Far After Gold (6 page)

A sharp edge dug painfully into the soft flesh of her instep, her ankle turned and she sprawled full length. She flung out a hand to save herself, pain shot up the inside of her arm and a swear word her father would have shaken his head over shot out of her mouth. She scrambled to her feet, searching for the child, and limped towards the water.

She hesitated on the weathered wooden planks of the jetty and stared frantically round. The shorelines stretched in both directions as far as she could see, shadowy and black where bushes and shrubs grew, white and silver where stones reflected back the light of the moon. Behind her lay the settlement, with its hall and byres and boat sheds, the family cabins and huts where the slaves slept. But where was the child?

The dog whined softly, and Emer turned sharply. There, out on the very edge of the jetty, hovering over the drop to deep water, the moonlight shone on a short, pale tunic.

“Oh!” Emer’s hand flew to her mouth. It might not be wise to shout. Instinct told her to go to the boy, but if she ran and grabbed him, the frightened child might bolt the wrong way and topple over the edge and into the water.

For a long moment the world stood still, and then several things happened at once. Emer lurched forward, a strong hand grasped her shoulder and a voice she knew hissed in her ear. “I’ll get him.”

Flane, as silent as a ghost, sped by her towards the end of the jetty. He reached the child, faster than she would have done, and knelt at his side without touching him.

Emer limped over and knelt on the wooden boards. The child’s eyes were open, but he did not seem to see her, or Flane. She waved a hand in front of his face, but there was no response. The dog sat close by the boy’s feet, tongue lolling, watching.

“He sleepwalks,” Flane said quietly. “His name is Oli, and he’s an orphan.”

“Oh! So what should we do?”

Flane put a careful hand round the child’s waist and drew him away from the water.

“Come to me, Oli. It’s time to go to bed.”

The child crept in close at the whispered words and curled up against Flane’s chest. Flane gathered him in, and rose to his feet with the boy straddling his hip bone. Emer’s throat ached at his tenderness and she swallowed painfully as she walked beside him. She kept her eyes on the child. The dog bounced up, trotted a few paces ahead of them and turned, one paw raised.

The boy relaxed, his head tucked beneath Flane’s chin. Emer sighed. It was impossible to believe this was the same man she had feared so much earlier in the day.

They walked slowly away from the end of the jetty, and Flane spoke quietly into the night air. “He used to go down to meet his father returning from a voyage, but when Barni fell overboard one day, his body was never found. We all knew he was never coming back, but no one seemed able to explain to Oli that his father was dead. There was no body, so I suppose the boy thinks….”

He ducked his head to glance at the sleeping child.

Emer matched his quiet tone. “But what of his mother? Could she not comfort the boy?”

“The same year she was brought to bed of a child that killed her. The child died, too. That was even harder to explain to the boy.” His voice was suddenly grim. “Come this way,” he added. “Avoid the stones.”

Emer had the oddest sense that there was more to the child’s story than she had heard, but Flane, with his long legs, covered the ground quickly and was already very close to the hall. “So who looks after him?”

Flane stopped just outside the door. “Everyone, and no one.”

She couldn’t be sure in the dimness, but she thought he smiled down at her. “We look after him as best we can, but he knows he has no one of his own. In the daytime, you would not know it was a problem to him, but since that year he has walked in his sleep. Not every night, but often enough.”

He pushed the door open with his elbow and stepped over the threshold board. The dog skipped by as Emer carefully shut the door behind them.

Flane walked straight back to his own sleeping space, and waited until Emer scrambled in and lay close to the wall. He laid the sleeping child down and stretched out beside him. She saw the sense of it. If the boy felt their warm presence, it might be of some comfort to him. And at the very least, if he went wandering again, one of them would know it.

She lay for some time, listening to the sound of breathing. Flane was soon asleep, and the boy Oli never woke at all. The dog curled up at the foot of the bed, yawned widely and tucked its nose under its tail.

Emer could not get rid of the picture of Flane gathering the child to him. It caught at her heart strings for so many reasons, and brought tears to her eyes.

***

Emer opened her eyes next morning and found herself eyeball to eyeball with a black and white dog. A pink tongue flicked out and licked her nose. Emer twitched and saw the sleepwalking child, now wide awake, lying beside the dog.

