three times that day, they must ford rivers, searching for hoof prints in the riverbank to find a safe crossing. The horses’ nostrils flare when they first enter the rushing waters; their eyes strain white with effort when they are eventually forced to swim. That second night, they reach a small farm on the banks of the Kvita River, old friends of Hogni’s who welcome them with tankards of ale and a hearty meal of smoked mutton. Already Fulla is exhausted from two days’ travel. Her legs are stiff and her backside is sore from the saddle. She eats quickly and finds a spot on a sleeping pallet at the far end of the hall, while Hogni and the others drink late into the night.

  On the third day, they leave the farm behind them and continue south, past an enormous dry lake basin. They ride across the sandy bottom of the lake, and at its far end pass through two narrow lava crags, before emerging onto a vast green plain, where they pause to rest and graze the horses. After a few more hours, the grassland gives way to lava shield, its black and jagged surface disguised by blueberry and willow and dwarf birch. Hogni stops and surveys the land around them. “Now we are close,” he says with an approving nod. “Just a few hours more.” Fulla smiles gratefully. The horses pick their way carefully across the lava, until she catches sight of an enormous lake shimmering in the distance. “Laugarvatn,” says Hogni. They reach the edge of the shield, from where she can see the entire plain of Thingvellir laid out before her.

  “Look,” says Hogni, pointing into the distance, “the Rift Rock of the People.” She surveys the two enormous gashes in the rock, where the earth has torn itself asunder and the river Oxnare snakes its way through the valley. She can see the enormous basalt cliff that forms the backdrop for the lawspeaker, and the grassy plains in front, studded with hundreds of encampments. Her heart races at the sight of it. Without realising, she smiles.

  “So,” says Hogni, eyeing her. “The Althing at last. You’ve waited long for this.”

  “Eleven years,” she replies, without once taking her eyes from the scene.

  “Has it been that long?” Hogni muses. “Come. Our booth will be ready.”

  They begin the descent into the valley, and as they approach the encampment, find themselves the object of much scrutiny. Hogni nods to those he recognises and stops to greet a few old friends warmly. But it is Fulla, with her long hair and pale complexion, who draws the most attention. She quickly sees that men outnumber women at the Assembly by far. She feels a flutter of apprehension and excitement.

  They ride around the outside of the encampment until they reach the northern edge. Hogni then works his way slowly through the crowd with Fulla close behind. They pass dozens of tents and booths, each stuffed with provisions and people of all ages chatting amiably, and women stirring pots over campfires. She had forgotten the sheer scale of the event. There are hundreds of people here, perhaps thousands—never has she seen so many assembled in one place.

  Hogni comes to a halt in front of their booth, set low against a hillock, the last but one in its row. Fulla slides off her horse and surveys the camp. Like the others, the booth has been made of solid rock foundations and thick turf walls. Across its ceiling is a broad canvas of saffron-coloured sail-cloth. The late afternoon sun casts a pale yellow glow into the booth’s interior. “Well?” says Hogni.

  “It’s perfect,” she replies.

  Hogni beams. Inside, his men have already organised their provisions for the days to come. Fulla steps inside and sees the jugs of beer and mead, smoked meats hanging from the rafters, sackcloths of grain and wooden barrels of skyr. At the rear of the booth, the sleeping pallets are stacked one upon the other to the ceiling. At night, they will be laid out side by side, covering almost the entire floor.

  “Greetings, Hogni!” Fulla turns to see an old man wearing a broad felt hat and a shaggy fur cloak clasp her grandfather warmly.

  “Ari,” exclaims Hogni, “it is good to see you!”

  “And you, my old friend. Your journey was uneventful, I hope.”

  “Brief by comparison to your own.”

  Ari shrugs. “A man must endure a bit of hardship for the greater good,” he says with a smile. “You’ve brought a companion,” he says, turning to Fulla.

  “Fulla, meet my old friend Ari. From the Lake of Light in the north.”

  Fulla smiles. “The Lake of Light is very far, is it not?”

  “I was two weeks coming,” he explains. “It is a great pleasure to finally meet Jarl’s child.”

  “The pleasure is mine,” she replies.

  “You must keep a close eye upon her,” he says to Hogni. “She’ll have few rivals here.”

  “Then we will have no trouble in our mission,” says Hogni.

  “Grandfather,” she admonishes, blushing.

  “Betrothal is an honest business, Fulla. One need not be ashamed.”

  “And you need not be so pointed in your address,” she scolds.

  “Come. There will be plenty of time for quarrelling,” says Ari. “Now we must celebrate your arrival with a drink.”

  They have barely set aside their packs when Ari leads them through the crowd to his own booth. Along the way, they pass young boys wrestling in the tall grass and men playing draughts on rough hewn log benches. At one corner, a small group has gathered to hear a recitation by a skald. The poet is tall and dark, with thick bristly eyebrows that jump animat edly while he speaks.

