Ragnar the Just (Ragnar the Dane #3) (10 page)

*
 
*
  *

The next morning, Lini was reluctant to leave the house, so Mildrith went to fetch water from the well, glad to escape and think about the new situation.

She’d comforted Kjartan after his beloved Yngvild left him and he’d comforted her after the horrific death of her husband, Herewulf, so they got married. But he’d never looked at her the way he looked at Lini, she realised abruptly.
He was her husband
,
though, the only family she had apart from Dalla, so she didn’t intend to reject him. She couldn’t let her comfortable life slip away easily. It had been too long coming to her after so many years of unhappiness.

She had left her daughter in the care of the men, with detailed instructions about what to do in any situation, although she w
as sure Lini could manage fine. H
e’d already proved his worth settling the baby last night.

A group of Danish women were walking back with full pails, so she opened her mouth to say hallo.

They stared at her, then turned away giggling.

“Why are you laughing at me?” s
he called after them, suspecting the answer.

“Your husband is
sansorthinn
. He is not a proper man,” said one, and the others giggled all the more.

Mildrith couldn’t think of a retort. Snatches of conversation reached her.

“Takes it up the arse.”

“Practis
es woman’s magic.”

“Transforms into a mare.”

And laughter.
Constant laughter.

She fetched the water and trudged back home. Had she done right in letting Lini stay? What choice did she have?  She knew all too well that being alone was worse.

*
 
*
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“It’s started,” she told Kjartan and Lini when she got back, setting the pails firmly on the floor.

“What?”

“The comments.”
She described what had happened.

“It’ll pass,” said Kjartan optimistically. “They’ll soon find someone else to gossip about.”
Lini and Mildrith exchanged glances.
“Anyway, I need to get back to the harvest.” Kjartan took his sickle from where it hung on the wall. “If it’s going to keep raining we need to get the last crops in as quick as we can.”

“And I need to get on with the glasses the Jarl ordered.” Lini put on his cloak.

“Good luck to you both.”

The trio embraced each other, feeling as if they were going into battle, and the men set off on their separate ways.

Eve
ryone they passed sniggered
and muttered to each other. By the sixth occasion, Kjartan had had enough.
“What is your problem?” he demanded of two men carrying some timber. “Haven’t you seen someone with hair this colour before?”

“We’ve seen you before. We just didn’t think you were a bitch hound,” said one, smirking at his friend.

Kjartan bristled.

“Don’t rise to it,” said Lini. “It’s not worth bothering.”

“Listen to your wife,” said the man and the pair burst out laughing.

Lini walked off, leaving Kjartan to follow.

“You have to ignore it. If you let them get to you, you’ll make it worse,” he said.

Kjartan shrugged and they parted at the burnt tree.

*
 
*
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Lini was cautious on the way to the fo
rge and entered it warily, half-
expecting someone to jump out. But it was deserted.

The kiln and oven heated up quickly, so he put the metal rod in to collect some blue glass, as the Jarl had ordered. He wanted two glasses of every colour, which would take considerable time and trouble but the payment made it worth it.

“Morning,” said a voice.

Lini looked up to see one of the Huskarls, Styrkar, his hair tied back neatly in the warrior’s way. He was a trainee, and quite a hothead according to Kjartan.

“I’ve come to see if the Jarl’s drinking glasses are ready. He needs them quickly.”

“I’m doing them now.”

“Sure you can manage it?” A smirk played on his mouth.

“Yes, I’m sure.” Lini sighed, knowing he meant to insult his masculinity.

“Even
though you act like a woman?” h
e laughed.

“If you’ve got something to say, say it. Don’t bother hinting.”

“Well, I have.” Styrkar stepped up to him menacingly. “No one round here likes your sort. Why don’t you just leave?”

“And stop working on the Jarl’s glasses? What would he do without me?”

“Don’t make fun of me!” Styrkar’s nostrils flared.

“I wasn’t. I was just saying.”

He bristled with unfocused indignation. “Well, just watch yourself, amber smith.”

Lini smiled to himself. If such insults were the worst Styrkar could hurt him with, he didn’t have anything to worry about.

*
 
*
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In the wheat field, Kjartan cut the plants with his sickle, its crescent blade severing the plants from the ground like an executioner, the wooden handle fitting his palm perfectly. Valbrand, the smith, had made it especially for him as a wedding present and he kept it in prime condition, as without it he and his family would go hungry.

Women gathered the wheat stalks together t
o tie it into sheaves and
carried them to the cart to be taken to the barn for storage. They didn’t talk to him, just took the wheat from him as he cut it.

Apart from these women, he now worked by himself as the other men kept away after the revelations about his life.
It seemed he was always destined to be unpopular, but at least this time he had a wife, a lover and a child. Thoughts of them kept the isolation distant.

A shadow fell across him as he bent to pick up the latest handful of stems.

“We don’t want your help,” said one of the farmhands, a broad, ruddy faced man. He was accompanied by another burly labourer.

“Why not?
I’m strong and quick at this work.”

“You know why. We don’t want effeminate, cowardly men helping with our harvest.”

Kjartan looked sceptically at him and stood up, rotating the sickle in his hand like a sword. Both men flinched.

