A Slave's Tale

5

THE WINTER that year had a stern face, and Hakon was not to sail the following spring. Too much work remained to be done on Rogen for so many of the men to leave the island for so long a time. Erp the Traveler, who was famed as a steersman, said that few had been lucky enough to travel so far and return during one summer. Rark was very disappointed, for he had hoped to see his home that summer. So were most of the younger men, who all had more taste for adventure than for work in the fields. If the winter was unkind, then the summer seemed to want to undo the damage the winter had caused. Only one lamb died during the lambing season. Grass was plentiful; great stacks of hay were piled up around the hall, promising more than enough food for the cattle next winter. There were even more herring and cod caught that summer than most years. The people took the rich harvest as an omen that the gods looked with pleasure once more on Rogen. Many of them began to talk of Hakon's luck, and look with admiration upon their young chieftain. As Hakon's sun ascended into the sky, its rays fell on 39 5 his favorites. Harold the Bowbender was now the most respected man on Rogen, second only to Hakon. That Rark had once been a slave was almost forgotten, for he had killed Sigurd Sigurdson in single combat. Also I felt the difference: I slept nearer the fire, and at night my body was covered with a quilt of down. The quilt had belonged to Hakon's mother and had kept Thora Magnusdaughter warm the winter she lived among us. But it gave me many enemies, for as the chieftain's seat at the end of the table was the symbol of Hakon's power, my nightly covering was a symbol of my favor with Hakon. Most of the women were happy that the men could not leave that summer, for few like to see their husbands or sons sail away in Viking. Many a ship has never returned, and many that have come back have brought to a wife or mother only the tale of her husband's or her son's death. Although the sun warms man, it is not a friend in the same way that the fire on the hearth is. Hakon was now chief of Rogen; and though I was no longer a slave, the difference between our positions seemed greater than ever. Seldom did I get a chance to talk with Hakon alone, for there were always men about him. I grew sullen as I found that my freedom made me more lonesome . I was growing up. I was neither child nor woman, neither free nor slave; ever living in spring weather, when winter and summer can be felt on the same day. I learned to shoot with bow and arrow; mostly in the vain hope that my skill should change Hakon's mind, 40 and I would be allowed to sail south with him. I noticed that summer, that my body was changing and sometimes I felt that it was something separate from myself . I had begun to think differently, too: I, who as a child would cry at the sight of a lame bird, could now with my arrows kill a hare and rejoice at my hunter's luck. I liked being outside, and no longer feared the night, but would walk alone when the winds were asleep and the full moon had changed all the trees and shrubs to silver. My enemies were among the women. I believe they felt it an insult to have to sit at table with me, a former slave. Especially Signe, the widow of Sigurd Sigurdson, and Ragnhild, Eirik the Fox's widow, hated me; but because of their husbands' crimes they had little power. Yet I feared that when Hakon was not there to protect me, they would show their hatred more openly. When the first fall storms came, and the cattle were brought down from the mountains and the sheep brought home from Grass Island, the men started to talk of the voyage. I listened to the young men's heroic dreams. The lands beyond the sea drew our thoughts as the currents in the sea draw the ships. Hakon...