Authors: Jen Black
Katla stormed after her. Using the flat palm of her hands against Emer’s shoulders, she shoved the girl backwards. Emer stumbled, lost her footing and tumbled into the midden pit. Her shriek of surprise and fright echoed on the air.
Emer landed on something that gave way beneath her weight. Shocked and breathless, she stared at earth walls as high as a man, registered the circle of blue sky above and heard Katla’s yelp of laughter, hastily cut off. Emer turned her head and found herself nose to nose with a large, decomposing cod’s head.
Gasping, she lurched away from the monstrosity. Beneath her, something yielded, crunched and shifted. Nasty odours rose up and all but choked her. She moaned, covered her nose with the back of her hand and realised too late that her hand was slimy.
Above her, two heads darkened the circle of blue sky; Katla and Flane.
Tears sprang to Emer’s eyes. “Get me out of here!”
Katla’s long black hair swung down over her shoulders, but she said nothing. Flane murmured something Emer did not hear, and nudged Katla out of his way.
Katla responded with a giggle she made no effort to disguise. He knelt down at the edge of the pit and extended his hand toward Emer. “Are you hurt? Can you stand?”
Emer gulped. “I don’t want to move.”
He frowned. “Why not?”
Fighting to control the frightening hitch in her breathing, Emer wanted to scream. She heard her voice come from somewhere far away. “I might sink and…never be seen again.”
“Emer, the pit is new,” Flane said. “The bottom is perhaps a couple of hand spans beneath you.”
Desperate to be out of the pit but fearful of what she might be lying on, Emer could not move.
“Emer! Think, girl. You’re sitting in a pile of household rubbish, that’s all! We dig a hole for what we can’t use on the fields, bury it and then begin a new pit. Give me your hand!”
“I can’t move! I’ll sink!”
Katla, still convulsed with laughter, stood behind Flane’s shoulder and beckoned someone to come and stare into the pit.
Flane stretched down even further and softened his tone. “Emer, you’re panicking. Take a deep breath, and then give me your hand.”
“I’m not panicking!”
“Yes, you are,” he said calmly. “Give me your hand.”
Emer glared at him, panting. She could hardly think for the thunderous pulse beat in her ears and the sickening aromas of the pit threatened to make her vomit.
“Take a deep breath, Emer. Reach up toward me.”
Obediently she sucked a deep gulp of air into her lungs and wiped her hand on her skirts. If she didn’t get out of here she was going to be sick. She looked up at Flane and something of his calmness filtered through to her. Her breathing steadied a little.
Count to three and then just do it. Don’t stop to think about it, just stand up and take hold of Flane’s hand. He’s there, ready to help you.
She took a deep, shuddering breath, stood up and flung her hand toward Flane. Their fingers touched.
Whatever was beneath her gave way, as she had feared it would. She yelped, lurched backwards but Flane’s strong hand grasped her wrist. He yanked so hard and fast Emer collided with the earth wall of the pit. She cried out and spun dizzily in the noisome aromas until his other hand grabbed the back of her tunic, and she landed flat and winded on the grass.
“Welcome back,” he said, still on his knees.
She lay there panting, unable to speak. He looked at his hand, grimaced and wiped it on the grass.
Katla stood to one side with her friends, who all had their palms to their noses. “What a terrible smell!”
Flane turned pitiless blue eyes on her. “Katla, go away.” When she didn’t move, he added one word in a roar. “Go!”
Behind Katla, her friends discreetly vanished. Katla stared at him for a long moment, then whirled round and strode off without a backward glance. Other folk, attracted by the cries and all the commotion, stood and watched from a distance. One or two of them exchanged meaningful glances as Skuli’s daughter strode by with her nose in the air. They drew closer once she had gone by.
Emer rolled to her knees in the fresh, clean-scented grass, and wondered if she would vomit. Her thick plait, covered in slime, rolled forward over her shoulder and in flinching from it, she met Flane’s bright blue gaze. For a long moment they stared at each other.
“She was angry,” was all Emer could say.
Flane frowned after the tall dark figure. “So was I.”
“But…she is Skuli’s daughter.” Emer took a long, deep breath, decided she wasn’t going to be sick and sat back on her heels. “Was it wise to speak to her as you did?”
