Idunn's Apples

"How long have I been asleep, Lady Ingrid?"

"That matters little." The dark-haired woman's shoulder's rose and fell quickly. "Call me Ingrid. It seems foolish for you to use my title with me when we are both daughters of lords and you will likely be as a sister one day soon."

"Thank you, Ingrid," replied a confused Morag. She waited patiently for her guest to explain why she had burst into her bedchamber.

"I am grateful that you cared for my father. The arrow was easily removed and no vitals had been pierced. The wound pains him, but not as much as the strike upon his crown which shall make his head ache for weeks to come. However..."

Morag's eyes went wide as she realized that Olaf must have remembered more of what had gone on in the forest. Why wasn't Ingrid furious with her?

"However, I am having trouble reconciling your previous conniving behaviour with your service to Father. Why did you not leave him and flee to your own people?" Ingrid whirled about and stared at Morag's face, searching out an answer.

"When your people came to my father's keep, I feared I would be raped and murdered. After all, that's what we've always been told Vikings were like."

"And for many, the description is apt," noted Ingrid.

"Yes, well...men of the king are made of similar clay. Your father has shown me kindness and-"

"And you have a future if a marriage to my brother occurs. You transform from nobleman's daughter of a conquered people to nobleman's wife of one of the conquerors?"

"It seems very unromantic when you put it that way, Ingrid. But, what choice have I? My sex determined that my future lay with my choice of husband. Now a willing candidate appears and I would rather that path than slavery or death."

"I understand, Morag." Ingrid looked down at her hands, folded across her belly. "While men may take a wife as their passion takes them, we women must be more mercenary. I understand very well." Ingrid turned to look out the window again, and Morag thought the woman's eyes shone brightly. "My father has been talking to me of my mother. He has sometimes been harsh with me in the past...and has doted on Snorri. From what others have said, I had come to suspect it was my fault that Mother had died. Apparently, my birth was difficult-"

"It was not your fault, Ingrid," offered Morag, receiving a piercing look from Ingrid at the words.

"Father has said as much to me while I have been caring for him. He had a vision of Mother and she forgave him, and now he admits he did not love me as much as I deserved." The Viking woman shivered and hugged herself. "He needs me!"

Morag waited for Ingrid to say something else. Why was she telling the woman she most hated, someone she had repeatedly called a witch, these intimacies?

"Morag"-Ingrid took a deep breath-"I do not really believe you to be some sorceress. And I wanted to say...thank you for bringing my father back to me. I owe you a debt and I mean to pay it back."

With no further words, Ingrid strode from the room. She closed the door behind her and Morag was left alone with her thoughts about the strange conversation. Was the harsh daughter of Olaf now an ally?

Chapter 17: Politics

Morag was in the great hall the next afternoon as the scouts returned, mud-covered and a little bloodied, and sat down heavily at a table. Ingrid nodded to her and the two quickly organized the servants into bringing food and drink for the exhausted warriors. The Viking woman had not said a single biting word to her all day.

"What happened?" demanded Olaf. He shifted in his seat, then grimaced as a brief spasm of pain reminded him of his recent wounds.

One of those just returned dropped his helmet upon the table. "Lord Olaf, we encountered a few small groups of these southern men and there were a few fights, but none of them had any real hunger for battle." He glanced at Morag. "I think they are scouts for a bigger army. The king means to march upon this keep."

"Snorri?"

"He patrols, seeking out what glory he can, but he promised to return very soon."

"And Gunderr and his men have removed themselves so they can protect our homeland from King Thrum of the Burning Skull," noted the older Viking, rubbing his beard thoughtfully. "This keep is strong, well maintained, and well-provisioned. We'll hold off any army that's too large to crush."

"Assuming the food's not poisoned," muttered one of the men, casting a dark glance toward Morag.

"Hrothgar! You're a fool among men!" declared Ingrid with a sarcastic laugh. "Better that you should caper out about in bright clothing for the southern king than wear armour and lift that axe!"

The warrior blanched, then glanced at Olaf. The Viking chieftain seemed lost in thought.

"If you had eyes and a brain in that tiny head of yours," continued Ingrid, "you would have noted that Lady Morag has cast her lot in with us!"

