Winter came and went. It wasn’t as harsh as some, not as bitter as this one, but the winds came rushing down from the high moors, and rain battered the hall for days on end. There was a storm one night that screeched and roared and made the whole house creak, waking everyone. In the morning we found that it had torn the thatch from one of the barns, and Skalpi crossed himself and said the old gods, the gods of the Danes, the gods of his father’s father, were stirring from their slumber, beating their war drums as they marched to give battle with the new religion, and that was the surest sign that bad times were to come.
Then, just as the days were beginning to grow bright again and the first shoots were bursting forth, there came another long spell of rain. The rivers rushed and frothed and swirled and swelled until eventually they overspilled their banks and all the meadows were under water. The timber bridge, which had apparently stood for forty years, was swept away, and the wath was too dangerous to cross for weeks afterwards, so we were cut off for much of that time, and that meant that tidings of goings-on elsewhere were hard to come by. We’d hear things sometimes if we needed to send to manors further up the valley to trade fleeces for flour or salted pork for rolls of linen, but it was only what they’d learned from others, who themselves had heard it in turn from Byrhtred, who’d been told it by ?thelwulf, who had first heard it from Maning, so it was difficult to know how much of what reached our ears was true, if anything.
Of course it turned out it was all true: the rumours of rebellion which Skalpi had dismissed as mere fancies, everything. Some time before Christmas the ?theling had fled King Wilelm’s court and gone into St Cuthbert’s land, where he’d made common cause with the lord of Bebbanburh and other noble families and had marched south. A great battle had followed at Dunholm, where the Normans had been slaughtered in their thousands, or so it was said, until the streets were choked with their corpses and the river below the town had run red with their blood.
Not long after, the ?theling had retaken Eoferwic, and the Norman whom the king had made shire reeve was besieged inside his castle, and suddenly men began to think that young Eadgar might be the one to drive the Normans from this land back into the sea. But then, as you know, the king rode north with great haste, gathering his vassals, his foot warriors and his riding men as he went. He came upon the ?theling and his army before dawn one morning, forced his way inside the city and took them by surprise, routing them and causing them to flee back into the north.
So it was told to us. The great rising against the Normans, over before it had hardly begun.
When he heard the news, Orm was livid. I was in our chambers with Skalpi eating our midday meal when he burst in uninvited.
‘You should have let me go,’ he said without so much as a greeting. He didn’t glance at me; I don’t know that he even realised I was there, so consumed was he with rage. All his attention was on his father. ‘Now the rebellion is over, and instead of marching under Eadgar’s banner all I’ve done is waste my time here.’
‘Do you think the rebels failed because they lacked your spear and your shield?’ Skalpi asked him. ‘Do you? Don’t be foolish. If you’d gone, you’d most likely have got yourself killed.’
Orm stood across the table from his father. ‘At least I have the courage to fight for my land and my people, something you would never do!’
Red-faced, Skalpi rose. ‘Apologise,’ he said.
‘Why should I apologise?’ Orm retorted. ‘Why should I say sorry for speaking the truth?’
And Skalpi struck him.
I’d never seen my husband take his hand to anyone, not even a slave, and certainly not his own son. As long as I’d known him, he’d always been among the most mild-mannered of men. I’d heard that in his time he’d fought in wars and had killed men, run them through with spear and sword. That was not the Skalpi I knew, but in that moment there was such a wildness in his eyes. As if something inside him had broken, I thought, as if the Devil had somehow taken hold of him. His mouth was twisted into an expression I’d never seen before, an expression I’ll never forget as long as I live. His teeth bared. Breathing hard. Like a hound gone mad. And I was afraid of him suddenly, as I’d never been afraid before.