Five

The feast foundered.

I saw many things.

Mother, looking away, looking away from Tor, looking away from us, from Father.

I saw how Father leaped across the table, scattering everything, the food, the drink, the knives, and then how he was in front of us, leaning across the table to Tor.

I hadn’t seen him pick up a knife, but there was a knife in his hand all the same, and its point was at Tor’s throat.

Despite which, it was Tor who spoke first.

“Do you deny it?” he whispered, his voice as thin as a reed by the water.

I was so close, I could see the point of the knife wavering, wavering, as Father breathed heavily.

Then, with a roar, he threw the knife into the dirt at his feet, and shoved Tor backward, away from us, sending him into the wall.

He staggered, feeling his throat, as if the knife were still there.

Father turned to the hall. “Our guest forgets himself. Yet we can forgive this.”

There was something wrong about the way he spoke the word guest.

“Yes. We forgive. But…” He turned to Tor. “For this night only. For this night, this night is a time of remembering and goodness, and we will not spoil it with stains of the tongue.”

He turned to Leif. “Thank you, Leif. How the gods use your voice I shall never understand. Give us music now. Give us songs!”

Others came forward then, and with the flute, the pipes and the drum, music was made.

I looked behind us.

“He’s gone, Melle,” Eirik whispered to me, just as I saw the truth of that. It was so, Tor had left the hall, in disgrace.

“But what did he mean?” I whispered to Eirik. “What did he mean?”

Eirik’s eyes were wide. I knew he knew no more than I.

Just then, the old woman whose name was Sigrid leaned over to us. “Do you not know? Has your father not told you?”

Her face was lined, having seen the weather for so long a time, and yet, her eyes told us of horror, or of shock.

“Has your mother not told you?”

We shook our heads, together, as we often did.

“No,” we said.

Sigrid’s eyes narrowed.

“But you must know. Tor is your father’s brother. He is your uncle.”

*   *   *

The songs continued late into the night, but I heard not a note, nor whispered a word more.

All I knew was the warmth of Eirik’s hand in mine, and we both shook from the not knowing.