him!’
Thorvard struck her across the face. Her eyes watered, and she staggered, but she didn’t cry out.
Snarf growled, deep in his throat. He could accept orders from other humans, but no one was allowed to touch Hekja while he was near.
Hekja put her arms around Snarf’s great neck. ‘Leave him alone!’ she yelled.
For a moment she thought Thorvard would strike her again. But then he began to laugh. ‘The dog is as big as you!’ he roared. ‘And you think you will protect him!’
‘What’s happening here!’ It was Freydis.
Thorvard stopped laughing, but his grin was as wide as a cheese. ‘It’s your new thrall here. It seems she objects to my disciplining the dog. Perhaps you would like to fight me for him, hey, thrall?’
Freydis looked at Hekja coolly. ‘I thought we had this out on the ship. This dog is mine now.’ Her words were hard, but her eyes were amused.
Hekja shook her head, confused. ‘I…will fight…if you want me to,’ she stammered. ‘But you are not to hurt Snarf.’
Suddenly Thorvard seemed to understand. He lifted Hekja’s chin with his fingers. ‘I was joking, girl. But the dog needs to be trained if he is to be of use.’
‘What will he be used for?’ demanded Hekja.
Thorvard glanced at Freydis. ‘She doesn’t give in, does she?’ There was admiration in his voice now. ‘He is a hunting dog. He needs to learn the hunting commands. Do you really want him to sit with you all day, a fine dog like that, while you watch the cows?’
Hekja was silent for a moment. Then she said slowly, ‘In our village the chief’s dog did what the chief commanded at the hunt. But I never knew how to teach Snarf what to do.’
‘I know dogs, girl,’ said Thorvard. ‘My dog, Silvertail, died on our way to Norway. I will train your dog well.’
‘My dog?’ enquired Hekja. She wasn’t sure if she had heard correctly.
‘Your dog,’ Thorvard said seriously. ‘But you are my thrall, so he is mine as well. Understood?’
‘I understand,’ said Hekja.
Thorvard shook his head. ‘What is the world coming to? Making bargains with a thrall.’ But he was grinning.
Freydis looked at Hekja. And then she nodded. ‘I think,’ she said, and there was approval in her tone, ‘I may have won more than I realised when I captured you from my brother.’
And so Snarf went to work with Thorvard, learning to come when he whistled, to sit when he clicked his fingers, to run at his heels until he gave the signal to chase. He learnt to follow the scent that Thorvard chose, and not to be distracted; to bring game back, and drop it at his feet; and to point properly when he sensed an animal in the bushes.
Finally Thorvard took him hunting. That, it seemed, was what most of the free men did in this new land, while the women ran the farms.
The men hunted reindeer; and polar bear, with their thick white coats; or walrus, prized for their ivory tusks and tough skin that was made into leather ropes and belts. They tracked the auk as well, giant birds who were too docile to even run away, with their precious feathers and their meat that stank of fish, and seals and eider ducks as well. The soft duck feathers were as valuable as the waterproof sealskins, and earned much silver from Norwegian traders.
Sometimes the men rode horses 22 —shaggy beasts as tall as Snarf, but with broader backs. But mostly the horses were kept for ploughing, or for stallion fights, the great horses nipping, kicking, striking and rearing to see which one was strongest.
But after every hunt, as the men and women of Brattahlid streamed out to greet the hunters and exclaim at what they had brought back, Snarf would sniff out Hekja. She would hug him and he would lick her face as though to say, ‘No matter how far I have hunted, I am still your dog.’ Even when Thorvard whistled for him thenext day Snarf would wait till Hekja gave him her own signal that he should go.
Life was busy for Hekja too. While Thorvard hunted,
Thorvard struck her across the face. Her eyes watered, and she staggered, but she didn’t cry out.
Snarf growled, deep in his throat. He could accept orders from other humans, but no one was allowed to touch Hekja while he was near.
Hekja put her arms around Snarf’s great neck. ‘Leave him alone!’ she yelled.
For a moment she thought Thorvard would strike her again. But then he began to laugh. ‘The dog is as big as you!’ he roared. ‘And you think you will protect him!’
‘What’s happening here!’ It was Freydis.
Thorvard stopped laughing, but his grin was as wide as a cheese. ‘It’s your new thrall here. It seems she objects to my disciplining the dog. Perhaps you would like to fight me for him, hey, thrall?’
Freydis looked at Hekja coolly. ‘I thought we had this out on the ship. This dog is mine now.’ Her words were hard, but her eyes were amused.
Hekja shook her head, confused. ‘I…will fight…if you want me to,’ she stammered. ‘But you are not to hurt Snarf.’
Suddenly Thorvard seemed to understand. He lifted Hekja’s chin with his fingers. ‘I was joking, girl. But the dog needs to be trained if he is to be of use.’
‘What will he be used for?’ demanded Hekja.
Thorvard glanced at Freydis. ‘She doesn’t give in, does she?’ There was admiration in his voice now. ‘He is a hunting dog. He needs to learn the hunting commands. Do you really want him to sit with you all day, a fine dog like that, while you watch the cows?’
Hekja was silent for a moment. Then she said slowly, ‘In our village the chief’s dog did what the chief commanded at the hunt. But I never knew how to teach Snarf what to do.’
‘I know dogs, girl,’ said Thorvard. ‘My dog, Silvertail, died on our way to Norway. I will train your dog well.’
‘My dog?’ enquired Hekja. She wasn’t sure if she had heard correctly.
‘Your dog,’ Thorvard said seriously. ‘But you are my thrall, so he is mine as well. Understood?’
‘I understand,’ said Hekja.
Thorvard shook his head. ‘What is the world coming to? Making bargains with a thrall.’ But he was grinning.
Freydis looked at Hekja. And then she nodded. ‘I think,’ she said, and there was approval in her tone, ‘I may have won more than I realised when I captured you from my brother.’
And so Snarf went to work with Thorvard, learning to come when he whistled, to sit when he clicked his fingers, to run at his heels until he gave the signal to chase. He learnt to follow the scent that Thorvard chose, and not to be distracted; to bring game back, and drop it at his feet; and to point properly when he sensed an animal in the bushes.
Finally Thorvard took him hunting. That, it seemed, was what most of the free men did in this new land, while the women ran the farms.
The men hunted reindeer; and polar bear, with their thick white coats; or walrus, prized for their ivory tusks and tough skin that was made into leather ropes and belts. They tracked the auk as well, giant birds who were too docile to even run away, with their precious feathers and their meat that stank of fish, and seals and eider ducks as well. The soft duck feathers were as valuable as the waterproof sealskins, and earned much silver from Norwegian traders.
Sometimes the men rode horses 22 —shaggy beasts as tall as Snarf, but with broader backs. But mostly the horses were kept for ploughing, or for stallion fights, the great horses nipping, kicking, striking and rearing to see which one was strongest.
But after every hunt, as the men and women of Brattahlid streamed out to greet the hunters and exclaim at what they had brought back, Snarf would sniff out Hekja. She would hug him and he would lick her face as though to say, ‘No matter how far I have hunted, I am still your dog.’ Even when Thorvard whistled for him thenext day Snarf would wait till Hekja gave him her own signal that he should go.
Life was busy for Hekja too. While Thorvard hunted,
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