Read Online The Long Hunt (The Strongbow Saga) by Judson Roberts - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Judson Roberts
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just a few to remember him by." Astrid answered.
I looked at her. "Do you have anything that belonged to him—to Harald?" She had shared his bed, and although as a thrall she'd had no hope he would marry her, she'd still visibly cared for him.
Astrid shook her head.
"Take this," I said, and gave her the comb. "To remember Harald by. I am sure he would have wanted you to have it."
She held the comb in the palm of her hand, saying nothing, just staring at it. I could not see her expression—her head was hanging down, and her braids hid her face—but after a few moments she sniffed, wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand, and tucked the comb into the small pouch on her belt.
The folded clothes Astrid had stacked on top of the chest had all belonged to Harald. Sigrid had, I supposed, not yet found appropriate recipients for them. One of the pieces she'd kept was the fine linen tunic, dyed a deep crimson color, that Harald had worn for the somber feast when he'd addressed the folk of the estate and the village, that first night after he and Hrorik and the others had returned from their ill-fated voyage to England. It was his feast tunic, and was a fine one. Its color was remarkable. No doubt the dye for it had been costly. Harald had worn the tunic on the night of Hrorik's funeral feast, also. Saying nothing, I folded it and placed it in my sea chest. It would be my feast tunic, now. I would think of Harald whenever I wore it.
There was also a gray tunic of especially thick, heavy woolen cloth. I recognized it as Harald's winter tunic that he wore when venturing out in harsh weather in the coldest months. As a slave, I'd often admired it. It, too, I folded and added to my sea chest. It would be useful in the coming winter.
There was still another tunic, and a pair of trousers. They were more clothes than I could use. Even if I'd wanted them, my sea chest was almost full already.
"Give these to Fasti," I told her. "Tell him they were Harald's. Tell him they are a gift from me."
As she turned to go, she said, "You must find her. Sigrid—you must save her. You must save her from Toke," and then she hurried away.
After Astrid left, I returned to my preparations for the coming voyage. I finished filling the leather sack with coins, knotted the cord around its neck, and tucked it in the bottom of my sea chest. The other, smaller chest—the one than had belonged to Sigrid—I filled with the remainder of my treasure: the two bags containing Genevieve's ransom, the loose coins, and the silver chalice, candlesticks, and brooch. The latter pieces I wrapped in the short cloak. I weighed adding my gold torque and the fine, silver-trimmed drinking horn which Hastein had given me to the little chest, and leaving them behind, too. But they both could be useful in making an impression. They were the kind of items a high-born noble or a renowned warrior might have. They made me feel more than a former slave. I decided I would keep them with me.
I had earlier found, in the boathouse down on the shore, a number of large sacks sewn from sealskin. Such were useful aboard a ship, because they kept their contents protected from water and the elements. I had taken one, and used it now to wrap Sigrid's chest in. Then I heaved it up onto one shoulder, and strode through the longhouse and out to one of the small work sheds, where tools were kept. Taking a wooden spade from inside, I turned and headed toward the hill that rose behind the longhouse.
As I began climbing the hill, Tore saw me and called out, "Where are you going? We must ready the Gull for departure."
"I will be back soon," I told him, and kept going—up the hill, past the stone death ship that held the ashes of my mother and father, and into the woods beyond.
There was a place I was searching for, a place I remembered from when I had been a boy. During a storm one winter, a huge, old oak had fallen over. It had been weakened already, its core partially rotted out, and
I looked at her. "Do you have anything that belonged to him—to Harald?" She had shared his bed, and although as a thrall she'd had no hope he would marry her, she'd still visibly cared for him.
Astrid shook her head.
"Take this," I said, and gave her the comb. "To remember Harald by. I am sure he would have wanted you to have it."
She held the comb in the palm of her hand, saying nothing, just staring at it. I could not see her expression—her head was hanging down, and her braids hid her face—but after a few moments she sniffed, wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand, and tucked the comb into the small pouch on her belt.
The folded clothes Astrid had stacked on top of the chest had all belonged to Harald. Sigrid had, I supposed, not yet found appropriate recipients for them. One of the pieces she'd kept was the fine linen tunic, dyed a deep crimson color, that Harald had worn for the somber feast when he'd addressed the folk of the estate and the village, that first night after he and Hrorik and the others had returned from their ill-fated voyage to England. It was his feast tunic, and was a fine one. Its color was remarkable. No doubt the dye for it had been costly. Harald had worn the tunic on the night of Hrorik's funeral feast, also. Saying nothing, I folded it and placed it in my sea chest. It would be my feast tunic, now. I would think of Harald whenever I wore it.
There was also a gray tunic of especially thick, heavy woolen cloth. I recognized it as Harald's winter tunic that he wore when venturing out in harsh weather in the coldest months. As a slave, I'd often admired it. It, too, I folded and added to my sea chest. It would be useful in the coming winter.
There was still another tunic, and a pair of trousers. They were more clothes than I could use. Even if I'd wanted them, my sea chest was almost full already.
"Give these to Fasti," I told her. "Tell him they were Harald's. Tell him they are a gift from me."
As she turned to go, she said, "You must find her. Sigrid—you must save her. You must save her from Toke," and then she hurried away.
After Astrid left, I returned to my preparations for the coming voyage. I finished filling the leather sack with coins, knotted the cord around its neck, and tucked it in the bottom of my sea chest. The other, smaller chest—the one than had belonged to Sigrid—I filled with the remainder of my treasure: the two bags containing Genevieve's ransom, the loose coins, and the silver chalice, candlesticks, and brooch. The latter pieces I wrapped in the short cloak. I weighed adding my gold torque and the fine, silver-trimmed drinking horn which Hastein had given me to the little chest, and leaving them behind, too. But they both could be useful in making an impression. They were the kind of items a high-born noble or a renowned warrior might have. They made me feel more than a former slave. I decided I would keep them with me.
I had earlier found, in the boathouse down on the shore, a number of large sacks sewn from sealskin. Such were useful aboard a ship, because they kept their contents protected from water and the elements. I had taken one, and used it now to wrap Sigrid's chest in. Then I heaved it up onto one shoulder, and strode through the longhouse and out to one of the small work sheds, where tools were kept. Taking a wooden spade from inside, I turned and headed toward the hill that rose behind the longhouse.
As I began climbing the hill, Tore saw me and called out, "Where are you going? We must ready the Gull for departure."
"I will be back soon," I told him, and kept going—up the hill, past the stone death ship that held the ashes of my mother and father, and into the woods beyond.
There was a place I was searching for, a place I remembered from when I had been a boy. During a storm one winter, a huge, old oak had fallen over. It had been weakened already, its core partially rotted out, and
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