around. With most of the light in the broch coming from the fire beside her, she noticed that it was actually quite difficult to see all the faces staring at her. Those at the front were clear enough, however.
There was Horn, glaring. Mouse looked away. She knew she had Gudrun to thank for this—Horn was simply tolerating his Wisewoman’s decision. Mouse was not surprised when she saw Ragnald, the white stranger, sitting near Horn. Ragnald had been keeping Horn amused with tales of his travels as an entertainer, and Horn had elevated the stranger to a position of privilege.
Mouse had not seen Ragnald do any entertaining herself.
She saw Freya, who mouthed something at her, she couldn’t tell what, though she knew what she meant. She was wishing her well. Next to Freya sat Olaf. She couldn’t see Sigurd. He had to be here, though, because the whole tribe had to be.
They waited. There was a commotion at the doorway, and then the deer-hide curtain was pulled back to allow someone to pass. Sif came first, her hands by her sides. Then Mouse realized she was carrying the front end of a stretcher-like bed. On the bed lay Gudrun. And then Mouse saw that the back end was being carried by Sigurd.
She had no time to wonder at this strange union, for the bed was placed beside her, between her and Horn.
Horn shifted uncomfortably, and suddenly it occurred to Mouse that Gudrun was playing games with him.
“You. Lawspeaker,” said Gudrun. “You are responsible for this. You wounded me—now I humiliate you. Here is your daughter and the son of your enemy united in carrying me. And here is Mouse, the one you fear, the one you hate, performing the sacred spells. So I humiliate you!”
Mouse looked at Gudrun. And with a shock she realized Gudrun had not said a word. She was lying on the bed, struggling to sit upright with the help of Sigurd and Sif.
But Mouse had heard Gudrun’s thoughts clearly, and it put a smile onto her face. She felt a little courage creep into her.
“Mouse,” said Gudrun quietly. This time for real, in her real, broken, wound-weakened voice.
Mouse nodded.
“Let’s begin,” said Gudrun.
31
When Gudrun asked me to carry her into the broch for the Spell-making, I jumped at the chance to do something important. Something different.
Of course, she didn’t tell me who she’d asked to carry the other end until it was too late to back down without shame.
And from the look on Sif’s face I guess Gudrun had pulled the same trick on her.
I didn’t know what she was up to—Gudrun, I mean. Not then. Playing her own games, maybe. But thinking about it now, I see what she was doing.
32
Mouse gave the Spell-making, and all was well. She took her usual place at the edge of the circles of people.
Then Horn signaled for Herda to give a song, which he did. At the end of the song Mouse turned to see if Ragnald had been impressed, but he had gone. He must have left during the singing. Horn sat glowering in the firelight. Herda hesitated, unsure of what to do, until Horn grabbed a handful of dirt from the floor and threw it angrily into the fire.
The broch emptied rapidly.
33
And how strange things became, so quickly then.
Sif and Sigurd carried Gudrun on her stretcher once more, this time back to her bed. Before they were halfway back, Gudrun was asleep, exhausted with the effort of the Spell-making.
There was an uneasy silence between them. Both pretended to be quiet for Gudrun’s sake, to avoid having to engage in the usual hostilities.
As they left Gudrun’s hut a figure stepped in front of them.
“Good evening,” said Ragnald.
Sigurd said nothing. Sif looked sideways at him and was silent, too.
“That was brave work,” he went on.
Hardly. But Sif swallowed the bait.
“My father is Lawspeaker,” she said pointlessly.
“Indeed,” said Ragnald, “and the Wisewoman chose you well. Both of you.”
Sig was silent still. Sif gave him another sideways glance. It passed through
There was Horn, glaring. Mouse looked away. She knew she had Gudrun to thank for this—Horn was simply tolerating his Wisewoman’s decision. Mouse was not surprised when she saw Ragnald, the white stranger, sitting near Horn. Ragnald had been keeping Horn amused with tales of his travels as an entertainer, and Horn had elevated the stranger to a position of privilege.
Mouse had not seen Ragnald do any entertaining herself.
She saw Freya, who mouthed something at her, she couldn’t tell what, though she knew what she meant. She was wishing her well. Next to Freya sat Olaf. She couldn’t see Sigurd. He had to be here, though, because the whole tribe had to be.
They waited. There was a commotion at the doorway, and then the deer-hide curtain was pulled back to allow someone to pass. Sif came first, her hands by her sides. Then Mouse realized she was carrying the front end of a stretcher-like bed. On the bed lay Gudrun. And then Mouse saw that the back end was being carried by Sigurd.
She had no time to wonder at this strange union, for the bed was placed beside her, between her and Horn.
Horn shifted uncomfortably, and suddenly it occurred to Mouse that Gudrun was playing games with him.
“You. Lawspeaker,” said Gudrun. “You are responsible for this. You wounded me—now I humiliate you. Here is your daughter and the son of your enemy united in carrying me. And here is Mouse, the one you fear, the one you hate, performing the sacred spells. So I humiliate you!”
Mouse looked at Gudrun. And with a shock she realized Gudrun had not said a word. She was lying on the bed, struggling to sit upright with the help of Sigurd and Sif.
But Mouse had heard Gudrun’s thoughts clearly, and it put a smile onto her face. She felt a little courage creep into her.
“Mouse,” said Gudrun quietly. This time for real, in her real, broken, wound-weakened voice.
Mouse nodded.
“Let’s begin,” said Gudrun.
31
When Gudrun asked me to carry her into the broch for the Spell-making, I jumped at the chance to do something important. Something different.
Of course, she didn’t tell me who she’d asked to carry the other end until it was too late to back down without shame.
And from the look on Sif’s face I guess Gudrun had pulled the same trick on her.
I didn’t know what she was up to—Gudrun, I mean. Not then. Playing her own games, maybe. But thinking about it now, I see what she was doing.
32
Mouse gave the Spell-making, and all was well. She took her usual place at the edge of the circles of people.
Then Horn signaled for Herda to give a song, which he did. At the end of the song Mouse turned to see if Ragnald had been impressed, but he had gone. He must have left during the singing. Horn sat glowering in the firelight. Herda hesitated, unsure of what to do, until Horn grabbed a handful of dirt from the floor and threw it angrily into the fire.
The broch emptied rapidly.
33
And how strange things became, so quickly then.
Sif and Sigurd carried Gudrun on her stretcher once more, this time back to her bed. Before they were halfway back, Gudrun was asleep, exhausted with the effort of the Spell-making.
There was an uneasy silence between them. Both pretended to be quiet for Gudrun’s sake, to avoid having to engage in the usual hostilities.
As they left Gudrun’s hut a figure stepped in front of them.
“Good evening,” said Ragnald.
Sigurd said nothing. Sif looked sideways at him and was silent, too.
“That was brave work,” he went on.
Hardly. But Sif swallowed the bait.
“My father is Lawspeaker,” she said pointlessly.
“Indeed,” said Ragnald, “and the Wisewoman chose you well. Both of you.”
Sig was silent still. Sif gave him another sideways glance. It passed through