Tim Severin - Odinn's Child

'I'm told you've been asking about Thorgunna, who stayed here a long number of years ago,' Eithne said. 'I suppose you are her son.'

My mouth must have dropped open with shock, for she went on, 'Don't look so surprised. You have the same colour of eyes and skin as she had, and perhaps the shape of your face is the same.'

'I never knew my mother,' I said. 'She sent me away to live with my father when I was still a babe in arms, and she had died by the time I came back to where she lived.'

'And where was that?' asked Eithne.

'At Frodriver in Iceland,' I answered. 'She died there when I was only three years old.'

'Ah yes, I had heard something about that,' this strange, rotund little woman briskly interrupted.

'It was said that there were portents shortly before she died and hauntings afterwards.' I ventured. 'It was something to do with her goods, with the things she brought with her, her clothes and bed hangings. At least that was what I was told. When these things were finally burned, the troubles ceased.'

Eithne gave a little snort of impatience. 'What did they think! No wonder there was trouble if someone else got their hands on a volva's sacred possessions.'

She gave another sniff. 'Your mother may have been nothing to look at, but she was skilled in other ways and I don't mean just at needlework. Those wall hangings she owned, she brought them with her from Ireland and she had stitched them herself and chanted the spell-words over them.'

'You mean like rune writing,' I commented.

Eithne gave me a patient look.

'Yes, like rune writing, but different. Men and women can both cut runes, but women often prefer to stitch their symbols. In some ways it is more painstaking and more effective. Those cloths and hangings and garments your mother cherished were powerful seidr. In the wrong hands they caused the spirits to be uneasy.'

I was about to make some comment about the earl's mystical raven flag, but thought better of it. 'I was told that you and my mother spent time together, so I was hoping you would be kind enough to tell me something about her. I would truly appreciate any details.'

'Most of our discussions were on trivial matters — or on matters which do not concern men,' she replied crisply. 'Your mother kept herself to herself nearly all the time she was here. She was a big woman — as I expect you know — and rather fierce, so most people kept out of her way. I had more to do with her than anyone else because we spoke Irish to one another, and of course she recognised that I have the sight, just as I knew she was a volva.'

'Did she say where she came from? Who her family were?' I persisted. 'If I knew that, perhaps I could find out if I have any living relatives.'

Eithne looked at me with a hint of pity. 'Don't expect too much. Everyone thinks that they are descended from some special line, princes or great lords. But most of our forebears were ordinary folk. All I know is that your mother spoke excellent Irish and she could be well mannered when she was not being peevish, which might mean she came from a family with good social standing. She did once mention that she belonged to a tribe who lived somewhere in the middle of the island of Ireland. I don't remember its name but it might have been Ua Ruairc or Ua Ruanaid, or something like that. But the Irish tribes love giving themselves new titles and names, even changing where they live. The Irish are a restless and wandering people. I've been living in Orkney so long that I'm out of touch with what goes on there. It's possible that King Sigtryggr might recognise your mother's clan name. But, on the other hand, he may not have any idea at all. Although he's King of Dublin and has his home there, he's a Norseman through and through. You would be better advised to find your way to Ireland yourself and make enquiries there. Though don't be in a hurry, there's already war in the west and it will soon get worse. But why am I telling you this? You know that already, or you should.'

Again I must have appeared puzzled because the old woman shot me a glance and said, 'No, perhaps not. You're still too young. Anyhow, I can arrange for you to accompany Sigtryggr when he returns home, which should be some time very soon — that doesn't require second sight to anticipate. He and his men are locusts. They'll eat up our last stocks of winter food if Sigurd doesn't make it obvious that they have outstayed their welcome. I've advised him to serve up smaller and smaller portions at mealtimes, and resurrect some of the stockfish that half rotted when the rain got into the storehouse last autumn. If the smell doesn't get rid of them, nothing will.'

The old lady was as good as her word and her dietary stratagem was effective. Sigtryggr and his followers left Birsay within fortyeight hours, and I was added to the royal entourage at the earl mother's particular request. I had failed to learn anything more about Thorgunna, but was glad to leave Orkney because I had noticed how one of the Burners had started giving me occasional puzzled glances, as if he was trying to remember where he had seen me before. I recognised him as one of the men on whom I had eavesdropped at the Althing, and was nervous that he would make the connection. If he did so, it was likely that I could finish up with my throat cut.

FOURTEEN

SIGTRYGGR'S SHIP WAS a match for his magnificent dress brooch. The Norsemen may not be able to weave gossamer silks into gorgeous robes or construct the great tiled domes and towers of the palaces that I was later to see in my travels, but when it comes to building ships they are without peer. Sigtryggr's vessel was a drakkar, sleek, sinister, speedy, a masterpiece of the shipwright's craft. She had been built on the banks of the Black River in Ireland, as her crew never tired of boasting. The Ostmen, the word the Norse in Ireland use to describe themselves, build ships every bit as well as the shipwrights in Norway and Denmark because the quality of native Irish timber equals anything found in the northern lands. Coming as I did from two countries where big trees were so rare that it was unthinkable to build a large ocean-going vessel, the moment I clambered aboard the drakkar I could not resist running my fingertips along the handpicked oak beams and the perfect fit of the flawless planking. I would have been a complete ignoramus not to appreciate the gracefully sweeping lines of the long black-painted hull and the perfect symmetry of the rows of metal fastenings, the ingenious carving of the wooden fittings for the mast and rigging, and the evident care which the crew lavished on their vessel. The drakkar — her name was Spindrifter — was deliberately flamboyant. At anchor her crew rigged a smart wadmal tent to cover her amidships, a tent sewn from strips of five different colours, and set it up so tautly that she looked like a floating fairground booth. And as soon as we were at sea with a fair wind, they set a mainsail of a matching pattern so that the vessel crested along like a brilliant exotic bird. As a king's ship, Spindrifter was prettified with fancy carvings and bright paint. There were intricately cut panels each side of the curling prow, a snarling figurehead, blue, gold and red chevrons painted on the oar blades, and the intricate decorative lashing on the helmsman's rudder grip was given a daily coat of white chalk. Even the metal weathervane was gilded. Spindrifter was meant to impress, and in my case she did.

Most mariners, I have noticed, share a particular moment of weakness. It comes in the first hour after a ship safely clears the land and is heading out to open sea. That is when the crew lets out a collective breath of relief, sensing that they are back in their closed world that is small, intimate and familiar. The feeling is particularly strong if the crew has previously sailed together, gone ashore for a few days and then returned to their vessel. They are eager to re-establish their sense of comradeship, and that is their moment of indiscretion. As the last rope is coiled down and the ship settles on her course, they begin to talk about their time ashore, compare their experiences, comment on sights they saw and the people they met, perhaps boast of the women they encountered and speculate about the immediate future, and they do so openly. They are a crew binding together and, as our ship sailed down the inner channel from Orkney, the crew of Spindrifter overlooked the fact that among them was a stranger. Too insignificant to be noticed, I heard their unguarded thoughts on the success of their visit to Birsay, the prospects for the coming war and the manoeuvrings of their lord and master, King Sigtryggr.