  Finally, they pause in front of Ari’s booth, and an older woman immediately comes out to greet them, her face plump and criss-crossed with tiny lines. She and Hogni embrace warmly, then she turns at once to Fulla. “We have waited long to meet you,” she says with an engaging smile. Despite her age, she is a handsome woman. She wears a gown of finely spun moss-green wool, held in place at the shoulder by two elaborately cast bronze brooches. Between them hangs a string of amber-coloured beads. “She is the image of Jarl, is she not?”

  “She is far prettier,” says Ari. He hands them each a cup of ale and beckons them to drink. A moment later, a youth emerges bleary-eyed from the back of the booth.

  “Ah,” says Ari. “Hogni, meet my brother’s grandson.”<
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  The youth smiles sheepishly at them, still rubbing sleep from his eyes. His face is wide and heavy set, and his nut-brown hair thick and tousled. “Greetings,” he says. “You must forgive me. I rode all night to get here.”

  “From where have you come?” asks Fulla.

  He looks at her with interest. “From the far north, near Axafjord.”

  “I’ve heard of it.”

  “You’ve not been there?” he asks.

  “No.”

  “The north has a beauty all its own,” he says. “You should visit us one day.”

  “I should like to.”

  “Cold,” says Hogni shaking his head. “Too cold for my liking.”

  Ari slaps him on the back. “You’re not invited! But Fulla is welcome anytime,” he jests.

  “What news of Thangbrand and his men?” asks Hogni.

  “They arrived yesterday. They’re in a separate encampment to the east.”

  “How many?”

  “A few hundred. Or more. The lines were quickly drawn. They nearly came to blows yesterday. But the lawspeaker intervened. It is now up to him to decide. Both sides have agreed to abide by his decision.”

  Hogni frowns. “Where is he now?”

  “In seclusion. He has shut himself within his booth, under his cloak, since yesterday afternoon.”

  Hogni raises his eyebrows in disbelief. “Is he alive?”

  “Of course he is! He is merely taking his time. A great weight rests upon him with this decision.”

  “The weight of an entire country! When will he emerge?”

  “Who knows? Soon, I hope.”

  Hogni grunts. “I see we’ve missed a great deal.”

  “Perhaps not. His decision is what counts.”

  Hogni finishes his drink and hands the cup back to Ari’s wife. “Come, Fulla,” he says decisively. “We must unpack our things. Who knows when the lawspeaker will emerge from under his cloak? Or what the result will be?”

  They bid farewell and return to their booth, where they spend the next hour unpacking and organising their provisions. Hogni stops frequently to greet old acquaintances, and after a time, Fulla wanders out into the crowd on her own. She makes her way towards the law rock, where a barrel chested man speaks passionately about matters relating to land law. She listens for a time, eyeing up the crowd, made up mostly of old men. There is a mood of distraction in the air, as if the entire crowd is waiting. After a few minutes, she grows restless and turns to go, but as she winds her way back through the crowd, she sees an excited throng form just ahead of her. She sees Thorgeir the lawspeaker standing in front of his booth, his face creased with a frown. He still wears the woollen cloak wrapped tightly around his shoulders. His long grey hair hangs loose and his face seems taut with strain. The crowd continues to gather around him, until he finally moves off purposefully towards the direction she is coming from. The crowd heaves all around her. With a grim face and a resolute air, Thorgeir walks straight past her towards the law rock. Behind him, the crowd surges and jostles her along. She casts a backward glance in the direction of their booth, but does not see Hogni in the crowd. Before long, she and many others have been buoyed along and pushed up against one side of the rock wall, where she manages to perch upon a ledge a few feet off the ground.

  Thorgeir advances to the law rock and quickly claims the attention of all those around. He turns and stares out over the crowd, waiting for the throng to settle. After several moments, a hush falls across the valley floor. Taking this as a signal, Thorgeir clears his throat and begins to speak. “I bring you greetings,” he begins slowly. “And my most fervent hopes for peace.” He pauses meaningfully. “Many years ago, the ground beneath our feet was rent by forces beyond our control. Whether you believe the fate of this valley lies in the hands of one god—or many—I urge you to listen. Just like the rocks we stand upon, our country is at risk of being torn asunder by two opposing faiths. Until now, our great strength as a people has been that we have been united by a common belief, and more importantly, by a common law. If we divide the law, we must then divide the peace. Discord and hostility will prevail, and Iceland will be ruined.” A wave of noise erupts from the crowd. Thorgeir pauses, allowing time for the throng to settle. Fulla glances around her uneasily.

  “We must, as one people, embrace one solution to this conflict. Violence should not be the means by which we find this solution. We must not let those prevail who are most eager to go against each other, but let us mediate the matter between the two sides so that each may win part of his case. I therefore propose that the Assembly allow me to strike a compromise—that we all have one and the same faith, and one and the same law.” Thorgeir pauses again, allowing his words to reverberate across the valley floor. Fulla hears the crowd stir and murmur. She sees a number of heads bobbing vigorously in assent. “Hear, hear!” calls a man standing several feet away. “Let the lawspeaker pronounce!” A cry goes up from the crowd. Thorgeir nods and raises his hands to silence them.