The warrior grumbled into the drink that was suddenly set before him. Morag gave Ingrid a quick nod in thanks.

"My bones ache," stated Olaf. "A storm is coming. A big one."

"A storm at this time of year means an early winter," noted Morag, raising her eyebrows at Ingrid.

The Viking woman brushed her dark hair from her face as she stepped toward her father. "And an early winter means an end to war. For a time."

He nodded at her. "I want you and Lady Morag to check the provisions."

"And those outside the keep," questioned Morag, "who in the past have relied upon my father's charity when times were lean?"

"The new lord of the keep shall honour his obligations to those who till the soil, Lady Morag. I'll need your advice on that when the time comes."

She nodded and smiled.

"Father?" called out Ingrid. Olaf turned back to his daughter. "You know the cessation of battle will only last as long as it is too cold to fight. Spring will come and the southern king will summon his armies again."

"Only after planting, Ingrid. This fickle southern king must feed his belly like the rest of us. That will give us time," he replied.

The warriors in the room went quiet and turned to their chieftain, waiting on his next words. However, Olaf merely shrugged and left.

Chapter 18: Ingrid's Plan

Winter did come soon, and it hit hard with a raging wind. Streams and ponds froze. Sleet and then snow fell, covering everything in a treacherous icy glaze. Morag found the antics of the Viking warriors comical as they waddled about the courtyard trying to keep their feet underneath them. It snowed for three days, and then the temperature plummeted.

Everyone was kept busy. Olaf had the keep prepared for winter, although a little too late. While the buildings were insulated with straw and mud, the roofs were cleared of ice and snow. Morag was puzzled that he also had the area around the walls cleared of snow, but not ice. Until the Viking chieftain explained he did not trust the southern king to stay entirely benign throughout the winter months.

Some tenants came to the keep, begging additional food and materials from the new lord. Morag's advice was heeded, and no-one left empty-handed, although Ingrid glared at many of the petitioners. The days were very busy for Morag.

And what little free time she had, she spent alone in the chapel. She had much to beg forgiveness for. And someone had to pray for her father's soul. The weeks passed and winter grew more harsh, unusually so. Morag thought it might be a sign from God. Perhaps the failings of the king and her own weaknesses had brought a punishment upon these lands. Morag prayed all the harder, begging forgiveness, but knowing all the while that she could not bring herself to hate these Godless Viking invaders. They were people, and they feared and loved and hated just as any Christian did.

It was a great surprise to Morag when the doors to the chapel were thrown open one day, interrupting her prayers. She watched as Ingrid stared into the room suspiciously.

"So this is where you talk to your God?" she asked, sarcasm in her voice.

"God is everywhere and hears every prayer, but this chapel is His house." Morag considered the other woman's recent overtures of friendship. "In truth, Ingrid, only a priest may talk to God, but I pray to him all the same and ask for forgiveness of my sins."

"Sins!" Ingrid snorted. The Viking woman strolled in, considering every candle, every decoration. Her eyes focussed upon the altar where a small amount of silver could be found. "Your God takes payment like men, it seems."

Morag shrugged. "Usually one's prayers to God are considered to be private, Lady Ingrid. Among Christians, it is very impolite to interrupt someone in prayer."

"I'll inform my father that the best time to strike at the Christians is once they've put their knees to the ground, Lady Morag." Ingrid chuckled. "However, it wasn't battle tactics or religion I came to discuss with you."

Morag's eyes narrowed. "Then...?"

Ingrid took a deep breath, then let it go. "I have thought about the problem that my father has, and the one that you have."

Morag's heartbeat quickened. Had Ingrid learned of what passed between Olaf and her in the woods?

"I have suggested that my father declare a...I believe you call it a tournament."

"A tournament?" asked Morag, making the sign of the cross, then rising to her feet.

"My father is sending out messengers. They will travel to the neighbouring lands and some will return to our homeland. A large number of eager young men who wish to demonstrate their prowess at battle will be descending upon us early in the spring. There will be fighting and prizes."

"I don't understand."

Ingrid gave her a surprised look. "These men will also bolster our defences. The southern king will be very hesitant to attack while so many warriors friendly to my father are about. His hesitation will prevent a war. As time passes, his nobles will be less and less eager to cross blades with my father's men. Commerce will replace ambush and killing. The immediate danger to us will vanish soon enough."

