Loki's Daughters (31 page)

"I don't suppose anyone else could consider doing anything," Arienh grumbled.

"Not likely. Certainly not Father Hewil. He salivates whenever he thinks of that beautiful book Ronan has sent for. No one else has the courage, and I can do nothing anyway."

"You might try making it a little harder for them to learn the truth. I do this for you, anyway, Birgit."

The shuttle swished back and forth, and Birgit betrayed no feeling in her face. That was what irritated Arienh the most. Birgit didn't even seem to care.

"And it is probably useless. I have decided to just make myself unlikeable. Then Egil will not want me anyway, and he won't come around as much."

"How will that help?"

"He won't notice anything if he stops looking. And Liam has promised not to tell him."

"Liam is a little boy. Little boys let things slip."

"He will do his best. It is all I can ask. So far they haven't noticed, Arienh. I must be doing pretty well."

"Aye, you do, and the way you weave, they all admire it. They would not think you could do it without seeing. They all want to trade for your cloth."

A faraway wistfulness traced across Birgit's face. "Just think, I could stay home and weave to satisfy their demand, and they would never see me. It could work."

Arienh shook her head. She wished she, too, could stay inside and avoid the Vikings. but she couldn't control anything by staying inside.

"Who fixed the door?" she asked as she reached the door and noticed the repaired leather hinge.

"Egil."

"Egil," Arienh grumbled as she passed through it.

"Leave it open. The warm air is good."

Arienh let her eyes adjust to the bright, crisp day. From the upper end of the valley, a troop of Viking men lugged timbers on a sledge pulled by oxen as they tromped along, their deep voices singing an unintelligible chant with a vibrant beat to match their steps. Little Liam trotted beside Egil, looking up at his idol and swinging his arms in exactly the same way.

The oxen dragged the sledge down the trail and halted in front of her cottage. Still belting out their work song, the men unloaded the timbers into a pile. Then all but three of the men turned the cumbersome sledge and oxen back up the trail.

"What is this?" Arienh asked.

"We're going to build Mama a weaving place, Aunt," shouted Liam. The boy hopped about, with his springy curls bouncing in the sunlight.

"A what?"

"A weaving gallery," Ronan said. "It is a shame for her to have to stay inside on these fine days, so we will build her a shelter against the house. If we make it big enough, then others can come and spin there, too."

It would be like a dream come true for Birgit. A chance to be with others while she worked, instead of cooped up in the cottage alone. But how could they do it? "But the loom. You cannot move it, and it would not do to leave it out in the night air."

"We'll build her a new loom, too, and move it from the outside frame to the inside one."

"But that is so much work. You'd better ask Birgit."

"We already did," Egil responded with a chuckle. She was always amazed at how wicked his eyes looked when he laughed.

Arienh turned her frown on Birgit who now stood in the doorway. "Stay inside, you say."

Birgit shrugged. "The light is better on the south side," Birgit told the men.

But Birgit had her own way of doing things. Arienh quietly spun her wool while she watched Ronan and Egil splitting timbers and trimming narrow boards with their adzes. Other men brought a second load of logs. And Birgit directed, loudly, shrilly. Before Arienh's astonished eyes and ears, Birgit became a shrew.

Birgit knew everything about what they were doing, and none of what they were doing was right. Their cuts not straight enough, the adze marks too rough, the frame not square, none of it good enough.

Finally weary of the sniping, Ronan straightened his back, laid down his adze, and glared with narrowed eyes.

"Do something," he told his brother, "or I will."

"Mama, you aren't very nice," Liam said.

She saw Birgit wince. It was one thing to make the Vikings hate her, but quite another to look bad in Liam's eyes.

Egil laid aside his mallet. "Liam, take your mother for a walk."

Take her? Did he know? Nay, he was just giving Liam something to do and hoped Birgit would go along.

"Aye. Come along Birgit, let's walk," Arienh said.

"Walk? And let them make a mess of things? They will get it all wrong."

"Take a walk, Birgit," Egil said firmly.

"Do not think you can tell me what to do."

Egil sighed, and began gathering up his tools. "Very well, let us go, brother. She can tell us when she wants us to come back and finish."

Ronan gave a grim nod and gathered up his tools.

"Wait. I-we'll take a walk," Birgit said.

They could not know how much it cost her to be cruel to them, but they certainly did know what it would mean to give up the gallery. Arienh hurried Birgit away from the cottage, close to the river.

"I didn't think you could keep it up," Arienh told her. "It is utterly contrary to your nature."

