comfort in the merchant’s words, an easing to the sense of rejection.
‘Na,’ said Heriolf, ‘I did not think you had.’ His face creased into its slow reflective smile. ‘You could do worse, I’m thinking, than take sword-service with Thorstein the Red.’
The weather was worsening, and they had to lie up storm-bound for three days in the lee of Coll, so it was fine before
Sea Cow
came wallowing past Calf Island into the sheltered harbour of Mull; and all was not well with Hugin. The rags that bound his injured paw were beginning to be stained with evil-smellingbrownish pus, and he was increasingly restless, his eyes cloudy and his nose dry and warm.
‘There must be a wise-woman, a healer of some kind, in the settlement,’ Bjarni said in response to Heriolf’s, ‘Whither away?’ He was scrambling ashore and hauling the big dog up beside him as soon as they had tied up to the timber jetty.
‘There will be,’ the merchant said, turning from the orders that he had been giving to his crew. ‘Bide while I see to the cargo; then come up with me to Thorstein’s Hall. After, we will find her.’
‘No,’ Bjarni said, Hugin’s hot head under his hand and the dog’s tongue curling round his thumb. ‘First I find the healer. Thorstein can wait.’
Heriolf looked at him, on the edge of hard-held patience. ‘Aye well, you know best what things come first with you. Go you up to the Hall, all the same, but make for the Women’s House behind it. The Lady Aud keeps her own bower apart from the main Hall, but it is open for all corners. I reckon there’ll be someone among the women with the skills you are looking for.’
So Bjarni slipped the bit of rope he kept for the purpose through Hugin’s collar, and set out alone save for the great hound limping three-legged at his side. Up from the ship-strand with its tall ship-sheds and slipways, rope-walk, smithy and timber stacks, into the warm huddle of the settlement. Up from the cold sea smells of fish and salt and pitch and timber into the warmer reek of the settlement, dung and hearth smoke and the fatty goodness of evening meals and the fainter inland smells of fern and heather coming down on the evening wind from the high moors, and he saw ahead of him further up the glen the unmistakable whale-backed mass of the Chieftain’s fine Hall standing guard, as it were, over all.Here and there faces turned to look at him as he passed, men seeing to a broken harness strap, women spinning in a house-place door, balms driving home the family pig from its daylong rooting. But strangers coming up from the sea were common enough in the settlements of Thorstein the Red.
The hurdle gate in the quickset hedge of the Hall garth stood open and unguarded in the usual way and Bjarni looked in. A man mending a leather byrnie on the bench before the high-gabled Hall jerked a thumb over his shoulder when the stranger with the black dog checked to ask where he could find the Lady Aud.
‘The Women’s House is up there beyond the cookhouse apple tree, by the doorway. You can’t miss it.’
Bjarni rounded the end of the Hall and found himself in the usual huddle of outbuildings, stables and byres, cookhouses, store-sheds and guest lodgings, and then the bower, the Women’s House, low-set under its thick heather thatch, and the wind-shaped apple tree at the gable end, the small russet apples catching the westering light among the salt-burned leaves. On the rough grass beneath it three saffron-haired girls were gathered about a creel of freshly-dyed wool; the eldest two, perhaps twelve and ten, hanging out the damp brown hanks to dry on lines strung between the lower branches, while the youngest sat close by, humming tunelessly to the saffron-striped kitten in her lap. They looked round at Bjarni as he passed, then went on with what they were doing.
Beyond them the doorway stood wide on warm shadows and a flicker of firelight; and Bjarni came to the threshold and paused, looking
‘Na,’ said Heriolf, ‘I did not think you had.’ His face creased into its slow reflective smile. ‘You could do worse, I’m thinking, than take sword-service with Thorstein the Red.’
The weather was worsening, and they had to lie up storm-bound for three days in the lee of Coll, so it was fine before
Sea Cow
came wallowing past Calf Island into the sheltered harbour of Mull; and all was not well with Hugin. The rags that bound his injured paw were beginning to be stained with evil-smellingbrownish pus, and he was increasingly restless, his eyes cloudy and his nose dry and warm.
‘There must be a wise-woman, a healer of some kind, in the settlement,’ Bjarni said in response to Heriolf’s, ‘Whither away?’ He was scrambling ashore and hauling the big dog up beside him as soon as they had tied up to the timber jetty.
‘There will be,’ the merchant said, turning from the orders that he had been giving to his crew. ‘Bide while I see to the cargo; then come up with me to Thorstein’s Hall. After, we will find her.’
‘No,’ Bjarni said, Hugin’s hot head under his hand and the dog’s tongue curling round his thumb. ‘First I find the healer. Thorstein can wait.’
Heriolf looked at him, on the edge of hard-held patience. ‘Aye well, you know best what things come first with you. Go you up to the Hall, all the same, but make for the Women’s House behind it. The Lady Aud keeps her own bower apart from the main Hall, but it is open for all corners. I reckon there’ll be someone among the women with the skills you are looking for.’
So Bjarni slipped the bit of rope he kept for the purpose through Hugin’s collar, and set out alone save for the great hound limping three-legged at his side. Up from the ship-strand with its tall ship-sheds and slipways, rope-walk, smithy and timber stacks, into the warm huddle of the settlement. Up from the cold sea smells of fish and salt and pitch and timber into the warmer reek of the settlement, dung and hearth smoke and the fatty goodness of evening meals and the fainter inland smells of fern and heather coming down on the evening wind from the high moors, and he saw ahead of him further up the glen the unmistakable whale-backed mass of the Chieftain’s fine Hall standing guard, as it were, over all.Here and there faces turned to look at him as he passed, men seeing to a broken harness strap, women spinning in a house-place door, balms driving home the family pig from its daylong rooting. But strangers coming up from the sea were common enough in the settlements of Thorstein the Red.
The hurdle gate in the quickset hedge of the Hall garth stood open and unguarded in the usual way and Bjarni looked in. A man mending a leather byrnie on the bench before the high-gabled Hall jerked a thumb over his shoulder when the stranger with the black dog checked to ask where he could find the Lady Aud.
‘The Women’s House is up there beyond the cookhouse apple tree, by the doorway. You can’t miss it.’
Bjarni rounded the end of the Hall and found himself in the usual huddle of outbuildings, stables and byres, cookhouses, store-sheds and guest lodgings, and then the bower, the Women’s House, low-set under its thick heather thatch, and the wind-shaped apple tree at the gable end, the small russet apples catching the westering light among the salt-burned leaves. On the rough grass beneath it three saffron-haired girls were gathered about a creel of freshly-dyed wool; the eldest two, perhaps twelve and ten, hanging out the damp brown hanks to dry on lines strung between the lower branches, while the youngest sat close by, humming tunelessly to the saffron-striped kitten in her lap. They looked round at Bjarni as he passed, then went on with what they were doing.
Beyond them the doorway stood wide on warm shadows and a flicker of firelight; and Bjarni came to the threshold and paused, looking
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