Morag stared at Ingrid in confusion. "You really think that will stop the king?"

"He is already weak. He lost the battle last fall, and so we are here. His generals will find excuses not to raise an army."

Morag nodded in agreement. From the little she knew of court politics, the king did have a weak grasp on power and it had likely been weakened by the loss that Ingrid had mentioned. It made sense to her that he had roused an army at the first opportunity, knowing that to delay would give his followers time to assess his leadership and conspire. "And what do I have to do with this?"

"Snorri has been ignoring you," pointed out Ingrid. "I know his ways. He has little interest in women. And you are not the type to seduce him."

Morag's eyes opened wide. She had actually decided to begin a seduction, although mourning her father's death took precedence. Perhaps she had been putting Ingrid's brother off for too long.

"The tournament with its battles and competitions will fire Snorri's blood. With you as first prize for the champion-"

"I'm a prize?"

"Oh, do not worry. Snorri will win. He always wins. There is no-one as strong or fast." Ingrid was thoughtful for a moment, which did nothing to soothe Morag's shock at becoming a prize to be handed off to some blood-covered brawler. "He will win, and you will be his. And as his passion for the fights rise, so will he rise for you. There will always be that bond between you, that he fought to claim you and you are his."

Morag's mouth opened, but she could not think of what to say.

"It is my gift to you, in payment of the debt I owe you. You have given me a father, and now I give to you my brother as your husband. Snorri will not ignore you as he has with other women thrown in his way. You will bear him mighty sons to follow in Snorri and Father's rule and pretty girls to be sought by eager young Viking princes."

Silence filled the chapel. Ingrid's smile slipped off her face as she did not receive the immediate gratitude that she had expected.

Morag debated the plan in her mind. It made sense, but would Snorri win? Was he really the toughest and best Viking warrior? Ingrid was confident about that. Was that just a sister's overconfidence in her older brother? Yet, Olaf had agreed to the plan so obviously he, too, thought it set in stone that Snorri should win.

Morag bowed low. "Lady Ingrid, I thank you for this plan which both brings me a husband and also ensures the king will not attack the keep and kill us all."

The smile grew again upon the Viking woman's face.

"And," added Morag, "among all the young men who show up for the competition, I am certain that some will be swayed by the daughter of Lord Olaf. You and I shall work together to find some Viking prince for you."

"Don't offer me up as a prize, Lady Morag!" exclaimed Ingrid with a startled look upon her face. "There is no man who seeks my company, certainly no-one of Snorri's fighting ability!"

Chapter 19: A Surprise in the Cellar

A month later, frigid cold had taken hold over the land, making the snow crunch like dried leaves underfoot. Even within the walls of the keep breath came out in a cloud and hovered in the stillness. Braziers were lit in every room, and the residents-both Viking and southerner-huddled together and rubbed their hands in the warmth.

The chapel, unvisited by all but Morag, had grown far too cold for prayer services, and she took that as a sign that her duties to her father's memory and her penance were completed. She now set her eyes on Snorri. The Viking warrior continued to seem unconcerned and incurious about her, even with the promise of battles for her hand.

Then two Vikings took sick and, since all were confined to the keep, the other residents worried about a plague sweeping through their ranks. Neither Ingrid nor Morag had seen anything like this illness; the stomach pains and vomiting had come on very suddenly in both men and the pair grew weaker despite the unceasing care of the ladies. They spoke often of their worst fears, although in hushed tones.

It was while they were standing outside the sick room and discussing the unlikeliness of recovery for their two patients that one of the manservants came forward, bowed nervously, and waited for permission to speak.

"The way he eyes you, Morag," noted the Viking woman, "makes me believe his words are for you alone. I shall tend Thorri and Lars."

Morag wiped her brow and lifted an eyebrow at the middle-aged man who waited impatiently while Ingrid went back into the sick room.

"Ah, mistress!" he began, opening and closing his hands nervously. "I went down into the deepest recesses of the storeroom. Down in the cellar?" Morag nodded. "I found Stephen. He was dead. Stabbed through the heart!"

