You’ll tell me now that we should have started making preparations to leave without delay, that it was reckless hope we were clinging to, that we should have known that eventually the Normans would come. But it was our land, our home. Many of those who lived there had hardly set foot outside the manor bounds; as far as they were concerned, that was their world, and so it would remain until the day someone came to take it from them. And so we waited and prayed, and tried not to lose faith but to convince ourselves and each other that no matter how dark things seemed at that moment, all would be well and God would deliver us from harm. It was all we could do.
That was the least joyful Christmas I can remember. No one was in the mood for feasting or celebrating, although there was a lot of drinking, most of it done by Orm, during the day as well as in the evening. He would lash out unexpectedly, usually for a petty reason: if his food reached the table cold or if the girl holding his cup happened to spill some because she was trembling so much. He would argue loudly and at length with ?lfric about matters to do with the running of the manor, thinking he knew better and saying he didn’t know why his father had put up with him for so long. Maybe their broken friendship was the reason he was so angry. He refused both confession and communion, which upset Thorvald. And so he slighted the two men who might otherwise have been his most useful allies. I noticed too that Ketil, who had always been his most loyal friend, spent less and less time with him. They had often enjoyed playing t?fl together, but now when he lost Orm would shove the board from the table and send the pieces flying across the chamber.
Maybe he felt abandoned, and that’s why he began seeking solace and companionship elsewhere. The slave girls quickened their step whenever he was near, and fathers took care to keep their daughters within sight. I took to eating my meals in my bower so that I didn’t have to suffer his gaze from across the dining table. Some days he would hardly touch his food. His hunger was of a different sort, I knew – one that was less easily sated.
At night I struggled to sleep unless I knew he’d already taken to his bed or had drunk himself insensible on the floor of the hall. I’d lie awake for hours at a time, listening until everything was still and I felt safe enough to close my eyes. He’d never dare come into my chamber, I tried telling myself, but I didn’t really believe it, and so after a while I moved myself and all my possessions into my own house on the other side of the estate. It was more confined and simpler, built of daubed wattle rather than oak, but it was further from Orm, and that was all that mattered. Some nights I’d ask Tova to stay with me and either sleep in the room below or else on a mattress on the floor of my chamber, but that was as much for the sake of her company, so that I didn’t have to be alone with my sorrow and my fears.
Skalpi was gone. The rebellion had failed and there was no telling what would happen now. Foreigners were overrunning the kingdom and everything was passing into shadow and ruin. I felt under siege, with enemies everywhere I turned, not just outside but now also within my own home, so that it no longer felt like a place of safety but somewhere I needed to escape, if only I knew how.
Desperation changes you. You stop seeing things clearly and instead do things you’d never otherwise imagine, because there is no other choice. Before, I’d heard it said that in times of hunger poor folk would sometimes gather together all their shoes, put them into a great cauldron and boil the leather into a broth because there was nothing else to eat and that was the best they could manage. As a child I’d squirmed when my father said things like that, which were supposed to teach me how lucky I was to be the daughter of a thegn and to have warm clothes, a timber hall to sleep in and as much meat and ale as I needed, but I’d never entirely believed such stories because I never understood.
I understand now.
*
‘What I still don’t understand is why you couldn’t have gone away,’ Oslac says. ‘If things were as bad as you suggest.’
‘I know,’ Merewyn says. ‘And I did think about it. Mainly it was pride. Heldeby was my home as well, and I didn’t see why I should be forced to leave. But it was also hope. A part of me still thought that, any day, Skalpi would come back and all would be well again.’
‘So what happened after that?’
Merewyn breathes deeply. ‘Three nights ago he came to my house. Orm, I mean. It was late or early, I’m not sure. I was anxious and my head was so full of worry that I hadn’t been able to settle. I’d struggled to sleep and kept on waking, each time in a fright. I heard footsteps in the room beneath my chamber—’
‘Was there no lock on the door?’ Beorn asks.
‘There was. I was sure I’d locked it before going to bed, but maybe he had smashed it. Maybe that was what woke me, although I don’t remember hearing a sound.’
‘Or else maybe you forgot,’ Oslac says.
‘No,’ says Merewyn firmly. ‘I remembered, I’m sure of it. Especially because I didn’t know if was just Orm I ought to be frightened of.’
‘What do you mean?’