  “I have pondered long and hard, and the choice is not an easy one. But I have come to the conclusion that the key to our preservation is change. I proclaim that from this day forward, we shall all adopt the Christian faith. Those who have not yet received baptism shall do so here and now, before the Assembly adjourns.” Again the crowd stirs, and a number of angry voices can be heard. Thorgeir moves to silence them. “However,” he shouts loudly above the din, “the old faith may still be practised in the privacy of one’s home. And the old laws shall stand to protect these practices insomuch as they are carried out in secret. But severe penalties shall be imposed on those who publicly flaunt the old ways.” He pauses, allowing his words to sink in. “Let this be my decision,” he says finally.Then he steps down from the law rock and makes his way through the crowd, his face set, his eyes directed forward.

  Fulla scans the throng but does not see Hogni, and wonders whether he has heard the lawspeaker’s pronouncement. She dreads his reaction, for he is bound to be angry. As her eyes sweep across the crowd, they alight on the men of Skallagrim’s clan. Her eyes focus on the small knot of men and finally come to rest on Vili. From far across the crowd, he is staring intently at her. She feels her face redden and instantly looks away. In the next second, she ducks through the crowd, her heart beating hard.

  The booth is empty when she reaches it, but after a minute Hogni arrives with Ari, deep in conversation. She sees at once from the grim set of his face that he has heard. He barely acknowledges her as he enters the booth. “Is our faith rotten to the core?” He says angrily to Ari. “Or are we just indifferent?”

  “Neither. Come Hogni, you must see: Thorgeir made the only choice he could. One that allows us to continue our way of life without interference.”

  Hogni scowls, his eyes sweeping the tent. “I need a drink,” he grunts.

  Fulla moves to him. “Let me, grandfather.” She finds two ceramic cups and fills them with ale from a cask in the corner, handing one to each of them. Hogni takes the cup and downs it in one long gulp, wiping his face with the back of his hand.

  “Perhaps,” he admits with a sigh.

  “It was necessary—both to prevent bloodshed and preserve our independence. That is what matters most! Iceland must remain free from outside interests.”

  “Yes,” Hogni concedes. “Perhaps you are right.”

  Ari reaches for his arm and holds fast to his wrist. “It was bound to happen,” he says intently. “Things could not remain the same. Come! You knew this deep inside.”

  Hogni meets his gaze with a frown, and the two men stare at each other silently for a long moment. Ari lets go of his wrist. “It need mean nothing for you personally, Hogni,” Ari continues. “You can still worship any way you choose. Besides, it is just a bit of water splashed about the face,” he says, breaking into a smile.

  “You’ll not catch me ducking my head in the freezing waters of Laugarvatn!”

  “You can stop at the hot springs on the way home,”
laughs Ari.

  Hogni manages a conciliatory smile. “Who would have thought we’d come to this?” he says, shaking his head. “Not in my lifetime.” He slaps his hand upon the table forcefully. “Come! Let us refill our drink and toast what we have left.” He raises his glass. “To independence.”

  “Here, here,” concurs Ari.

  “Let us forget the matter of worship,” says Hogni. “And concentrate on more important business. Such as Fulla’s betrothal.”

  Ari turns to her with an approving smile. “Indeed. We must find you a suitable match.”

  “I already have one in mind,” says Hogni triumphantly.

  Fulla’s eyes widen with alarm.

  FREYA

  Each will have a night with me. That is our agreement. Some would think me mad. But the Vanir are a practical race. We do what must be done. No sooner had Grerr rolled the stone back in place to conceal the Brisingamen than I felt a twist of pain at its absence. I pine for it even now, like a lost love.

  Still, there is something about the bartering of flesh that unsettles me. I have been with many men in the past, have given myself freely. I am neither proud nor ashamed of that history. I’ve discovered that the body and mind can operate independently of one another, if necessary, and that this is a blessing. But I wonder whether I will regret the price paid in future. Whether it will somehow taint the necklace. Or me.

  A night is just a speck of time, I tell myself. And while Grerr may be unpleasant, the other two are not. I confess I feel a small stab of guilt when I think of Berling, for he is barely on the cusp of manhood. But this fades when I remember the necklace and its warm weight of gold in my hand. I know that I would do far more, if necessary, to feel that weight again.

  Anyway, it is too late for doubts, as one of them is already waiting. I prepare myself carefully: make myself a bride. Grerr is to be first. The order has been worked out between them, and was the subject of some deliberation. Alfrigg will be second and Berling will be third, because the one they call Dvalin is away. They do not know when he is expected to return. Apparently, I must wait, if I am to have the necklace. I can only hope his sojourn does not run to years.