The Exploits of Ragnar Lodbrok, Part 3

No one need give up who boasts

such a loyal helper on his travels

(Egil’s Saga)

Hearing the creak of hinges as the front door opened Ragnar, who was lying on the bed, pulled the blanket from his face and blinked against the strong light from the sun shining through the opening. It took a while before his eyes adjusted to the brightness so he could make out the contour of a person standing in the doorway. He recognized who it was right away. “Ingvar, what are you…” 

     He didn’t have time to finish the sentence before Ingvar rushed over to the foot end of the bed and flung the blanket aside. “Have you no shame,” he yelled at Ragnar when he saw the woman that lay nestled close to his naked body. He bent over and began pulling Ragnar out of the bed by his legs.

     The woman lifted her head and looked sleepily at Ingvar. “Who are you?” 

     Ragnar kicked out at Ingvar forcing him to let go of his legs. He sat up on the edge of the bed with his legs dangling over the side while scratching his chaotic strands of hair. 

     “I asked you who you are?” the woman repeated.

     Ingvar glared down at her. “None of your business, woman.”

     “Why don’t you just leave me alone, Ingvar,” Ragnar said with a groan, burying his face in his hands for a moment before he looked up at his friend again. “I have a headache.”

      Ingvar folded his arms defiantly across his chest. “Not before you leave that whore’s bed,” he said through clenched teeth as he nodded at the woman. 

     Ragnar turned his head and frowned at her. First now that the alcohol fog from last night had lifted did he notice that she wasn’t exactly in her prime. He must really have been drunk because he usually preferred his women young with smooth skin and pleasing curves. This one had a double chin and breasts that sagged from suckling too many offspring.  

     She got up on her knees and gave his back a shove with her hands. “Did you hear what he just called me,” she wailed. “Are you just going to sit there after he has insulted me so gravely.”

     “Be a dear and get out,” Ragnar said to the woman as he nodded towards the door. “Get out, I said,” he snapped when she didn’t move.

     With a shriek she jumped out of the bed and gathered her clothes in her arms. Holding it against her chest she scowled at Ragnar. “I thought you were a man of honour, but now I see that despite your regal title and fancy clothes you’re just a good-for-nothing…” When she couldn’t find a word to adequately describe his behaviour, she instead spun around and gave Ingjald a look that could melt butter. “Come to think of it, this is my house so you get the hell out of here.” She pointed to the door. “Out. Now.”

     Ingvar ignored the irate woman, instead focusing on Ragnar. “Get dressed and meet me outside in the usual place,” he said. “I want to talk to you.”

***

Ingvar, who was waiting in his and Ragnar’s favourite meeting spot, a grove of leafy oak trees atop a hill just outside the ramparts of Hleidar, saw a grim-faced Ragnar approach him. 

     “How did you know where to find me?” Ragnar asked as he stopped in front of Ingvar.

     Ingvar gave a snort. “Everyone knew you followed that woman home last night,” he said. “All people talk about in Hleidar lately is your disgraceful behaviour. How you flaunt your women at your poor wife.” He examined Ragnar’s face. He had started to look gaunt and had acquired a grey pallor to his skin. His friend was drinking too much and it was beginning to show. “How could you even think of screwing this woman when you have someone as beautiful as Kraka in your own bed.” He deliberately chose this base word in order to make Ragnar wake up to the vulgarity of what he was doing.

     Ragnar’s features tightened. “You know nothing about my situation.” There was both anger and hurt in his voice.

     Ingvar caught his gaze. “You’re right that I don’t know,” he said evenly. “For the simple reason that you never tell me anything anymore.”

     Ragnar, now looking subdued, shrugged. “You’ve been so busy with Hjorvig lately and didn’t seem to want to be bothered with my problems.”

     Ingvar thought about this and realized that Ragnar indeed had a point. He had been preoccupied with the impending birth of his first child. After five years of anxious waiting Ingvar was finally going to become a father. 

