How could he be lost to me forever? I was not ready for him to leave. Not ready to rule. I buckled at the knee with the force of my shuddering sobs, but Ligach and Donada caught me, guiding me back towards the Mead Hall. Blind from tears with legs that were not my own, I gripped Thorfinn to keep out the chill as we followed the horseshoe of the bay.
‘You need rest, Olith,’ Donada whispered. ‘Let the women see to the Jarl and I will make you a warm bath. You must sleep.’
I knew then if I lay down, I would not get back up. He was dead. Dead, and I would be too.
‘I must prepare him myself.’
Prepare him for what, I did not know. There would be no priest. No church. Where would he go? My hands began to tremble.
‘It’s all right,’ she said, cradling Thorfinn and I. ‘We can do it together.’
?
The heat inside the Mead Hall felt thick as a wall. As we pushed open the door I stumbled, weak with grief and numb with cold. A hush fell over the room.
As we moved through the throng, men and women parted bowing their heads. Through the smoke of the fire, our chairs lay empty at the head of the room. Now there would just be me.
Two large oak tables had been pushed together crudely before the fire. Sigurd lay prone, dressed in his tunic with a bloodied raven at his chest. His feet splayed and boots still crusted with thick clarts of mud. His hands showed the wounds of battle, knuckles twisted and swollen with skin that was split and bloodied. His beautiful face, pale as carved stone stared up at the ceiling while the ink of Vegvisir smoked beneath the pallid skin of his throat. I reached out a hand to trace the line of it. The shock of the coldness of his flesh ran through me like a bolt.
‘You are cold, my love,’ I whispered for no ears but his. I took the cloak from around my shoulders and laid it over him.
‘How can you leave me like this? There is so much I do not know.’
Soft hands guided me towards the seat I had always taken to the left of my husband’s.
‘Jarl Olith,’ said Thorkell gesturing to Sigurd’s empty seat. ‘This is yours now.’
Chapter 37
Old Friends are the Last to Break Away
Isat before them, just as I had a hundred times before.
The news of Sigurd’s death had seeped across the isles. A sea of empty heads stared back at me as more bodies squeezed in filling every space. Every doorway. Every sill. All waiting with bated breath to hear what would become of them now their beloved Jarl was gone.
The silence choked me. My words were like stones in my mouth. I glanced first to Thorkell, then to Ligach and back again like a frightened child but here I was with a child of my own and a room of more than two hundred people staring back at me waiting for my answer.
I placed a sleeping Thorfinn in a fold of furs on Sigurd’s chair. Breasts leaking and slick with the blood of birth and death I attempted to stand. A ripple of noise grew through the crowd. I glanced again at Sigurd, lying peacefully before me and held my nerve.
‘I- I-’ I did not know where to start. ‘Your Jarl is…’ It came out as no more than a whisper, words dying in the clamour.
I cast my gaze about the crowd. Blank eyes stared back at me. Faces awash with pity and mockery. Men sank ale horns, looking at me scornfully. A gaggle of women talked amongst themselves, thinking I could not understand their cruel words.
I was Olith Hlodvirsson. I had fended off my father’s army. I had given birth while my husband lay dying. I had returned my men safely to Orkney and I would rule. I straightened myself and I cleared my throat.
‘Jarl Olith wishes to speak,’ Thorkell shouted, silencing them.
‘By now,’ I said, loudly enough that my voice rattled about the rafters. ‘You will all know that our Jarl has been cut down in battle, trying to save my life.’
The crowd murmured.
‘We managed to get our ships home, but not without the loss of three and many of our men.’
‘It is Jarl Sigurd we have to thank for that,’ someone near the centre of the room heckled. ‘Not his bitch.’
‘Hold your tongue before I cut it from your head,’ Thorkell shouted over them. ‘Your Jarl had been struck down, if it had not been for Lady Olith’s quick thinking we would have all perished. It is to Lady Olith we must give thanks for returning our men.’
The man took another swig of his ale and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘Is it true, Thorkell?’
