"Saga" - Chapter 22, Part 2
For information on content, disclaimers, rating and A/Ns, see the chapter’s Part 1.
When summer was in full bloom, and little Sverri had just turned one year old, Torgeirr Haraldson and his wife came down to Kaupang. Torgeirr as always had trading to see to, and he wanted to greet his son. So did Sigrid. The two of them walked down one sunny afternoon to Gunnar’s workshop, and a flustered Muirenn led them to the seats of honor and hurriedly set forth the best ale. Sverri came crawling like lightning across the floor, grabbed hold of Torgeirr’s trousers and heaved himself to his feet, smiling proudly of himself at this immense feat. Torgeirr laughed delightedly and scooped the boy up in his arms, rising to lift him into the air, throwing him higher and catching him, whooping all the while. Sverri hollered with joy.
At last Torgeirr sat back down, held the boy close and turned to Sigrid. “It’s high time you met your kinsman. This now is Sverri Torgeirrson. Isn’t he a fine little fellow?”
Sigrid smiled at the boy and more so at her obviously very proud husband. “Indeed he is. He looks just like you, and I cannot give him higher praise!” She turned to Muirenn and smiled graciously. “I can see that the boy has had a good life and a caring mother. I honor you for raising such a fine son.”
Sigrid looked confident and happy, stately in bearing and mien, assured in her position as treasured wife and capable mistress of a wealthy farm and with riches of her own. Her fine dress and conspicuous jewelry signaled her status, but despite all that her air was open and friendly. She was as slim as ever. Though she had now been married well over a year, there had been no sign yet that an heir would be born to her and her husband.
The five of them sat talking for a little while, speaking of the activities in town, the trading that Torgeirr planned, and the carving assignments that Gunnar had obtained. Eventually Muirenn rose to start the evening meal, which Torgeirr and Sigrid would stay to share, and Torgeirr carried his son along into Gunnar’s workshop to agree on and weigh the silver that Gunnar owed him. Judging by the happy shrieks coming from the workshop, the boy received more attention than the silver.
Sigrid kept her seat on the bench, looking at Eoin with a polite but curious gaze.
“They say you have developed into a fine woodcarver in your own right, Jaran. You seem to be thriving here in Kaupang. Do you still at times recall my clan’s farm, and Einstad in the distant woods, I wonder?”
Eoin bit his lip, a slight flush rising into his face. All of a sudden anger flared in his eyes, and he spoke challengingly. “Yes, Sigrid Elmarsdottir. I most certainly do … I will never forget my life as a thrall there, for more reasons than one.” He paused for a moment, uncertain all of a sudden, then plunged on. “That being so, is there any news you might tell me of your family, mistress?”
Sigrid sighed. “Oh yes, there is much to say, and not all of it good, I’m afraid.” She looked at him, pausing for a moment as if carefully weighing which words to use and how much to say. “My brother was killed in Holmgang this spring. A chieftain’s son challenged him over a matter of slander, honor, and love….. “
Eoin all of a sudden turned as white as Sigrid’s linen coif. He stared at her wordlessly, eyes wide, not fully able to comprehend what she had just said. Sigrid paused and studied him, taking in his reaction. She drew a sharp breath and looked down into her lap, waiting for a beat before continuing her tale.
“Ketil’s death proves that fate and fortune do not always go hand in hand, as I’m sure you’ll agree. Losing him for the second time was a terrible blow to our clan. Now my brother Einnis has assumed the High Seat.”
Eoin relaxed his death grip on the edge of the bench, though the beat of his pulse was still plainly visible in his throat. “But…. what about Einstad?” he eventually muttered in a low voice, clearing his constricted throat to get the words out.
“Einstad has been finished. Einnis sends word it’s a good farm. Your hard work there did not prove in vain, have no fear,” Sigrid said mildly. She looked into his eyes. “Einnis and his wife are managing both farms for now, though they will have to find a better arrangement soon, if Einnis takes on more duties and responsibilities in the valley.”
She paused again, and smiled. “Einnis’s wife Arna bore him a daughter only one month’s time ago. I haven’t seen my newborn kinswoman yet, but Torgeirr’s aunt Ragnhild who has just returned south to us assures me that baby Arna is a little beauty, healthy and strong and set to make the clan proud.”
“Then I’m….. I’m happy for your brother, and for his wife, and for your whole clan, mistress. Please greet your brother from me when you see him, and tell him that I wish him well.”
Sigrid looked at him pensively, and opened her mouth to speak, but halted herself. After a moment she limited her reply to thanking him for his good wishes, and promised to pass his words on to Einnis when there might be an opportunity to do so. More was not said between them, for Torgeirr came galloping into the room, carrying Sverri piggy-back and laughing loudly while also calling for Muirenn to take her son and make him behave, since he wouldn’t listen to his father. The boy was over-excited by all the attention and was yelling at the top of his lungs, clearly wanting Torgeirr to go faster. The din rose to the rafters as the little boy’s father-horse was spurred on to go galloping many times around the hearth, neighing loudly and laughing heartily.
