Peer stopped listening. He knew Hilde would get her own way. She would go to Vinland, without him.There’d be no news. He’d miss her every day, but he’d never know if she got there safely, or when she was coming back. When Ralf had sailed away years ago, they hadn’t known if he was alive or dead until the day he came home.
He felt someone’s gaze, looked up and saw Harald watching him.
“Gudrun, I know you’re worried,” Astrid’s cool voice cut across the hubbub, “but please, please let Hilde come.” Her eyes opened, wide and pleading. “We’ve made friends already. I swear we’ll be just like sisters.” She laid one hand on Gunnar’s shoulder. “Gunnar wouldn’t take me if it wasn’t safe.”
Gunnar grasped her hand. “Of course it will be safe,” he declared.
“See!” Hilde turned to Gudrun. “If it’s safe for Astrid, it’s safe for me.”
“Hilde, be quiet!” Gudrun was red and flustered. “Your father and I will judge what’s safe.”
“Why should I be quiet?” Hilde flared up. “It’s so unfair! You expect me to stay at home, don’t you, and—and drudge all my life? Now I’ve got this chance—Vinland, Vinland—and you won’t let me go…”
Gudrun dropped back on to the bench and put her hands over her eyes. “You know,” Ralf said to Gudrun, as quietly as if no one was listening. “Hilde’s like me. She wants to see the world a bit. She’s nearly grown up. This is the chance of a lifetime for her, Gudrun. I think we should let her go.”
“But it’s so dangerous!” Gudrun looked up in tears. “All that sea—and when they get to Vinland, those Skraeling creatures, creeping about in the woods…”
“It’s dangerous here, too,” said Hilde more calmly. “Trolls under the fell, and Granny Greenteeth down in the millpond, and lubbers in the woods. If I’ve survived all those, I daresay I’ll survive a few Skraelings.”
“That’s true,” Ralf said to Gudrun. “She’ll be safe enough. Gunnar’s a sound skipper and the sort of man who—well, who looks after his friends. And when they get to Vinland, there’s Thorolf; I’d trust him anywhere. And now I come to think of it, Thorolf’s little son must be in Vinland with him. Ottar, he’s called. He’s about the same age as Sigurd. Isn’t that right, Gunnar? Is Ottar there?”
“Of course,” said Harald, before Gunnar could answer. “Remember Ottar, Father, the day we left? Climbing on to the roof of the house and waving to us?”
Gunnar grinned and nodded.
“His little boy is there?” asked Gudrun doubtfully.
Hilde flung her arms around her mother and gave her a squeeze. “Oh, please, Ma, let me go. Please?”
Gudrun faltered. It was hard for her to resist this sudden embrace.
Peer took a breath. He ought to tell Gudrun and Ralf everything he knew about Harald. Surely they would never let Hilde sail away with someone who had forced a quarrel on him, and threatened him with a sword. And yet…Hilde wanted to go so very badly, and he loved her for it—for being herself, adventurous and brave. How could he wreck her chances?
“Oh, Hilde.” Gudrun’s voice trembled. “How can we let you go when we don’t know these people? Of course, they seem splendid, and I can see that Astrid ought to have another woman with her, but…” She stopped and tried again. “If your father had been going, he could have looked after you, but as it is—”
“Ma, you do know Arnë,” pleaded Hilde.
“Arnë isn’t one of the family,” said Gudrun desperately.
Peer’s heart pounded. He looked across the table and met Harald’s bright, amused, contemptuous stare. He saw himself through those eyes—Someone who builds boats, but never sails in them. Someone who won’t take chances. Someone who might dream about crossing the sea, but would never do it. Someone who’d stay behind while Hilde sails away.
“I’ll go with her,” he said.
Hilde swung round with wide, incredulous eyes. “You, Peer?”
Ralf gave him a long, steady stare. “You really mean this, Peer?” he asked gravely. “You’ll take care of Hilde? You’ll look after her?”
“Yes.” It was like swearing an oath: the most serious thing he’d ever done. He didn’t know how he’d manage, but he’d do it, or die trying. “I will. Don’t worry, Ralf. Gudrun, I promise I’ll bring her home again.”
There was a moment’s silence. Then Ralf gave Peer a tiny nod, and looked at Gudrun. With an enormous sniff, Gudrun nodded too.
“Thank you! Oh, thank you!” Hilde nearly danced on the spot.Then she threw herself at Peer and hugged him. “Oh, Peer, I never thought you might want to come too. But you do, and it’s perfect—absolutely perfect!”
She let him go. He looked dizzily around the room. No one else seemed very happy. Arnë was scowling. Harald lifted an ironic eyebrow. Gunnar frowned. “Who is this?” He jabbed his thumb at Peer as though he’d quite forgotten meeting him on the jetty. “What use will he be to me? Why should I take him on my ship?”
And Hilde said cheerfully, pulling him forward with her arm around him: “Oh, this is Peer. He’s terribly useful. He can do anything with wood. His father was a boat builder. He’s helped Bjørn make a new faering. And he’s my brother. He’s my foster brother!”
Peer opened his eyes and saw a dark roof-space criss-crossed with sunbeams like golden scaffolding. Straw prickled under him. To one side of him was a plank partition. Behind the planks something large was champing and stirring.
Slowly he remembered. He and the twins were sleeping in the cowshed to leave more room for the guests. “Do you mind, Peer?” Gudrun had whispered last night. He’d minded very much, but of course he’d lied and said he didn’t.
He remembered more, and a pit of dread opened in his stomach. What had he done? Had he really promised to go away for an unknown period of time, on a strange ship, to a strange land? Spring was on the way. He’d been looking forward to seeing the lambs being born, watching the barley come up, rowing out of the fjord with Bjørn and Sigurd to gather seagulls’ eggs from the islands. Now all that would go on without him.
He sat up. On mounded straw between him and the door, the twins slept, cocooned in blankets. Behind the partition, Bonny the cow swung up her head, rolled a large brown eye at him, and returned to munching and breathing and switching her tail. From a warm nest in the straw beside him, Loki got up, stretching and yawning.
Peer stared at his dog in dismay. How could I have forgotten him? But is it fair to take him on a ship, for weeks at sea?
Loki lifted a paw and scraped at Peer’s arm, probably hoping for breakfast. Peer took it, feeling the dog’s pads rough on his fingers. “Loki, old fellow,” he murmured. “What shall we do? Do you want to come with me?” Loki’s tail hit the ground, once, twice.
“Good boy!” Peer hugged him. He was fooling himself, and he knew it: Loki always wagged his tail when Peer spoke to him. But he didn’t care. He could never leave Loki behind.
At least that was decided. He lay back in the straw, stared upwards, and wished he could carry on sleeping—that today need never start—that he didn’t have to remember what Hilde had said last night. Peer’s my brother.
He burrowed under the blanket, trying to dive back into sleep and escape the