“I’ve never been called effeminate or cowardly before. And I’ve never walked away from a fight.”

He advanced on the men, who retreated, but a few more jogged over, sensing blood spillage. After the recent rain shower, the early autumn sun had returned and beat down strongly. The workers had been drinking ale since morning to keep thirst at bay, and tempers were up.

“You can’t work in the fields. No one wants you here,” said the first man.

“But if I can’t work, I won’t get a share of the crops to feed my family. They’d starve.”

“Your family?
Your l
over, you mean,” they sniggered, “w
ho takes it up the arse like a woman.”

“H
is name is Lini. Remember him, the skilled craftsman,
t
he
one who’s made everyone’s drinking vessels, jewellery and windows for the last few years?”

They still sniggered, ignoring the expert status of the glass worker, the only one in the area.

“You’re both still
ergi
. W
e all want you out of here.”

They eac
h grabbed one of Kjartan’s arms as he struggled
and thrashed around, trying to cut at them with the sickle he still held. Two Huskarls stood in the background, not attempting to step in. Kjartan glared at them, remembering when he was a full member of their company. Once, they’d have protected him, but he’d done too many wrongs to keep their loyalty.

The farmhands brought him down with a struggle.

“You’re less than a warrior now. We should cut your hair,” sneered one, prizing the sickle out of Kjartan’s hand and moving it towards his long, blond plait.

“Oi!
What the hell’s going on?” roared a voice.

The auburn-haired figure of
Ragnar strode through the crowd
which hastily parted.

“Get back to your work!” he ordered the onlookers.
“Especially you two!”
The Huskarls guiltily shuffled away.

“Why are you doing this when there’s work to be done?” He glared at the two farmhands, his slightly Oriental appearance adding to his forbidding expression.

“He’s - he’s
ergi
  -
he’s -
” they stammered.

“So? Who cares? Last
year, this man saved my life and the lives of countless women
stolen by the wolf cult. Have you forgotten so soon?”

The men looked at the ground, complaining under their breath now.

“Quiet while I’m talking! You should know we need all able-bodied men to help get the harvest in or we’ll all starve.
Stop being so selfish!”

They backed away, muttering darkly to themselves, leaving Kjartan on the ground among the dry stubble.

“You’ve chosen a difficult path this time, brother,” said Ragnar, looking down at him. “These Danes won’t like you for it.”

Kjartan scrambled up, brushing wheat stalks off
himself
.

“What
d’you mean
, ‘these Danes’? Aren’t you one of them?”

Ragnar considered. He’d always thought of himself as the outsider looking in on Danish society. Many of their rules were inconsistent and he could see better ways of doing things.

“Partly,” he said at last. “Just be careful.
There’s
plenty of fools like them around.”

“It’s Lini I’m more worried about.”

“Well, take care of him, too.
And Mildrith.”

Ragnar nodded at him, and strode back to supervise the others.

Kjartan picked up the sickle and carried on with his solitary reaping.

*
 
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“It’s all getting so difficult,” complained Ragnar to Aelfwyn as they got ready for bed that night. “Everyone’s threatening Kjartan and causing trouble.”

“Hasn’t that always been the way, though? He’s just that sort of man.”

“Hm.
Why can’t he just live a quiet life like the rest of us?”

“You know what he’s like. He always has to be different. He’ll get over it, perhaps.”

“Perhaps.”

“It’ll get better when Bjarni comes home and takes over, won’t it?”

“Yeah, the Huskarls will calm down
again and get back to normal,
I hope.”

“And
it’s
nice Kjartan’s happy with Lini, isn’t it? He’s so calm and law-abiding. Everyone deserves to be happy, don’t they?”

“They do.”

“We’re really happy, aren’t we? I’m a good wife to you.”

“You fishing for compliments, woman?”

She giggled.

“You’re my favourite wife. Is that better?”

“Not really. I’m your only wife, I hope.”

“Damn. You saw through me.” He laughed and pulled her towards him, cuddling up in bed together cosily.

“I don’t want to be in a relationship with you and someone else,” she giggled. “I want you all to myself.”

“Good.
Me too.”
He pulled the bed covers over their heads and she continued laughing.

*
 
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At Huskarl training, the insults continued.

“Why should we listen to you,
ergi
?” asked Styrkar, among sniggers from his accomplices as they stared at Kjartan.

“That word is illegal. Don’t use it!” snapped Ragnar. “Get your swords. We’re doing moving target practice.”

Half the men threw pieces of bark and wood at the others, who tried to hit them with their swords.

While they were practis
ing, Ragnar took Kjartan aside.

“I don’t know if you’ll be able to keep
helping out. Sorry, but opinion’
s against you and the villagers are appealing to Steinar about it.  It’s b
loody stupid in my opinion but -
” He shrugged.

Kjartan frowned.
“So, they want to get rid of an experienced warrior like me because I lie with a man?”
Suddenly
,
aware they were being watched, Kjartan turned to the onlookers.
“Yes! That’s right! I lie with a man! You all
know that! What have you got to say about it?” He st
epped towards them aggressively
while Ragnar watched.