XL
Let us now turn our attention to oft-bereaved Esleyna. When she learnt of the death of her only son, it did little to move her. Seyglena had been the one to tell her the news (Ormana did not yet feel fit to speak it aloud), saying, ‘My friend, it brings me no joy to say that your son, Kolmago, is dead.’
‘Alas for me,’ Esleyna had said, and not a word more.
There was no joy left in her then. Where before she had spent each day sat in her chair, staring out to the sea, now she could bear neither the sight nor the sound of it. The endless rolling of the waves had once been a comfort, ever a reminder of her being; through one last window looking out into the world, she could await the day when their tumult would finally be quelled. But that was a comfort no longer. Esleyna arose one evening and closed the window, and so it remained. Thereafter, she paid no heed to aught but the most basic of her bodily needs, eating only the meagrest of meals, drinking only what water she needed, and saying nothing to anyone. Of course, everyone else had something to say about it.
‘What a waste!’ said one man. ‘Why should we work to house her when she offers no work in return, nor even a word of thanks?’
‘Lay off it,’ said another. ‘Do you know what troubles lie behind her? That she has yet to do herself in is proof of our masterful hospitality.’
‘Perhaps she ought to,’ said a third, ‘for we gain nothing either way.’
‘What cruelty!’ said a fourth. ‘Far from nothing is the satisfaction of having done good.’
Ormana happened to overhear all this, and once her disbelief had turned to temper, she threw herself amid the gossips.
‘Close your mouths, men,’ she said, waving her fist, ‘if you wish to keep your teeth in them. You have no right to be meddling in the grief of another.’
With nothing more to say, the men took in their tongues and cleared off.
Ormana then went to her mother, and as she came to her side, she asked after her mood. Esleyna had nothing to say about that. She turned away and closed her eyes. Ormana asked again and received much the same reply, so she left the room. She found herself a quiet spot elsewhere in the hall, sat herself down, and there she cried.
A few days later, Thalo and Awldano came back to Pearmol and began preparing to move to Samnew, although they did not leave until a few weeks had passed. Karvalo had demanded that they wait until after the midwinter feast, where he meant to feast in his lordly son’s honour, and that he did. As the household descended upon his hall, sat at his benches, and partook of his food and his drink, Karvalo put up his cup and revelled in the majesty of his unparallelled fatherhood.
Yet not all the feasters were so cheery. Ormana came along to enjoy the meal, but with Thalo beside Awldano at the high table, she came alone. To see the hall abustle with such mirth, to hear the joyful clamour while she sat with no friend beside her, Esleyna’s absence became all the bitterer. Ormana slipped away while everyone was still seated.
The following morning, she happened to be speaking with Thalo when he said he and Awldano would be leaving for Samnew the next day.
‘We had planned to leave today,’ he said, ‘but Awldano hurt his ankle in the night. He is not fit for walking.’
‘What if I were to come with you?’ said Ormana, and as if without thinking, she continued, ‘I want to come with you, if you will have me.’
‘What about your mother?’
‘What about her? I have been waiting, Thalo, staying beside her, being there for her, but she will not be there for me. There is nothing more I can do. With each passing day, the pain only grows, and I cannot bear it any longer. It is time, I fear, to let her go. I have to get away.’
Thalo put his hand on her shoulder and said, ‘So be it. I would be glad to have you, but it is not for me alone to decide.’
Together, they went to Awldano as he was resting his ankle, and Ormana asked whether he would take her into his retinue.
‘Are you quite sure about this?’ said Awldano.
‘I am,’ said Ormana. She was not, but it did not seem right to say so.
‘Then I will trust in your judgement and be glad to count my friend Ormana among my worthiest thanes.’
Ormana thanked him and excused herself. She went back to the room she shared with her mother, where once Kolmago had slept alongside them, though no longer, and there she began collecting her possessions. Esleyna was in the room all the while, sitting silently in her chair. Ormana said nothing about her business, nor did Esleyna ask.
Then, when the night had come and gone and another new day was afoot, Ormana stood before Esleyna and told her Awldano was soon to be leaving.
‘Would you like to see them off?’ she said.
Once again, Esleyna said nothing.