     “I’m sorry,” he told Ragnar, “I should’ve been aware that…”

    Ragnar placed a hand on his arm before he could finish the sentence. “Don’t feel guilty.” This was such a departure from Ragnar’s usual self-absorbed nature that it took Ingvar completely by surprise and rendered him speechless.

     They heard Ragnar’s name yelled. When Ingvar turned his head he saw Ragnar’s most resent bed-companion rush out the open gate in the rampart and run toward them. 

    “When are you returning to the house, Ragnar,” she hollered.

    “Not right now.” Ragnar raised his hand and waved impatiently at her to return from where she came. “And now please leave me be.”

    She stopped abruptly and put her hands in her sides. “Don’t you dare dismiss me as if I’m one of your slaves?”

    Ingvar looked toward the rampart surrounding Hleidar. The barefoot woman with her dishevelled hair had only thrown a thin shawl over the linen slip she was wearing. The inhabitants of the fortress was probably having a field day watching the interaction between their king and this his newest paramour. 

      Swearing loudly Ragnar marched up to the woman seized her arm and dragged her fighting and screaming toward the gate into Hleidar.

       With an exasperated roll of his eyes toward the clear blue sky, Ingvar turned his back to the whole disgraceful scene. About ten minutes later Ragnar tapped him on his shoulder to alert him of his return. Ingvar had been so preoccupied by his thoughts that he hadn’t heard him approach. 

     Ingvar turned to him and shook his head. “Why do you pick such lowly women?”

     Ragnar laughed out loud. “Come on, Ingvar, lowly women have not time for court intrigues,” he said. “They’re grateful for a few pieces of sliver now and then.”

     “But what about Kraka’s feelings?”

     Ragnar’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Did she sent you to spy on me?”

     Ingvar shook his head. “You of all people should know that she wouldn’t do that. Despite her humble background she has more pride that anyone I know.” He took a deep breath to get the anger he again felt toward Ragnar under control. “She’s wasting away while your wasting your time on whores, and I may add,” he said while casting a glance towards the ramparts where a couple of the guards were watching them curiously, “with no thoughts to your faltering reputation among your subjects.” He saw that Ragnar’s gaze had darkened but he still continued. “No, I came her on my own accord with the intention of trying to talk some sense into that stubborn head of yours.” 

   For a moment Ingvar thought his friend was going to punch him, but instead he kicked so hard at a dry dirt clod in front of him that it exploded into many pieces, some of which hit Ingvar in the face.  

    Ingvar spat dirt from his mouth. “You really are something, Ragnar, you know that,” he coughed.

     Ragnar all of a sudden looked subdued. “I didn’t mean to…”

     “No, you never mean to,” Ingvar said with disdain. “Everything just happens like all your women just happen.”

     Ragnar shoulders slumped. “She won’t touch me.”

     Ingvar stared at him. “Who won’t touch you?” he asked. “You mean Kraka?” he added after some thought.

     Ragnar nodded dismally. “She finds me too loathsome to share her bed.”

     “She said that?”

     “No, but she won’t let me touch her.” The hurt weighed down Ragnar’s words. “Do you know what it feels like to have the woman you love shun you as if you’re vermin.”

      Ingvar bit his lower lip for a moment before he asked. “How long has this been going on?”        

     Ragnar shrugged. “I don’t remember.” He gave Ingvar a sidelong glance. “Since Røgnvald died, I guess.”

     “And it never occurred to you that those two things might be connected.” Ingvar shook his head at his friend in disbelief. “You can be so dense at times, Ragnar. Kraka’s sorrow over Røgnvald’s death is probably so great that she no longer takes any pleasures in life around her. Am I really the only person who has noticed how listless she has become lately?”

      Ragnar gave him an uncertain look. “So what am I supposed to do?”

     Ingvar threw up his hands in exasperation. “Talk to her about the death of your son of course.”

      “What’s that going to do?” Ragnar asked him, “since it won’t bring the child back.”

      Ingvar leaned close to Ragnar. “No, but it might bring your wife back to you.”

