Thyre made a show of brushing sand from the piece of wood. She had already heard several of Sven’s ideas for improvement and had thought little of them. Thankfully, just as Ragnfast had heeded her mother’s counsel until her mother’s death eight years ago, Ragnfast always consulted her and followed her advice. And the estate prospered.
‘I know what your father is like.’ Thyre gave a laugh. ‘He will think the timber a gift from the gods. The lower barn has a gaping hole in its roof. It needs to be fixed before the cows come back from pasture. Your father made the appropriate sacrifice for this only last week and will not want to go against the gods’ generous response.’
‘Do you know where the ships have come from?’ Dagmar asked, prodding a piece of timber with a delicate foot. ‘Is it one of ours…a Ranrike? You know I can’t read runes. The scratching jumps about so and never seems to mean the same thing.’
‘If you would pay attention, Dagmar, you could learn. I did. Mother tried to teach you before she died, and I have offered to continue her teaching.’
Dagmar batted her lashes. ‘I would rather be spinning or weaving. There is something so satisfying about creating cloth.’
‘But the daughter of a princess should know how to read runes.’ Thyre pointed to the markings on the board. Some day, she would win the argument and Dagmar would learn to read. ‘See, this bit says Ran and the other bit says hammer. You can do it if you try.’
Dagmar shook her head. ‘It is all far too boring and the runes jump about so. Besides, I will have my older sister to read the runes for me. You will always be here on the steading. I do not know how Far would manage without you and your advice.’
‘Yes, you are right. I have no plans to go anywhere.’ Thyre gave a tight smile. Dagmar might have dreams of marrying her Sven, but Thyre also had dreams of her own. Some day she hoped to meet a man worthy of her love—one who would respect her counsel as well as love her, one who would want her for herself rather than anything she could bring to the marriage. ‘If you ever change your mind, I will be happy to teach you.’
Sometimes Thyre walked out to the headland and looked out at the strait, wondering what lay beyond. It was not as if she hated her life here, but she did wonder what else there might be. Ragnfast and her mother had promised to take her to the Ranrike capital when she was grown. But her mother had died during the winter of her eighth year and Ragnfast had been loathe to leave the farm unattended.
‘Who does the ship belong to, Thyre? You must know from the runes.’
Thyre forced her mind back from the horizon and concentrated.
‘It is one of ours, a Ranriken, but it has not been in the water long. The etchings are too fresh. The shipwreck must have happened last night during the storm.’ Thyre tapped a finger against her lips as a thousand unanswered questions crowded into her brain. Why had the ship been out on the strait? It was most likely one of Sigmund Sigmundson’s. The jaarl had promised to protect the seas from marauding Viken intent on plundering Ranrike. Had they perished, keeping this bay safe? ‘We need to inform Ragnfast immediately.’
Dagmar nodded, accepting Thyre’s verdict. ‘That is unusual. Normally our ships are all safely at harbour when the storm breaks. The Ranrike understand the enormity of Ran’s wrath. How very foolish of the captain. If my Sven had been there, he would have told the captain to stay in his bay.’
‘It happens.’ Thyre put the board down. ‘Ran will have had her net out and will have collected the drowned men.’
‘Drowned men? Dead men!’ Dagmar screwed her face up and Thyre winced. ‘I had not thought of the dead.’
‘I had, and somewhere wives and children will be waiting.’
‘We should go back and tell Far now. He will want to gather the wood and dispose of the bodies.’ Dagmar’s nose wrinkled and she lifted the hem of her skirt, carefully stepping around the piles of seaweed and smashed boards. ‘It is a pity there is no cargo. I could have done with a new dress.’
‘Always the practical one, Dagmar.’ Thyre shook her head in dismay. Dagmar never seemed to consider the future beyond its impact on her, whereas Thyre found herself always asking questions and pondering the reasons why a thing happened.
Dagmar clutched Thyre’s arm, preventing her from going further along the shore. ‘There is a ship on the horizon. Is it one of ours?’
Thyre shielded her eyes against the glare of the sun, impatiently pushing a lock of crow’s wing black hair back from her eyes. She should know the answer without even seeing the ship’s prow. ‘The sail is unusual. Chequered, red and white. Viken, not Ranriken.’
‘How many are there? Is it a raid?’ Dagmar’s voice dropped to a soft whisper as if she feared the unknown boat might hear them. ‘Do we light the beacon?’
‘Not yet, Dagmar. Let Ragnfast be the one to make that decision.’ Silently, Thyre vowed to help him make the right choice.
‘I’m frightened, Thyre.’
Thyre patted Dagmar’s arm. Both of them knew the tales of the Viken raids. The most recent had been the daring raid on the fabulously wealthy monastery in the British Isles. The men who had participated were now fêted as heroes in the north countries, but they were also feared. Who knew where their ambition lay? Before her marriage to Ragnfast, their mother had been a hostage of the Viken king. Thyre had been the result of her mother’s time in Kaupang and the reason for her mother’s subsequent banishment to this far-flung estate.
‘There is only one boat that I can see but there are still things that need to be hidden, even if the Viken are only here for a short time.’
‘But the Viken rarely come here. This inlet is not on any trading route.’ Colour drained from Dagmar’s face. ‘They can’t wish to…’
Thyre grabbed her half-sister’s shoulders and gave her a slight shake. Now was not the time for self-indulgent panic. ‘Dagmar, you must pay attention. It is important. We have no idea of the ship’s intentions, but we have to assume they will be seeking to raid. If we act properly, we may only lose a few sheep or pigs.’
‘You always know what to do, Thyre.’ Dagmar gulped air.
‘It is good to be prepared.’
Thyre’s mind raced. She knew every detail of the plans to survive a raid—where the gold would be hidden, and the grain, where the women would go and hide. The plans had been in place since before her mother died of a fever. A cool head and an even manner solved more problems than a quick temper. Thyre shook her head slightly. The Viken would not find them an easy target, not while she had breath in her body.
‘My mind is a blank. What do I do next?’ Dagmar’s eyes were wide. ‘I just wish Sven was here. He knows all about interpreting omens and what they mean.’
Thyre made a non-committal noise. The other night, the full moon had risen blood red, a potent portent of change and destruction for the Ranrike royal house. According to Ragnfast, the last time such a thing had happened, her mother had died. This time he had immediately ordered several sacrifices so that the farm could remain unharmed, but it appeared the gods were deaf. The Viken had arrived.
‘Will you tell my father without me?’ Dagmar put her hands under her apron. ‘You know how he