His arrogant blue gaze came back to her, and he almost laughed. “If we are to wed, it is time she learned she won’t get her own way.”
Emer swallowed and her stomach shrank to a small, hard lump. “Are you…to wed?”
He made a gesture that suggested it was in the lap of the gods. “It would be sensible.”
Emer frowned. “That’s no answer, Flane.”
“Would it matter so very much to you?”
She looked at him, puzzled and unable to read his expression. Movement caught her eye and she glanced down. Something black scuttled across her skirts. Emer flung herself to her feet, beat the large black beetle from the folds of her tunic and saw the slimed mess of her skirts.
“Oh, my gown!” She let out a wail of anguish. “Look at the stains! My only gown!”
Flane glanced at the slimy patches and then at Emer. “It’ll wash, won’t it? Give it to one of the women and they’ll do it for you.”
“You’re not thinking, Flane,” Emer snapped. “I don’t have anything else to wear while this is washed.” She fisted her hands on her hips. “Would you have me wander around naked?”
His brows rose in mild surprise. “Not out here, no. I wouldn’t like it at all.” Then his mouth curved in a smile, and she wondered what he was thinking. “I could ask Skeggi if his girl will let you have something. Or will one of my tunics do?”
“I still have your tunic from this morning,” she said slowly. “Since you’re so tall, it will probably come below my knees. I could wear that, I suppose.”
“Then do it.” He wrinkled his nose. “But first you should visit the bathing hut.”
Emer knew she must smell, but she resented his lack of concern for her feelings. “If I smell to high heaven, it’s your fault.”
“How is it my fault?”
He was still amused, and her wrist and shoulder ached from the way he’d yanked her out of the pit. He, of course, hadn’t bothered to ask if she had hurt herself. “You shouldn’t play with people’s feelings.”
Flane shook his head, and got to his feet. “I ought to take the back of my hand to you. I don’t let anyone else talk to me like this.”
Absurdly, his comment lit a small glow deep inside Emer. “Not even Katla?”
He flicked the hair out of his eyes and ignored her comment. “Come with me. I think you need an escort in case the dogs leap on you. You know how they love foul smells.”
Emer scowled and then thought of a way to punish him. “I left your tunic to dry in the hut. If you’re walking there with me, you could take this to one of the women.” She looked up hopefully. “They’d wash it if you said they should.”
To her surprise, he agreed without hesitation.
Emboldened, she added instructions. “But you must wait outside the door this door this time, and not peek. Stop laughing,” Emer said. “If you don’t stop laughing I’ll rub these wonderful odours all over you.”
He looked at her, and laughed out loud.
***
Emer took her time bathing. The pine-scented cabin held no fears, and she could relax because Flane sat on the steps outside. He’d already taken her soiled gown to the washer-women and her chemise soaked in soapy water at her side. Humming a little tune, she put more water on to heat.
Dried pine cones burned and crackled companionably and their scent perfumed the room. She hummed through the prayer her father had taught her as a child and tried not to think of Katla, but snatches of their brief confrontation broke through her hard won peace. The memory of Katla’s rage made her hands tremble and brought on a queer tight feeling in her chest.
She herself to think of practical things. Dipping into the soap jar, she lathered soap generously over her skin. The movement was soothing. Privacy was hard to come by in a busy steading like this, and she was touched by Flane’s concern that she should have this time to herself. Untying the leather thong that held her braid, she washed her hair for the third time in a few days.
Slowly some of her normal confidence returned. Her cold plunge in the lake was uninterrupted, though she thought of Flane and looked around suspiciously once she surfaced. It would have been just like him to have joined her in the clear water again. Surprised to find herself a little disappointed when he didn’t appear, she clambered up the steps back into the hut.
She held his tunic against herself, trying to gauge how well it would fit. When the door opened, she gasped and clasped the linen in front of her like a shield.
“Emer? Can I come in?”
“No! I’m not dressed.’
The door opened a little wider, and Flane’s pale head appeared in the gap. “All the more reason to come in.”
“Don’t you dare!”
He pulled a face and then withdrew. He shut the door, and then opened it again. “I’ll count to ten and then I’m coming in, whether you’re ready or not.”