All the other grown-ups in the room had to chuckle at the sight, but out of the corner of his eye Eoin noticed that though Sigrid’s lips were pulled up in a smile, her eyes were both sad and solemn as she watched Torgeirr and his son.
---
In the following weeks Torgeirr came to spend some time with his son every day, and on occasion he brought him back to his clan’s house for a spell. Sigrid also visited a few more times, but kept in the background and didn’t speak to either Muirenn or Eoin alone.
One day some time after mid-summer Torgeirr said he had concluded his business and would be returning home to his farm. Before leaving town he wanted to talk with Eoin and Muirenn, and sat down with them and Gunnar one evening after Sverri had fallen asleep, Sleipner as always sharing his bed-space. It was a rainy, slightly chilly day, and Muirenn had put more logs on the cooking fire for the additional warmth they would provide. Now the four of them sat on the benches by the hearth, a bowl of ale and one with sour milk in front of them.
Torgeirr explained that he wanted to talk through what would happen after his previous thralls’ one year of service was as an end. “Soon it will be one full year after your liberation ale, and you will have more freedom to make plans for yourself,” he said. “I wanted to know your plans and your thoughts, and to let you have mine.”
Eoin looked over at Muirenn, but she kept her eyes downcast and didn’t speak up.
“I am learning much, working with Gunnar,” Eoin eventually said. “It is an inspiration to me. If he agrees, I would continue working with him till I can call myself a proper wood-carver in my own right. That will give me much freedom to choose my path, for wood-carvers can make a living many places. If I attempt a return to Ireland one day and even to the monastery, God grant that it still stands and that the Lord protects it, as a woodcarver I could contribute much to the work there, too.”
Gunnar nodded at Eoin’s words, and both he and Torgeirr looked pleased. Torgeirr looked questioningly at Muirenn, his eyes roving back and forth between her and Eoin. “What about you, Muirenn? I suppose it is no secret that if the two of you now want to marry, I would certainly support it and also give you a decent dowry,” he said.
Muirenn looked uncomfortable and blushed. Eoin kept silent.
”I have been wondering...I sometimes do long for my home. My home in Ireland,” Muirenn said slowly. “Perhaps….”
Torgeirr sighed. ”I understand that. Losing one’s clan is a harsh fate. But Muirenn, I must speak plainly. Sverri is my only son. I will not let him travel out of the land and over the seas to an unknown future in a ravaged countryside. If you go, you must leave the boy with me.” He drew a deep breath. “And more than that, an unmarried woman couldn’t hope to make such a journey by herself, even if there was a trade ship willing to take her. A woman would need a husband and several guards or kinsmen besides to travel that distance and not end up a thrall, to be sold at one of the markets down south. And should you be willing to take that risk, I would stop you from attempting it. I do not want Sverri to grow to manhood not knowing what became of his mother, and whether or not she ekes out a life of hardship as someone’s thrall.”
Muirenn bent her head, and Torgeirr sighed again and leaned forward to briefly squeeze her hand. “I am sorry. But I won’t lie to you. I think the best course forward is for you to find a good husband and to build your life here. I will consider my men and whether there is any one of them I deem fitting for you."
Muirenn looked up sharply, protest evident in her every feature, but Torgeirr continued undeterred. “People think that you are Jaran’s fridla. And but for Sverri I wouldn’t have had any objections to that. But the boy is getting older and will soon enough understand what people say and notice the scarce regard they have for his mother. Since he remains my only son, and therefore my heir, I will not have him mocked or belittled in any way if it can be avoided. He shouldn’t have to hear other children laughing at him and calling his mother a foreign wanton, or worse.”
Both Eoin and Muirenn looked at Torgeirr in pale-faced dismay. Neither had heard such harsh and unforgiving speech from him before. Muirenn bent her head and balled her hands into fists in her lap. Eoin looked at her and knew that he could not keep silent. He glanced at Torgeirr and Gunnar. “Excuse us for a moment, please.” With that he switched to speaking Gaelic, though his words came slowly.
“Muirenn, do not grieve. It is better for both of us that Torgeirr speaks so plainly. I will do the same. I care for you, very much so. I care for Padraig too, you know I do - he’s almost like a son to me. I want nothing but the best for the both of you. Perhaps this is the Lord’s way of showing us a joint path in life. It certainly seems so. I will gladly marry you, and strive to build a good life here for the three of us, till such a day comes that we may after all return to Ireland and take up our old lives. But I can only marry you on one condition, and it’s important to me that you know about it and agree to it.” He drew a breath, conscious of the two men who were listening, sure they would grow impatient.