      Ragnar fidgeted uncomfortably. “It’s an emotional issue and I would honestly feel very awkward talking about that—it’s kind of a woman thing, you know,” he added quickly.

     “These are enlightened times, my friend,” Ingvar told him. “Trust me, it’s perfectly fine for a man to talk to a woman about feelings.”

      Ragnar swallowed hard. “So I’ll have to talk to her?”

      “Oh yes.”

***

Ragnar finally found Kraka at a small lake that was situated about ten minutes walk from Hleidar. With their youngest son Hvitserk in her lap she was sitting among the tall light green grass, which was sprinkled with vibrant spring flowers. The two-year old was busy tugging at his mother’s headdress, obviously determined to pull it off with his plump little hands. Kraka didn’t seem to give him any heed as she sat there staring at the majestic swans that glided over the lake’s mirror surface.

     Ragnar cleared his throat when he reached her. “Kraka?” 

     When she didn’t respond he knelt down next to her and pulled Hvitserk from her lap. The child protested loudly and it soon turned into an insistent wail when he was firmly put on the ground. 

     Ragnar looked around for Hvitserk’s nursemaid. She was usually close by so she could take over whenever one of the children became too much for Kraka to handle. He finally spotted her further down the lake shore where she was playing with Hvitserk’s older brothers, Ivar and Bjørn. 

     Ragnar stood up and whistled to get her attention. When she turned her head he gestured at her to come and get Hvitserk. She ran over to him and hauled the child kicking and screaming toward his brothers. Kraka didn’t take any notice of the commotion around her. She just kept staring at the swans. 

     Ragnar sat down next to her. The ground, that still held the memory of a long cold winter, felt chilly and damp. He took her hand in his and was relieved that his gesture was not spurned. It had been a long time since he had touched her and he revelled in the warm feeling he got from it.  

     “I think it’s time for us to talk, Kraka.”

     She gave a long sigh. “What’s there to talk about.” The bitterness ran deep in her words.”

      He squeezed her hand. “I want to talk about us.”

      Kraka pulled her hand angrily from his. “And where do we begin?” She looked hard at him. “With your neglect of the boys? They see you so rarely they hardly know you anymore, or should we talk about your women.” She turned her attention to the swans again. “I heard you bedded Tova last night.” She gave a snort. “I guess it was rare luck for you that her husband’s sister died so he had to leave and tend to her affairs.” She yanked out a tuft from a clump of grass growing right next to her. “It left a path open for you to crawl into bed with his wife.” She angrily threw the handful of grass in front of her. “Yes, it was rare luck but then again you were always one who had luck on your side.”

     “Kraka, please stop.”

     She looked at him again. “Why? Because you can’t stomach the truth.” She fought to keep her tears at bay, but to no avail. They began running down her pale cheeks. “I hate you so much, Ragnar.”

     He shook his head. “No, you don’t.”

     “You’re such a selfish scoundrel.” She wiped at her tears with the back of her hand.

     “Do you still love me?”

     Her eyes registered surprise. “You oaf, would I still be here if I didn’t.”

     “You certainly don’t act it.” The emotion he felt at that moment made it hard for him to get the words out. “You’ve shunned me both in and out of bed for months.” He swallowed the lump in his throat. “I need to know if it’s because you stopped loving me or if it’s because of Røgnvald?”

     She jumped up with a small cry. He followed her as she took flight across the meadow away from the lake. Behind him he heard Ivar calling out to them. He finally caught up with Kraka and seized her by the arm. She spun around facing him. The pain in her eyes tore at Ragnar.

     He pulled her towards him. “It’s not your fault that he died,” he said softly. “Neither of us could have prevented it.”

     She sniffled. “I know that, but I never want to go through that pain again,” she said. “I never want to have another child.”

      Ragnar searched her eyes. “You can’t mean that. It’s not in your power.”

     She nodded grimly. “Oh, yes it is, because if I don’t lie with a man I’ll never be with child again.”

