The Harrowing

At first I think everyone in the hall assumed that the tears spilling down my cheeks were ones of joy, or else that’s what they preferred to tell themselves. But as I was led, trembling, towards the dais, head bowed like a slave being taken to market, and when my sobs didn’t stop but went on and on, I think they began to realise. People fidgeted and grew uncomfortable. Smiles turned to frowns. A whisper passed around the hall, like a breeze stirring the rushes. Someone coughed, then another, and another. One of the younger children began to cry.

Skalpi knew, of course. Right from the start, he knew. I remember so clearly the heartbroken look in his eyes. For he’d tried his best. He might have been more than forty-five winters in age, but he still looked every bit the warrior. Later, when the ceremony was over, my tears had subsided and he led me out from the silent hall into the glare of the day, I saw him more clearly. He was tall, by which I mean he stood probably a head and a half over me, and he was powerfully built too, without much of a belly. Yes, he had his fair share of scars, but he had taken care over his appearance. He’d combed his beard and perfumed his tunic, which was plain and unembroidered, the colour of holly leaves. His sleeves were bunched where he wore his arm rings, which were fashioned from rods of gold twisted around one another. I supposed they must have been old family treasures because no one wears such garish things nowadays, but he prized them greatly.

He was a proud man, and I don’t just mean in his appearance. I could tell straight away that I’d wounded him, and deeply. His weather-worn face was flushed with embarrassment, which only made me feel worse. We weren’t even wed and already I had failed him.

Thurkil the reeve, who was in charge of the ceremony, asked me quietly whether I was well, and if I wished to go on. Skalpi was looking anxiously at me, and I said with a sniff that yes I did. But I was sobbing as we knelt before each other, sobbing through the vows and sobbing as, afterwards, Leofa the priest led the hall in prayer and wished us a long and fruitful life, and asked that our marriage be blessed with many children in the years to come.

For the sake of everyone watching, I tried to swallow my tears as Thurkil bade us rise and proclaimed us man and wife, and as Skalpi gently, uncertainly, took my hand in his, which was leathery and had to be twice the size of my own. I could hardly feel my feet, and at any moment I thought I would fall. Together we began what felt like the longest walk of my life: from the dais, past all those folk, who shuffled their feet and averted their gaze, through the open doors and into bright sunlight, where we were greeted with cheers and showers of petals from those waiting outside, and bright peals from the bell tower. As we took our places at the feasting table I caught my brother’s glance, and on his face there was a look as if he couldn’t believe what he had done. I wanted to tell him that it wasn’t his fault, but then my mother sat down beside me, her head raised proud and her chin jutting out. She didn’t speak to me or even look at me.

That night was my last under the roof where I’d grown up. I managed somehow to stifle my sorrow through the feasting and the games and the music and the dancing, but I was dreading what was to come. I had hardly eaten all day, I felt so sick. All too soon the sun fell below the gable of the hall. The skies turned the colour of fire as the day blazed its last, and then the stars began to emerge.

Evening fell.

I’d witnessed enough marriages to know what would happen next. Someone would blow a horn; at once the cavorting and the swilling would cease; a cry would go up, and then all the men would chase after the bride, ripping her garments from her as tokens of good luck until eventually she stood in just her undergown or what was left of it, and then everyone would cheer as the newly married man stepped forward and scooped her up in his arms and carried her off to his chamber, and there would be jokes about his manhood and her chastity, and much laughter, and ale cups raised and lewd songs and raucous cheers.

All the time, as we joined in the dancing, and the men passed between the women around the circle, laying a kiss on each one’s cheek before moving on in time with the sound of the flute, I was waiting for that to happen. First Eadmer took me by the hand, and he was smiling but there was sadness in his eyes at the same time. I did my best to smile back before we changed partners, and then it was Leofa’s turn, and after that one of Skalpi’s retainers, a dark-haired man whose name I didn’t know but whose face seemed fixed in a perpetual smirk, and it was almost a relief when the music changed and he moved on and I found myself once again looking into Skalpi’s blue eyes, as clear as crystal.

James Aitcheson's books