"Dead?" she asked. "Someone killed him?" Her mind immediately pictured a Viking, drunk and angry, stabbing at poor old Stephen who had been sent to recover some bread, or perhaps a bag of flour.

"Yes, mistress!"

"Take me there!" she demanded, although she wondered if this servant might be mistaken. Could Stephen be the latest victim of the sickness that threatened to sweep the keep? Plagues had happened before, but none since her birth.

She was led down corridors until they reached the kitchens. There, servants and cooks made way for Lady Morag as she passed through the room. Stairs took her down into the cellars where the stores were kept. A lantern, ready and held by a boy at the base of the stairs, was handed to her, and she was then led through dark passages and past piles of produce, stacked and stowed in barrels, boxes, and sacks. Eventually, murmuring ahead told her that she was nearing the scene. Then, a small group of servants parted, revealing Stephen's body.

Morag knelt and examined the corpse. Stephen was on his side, but a drying pool of blood showed that he had been lying face down. Blood was upon his shirt, over his heart. There was nothing else that leapt to her eye.

"So, not a victim of the illness," she said aloud, without thinking.

"Might it have been a Viking?" asked one of the women.

Morag looked up at the frightened faces around her. "And how would a Viking have passed through the kitchen unnoticed? And why kill him here, if it was done by those who rule this keep?"

She was satisfied by the nods of those around her. Who had killed this man? And why?

"What had he been sent down here for?" Morag asked.

A cook's helper stepped forward. "Some fowl, mistress. A few hours ago, I believe." The woman would not look her mistress in the eye.

"And yet..." Morag looked about. "I see no fowl stored here in this dark corner. There are only barrels of mead."

Other eyes were suddenly averted from hers.

"So, perhaps he took advantage of being down here alone and had a sip of mead?" she offered. "My father would not have punished a servant for doing so, as long as he kept his wits about him. But Lord Olaf might not be so accommodating." Her eyes flashed at the onlookers, as both a reminder and a warning. "Take care of the body," Morag commanded.

She stood and brushed the dirt from her knees. A strong odour filled the chamber, one that she had not noticed at first as her nose had been assailed by a variety of fragrances as she passed through the kitchen and stores. The smell of mead was to be expected if Stephen had been sneaking a sip. Usually, the barrels were taken up to the keep unopened, but something troubled her.

Morag shrugged her shoulders and watched as several men reverently lifted Stephen's body and carried it away. Where was Stephen's cup? She searched the floor with her eyes. Would he not have pried open the lid, dipped a cup into the drink, and then drank? When he was attacked the cup would have dropped and should then be visible. Unless, she thought, he used his hand to bring some mead to his lips. She shivered at the thought of the unwashed servant dipping his hand into mead that she, too, had once consumed.

The remaining servants followed her out of the cellars. As she stood in the kitchen, the cooks shouted at the others to get on with their work. The lord of the keep and his men would want food and drink; men always seemed to want food and drink. Morag left to find Ingrid and tell her the news.

She was astonished to encounter Snorri as she turned a corner.

"Lady Morag," he greeted her, his eyes wide in surprise.

"Snorri! What are you doing here, son of Olaf?"

He gave her an embarrassed look. "I'm actually lost," he whispered to her. "I've spent my life in longhouses, and the twisting stone tunnels of this castle have confounded me on more than one occasion. Where am I?"

She smirked, then concealed her mirth until Snorri laughed aloud at his own predicament. "The kitchens are a little way down this passage. May I fetch you something, Snorri? Or would you like to escort me to your sister? I have something I wish to speak with her about."

The towering warrior nodded to her. "Then, let us go and find Ingrid. I am surprised at how well the two of you get along now," he said as they walked. "In fact, I'm surprised at the change in Ingrid."

"She is grateful that I brought your father back to the keep, when I might have left him for dead and flew to other lands."

"And why did you return, Lady Morag?"

"Olaf needed me...I mean Lord Olaf needed me. And he's shown me nothing but kindness, Snorri. As have you." She tentatively placed her hand upon his arm. "And I must watch over my people."

"I have spoken to you of my intentions. My father seems to be still pleased with the idea of our union, but-"

"But?" she prompted.

"This tournament in the spring troubles me. If Father is set on our union, then why go to the trouble of the tournament? Why offer you up to the victor?"