     The thought of never sleeping with Kraka again made his throat constrict to the point he had a hard time breathing. His grip around her arm tightened. “Don’t do this to us.” Without letting go of her gaze he pointed in the direction of the lakeside. “Look at your other sons. You would never have had any of them had it not been for us being together. Would you want to be without them.”

      Her gaze wandered to their boys who were all watching their parents in silence. Her shoulders began to shake. “I’m so afraid,” she hiccuped. “Help me not to be afraid anymore, Ragnar.” 

      Ragnar’s arms enclosed her in a tight embrace. “I will.”

***

Kraka watched as Ragnar strapped his sword around his waist. “Do you have to leave?”

     He cast her a quick glance. “You know well how hurt King Eyvind feels if I don’t pay him a yearly visit.” Having strapped the sword on he smoothed the front of his tunic with his hands. “My absence last year did not sit well with him and Earl Guthorm urged me go this time. After all King Eyvind is our most important ally.” His expression softened when he saw how sad Kraka looked. “Listen, he’s getting old and exceedingly quarrelsome.” He shrugged. “I simply have no choice.”

     Kraka fought the emptiness she felt inside. Why did Ragnar have to leave so soon after they had found each other again? She couldn’t bear all those nights spent alone in the big bed” She stretched her naked body underneath the warm fur covers. “When will you be back?”

     Ragnar went over to the bed, bent over and kissed her cheek. “A month at most. Just enough time to do a little hunting and feasting with the old goat.”

      She lifted the fur cover to give him a view of her naked body. “Are you sure you can do without this for so many nights?”

       Ragnar spun around with a sheepish grin on his face when the door to the hall opened and Ingvar hurried inside. As Kraka covered herself in the fur cover again and sat up in bed she noticed how worried Ingvar looked. It had probably been another sleepless night for him. Hjørvig’s pregnancy was not progressing well. She had frequent bouts of nausea even though she was now into her eighth month and her legs and feet were swollen to the point that she could hardly walk.

     “Ready to go and hunt Gautish boar?” Ragnar asked him.

    Ingvar stood fidgeting, his hands nervously opening and closing. “I can’t go with you this year, Ragnar,” he said with regret. “Hjørvig took a turn for the worse last night. She’s in great discomfort and I don’t think it wouldn’t be right of me to leave her now.”

     Ragnar’s face fell. “This is the first time you won’t be accompanying me to King Eyvind’s court. I admit it’s a great disappointment.”

     “Please don’t make me feel worse about this than I already do,” Ingvar said with a frown. “I just simply can’t go.”

     “But…” Ragnar began. He was interrupted by Kraka. “You’re being selfish, Ragnar,” she said. “Of course Ingvar has to stay with his wife this close to her time.”

       Ingvar shot her a grateful look. “I’ve already arranged for Frode to go with you instead,” he said turning his attention to Ragnar again, “He’s a capable young man as you well know and has the makings of an excellent diplomat, so I’m sure you two will be able to get along. Furthermore he’s also King Eyvind’s nephew which could work out to your advantage,” he added quickly.

     Ragnar did not at all look appeased. “Frode, but…” 

     A warning look from Kraka made him shut up.

     Kraka nodded toward the door. “You go and take care of Hjørvig, Ingvar.” She gave him a wry smile.” I guarantee you that she needs you more than Ragnar does.”

     Kraka shook her head at her husband when Ingvar had left. “Really Ragnar, why would you want to make him feel guilty about doing the right thing?”

     “But it won’t be the same without him,” Ragnar said with a dejected look. “Despite what he says I find Frode to be a quarrelsome little weasel. How in Odin’s name am I supposed to have fun with him around?”

   ***

Kraka sighed and let her sewing sink down in her lap. She was embroidering the bottom edge of a new tunic for Ivar. She missed Ragnar terribly even though it had been barely a week since he set sail for Gautland. She smiled as she recalled him standing there in the stern of his ship waving his farewell to her. Since Ragnar was too far away from shore to hear her anyways she had just murmured a quick, “May Thor grant you a safe and speedy voyage,” to herself. 

