1
THE BALTIC SEA
The night from which the moon was stolen is cold and gloomy. It takes its vengeance with irregular gusts of wind and waves which treacherously flood the deck. Unpunished and confident in its invisibility, the night tangles the ropes, tugs at the sails, and whispers misleading directions. Its scrawny arms sink into the ocean’s depths, searching for drowned men and drowsy fish. Running its fingers through the waters, it picks out that which cannot be revived and that which cannot rot in salty waters. A moonless night is not particular, but it’s in a rush, chased by the dawn on its heels. It wants to surprise its pursuer with a deck decorated by its dead catches. It throws its treasure overboard with a hollow splash and disappears to escape the notice of dawn’s scout, daybreak.
Astrid watched Tyra doze. The princess was snoring gently with her mouth open. It’s because of the poppyseed brew I gave her, Astrid thought. Or she has a cold. Even princesses get blocked noses, after all.
Morcar Frog had provided every comfort, or at least that which was possible aboard a merchant ship. There was a small tent stretched out between the gunwales which offered protection from the wind, sun, and rain, as well as from the crew’s curious stares. They were also given warm blankets and almost-warm meals. And wine, good red wine from the merchant’s supplies. Astrid sipped it as she waited for Tyra to wake. She wasn’t thinking about her, she was thinking about herself. About how life always seemed to place her near Olav but never quite in the right position. She’d thought that there could be nothing worse than bringing his son into the world, but fate had written another verse of this song and now she had aided Tyra’s abduction so that this foreign girl could become Olav’s wife.
If only it had been Swietoslawa. Her salty sister, so sharp and fierce. Astrid could have done it for Swietoslawa and been happy for her, but no, she was acting against her sister as much as against her own heart. “My lady is in labor!” She’d heard the servants’ cries when she’d slipped unnoticed through the kitchens of Roskilde’s manor. If she had gone to the queen’s chambers instead of to Tyra’s solitary rooms … If she had broken her word … No, she would never have done that. She had always been too mature for that. Mieszko would call her his “wise daughter Astrid.” Yes, she was wise. And what good had that ever done her?
Tyra opened her eyes.
“Where am I?” she whispered.
“On a ship.”
Tyra rose from her makeshift bed and leaned on one arm. Sleep had undone her three braids, and strands of hair, damp with sweat, spiraled in locks by her face. She rubbed her forehead and swollen eyelids.
“On a ship…” she repeated. “So, it worked, did it?”
“Yes. Do you want some wine?”
“Is it Friday today?”
“Yes.”
“No, I can’t today. I drink only water on Fridays.”
“As you wish,” Astrid replied as she took another gulp. “I find wine helps with the seasickness.”
Tyra blinked. Astrid hated women who fluttered their eyelashes. She was always surprised that men fell for such a cheap trick.
“So, you’re my savior,” Tyra said. “I’m sorry, but in all the excitement I’ve forgotten your name.”
“Astrid.”
“Astrid…” Tyra seemed to regain her senses and reached for the pouch at her belt, rummaging in it until she pulled out a denar. “Duke Burizleif’s sister?” She looked at Astrid’s brother’s name etched into the coin.
“Yes.”
“I hadn’t expected that Master Gretter’s mission would bear fruit so soon. Your brother is an uncommonly proactive ruler, and I will be forever grateful to him for saving me from Sven’s clutches. I’m very curious to meet my future husband.”
What is this? Astrid wondered. Does she always talk this way?
“Tell me about my sister,” she requested, swallowing more wine.
“Sister?” Tyra looked surprised. “Oh, forgive me, my lady! Where’s my head! The queen is your and your brother’s sister…”
What a dolt! Astrid thought, immediately blaming the insult on the wine she had consumed. Since her cup was empty, though, she poured herself some more.
“Yes, I met your sister in church and only then did I know her true nature. Because she is so regal in front of the people. Regal and beautiful. That monster Sven forced me to attend his feasts, where I would see the queen from afar. But she … forgive me, Astrid, but at the feasts your sister was just a queen to me, distant and foreign. She has two lynxes on a leash that walk with her, and before her walks a great, bald monster with a scarred face. There is also the boy who has a wolf’s eyes and the horrible Jorun, Sven’s comrade, and his axemen who chant your sister’s name: “Sigrid Storråda!” My brother wants her to be known as Gunhild, but it hasn’t stuck at court … Can I have some water?” Tyra paused and moistened her dry lips.
“Here.” Astrid handed her a cup.
The princess swallowed a few mouthfuls, but when she noticed Astrid watching her, she slowed down.
“Are you hungry, my lady?” Astrid asked.
“Perhaps, but I told you that I fast on Fridays. What should I call you? If you’re Duke Burizleif and Queen Sigrid’s sister, shouldn’t I be addressing you as a princess?”
“Call me Lady of Wolin, that will suffice. You were telling me of my sister.”
“Oh, yes. What was I saying?”
“You told me her new name, that her husband wanted to call her Gunhild.”
“An awful idea. The old Queen Gunhild, though it is embarrassing to say since she was my aunt, practiced … do you know?” Tyra fearfully made the sign of the cross and looked at Astrid meaningfully as she whispered: “Seidr. Do you understand?”
Copyright © 2016 by Elzbieta Cherezinska
