Even in the flickering light of the longhouse fire I could see Kormac’s face go pale at the sight of me, his eyes search me for a weapon. But I smiled at him and offered my good hand in greeting. He took it, more by instinct if not in friendship, and I sat down without waiting to be asked.
‘Stoke the fire high,’ I told him. ‘Or am I not a good enough guest to burn the wood for?’
‘Every guest has that right,’ he said thickly. And he cast the wood upon the fire: a little fortune in brush and twig, his honour demanding nothing less.
The smoke grew thick and yet still I could see him well enough.
‘Bjarni, you remember Kjaran.’ An emphasis on that third word, a weight to give it another meaning.
‘Yes,’ he said, ‘I remember.’
‘You have been gone a long time, Kjaran. I did not know you at first.’
‘Yes.’
‘I had heard that you were dead.’
I smiled at him, to show that I was not afraid. Then I leaned over, stirred the ladle of the pot on the fire. ‘Plenty of stew here for two men.’
He gave a half-laugh and attempted a smile. ‘You know me. Hungry. Always wanting more.’
‘Yes, I do know that of you.’
I watched the smile flicker and fade. I could see the shame biting at him, like some beast that lived within. But let it bite a little longer, I thought.
‘I would have thought that you would be in the fields by now. It is near midday.’
‘I took on more servants this year.’
‘You have prospered since last I saw you.’
‘Yes,’ he said, and hung his head low.
‘You are unwell.’
‘Perhaps.’ He hesitated. ‘You should not have come back, Kjaran.’
The son moved, his feet gliding across the ground, a half-step towards me. I tilted my head slightly, to keep him in my vision.
‘Why is that?’
He shrugged. ‘You have few friends left in this valley.’
‘That is why I came to you.’
A light in his eyes. He shifted on the bench and he tried to smile. ‘A good thing. A good thing. You should tell me what you mean to do.’
‘I do not think so.’ I leaned forward and felt the heat of the fire biting at my neck, my chin. ‘I know,’ I said.
‘What do you know?’ he said. How do you know? – that is what he meant to say.
‘You have not yet spoken of Gunnar,’ I said.
He gave a little sigh, a soft breath of regret. ‘No. I have not.’
‘Send your son into the fields,’ I said. ‘He should not be here for these words.’
‘I do not think I will,’ he said.
‘I had not thought you so shameless,’ I said. ‘But I should have expected nothing more from a man like you.’
‘That may be so.’ There was a little shame in his voice, I thought. But it was not enough. ‘I do not think it is words alone that you mean to give me.’
All was still. All was ready. I concentrated on my breath – in and out, in and out, in and out. Never had that air tasted sweeter to me, when I did not know how many tastes of it remained.
Then a rapping at the door. The moment gone, a spell broken. A strange look on Kormac’s face: fear and relief both. Who was it that had come to this place in the middle of the day?
I should have run then. Towards the back door, past the barrels of whey and salted fish, out towards the light. The son would have his knife between my ribs if he were not lame or dumb, but it was a greater chance than if I were to remain. Yet I sat there, compelled to stillness by some strange force. A binding spell, though whether it was a curse spun by some witch or by my own heart I could not tell.
The door swung open and there came no band of men to end my life, no solitary enemy to cut my throat. A woman stood there – a woman I had not seen in many years.
Vigdis. The one who had begun the feud.
We stared at one another for a time, her cold black eyes not leaving mine.
‘You come alone?’ Kormac said to her.
‘Of course,’ she replied, and sat beside the fire.
‘I did not know he was coming. You must believe me. I have not said—’
‘It does not matter,’ she said. ‘Do not worry, Kormac.’ She inclined her head to me. ‘I did not think to see you again.’
‘I knew that I would see you.’
‘Did your god give you a vision? I have heard that of the skalds.’
‘Something like that,’ I said.
‘Did your god give you a vision of Gunnar? Of the way he died?’
‘No. But I know what was done there.’
‘I am glad of it.’
‘Does your child live?’
‘He does.’ She lifted her head. ‘He is almost three now. Strong, like his father.’
‘You have a son, then. Good.’
Her hands went still.
‘Where do you stay at night, Kjaran? Tell me that. There is no harm in it.’
‘I shall not tell you that. I have some friends yet.’
‘But not here.’ She lifted the cup to her lips, holding it in both hands like a child. ‘You would like to kill me, I think,’ she said.
‘No.’
‘No?’
‘You spoke the words, but it was not you that did the killing. Others bear the shame of that.’
‘But Björn?’ She lifted a finger towards Kormac. ‘And this man?’
I made no answer. She nodded, satisfied. ‘It is as I thought,’ she said.
‘Will you tell me why?’
She cocked her head. ‘I do not understand.’
‘Why you have brought about this feud.’
‘I have done no killing.’
‘No. But there were so many times when peace might have been made. And every time you have spoken the words to break that peace. I wonder why that is.’
She considered this and I watched the firelight play across her skin: the shadow of the fire dancing over her cheeks, the elegant movement of her hands, the hollow of her throat. She truly was a beautiful woman. But not enough to die for. To kill for.
‘No,’ she said at last. ‘I will not give you that. You will die ignorant.’
‘I may die,’ I said, ‘but I shall know that, before I die.’
‘I shall not see you again,’ she said.
‘Perhaps.’
‘Perhaps,’ she allowed. ‘But I am not sorry,’ she said. ‘Remember that.’ She stood, smoothing her skirts with her hands. She looked on Kormac and said: ‘You know what must be done now.’
She was gone then, back into the light of the world, and we listened to the sound of hooves beating against the wet ground.
‘I wish you had not come here,’ Kormac said.
‘You would kill a guest in your own house?’
‘You are not a guest. You should not have come.’
‘I should not be surprised. You have done some coward’s killing already.’
‘I had no part in what was done to Gunnar. That was Björn’s sport.’
‘That is not what I mean. I know what was done to Gunnar’s wife. His daughter.’
His face went white with shame. ‘You cannot know,’ he said. ‘None would tell you that.’
‘And yet still I know it.’
He trembled for a moment, then stilled himself and looked at his son. ‘What are you doing here, Kjaran?’
‘I think you know why already.’
He looked on me, his mouth agape. And then, a little sigh of relief. ‘You came here to die?’
I drew my hands beneath my cloak and I leaned my head forward towards the fire. The way I have heard that condemned men in distant lands kneel before an executioner.
‘I have lived long enough,’ I said.
And at the edge of my vision, I saw his son’s hand go to the knife on his belt.