      Kraka put the nearly finished tunic down beside her on the bench and got up. She went to a room adjacent to the hall where her sons were sleeping soundly. Their nursemaid snored softly next to Hvitserk, her face nuzzled against his. 

     Kraka went to the small hearth in the middle of the room and threw another log on the fire. Despite warm days, the nights were still unseasonably cold. 

    Ivar, her oldest, stirred in his sleep muttering to himself. Maybe he was dreaming of running through a meadow or climbing a tree. He had told her that he often dreamt of that. She went over to his bed and pushed the soft blond locks away from his forehead. It was hard for him to come to terms with the fact that he was lame from his waist down and therefore couldn’t run around like his brothers. He was born that way and it was not likely his condition would improve. Poor Ivar. She pulled the covers over his shoulders. He settled down again and soon his breathing became regular.

     Kraka left the room quietly closing the door after herself. Someone had put extra logs on the fire in the hall, probably Una, the slave woman who tended to Kraka’s needs. She contemplated if she should go to bed even though she didn’t feel sleepy when the door to the outside opened and Una walked inside the hall. Kraka was surprised when she saw that the slave was followed by a short curious looking person.

     Una seemed apprehensive, maybe even a little scared as she stopped in front of Kraka. “I’m sorry, mistress, but he insisted on seeing you.” She leaned closer. “He must have snuck past the guards,” she whispered so only Kraka could hear. “He’s a dwarf,” she added.

     Kraka now understood the slave’s apprehension. Some people considered dwarves harbingers of bad luck and Una was one of the most superstitious individuals Kraka knew. She contemplated the dwarf as she wondered if she should just have him thrown out of Hleidar. She had every right considering the way he had slipped past the guards, but a sense that she had seen his open and friendly face before prevented her.

     Kraka nodded at the slave. “It’s fine, Una,” she reassured her. “You can go now,” she added when the slave hesitated for a moment. Reluctantly Una turned around and walked past the dwarf towards the door. When Kraka turned her attention to the stranger again she was surprised to see tears in his eyes. 

     He walked towards her his arms outstretched. “Aslaug, it is really you,” he said in a husky voice. “You do indeed have your father’s eyes. To think that after all these years…” Emotions got the better of him and he stopped abruptly and began sobbing.  

     Una who hadn’t yet left the hall turned around and stared at the dwarf. “Mistress, he has clearly lost his mind. Do I fetch the guards?”

     Kraka held up a hand to stop her. “No, wait a moment first.” She looked at the dwarf again. “You clearly have to wrong person. My name is Kraka, not Aslaug.”

     With the back of his hand the dwarf wiped away the tears that were now running freely down his cheeks. “No, Aslaug was the name given to you when you were born and you lay in your mother’s arms,” he insisted.

     Like Una, Kraka was now wondering if the dwarf was right in his mind and was about to order Una to fetch the guards when he interrupted her. 

     “I’m Breidir,” he said. “Don’t you remember me?” He took a deep breath and exhaled in a long drawn out sigh. “Not a day has gone by where I haven’t thought of you and the fate that befell you and Heimir,” he said. “All clues to your whereabouts ended in Norway.”

     All of a sudden Kraka felt dizzy and had to grab onto the table top next to her to steady herself. 

     Breidir walked up close to her and looked up into her face. “You do remember Heimir, your

foster father, don’t you?”

     She closed her eyes and saw the image of Heimir’s tall, strong countenance. Heimir who was always so kind and so patient with her. How could she ever have forgotten about him? Her breath caught in her throat when she recalled a loud thud and a gasp. Kraka slumped down on the bench next the table and buried her face in her hands. “Oh, no,” she moaned.

     “Mistress!” Una cried out in alarm. 

     Other images and sounds and feelings flooded Kraka’s mind: Loud hostile male voices, a blanket sticky and wet with blood, the scream that got stuck in her throat.” Kraka opened her eyes and stared at Breidir. “Heimir was killed,” she gasped.