‘Mother?’ Ormana said, but to no reply. ‘Please, I ask that you only look at me. Give me some sign that you at least hear me.’
Esleyna did not stir, her head bowed, her eyes down, her lips together.
Ormana stepped back, and with a scoff, she said, ‘In any case, I am going with them, so this will be our parting.’
Ormana turned away, but as she was passing through the doorway, Esleyna said at last, ‘So you too will abandon me.’
Without turning back to her, Ormana replied, ‘Tell me, mother, which of us has abandoned the other?’
Then she left.
Ormana made her way out into the yard, where Awldano was preparing his troop to leave. Seyglena alone saw them off, for Karvalo was away at Knessyar on other business. She wished Awldano well and bade him hold Samnew with dignity, and he said he would.
‘It is one thing to say it,’ said Seyglena, ‘and another entirely to do it. Now tell me, where is Thalo? I do not think he is fit to face the trials ahead of him.’
But Thalo was there beside her. ‘I am here.’
‘Very good. Understand, you are not fit to face the trials ahead of you. You have a lord for a husband, Thalo, as do I. May fate be forgiving.’
Seyglena then turned away and went inside.
Thalo repeated her words to himself, but at Awldano’s request, he put them aside. He climbed atop Ondayo and Ormana joined Awldano in a carriage where he could rest his ankle, and when everyone was ready, they made their way to Samnew.
Awldano took thirty-six people away from Pearmol, or thirty-nine if he, Thalo, and Ormana were also counted. Among them were fifteen hardy thanes, each of whom had formerly been sworn to Karvalo, and an assortment of their relatives made up the rest of the number.
Odwala came out of the hall to welcome them. Awldano entrusted Ormana with oversight of his retinue’s arrangements, and then he and Thalo followed Odwala inside. His previous visit had lasted only a week or so, and he had spent the majority of it sat at Karvalo’s side. Now, however, Samnew was his own, and it was about time he became properly acquainted with his new home.
Odwala took them through the hall to the small rooms, and the smithy, and to Samo’s shrine, and last of all they came to the treasury, which they found in a rather sorry state. Trewgeo had not been a particularly frugal fellow, and it turned out his relationship with the late king had been rather more material than many knew, and rather more profitable for one party than the other. Awldano had not intended to spend much time there, or at least not yet, but the very moment Thalo stepped inside, his attention was ensnared by a beautiful axe hung glittering upon the opposite wall. With a blade of blue, and studded with gems of brilliant white, it shone as if it were wrought from the sky itself to cut through the darkness of the night.
‘Whatever is this?’ said Thalo, enraptured before it.
That was Fedhewve. In the days when Thyomalo yet held the Lordship of Pearmol, he had commissioned it for his husband, Samnew-Samo, who had worn it proudly. When Samo died, it was mounted in his shrine, but it had since been moved to the treasury for safekeeping. Both Gonwela and Karvalo had tried to reclaim it for Pearmol, but Arleno considered it the chiefest treasure of his lordship and had ever refused to yield it.
‘But that was not the end of it,’ said Odwala. ‘He tried to take it from Trewgeo, too, but nothing came of that, of course, and he has recently tried to take it from me likewise. That did not come to pass. It is yet where it belongs, where it must remain.’
‘It is a beautiful thing,’ said Thalo. ‘I am pleased to count it as my own.’
His eyes now fell to the treasures laid out below the axe, all trinkets from Samnew’s early days. There he found a pair of silver rings, each intricately twisted around itself, and each twisted in the opposite direction. Thalo asked Odwala if she knew as much about them as she did Fedhewve, but she did not.
‘They were one for Thyomalo,’ she said, ‘and one for Samo. Nothing more is to be said.’
Thalo showed them to Awldano and said, ‘What do you make of these?’
‘They look fine indeed,’ said Awldano.
‘Fine indeed.’ Thalo took Awldano’s hand and put one of the rings on his little finger. ‘One for you.’ He put the other in Awldano’s hand and presented his own. Awldano put the second ring on Thalo’s forefinger.
‘And one for you,’ he said.
Then they kissed one another, and Odwala moved along.