A wan smile crept onto Birgit’s face. "It seemed like a good opportunity. I guess I ruined it."

"You almost ruined your weaving gallery."

"It has worked for you. You have persuaded Ronan you are a barb-tongued harpy, when I know you are not. But I am too selfish. I wanted it too badly. But at least he won't stop seeing Liam if I'm snippy. He'll just stay away from me."

"You hope."

Back up the slope, blond Egil shouldered a heavy beam, and dark-haired Ronan lifted its far end to fit it into the mortise he had carved for it. Even from here, their light skin glistened with dewy sweat on magnificently muscled torsos. How very beautiful they were.

"Go on back, Liam," Arienh told the boy, for he could hardly contain his eagerness to rejoin the men. He needed only those few words to speed back up the hill.

Arienh watched the Viking with the long yellow braids patiently teaching Liam to shave a peg.

She stayed with Birgit by the side of the clear-flowing river, and together they harvested early buds of horsetails. Soon the men grew tired, or perhaps they merely reached a point when they must quit. Egil and Liam wandered back to the river, fishing poles in hand.

How could anything be so good for the boy, yet be so devastating for his mother?

***

Liam threw in his line, and jerked it back.

"Not so fast, Liam," Egil said. "It needs to look like a bug, so it has to move like a bug."

"Aw. I'll never get it right."

"Yes you will. Remember you have to do it wrong before you can do it right."

"Well at least I'm doing it wrong, right."

Egil chuckled. "Let's try it again, and just wait. Don't do anything until I tell you to."

Liam grunted and rolled the pole around in his hands.

"Throw in the line."

The line hit the water only a little way from the shore. Egil ignored the poor throw. The fly hung on the surface of the clear, slowly moving water. Just as it began to sink, Egil told Liam to pull. "Slowly," he said.

Liam jerked the line. But it was only a small jerk.

"Slowly. Just raise the tip of your pole and it will come toward you."

The boy raised the pole and the fly came out of the water.

"Aw." Liam turned away from the stream and flung the pole on the ground. "I'm tired of fishing, anyway."

"Well, it is not good to quit when you are just tired. Let's try again."

"I don't want to."
 
The boy's mouth screwed up into a pout.

"This time I will help you hold the pole and we will practice getting it just right."

"I don't want to. Can't we do something else?"

"Aye, but we must finish here, first. Bring the pole."

"Aw." But Liam picked up the pole and carried it back to where Egil waited.

Egil stood behind Liam with his big hands wrapped around the small ones, gently guiding the movements of the pole as the bait fly swung into the water, then casually trailed away, to flick back again to the surface. In, out, up, down, carefully repeating the motions over and over.

"Look, do you see it?" Egil pointed to a pale flash that rippled beneath the flowing water.

"Is that a fish?"

"Trout. Just watch him. He thinks your fly is interesting. Let's just tease him awhile."

"I want to catch him."

"We will. Just tease him until he can't stand it anymore."

Egil flicked the line out of the water. The trout flew into the air after it, and missed. It splashed back beneath the surface.

"Did you see that?" Liam jumped about with excitement.

"Shh. Yes. He's getting mad. Now he'll have to try harder. Watch."

Again Egil plied the line, up, down, and the fly danced about the water. With a great rush, the trout leapt from the stream and nabbed the fly. Liam screeched. Egil calmly kept the pole in Liam's hands and set the hook. With a great flip, he swung the trout through the air and landed it beside the bank.

"We did it! We did it!" the child screeched.

The fish flopped on the bank. Egil dispatched it quickly. "It isn't fair to let them suffer," he said. "Now, are you ready to go do something else?"

"No, let's catch another."

Egil smiled. He could get to liking this.

He spent the remainder of the afternoon working Liam through the motions with the pole until he no longer felt resistance in the boy's arms. Then he let Liam try it alone.

"You are doing very well," he said finally, "but I think we've caught all the fish that are here today. Let's rest awhile."

Egil sat down on a snarled root at the base of the oak tree that overhung the stream, and Liam snuggled up to his side.

"I thought you wouldn't like me anymore," said the boy.

"You did? Why?"

"Cause my Mama was mean to you. She isn't mean, really."

"I don't think she's mean, Liam. Maybe she was worried."

"She's just scared."

"Scared? Of what?"

Liam's eyes twinkled mysteriously. "I'm not supposed to tell."

"Ah." Egil leaned back against the great tree trunk and put his arm about the boy, who giggled about as he nestled in beneath Egil's arm. "Well, I hope she is not afraid of me. I would never hurt her, or you. Remember, I promised. And I will always like you, Liam."