     The dwarf sank down across from her at the table. “You do remember,” he whispered as he leaned towards her. “What more do you see?”

     “Mistress, do I get the guards?” Una asked again.

     Kraka shook her head at her. “No Una,” she said trying to make her voice calm even though turmoil was brewing inside her. “Leave me alone with Breidir.”

      Una wrung her hands nervously. “Are you certain?”

     “Yes, I’m certain,” Kraka said, and added more harshly than she had intended. “Leave now, Una.”

     After the front door closed behind the slave, Kraka shut her eyes again and tried to recall other details of memories that had been repressed for so long. “There’s darkness,” she said, “utter darkness and…and movement as if I’m carried. My hand clutches a piece of cloth, embroidered with gold thread I think.” She felt Breidir’s gaze trained on her.  “It’s cold, oh so cold. My teeth won’t stop clattering.” She felt herself go rigid. “I can’t move.” Her breath quickened. “I suddenly feel heat on my back, then voices and the smell of meat roasting. I’m so…so hungry, but I can’t…I just can’t get out.” Her stomach was knotted so hard it hurt. “I’m trapped.” 

     “You were probably inside the harp,” Breidir said.

     Kraka’s eyes flew open. “Harp. What harp?”

     He shook his head. “Never mind that now,” he said. “What else do you see?”

     She again closed her eyes. “The blankets.” Her throat constricted. “Blood. The blankets are soaked in it, the air is heavy with the smell of it.” She felt tears roll down her cheeks. “Heimir is gone. I’m all alone.” She opened her eyes again and stared at Breidir. “Who am I?”

    “Your real father was Sigurd Dragonslayer,” Breidir’s hands lay folded on the table top. 

     Kraka leaned across the table toward him. “Sigurd Dragonslayer is my father?” She had a hard time believing it. He was a famous warrior and his exploits were recounted in many homes during long winter nights sitting around the hearth.”

    “He was the one who slew that dragon,” Una said breathlessly. 

    Kraka had been so absorbed in what Breidir was telling her that she hadn’t noticed the slave return to the hall. She was now standing by the door her eyes wide with excitement. Her gaze sought Kraka. “Please, Mistress, can I stay and listen to the rest story,” she pleaded.

     Kraka saw no harm giving in to this request and patted the space next to her on the bench. Una didn’t have to be told twice. She hurried over to Kraka on her bare feet and planted herself in the assigned spot. 

     “Please continue,” Kraka urged Breidir.

      Breidir nodded at Una. “You’re right, Sigurd did indeed slay Fafnir, the dragon, which had been a scourge around the region of Gnitaheath.” Una was hanging on his every word. “He laid claim to the gold that Fafnir was hoarding and became a very rich man.”

     “And my mother, who was she?” Kraka asked breathlessly.

      Breidir’s expression became serious. “”Oh yes, your poor mother.” He sat for a while staring in front of him while twirling his thumbs before he continued. “I was in King Budli’s employ when she was born. Bryndhild was her name and King Budli was thrilled that such a beautiful daughter had been born to him and his new queen.” He shook his head. “But the omens were bad on the day of her birth.”

     Una’s eyes shone. “What do you mean?”

    “A fierce lightening storm was raging when Bryndhild came into this world. Lightening struck the woman who was to be her nursemaid and the harvest was also ruined.” He shook his head sadly. “Many people died from starvation that year. I’m afraid poor Bryndhild’s life was doomed from the beginning.

     Kraka felt tears rise to her eyes. She suddenly remembered, though very vaguely, a serious woman who was tall with long blonde hair. “What happened?” she asked hoarsely.

     “Brynhild fell in love with Sigurd Dragonslayer at a young age,” he said. “He promised her he would marry her as soon as he came back from a visit with his good friend, Gunnar, a member of the Gnuki clan, which was a powerful family up north.” Breidir squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. “Your mother pined for him as she waited for him to come back, but he never returned.”

    “Why not?” Una looked so unhappy it was as if her own lover hadn’t returned to her. 