“Hullo,” the boy said. He seemed unsurprised to wake up next to a stranger, or to find himself in a strange bed. “Why am I in your bed?”

“It’s not my bed,” she said sleepily and turned over onto her back. “It’s Flane’s bed.”

There was a pause. “Flane isn’t here.” The small voice was puzzled.

“Oh, isn’t he? Oh!” Her mind cleared and she sat up so suddenly the boy stared open mouthed. She looked round the hall. People barely stirred, but of Flane there was no sign. She looked back at the boy.

A pair of intelligent hazel eyes stared back at her from beneath a shaggy thatch of brown hair. “Flane wasn’t here when I woke up.” There was an accusatory note in his voice. “I think it’s your bed.”

Emer rolled onto her side and propped her head on her flat palm. She opened her eyes wide and fixed him with an intense stare. “This bed space belongs to Flane Ketilsson. I am a guest here, just as you are.”

Oli blinked. “You’re pretty.”

Emer laughed.

“You’re even prettier when you smile.”

“You’re a very clever boy, but you seem to be missing certain clothes. Where are your breeches?”

Oli looked down at his lower limbs, and then back at her. “In my sleeping space?”

“I expect they are. Shall we go and get them before you catch cold?”

Oli scrambled off the bed and offered her his hand. The dog leapt off and waited, ready to go wherever they went. Emer looked at the small round dent it had left behind in the mattress and made a mental note to check for fleas when she returned. Oli led her across the hall to a small sleeping space squeezed in the corner between two larger spaces, and Emer’s heart contracted.

The boy needed to be with people, not shut away in his own small space. No wonder he had problems sleeping. She looked at the small mattress and the two indentations, one undoubtedly Oli shaped, and the other round hollow where his dog curled up beside him. There would be fleas and sheep tics and goodness knows what else in there. She made a second mental note to speak to Flane about it.

The boy took his breeches from a wooden peg hammered into the wall and shook them briefly before he climbed into them. He pulled the drawstring, fastened it and smiled. “It must be time to eat now.”

“I think I’ll go outside and wash my face and hands first. Do you want to come with me?”

“Ugh.” Oli shivered. “The water will be cold.”

“I thought little boys like you were so brave they never noticed how cold the water was. You can stay here if you like.”

He thought about it. “I’ll come with you.”

“Don’t you want to put your shoes on?”

He shrugged. “I don’t have any.”

“Then you don’t have to bother, do you? Come on!”

“You don’t have any either,” he said, eyeing her feet.

“I have sandals,” she said. “Under the bed. I’ll get them later.”

He took the hand she held out, and they headed out into the sunshine. In bright daylight, Oli looked a little older than she had first thought; perhaps even nine or ten. He followed her example at the water barrel, and clamped his mouth shut as the coldness of the water bit at his fresh young skin. He saw Emer shaking her hands dry, and copied her. She laughed. “I used to have a towel at home, but I don’t have one here.”

“What’s a towel?”

“Oh, a piece of strong linen too small to make anything else, usually. I use it to dry my face and hands every morning.”

“Oh. I could use my blanket,” he offered. He looked at her shyly. “It isn’t really a blanket. I had it when I was a baby. I keep it because it reminds me of my mother. But it would make a good towel. Where is your home?”

She looked down at him, caught by the simple way he referred to his mother. Her smile slowly faded. They had a lot in common, she thought. “A long way from here, over the sea.” She saw the shadow cross his face, remembered Flane’s tale of Oli’s father and hastily carried on. “An island called Pabaigh.”

Oli frowned. “Are you not one of my people?”

“I have no Viking blood. My father—” Her throat twisted, and her voice disappeared. She coughed to hide her difficulty, cleared her throat and smiled at the boy. “His family were here long before the Vikings ever found these shores. He came from an island further south, where there was a man of the church who taught him all about Jesus. Have you heard of Jesus?”

Oli frowned, thought hard and shook his tousled head. “No,” he said at last. “Was he a king? Like Harald Fairhair?”

Emer had heard the glorious harp tales of King Harold Halfdanarson of Norway who lived and died a hundred years ago. She also knew her father thought him a tyrant and the probable cause of the mass emigration from Norway that was still a huge problem for everyone in the islands.

