They Came On Viking Ships by Jackie French

came with the old master’s wife from Iceland. But I’ve known others be taken from Ireland or the islands. You’ll find it hard at first, but you’ll get used to it. There’s food enough and shelter. What more can we ask for, hey?’
    Hekja said nothing. The old woman patted her arm. ‘Are you hungry? There’s food if you like.’
    ‘Arf!’ said Snarf enthusiastically. He’d recognised the word.
    Hekja shook her head.
    ‘Arf,’ Snarf barked again. He sniffed towards the hanging roast, as though it was a hare he’d hunted.
    Gudrun laughed, and patted his head. ‘You’re hungrier than you know, after all those days of dried fish,’ she said to Hekja comfortingly. ‘You’ll feel better when you’ve eaten.’
    She made her way to a cupboard—its door carved with tinier shapes than Hekja had thought a knife could make—and pulled out some cheese and a barley loaf, just like what she used to eat at home, but much more plentiful, and a large hunk of cold meat too. Snarf knelt before her and slobbered on the floor.
    Gudrun pulled at the small knife on the chain on her belt, and hacked off some pieces of meat and cheese. She handed them to Hekja, then threw the rest of the meat to Snarf.
    Gudrun was right. The food stopped Hekja’s tears. And meat! All the meat she wanted, and meat for Snarf too, given so easily by one who was a thrall as well. So far Greenland was better than she had hoped.
    After she’d finished eating, Gudrun ordered Hekja to theoutbuildings, to help store the goods that had been unloaded from the ship. The size of everything confused Hekja at first, so Gudrun told her to sit and wipe the new weapons and tools with fish oil. Meanwhile the men carried the ship to its cradle in the giant empty shed, where it would be stripped of barnacles and caulked with rotted birch leaves to stop the water coming through the cracks.
    Snarf bounded at everyone’s sides, as though he was making sure that he was everywhere at once—in case a wolf attacked or an iceberg decided to invade the land. He kept an eye out for places he’d missed lifting his leg on, and snapped at passing butterflies or the tail feathers of the hens.
    It was late by the time everyone had finished, though the sun still hovered near to the horizon. Despite all that had happened it was still not far from mid-summer, when the days were longest.
    By now the smell of meat roasting for the feast floated across from Erik’s farm. It seemed that only Freydis and Thorvard were going to go. Freydis changed her dress and put on a necklace and more bangles and different brooches made of shining metal and encrusted with sparkling stones, then she and Thorvard walked across the fields to Erik’s without a word to Hekja. Freydis had more important things to do now than talking to a thrall.
    ‘Here, boy! Sit!’ Gudrun beamed at Hekja. ‘What a good dog he is! He comes when he is called!’
    Hekja smiled tiredly. Snarf came so eagerly because he smelt the roast hanging from its chain.
    ‘Good dog,’ said Gudrun approvingly, patting his head. ‘He’s bigger than any dog I’ve ever seen. Do you know how to cook meat?’ she asked Hekja.
    Hekja shook her head. ‘I can cook barley bread, and fish stew. But I’ve never roasted meat before.’
    ‘Just keep the meat turning, then, and turn the pot so it doesn’t get too hot, or the pudding will burn. You understand?’
    ‘Yes,’ said Hekja. She poked the great roast of meat carefully. It spun gently as she touched it, and juice dripped down into the pot of grains and greens below.
    Then a group of men came in—two thralls, and three free men who worked on the farm. They looked curiously at Hekja, but asked no questions. Hekja was grateful. Her tongue felt thick with tiredness, and she was afraid that if anyone asked about where she came from she might cry again. The men sat by the smoky fire and talked about straying sheep and a sow that almost crushed a piglet—more words that Hekja