Katherine Langrish - West of the Moon

Cheese! Butter! Roast crabs! Peer swallowed. He realised how terribly hungry he felt. His downcast look must have touched Hilde, for she said in a more friendly way, “I hope you’ll like living here. Your uncles will give you an easy time at first, won’t they? I know! I can bring our barley to you now. If you don’t tell your uncles who it’s from, maybe they’ll grind it for us. That would be a joke!”

“I don’t think I could,” said Peer, alarmed. He felt sure that her jokes could get him into a lot of trouble.

“I didn’t mean it,” said Hilde impatiently. She gave him a look, plainly wondering how anyone could be so dull and serious, and Peer flushed. Hilde waved. “I’ll be seeing you!” she cried.

She rode over the bridge and on down the hill. Peer blew out his cheeks.

“Who cares what she thinks?” he muttered. “Eh, Loki?” He called Loki to heel and trailed back to the yard. The mill door was open, and he saw one of his uncles standing dishevelled in the morning sunshine, scratching under his arms and staring at Hilde as her pony picked its neat-footed way down the road to the village. He summoned Peer with a jerk of the head.

“Were you talking to that lass?”

“Yes, Uncle Grim,” said Peer meekly.

He received a slap that made his head ring. “That’s for chattering and wasting time,” growled his uncle. “What did she say?”

“If you don’t want me to talk to her, why do you want to know?” asked Peer angrily, rubbing his ear. Uncle Grim lifted his hand again.

“Oh well, let me see,” said Peer with an edge to his voice. “She asked me who I was. I told her my name. Then she said her name is Hilde, and she welcomed me to the dale, which she seems to think she owns. Isn’t this interesting?”

Uncle Grim didn’t seem to notice sarcasm. “What else?”

Peer wasn’t going to repeat what Hilde had said about the millers. He racked his brains for something else. “Oh yes,” he remembered. “She said her father went away this morning. He’s going a-Viking for the summer, on the new longship.”

Uncle Grim’s black beard split open in a wide grin, showing a set of brown and yellow teeth. “Has he, indeed? Baldur!” he bellowed. “Ralf Eiriksson has gone a-Viking. Leaving his family all alone !” He clapped Peer on the back. “Maybe you’ll be useful after all, sonny!”

With a sinking heart Peer followed his uncle indoors. Loki trotted at his heels. And Grendel, sprawled out beside the fire, saw Loki. He surged to his feet like a hairy earthquake and crept forwards growling, eyes riveted on the intruder, strings of saliva drooling from his jaws. Peer whirled in alarm. Loki stood there, his tail wagging slower and slower as he lost confidence.

“Down Grendel! Down!” cried Peer.

“He’ll not listen to you ,” said Uncle Baldur scornfully from the table.

“Tell him Loki’s a friend,” Peer begged, trying to bundle Loki backwards out of the door. “Can’t we introduce them, or something?”

In no hurry, Uncle Baldur finished his mouthful. “Down, Grendel,” he ordered. The huge dog flicked a glance at his master.

“Get down , sir!” screamed Uncle Baldur, slapping his hand on the table. Grendel shook his great head, spattering Peer with froth, and lowered himself to the floor, still glaring at Loki with unforgiving menace.

Peer got the door open and Loki vanished into the yard.

“Come here,” said Uncle Baldur to Peer, cutting himself some more cheese. Peer approached reluctantly till he was standing between his uncle’s outstretched legs. Crumbs of bread and cheese speckled his uncle’s beard. His stained shirt gaped open at the throat, exposing another tangle of black hair. A flea jumped out. Uncle Baldur caught it, cracked it, wiped his fingers on his shirt, and reached for more bread.

“That dog,” he said, nodding at Grendel. “That dog only obeys me and Grim. Right? He hates other dogs. He’s a born fighter.”

“Killed half a dozen,” agreed Grim in a sort of proud growl.

“So if you want to keep your dog in one piece, you watch your step and make yourself very, very useful.” Uncle Baldur stared Peer straight in the eye. “Otherwise we might organise a little dogfight. Understand?”

Peer understood. He compressed his lips and nodded, as slightly as he dared.

“Good.” Baldur explored a back molar with a dirty fingernail. “Now what’s all this about Ralf Eiriksson?”

“I don’t know,” said Peer sullenly. “No!” he added. “I mean, all I know is what I’ve told you. His daughter says he’s walking to Hammerhaven this morning. He’s going a-Viking for the summer. I didn’t ask any more.”

His uncles winked at each other, and Uncle Baldur kicked Peer on the ankle. “Where did the girl go?”

“To the village,” said Peer in a small voice. “To buy fish.”

“I want to see her.” Uncle Baldur jabbed Peer in the chest. “Watch for her coming back. Bring her straight to me. Right?”

He turned to the table, not waiting for a reply, and tossed him the end of a loaf. “Eat that and get on with the chores,” he said abruptly. “Grim’ll show you what to do. And remember – fetch me that girl!”

Chapter 5

Trouble at the Mill

HILDE’S SHOES SANK into the wet sand. She rubbed her arms, willing the sun to climb higher. It was chilly here on the beach in the shadow of Troll Fell. The tide was going out, and cold grey waves splashed on the shore.

“Half a dozen herring and a couple of crabs? Done!” agreed Bjørn cheerfully. He shouted to his brother who sat in the boat sorting the catch, “Find us a couple of good big crabs, Arne!” He turned back to Hilde. “Any news?”

“I should say so,” said Hilde gloomily. “My father’s left. Gone off for the whole summer on the new longship they’ve built at Hammerhaven.”

Bjørn whistled, Arne clambered out of the boat, and Hilde discovered that explaining it all to two interested young men cheered her up – especially when Arne fixed his vivid blue eyes on her face. “Lucky Ralf,” he said enviously. “I wish I’d heard about it. What’s the ship like?”

“Lovely,” Hilde assured him. “She’s got a dragon head, all carved and painted.”

“Yes,” Bjørn laughed, “but how long is she? How many oars?”

Hilde didn’t know. “That boy at the mill could tell you. His father built her.”

“What boy?”

“The millers’ nephew. I met him this morning. They’ve taken him in because his father died.”

Bjørn’s eyebrows rose. “The millers have taken in an orphan? What’s he like?”

“He’s all right,” said Hilde without enthusiasm. “He seems a bit nervous.”

“I’d be nervous in his shoes,” said Bjørn darkly. “Arne! Dreamer! Give the girl her fish!”

With her basket full of herring and the two live crabs wrapped firmly in a cloth, Hilde rode whistling back up the steep path out of the village. Her good mood lasted until she came in sight of the mill. Even the spring sunshine could not gild its slimy black thatch. The brook rushed away from it, tumbling over itself in a white cascade. Nobody happy had ever lived there.

Hilde felt sorry for the boy, Peer, but she didn’t want to stop. She gathered up the reins and trotted, hoping to get past without being seen, but as she reached the bridge, Peer dashed out of the yard. “Hilde! Hilde!” He ran up, looking pale and miserable. “I’m sorry. My uncles want to talk to you. Will you come?”

Hilde rode warily into the yard. Both the millers were there, lounging on the doorstep. They lowered their heads threateningly – like a couple of prize bulls, Hilde thought.

“What d’you want?” she demanded.