She smiled at Oli. “No, not like King Harald. I’ll tell you all about Jesus one day. But for now, let’s go and find something to eat.”

Indoors, there was no sign of Flane. Women bustled about, but very few men remained in the hall. Porridge was available from the big cauldron, and she made sure Oli had a big bowl swimming in thick, creamy milk. They took it to the doorway and stood in the sunshine to eat. “Eat it all and you’ll grow up big and strong.”

“Like Flane?”

“Like Flane,” she agreed, and watched him dig the horn spoon energetically into the wooden bowl. The back of her neck tingled. She looked up, straight into the calm, considering gaze of a well-dressed young woman.

Intuition told her it was Katla.

Chapter Four

Katla halted just behind Oli. Her question was blunt to the point of rudeness. “Who are you?”

Emer handed her porridge bowl to Oli. “I’m sure you know where the bowls go,” she said with a smile. The boy took it from her, saw Katla behind him and pulled a face as he ran off towards the kitchen area.

“Good day,” Emer said pleasantly, as her mother had taught her. “My name is Emer. My family lives on the island of Pabaigh.”

Katla was more than handsome; she was beautiful. Perhaps a year or two older than Emer, and a little taller. Lustrous dark hair had been coiled smoothly against each cheek and swept into an intricate knot at the back of her head. Emer was struck by the perfect symmetry of the girl’s face, for the curve of her cheekbone was repeated in the curve of her eyebrow, mouth and jaw. Such perfection was rare, and almost unnerving.

“What are you doing here in my father’s settlement?”

“I’m not sure,” Emer said, determined not to be rattled by Katla’s aggressive tone. She tried not to feel envious of Katla’s expensive gown, garnet-studded leather belt and the delicate silver bracelet tinkling gently at her wrist. “A young man called Flane brought me here. So far, we have not discussed—”

“Discussed!” Katla’s eyes flashed dangerously. “Go on.”

“So far we have not discussed if my place here is temporary or permanent,” Emer said, “nor in what capacity I will remain.
If
I remain, of course.”

“I see,” Katla said slowly, letting her gaze travel slowly over Emer. The smallest hint of a frown appeared between her perfect brows. “My father told me Flane bought you for a few silver pieces in the Dublin slave market,” she said dismissively. “He said you were to be Flane’s bed slave.”

It wasn’t hard to see why Katla might not be well liked by Inga and the women of the settlement. Emer ignored the derision in the expressive dark eyes, lifted her own brows, gritted her teeth and permitted herself three words. “Is that so?”

Katla’s frown deepened. “Flane is to marry me. The agreement was made at the summer solstice.”

Emer shook her head. “I know nothing of Flane’s plans.” She added nothing more. Let Katla make of it what she would.

“I can speak for him.” Katla stared down her long, elegant nose at Emer. “We will marry soon, and when we do, I assure you he will have no need of you or any other bed slave. I imagine he only needs you now because he is impatient for our marriage. Has he bedded you?”

Emer blinked. Instinct told her to ignore the last question, so she linked her fingers together and sighed. “You may well be right.” She wasn’t afraid of Katla in the same way she was afraid of Flane and the other men. Katla was a woman, after all. She smiled. “I’m sure I shouldn’t be able to resist him, if I were you.”

Katla’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

“Why, nothing.” Emer assumed an air of innocence. “He is such a handsome man! I don’t know how you can bear to hold him off at all! But then,” she added regretfully, “not everyone has deep feelings, I suppose.” With a blithe smile she turned on her heel, set off towards the jetty and did not look back.

Emer crunched along the shingle of the loch shore, the exchange with Katla rattling around and around in her head. The woman had been so rude! It was not Emer’s fault that she was here. She tried to imagine how she would feel if her intended bridegroom brought another woman home and bedded her. She couldn’t imagine greeting her with smiles and hugs. No. She’d be digging traps for her at every opportunity.

Emer pulled a face and kicked out at a stone.

Perhaps she should have tried to make friends with Katla. But then, Katla saw her as an enemy, and making friends would not be possible. All she could do was try and keep out of Flane’s way so Katla would have nothing to complain about.