That evening, Awldano sat in hall for the first time to take his thanes’ oaths. Odwala came up first, and she was followed by Eyge. She had not left Samnew since capturing Trewgeo. As a trusted friend, Karvalo had bidden her stay and swear herself to Awldano.
‘It would be most imprudent,’ he had said, ‘for your intimate knowledge of that place to go to waste.’
Eyge agreed to that, as did Awldano, and so she stayed at Samnew.
Then the rest of the retinue came up in small groups to speed things along, until only Ormana had yet to make an oath. At last, Awldano called her up, and she came forth alone. As she stood before the firepit, Awldano opposite her, they each swore to bind themself to the other, to each count the other among their closest friends, and to each maintain their mutual obligations in life and death alike.
‘So our oaths are fastened,’ said Awldano, ‘and each before magnanimous fate. Oy-oy!’
The room cheered an ‘Oy-oy!’ in reply, and that was that.
Now a few weeks passed, and Awldano ruled Samnew well and virtuously. Those who had initially begrudged him soon saw sense, and the scars that had previously been inflicted upon the lordship could heal at last.
Rather slower to heal, however, was the state of the treasury. To this end, Awldano worked tirelessly to fasten his relationships with his bondsfolk, such that he had brought more farms under bondage in only a few weeks than any of his predecessors had in all their days. But that alone could only change so much, so he also sent a handful of his thanes away to raid in foreign lands. He had been reluctant to do this, but Karvalo had demanded it.
‘With any luck,’ he said, ‘they will all come home with a boat laden with booty, with many fanciful tales of their exploits, and with your name, Awldano, known all the farther afield.’
Thalo was very keen to put himself on the ship, but Awldano forbade it.
‘I would like you to stay where you are needed most,’ he said, ‘and that is at my side.’
‘Would it not be more useful,’ said Thalo, ‘to have me earning you wealth and fame with my sword, than to have me sitting around here? I am Thennelo, after all, a hero of great renown.’
‘So you are, but more than that, you are Thalo, my husband, whom I would like to support me here.’
That did not satisfy Thalo, but he let the matter rest. They had only recently taken the lordship, after all—there would be further opportunities to prove his worth. Odwala’s bodyguard, Oze, ended up in charge of the ship. When they were ready to leave, Awldano came to see them off.
‘O Awldano!’ said Oze. ‘Worry not for me! I will fight, and I will loot, and that will be your glory. All my foes will know your name, the last they hear!’
Then they set off, and Awldano was glad not to be among them.
Around this time, Awldano attended his first lawmoot in the lordship. This was convened to elect the late king’s successor, but more will be said of that in due course. Before departing, he first welcomed Karvalo to Samnew, and after only a brief reunion, they went on to Syorbak together as kinsmen and allies. Thalo went with them. He sat in the rede hall as the lords did their business, a man of like status by right of marriage, and though he loathed every passing moment more than the last, he suffered it all willingly—he was much too proud of his lordly husband to leave early.
Then, at the closing feast, Karvalo came to Awldano and took him aside to speak privately. Awldano asked him what he wanted to discuss.
‘We are not here to discuss,’ said Karvalo. ‘I will make a demand, and you will agree to it.’
‘That must depend on the demand,’ said Awldano.
‘Do not be so clever, boy. It does not suit you. This is my demand: you have recently come to possess a treasure which is rightly mine. Within your hall is the axe Fedhewve. My grandfather had it made, but it was stolen and hidden away at Samnew. I know it is there, for I have seen it. Many times over have I tried to reclaim it, to restore it to the hall in which it belongs, but my pleas have thus far found only ignorant ears.’
‘Odwala has told me about this axe, and about your attempts to claim to it.’
‘To reclaim it. And pay no heed to her words, or at least those about this—it was her kinsman who stole it. I now call upon you, my noble Awldano, my Lord of Samnew, my beautiful son, to do what is right and return it to me. Do this, and when it is time for you to claim your inheritance from me, you will be glad for it.’
Awldano dithered briefly, then said, ‘Please afford me the time I need to properly consider this.’
‘Of course. Once we have come back to Samnew, I expect you to have made a decision. I expect also to be going home with Fedhewve hung upon my belt.’