She yelped, and scrabbled into his old tunic. The fabric caught and twisted about her damp hips and the more she tugged, the tighter it caught. She heard the door squeak open, and hastily turned her back on him, still tugging at the tunic. Heat rushed into her face as she imagined the scene that greeted him.
He whistled. She heard footfalls on the wooden boards and then his hands, warm, firm and somehow wonderful, seized her hips. “Stand still, woman.”
His fingers twitched the fabric at one side and the tunic fell gently into place. “That’s better.”
“You shouldn’t have come in yet,” Emer snapped, embarrassed and furious about it. If Katla heard of them being together here, she would assume the worst.
“Whoa — not so snappish, lady. Why not?”
“Katla wouldn’t—”
“Forget Katla. Why didn’t you want me to come in?”
Still tweaking the tunic, which was much too big across the shoulders, Emer finally turned to face him. “Stop grinning like that.” She retreated across the bathing hut. “You know you shouldn’t be in here.”
“Why not? I’ve been in here when it’s so crowded you can hardly find space to wash yourself.”
Emer regarded him doubtfully. “I suppose that’s all right. All men together—”
“Who said it was all men?”
“But it…it’s wrong for men and women to see each other naked.”
“Who told you that?”
“The monks of our church say we should stay covered, and that men and women should bathe separately.”
“That’s sad,” Flane said. “I’ve heard these monks teach all sorts of strange things. You don’t believe them, do you?”
“Oh, dear Lord.” Emer’s eyes widened. “You’re still a heathen?”
“What’s a heathen?”
“Don’t play games with me, Flane. Do you believe in the one God, or do you believe in many gods?”
The question seemed to catch his attention, for he sat down on a stool by the fire and thought about it. “Well, there’s Odin.” He tapped one forefinger against the other. “He’s the supreme god, and creator of the world.” He tapped a second finger. “Thor’s his son; he’s one of the most powerful gods.” His fingers moved on, still counting. “Then there’s Frey for fertility and his sister Freyja.”
Emer’s mouth had fallen open. He surveyed her critically, and she hastily closed it. “You remind me of her sometimes,” he said slowly.
“You talk as if they were alive.”
“They are, in a way. As long as we think of them, they are alive. It’s a poor god no one prays to. Come and sit down.” He stretched out a long arm, grasped one of the sheepskins and spread it out at his feet.
Emer knelt in front of him, her mind so occupied she never noticed the deep softness under her knees. “Does it not worry you? Surely you must have heard of the teachings of St Columba?”
He nodded, and watched her face. “Who hasn’t? Some of the Danes have turned Christian. Olaf Cuaran of Dublin and Erik Bloodaxe of Jorvik converted and then reverted when it suited them. But it seems to me that Odin and your God are not so far apart. Don’t look so shocked. Did I hear you singing earlier?”
She nodded. “But your god, your gods, are pagan gods.”
“Don’t worry about it. We all pray to Odin when we feel the need, but we’ll turn Christian if it’s useful. I once heard a song about St Patrick. Do you know it?”
“A song?” She frowned, and concentrated. “Oh, yes.”
“Sing it for me. I liked it. I’d like to hear it again.”
She smiled gently. “It’s not a song, Flane; it’s a prayer.”
“Never mind. Sing it for me. You never know, you might convert me.”
Emer sat back on her heels. He was not going to take her seriously, so she might as well give up. She thought of the song he wanted, and repressed a smile as a particularly apt verse popped into her mind. She gazed up at him and sang softly:
‘Christ to shield me to-day,
Against poison, against burning,
Against drowning, against wounding…’
He listened, and gave her the same slow smile that had turned her heart over once before. She relented, and sang on, her voice low and true.
‘Christ with me, Christ before me, Christ behind me, Christ in me, Christ beneath me, Christ above me, Christ on my right, Christ on my left, Christ when I lie down, Christ when I sit down, Christ when I arise, Christ in the heart of every man who thinks of me…’
He drew in a quick breath, and Emer’s voice died away at the quality of his stare. His pale eyebrows met over his nose, firelight painted his skin with gold and laid shadows around the deep lidded curve of his eyes and the hollows beneath his cheekbones. He got up, and hauled his tunic over his head.
Emer, her mouth a round O of surprise, watched him with mounting suspicion. “What are you doing?” Her voice came out as a reedy squawk.