“There is an event I’m hoping and praying for, one that would change my whole life, though it seems more unlikely every day that it’ll ever come to pass. Yet if it does, I will leave you and the boy, and go where the Lord and my heart tell me to. If that happens, you will have to find your own way in life from then on out, with the help of Torgeirr, no doubt. But I can say no more about it.”
Muirenn frowned and opened her mouth to speak. She was clearly baffled by Eoin’s strange secretiveness and wanted to ask questions. Eoin however hastily turned to the two other men, and reverted to Norse. “I have told Muirenn I will marry her, if she deems that to be best for us, though I cannot promise that God will not thereafter tell me to go elsewhere in life and to leave her,” he said. “No man knows what the future holds, but...
Gunnar had been sitting quietly to the side, watching and listening and letting the ale bowl pass him by. Now he interrupted Eoin and spoke up, addressing Muirenn, his voice strong and clear. “I would be honored to marry you, Muirenn - if you will have me.”
Three sets of surprised eyes swung Gunnar’s way. He didn’t back down, but took their astonishment in stride. “You’re a good woman, and a fine-looking one, and you’ve got a will of your own and plenty of backbone. I like that. You will soon be ready to negotiate my assignments and my pay as well as I ever managed myself. We’d make a good team. And I am fond of Sverri too. So if you’d want me…. ” He paused for a moment. “I have few relatives, only a sister living, and she’s been married up North these many years. As my wife, no-one would dare disparage you. I have earned some respect around town, I’d let you share in that for what it’s worth.”
Muirenn blushed. “Gunnar, you surprise me! It is true I have had a good life here in your house.” She was silent for a moment. The three men kept quiet too, averting their eyes, listening to the fire crackling on the hearth and the soft patter of rain outside the door and around the smoke vent.
“Yes, a good life,” Muirenn continued. “But what of my faith? I cannot change that, not for anyone.”
Never a spiritual man, Gunnar merely shrugged. “As long as the marriage is legal under the laws, my wife’s god otherwise is nobody’s business but hers, and not something that I would want to meddle in.” A grin flashed across his otherwise dour features. “I know better than to poke that particular sleeping bear. And anyway, if I should ever decide to move from here and set up my business elsewhere, who’s to say a Christ-follower for a wife might not earn me additional work?”
Muirenn was stunned. “You honor me, Gunnar Grimson. But I need time to think through all that I have heard tonight. It has been a day of hard truths and hopes shattered.” She cast a brief glance at Eoin before letting her eyes rest on Torgeirr, her face closed and her lips twin pale lines.
“I beg you all for a few days, no more than three at the most, to consider my options. After that I will let you have my answer and tell you which way I choose in life.”
Tbc………
Notes and explanations;
Norn’s porridge - It was tradition that the neighboring women peers of the newly-made mother would present her with the gift of such “lying-in porridge”. This tradition lasted well into Christian times, but in some places the food dish retained its name of Norn’s porridge many centuries after Christianization, and the dish would be marked with 3 wooden pegs for the 3 goddesses of fate.
Gyda Eiriksdottir - the daughter of king Eirik of the kingdom of Hordaland on the west coast of Norway. Another minor king, Harald Halvdanson ‘Fairhair’, fell in love with Gyda but she refused to marry him and allegedly said she would not be any man’s wife unless he were the king of all Norway. Harald accepted her challenge, promised to not cut his hair till he was in fact ready to marry her as king of Norway, and set about conquering all the other minor kingdoms and unifying the country under his rule. “Saga” takes place in the middle of this process of conquest and unification, when Gyda’s haughty words must have reverberated through the land. (Ca. AD 972 king Harald won the final battle, became king of a unified Norway, cut his hair - and married Gyda.)
Volva - Woman who practiced shamanistic / prophetic rituals (called seid) that balanced on the verge between religion and magic. A volva lived outside of the strict norms applied to other women within the clan-based society, and was met with awe, fear and deep respect. She was only called for in the utmost need, for instance when crops failed or it was necessary to learn the outcome of major future events. The volva’s practices at times likely took place under the influence of hallucinogens of some sort. Her symbol of “authority” was a staff.
Sleipner - here’s an image that I like; one of the Norse mythology-themed carved wooden panels on the outside of Oslo City Hall: Odin riding Sleipner, with his two ravens flying over. http://www.arild-hauge.com/arild-hauge/Raadhuset-Dagfinn%20Werenskjold1.jpg
And here’s another drawing of Sleipner. Pretty freakish, isn’t he?: http://www.arild-hauge.com/arild-hauge/w-f-meyer.jpg
Fate and fortune do not always go hand in hand - yet another Grettir’s saga saying!
Fridla - free-born woman who is someone’s mistress