With that, Karvalo rejoined the feast, and Awldano followed him.
So they came back to Samnew together, and as Awldano took his seat in the hall, Karvalo came to him and demanded Fedhewve. Odwala was nearby at the time, and she replied before Awldano could.
‘Enough of this,’ she said. ‘Fedhewve is a founding treasure of this hall, and in this hall alone it belongs. If you think your son’s lordship will change that, think again.’
‘There is no need for thinking,’ said Awldano. ‘I will give it to him.’
‘Whyever would you do that? Have you no respect at all for the hall in which you sit?’
‘Alas, this is not a matter of respect. My father, Karvalo, Lord of Pearmol, is my chiefest ally, and I am loath to sunder the friendship that has only so recently been reforged between our halls. I will take whatever steps I must to rid this place of the misfortune which has long dwelt here.’
‘But this is a step too far. Fedhewve belongs here. If you are to surrender it to another lordship, you might as well surrender your sovereignty entirely.’
‘I understand your concern, Odwala, but this is not a gift to Pearmol. This is a gift to Karvalo alone, to be returned to Samnew once Domnadhe’s children have accounted for him.’
That was little consolation, but Odwala was nothing if not pragmatic.
‘I can see my words will not sway you,’ she said. ‘It would appear my days of warding the sanctity of this place are spent. If you truly mean to give it to him, let that be your decision alone. No other hands shall touch it.’
Awldano agreed to that and went to fetch the axe, while Odwala waited in the hall with Karvalo. He had said nothing since making his request, keen to assess his son’s quality. He was pleased.
When Awldano came back from the treasure room, he came with fabulous Fedhewve held in both hands. He first took it to his seat, then rose once more and approached his father. Karvalo lowered himself onto his knees and put out his hands, ready to receive his prize, and the moment he had the axe in his grasp, he gripped it tight, felt its heft in his hands, and enamoured by its sunlit sheen, he laughed out.
‘Fedhewve!’ he said. ‘Fedhewve is mine!’
With that, Odwala left the room without a word.
Awldano returned to his seat, and Karvalo arose and hung Fedhewve on his belt. He said he was glad to see his son taking so well to the lordship, and that he eagerly awaited a long and fruitful friendship. Then they wished each other well, and Karvalo left the hall.
Thalo was not in the room while this unfolded (he was hiding away where he might not meet Karvalo), but these events were soon brought to his attention. At once, he came storming into the hall and called out for Awldano. Awldano went to him and asked why he had brought such a temper inside.
‘Where is Karvalo? Where is Fedhewve?’
‘My father has already left,’ said Awldano, ‘and Fedhewve with him. What of it?’
‘What of it? Whyever did you yield it? What did he say to you?’
Awldano stated his reasons, and they were much the same as those he had given Odwala.
‘Though I would wish otherwise,’ he said, ‘Samnew needs whatever allies can be found, and now more than ever. There are few whose friendship will prove as valuable as that of the Lord of Pearmol. I feared this might upset you—I could not rightly say that I am not upset myself—but I hope you will hear my reasons with a steady head and be understanding.’
Thalo, however, was not well known for his understanding.
‘You are the Lord of Samnew,’ he said, and loudly, ‘not Karvalo. You ought to act like it, not some dog twirling for its master. This is your hall, our hall, my hall. What benefit will come of the wanton relinquishment of your authority to another? You should not be prostrating yourself before your father.’
‘I have not yielded my authority.’
‘But you have yielded Fedhewve, the treasure of Samnew, my treasure. If you would give over even that, what here is safe from your father’s wretched fingers?’
‘Understand, my choice was not made without careful consideration, nor without difficulty.’
‘You speak of consideration, but consideration for whom?’
Then Thalo left the hall.
Awldano tried to speak with him again later that day, hoping to resolve their disagreement when they were each of lesser passion, but Thalo said it would be better to put it aside altogether.
‘What is done is done,’ he said Thalo. ‘Let us say no more of it.’
Awldano agreed to that, and though a certain tension lingered in their house for a while thereafter, it lessened with each passing day, until it was as if it had never visited at all. They would not speak of Fedhewve again.