     Breidir gave her a pained look. “Because, dear Una, Sigurd had married someone else.” 

    “Oh no,” Kraka choked on the words. “My poor mother.” 

     Una slapped the palm of her hand down on the table so a bowl there jumped startling both Kraka and Breidir. “How could he!”

     “In Sigurd’s defence,” Breidir said hestitantly, “there was talk that his mother-in-law, Grimnir, had given him a love potion so he only would have eyes for her only daughter, Gudrun.” He shrugged. “Bryndhild didn’t believe this rumour about a potion for one moment and her love for Sigurd soon turned to hate.” He looked over at Kraka. “When you, their love child, was born Bryndhild kept cursing his name. I asked her repeatedly to stop, but then she started cursing you instead because after all you had his blood coursing through your veins.” He took a deep breath. “I pleaded with her to stop her curse of an innocent child, but she wouldn’t listen. When you turned two, King Budli, your grandfather, finally deemed it wise to find you some foster parents.”

    “Why is that?” Una asked. Kraka already knew the answer. Read it in the dwarf’s eyes.

    “Because we feared that for your Mistress’ safety after Brynhild attempted to drown her.”

    Una gasped. “What kind of mother could possibly do something so…”

    “A mother who was sick in mind,” Breidir interrupted her. “A woman who lived and breathed vengeance.” He turned his attention to Kraka again, who sat staring at him in disbelief. “King Budli sent you to Bryndhild’s sister, Bekkhild and her husband Heimir. As fate would have it you were never to see your mother again.”

    “So what happened to her?” Kraka’s throat felt raw.

     “She married Gunnar, your father’s friend,” he said with a sad smile. “Sigurd became her brother-in-law.” He shook his head. “Poor Gunnar, his only crime was to love a woman so deeply that he couldn’t say no to her.”

     “What did she want him to do?” Una asked leaning towards the dwarf so she wouldn’t miss a single word of what was being said. 

       Breidir removed his brown woollen coif hat, wiped the perspiration from his forehead with it before he put the hat down on the table in front to him.“Brynhild, with her evil scheming ways, tried to talk Gunnar into murdering Sigurd. Of course he refused. Sigurd was after all his friend, but after many of her entreaties and threats he finally gave in. In the end, however, he couldn’t go through with it and talked his youngest brother, Gorm, into doing the dirty deed.” He played with a thread hanging lose from the edge of the hat. “The lad only saw fifteen winters before Sigurd killed him.” 

     Una had grasped Kraka’s hand, something she had never done before, and was holding it tightly as Breidir continued his account. 

     “The wound that Gorm inflicted on Sigurd before he himself died wouldn’t stop bleeding and Sigurd died in his wife’s arms.” He stared in front of him for a moment before he continued. “When Sigurd’s funeral pyre was lit, Brynhild suddenly began screaming and wouldn’t stop again. Before anyone could interfere she had thrown herself on the funeral pyre,” Kraka felt Una’s hand tighten around hers even more. “She died next to her beloved Sigurd” 

    Silence fell over the hall.

    Kraka finally looked at Breidir whose eyes were filled with pain. “So how did I end up living with Aki and old Grima?”

    Breidir shook his head. “That I don’t know.” He paused for a moment before he continued. “What I do know is that Grimnir, Sigurd’s mother-in-law, after his death, got wind that you existed and as Sigurd’s legitimate child you had a claim to his fortune and she wanted that for her own daughter, Sigurd’s widow. Grimnir didn’t know your whereabouts, but she had her spies out and it was only a matter of time before she would find you and kill you.” Breidir got up and began pacing the floor his hands clasped behind his back. He seemed very agitated. He stopped and turned to Kraka. “We had to do something, hide you somewhere so she couldn’t get to you. Heimir decided to bring you up to Norway to a friend he had up there called Earl Hjorvar.” He paused in his account. 

     “So what happened?” Una asked impatiently. She had finally let go of Kraka’s hand which felt numb from her clutching it so hard.

    “Well, we figured it would be too easy for the spies to put two and two together if an old man and a three-year old girl travelling together were spotted, so I fashioned a harp with a hiding place at is base just big enough for a small child to hide.” Theatrically he threw his hand up in the air. “And that’s how Heimir became a travelling musician.”

    With a pang Kraka recalled the constant movement, the dark, the pain from limbs curled up too long. “I was so scared,” she whispered. “My fingers and toes were all numb from the cold—oh so numb.”

    Breidir sank down on the bench again. “You and Heimir just disappeared,” he continued in a voice thick with emotion, “never to be heard from again. Bekkhild was heartbroken. We all thought that the Gnukis caught you after all, but they kept denying that they had anything to do with your disappearance and eventually I came to believe them. Since it could not be proven that you, Aslaug, had perished,” he nodded at Kraka, “Gudrun, Sigurd’s wife, couldn’t lay claim to Fafnir’s gold— and it has been a thorn in the Gnuki clan’s side ever since.”

     As Breidir’s story had progressed, things that had puzzled Kraka began to make sense. Why she looked so different from her aunt and uncle? Why she hadn’t started to speak before she was four years of age. Why Old Grima and Aki kept her away from other people. And why she so often found Aki contemplate her with such a mixture of pride and deep sadness.

     When Breidir had finished his account Kraka sat for a long time in silence with her hands folded in her lap staring in front of her. 

     Finally Una nudged her arm. “Are you all right, Mistress?”

     Kraka nodded at the slave and then looked across the table at Breidir, who was regarding her with great concern in his deep blue eyes. “How did you find me?” 

     “Some years ago I heard that King Ragnar had married a young woman, the niece of a peasant living in Norway,” he again got up from the bench and with his hands on his hips stretched his back from side to side. A momentary flicker of pain scrunched up the wrinkles around his eyes. He let his hands fall heavily to his sides. “I remember thinking that it was odd that a king would settle for such a humble bride when he could have his pick of noble women,” he paused for a moment. “Then about a month ago I went on a visit to Earl Prim.”

      Kraka gave him a surprised look. “I traveled there about the same time myself.”

      A smile spread over Breidir’s lips. “Yes, as a matter of fact you had just left before my arrival and Earl Prim couldn’t stop talking about your beauty. When he described your eyes he had my undivided attention because only one other person I knew had eyes that were a luminous green with traces of a golden colour,” he paused and looked intently at her, “namely your father Sigurd Dragon slayer.” He folded his arms across his chest with a gratified expression. “I was right in my hunch and I finally found you, when I had long given up hope that you were alive.” He gave a joyful laugh. “Oh, wait to get word to Bekkhild.”

     Kraka felt the blood drain from her face when a thought suddenly struck her. Aki and Grima at the very least must have some knowledge as to what had transpired so many years ago concerning her and Heimir. Maybe they even… She couldn’t bear finish the thought as she abruptly stood up. “We have a a trip to make,” she told Breidir. She turned to Una. “Go to Earl Guthorm and tell him I have to see him at once and that I need a ship outfitted for tomorrow.”

     “But Mistress, that’s impossible,” the slave protested. Her honest, broad-featured face conveyed she felt about this unusual request.   

     Kraka stared her down. “Are you now questioning my orders?”

     The other woman blushing a deep red jumped up from the bench. “No, of course not, Mistress,” she said meekly. Her voice gathered strength as she continued, “I only spoke out of turn because I’m worried for you.” Her imploring gaze met Kraka’s. “I promised King Ragnar that I would make sure you had peaceful days with plenty of rest during his absence.”

     Kraka’s jaw tightened. “I don’t need rest. I need a ship.”

     Una nodded and hurried from the hall. Kraka turned to Breidir. “I apologize for Una. She has been with me for so long that she sometimes forgets her place.”

      “So where are we off to, Aslaug?” Breidir asked her. She was so taken aback by being addressed with her birth name that it took her a while to answer. “We’re going to pay a visit to my uncle and aunt, who raised me. I want some answers from them.”