A young woman with long teeth said something in rapid Norse, waving her hands and shaking her head.
‘I can do it myself. I made the mess,’ Annis said in Latin and then in Northumbrian.
‘Let me help.’
The woman removed the cat, took a brush and rapidly swept the flour into a pile. She scooped it up into another dish. Annis bit her lip and nodded her thanks.
‘Empty the quern often or else…’ The woman gestured with her hands, mimicking what could happen. ‘This has happened to me before—several times.’
Annis felt a lump grow in her throat. She touched the woman’s hand. ‘Thank you.’
‘Ingrid.’ The woman held up a finger and then said something in very rapid Norse.
Annis put her hand to her chest and took time with her words. ‘Annis. I am called Annis. If you speak slowly, I can understand.’
‘I am Ingrid,’ the woman said, a smile breaking over her face and making it pretty and less like a startled hare. ‘Tove makes mischief. She seeks to share a Jaarl’s bed and perhaps have his child as that would make her future.’
‘What does that have to do with me?’
‘They are wondering if you share Lord Haakon’s bed where you come from, and is this why he brought you here? The Jaarl has never brought a woman here before.’
Annis felt her face flame. ‘No. I am a captive, not a concubine.’
‘They wondered. Many would like to share his bed. He is reputed to be a kind and considerate lover.’
Annis felt her cheeks burn even more as she remembered the kiss they had shared. She should have known that he was an expert in these matters. Perhaps he was like Selwyn with many mistresses, changing them as often as he changed his cloaks. ‘He is more interested in the ransom that he expects to get.’
‘If that is true, then Tove will be very happy.’ Ingrid leant closer. ‘But you will admit—he does have strong arms, and a pleasing face.’
‘Yes, I will give him that.’
The entire room burst out laughing.
Ingrid came over to Annis and took the grinding stone from her again. She poured some barley into the bottom bowl and showed Annis how to do the grinding properly. ‘Like so, yes? Tove always makes the new serving girls grind the barley. Never teaches, but I help.’
A wave of relief washed over as tears pricked Annis’s eyes. She had not expected kindness. Somehow it made her feel less alone. She had made a friend. It had been before Selwyn died that she had had a friend.
‘Can you tell me why cats are allowed in the hall?’
‘Do you not have cats in the kitchen back where you come from?’
Annis shook her head.
Ingrid reached down and picked the black-and-white one up, cradling it in her arms. ‘This is Kisa, and the grey is Fress. They are beloved of the goddess Freya, and help to keep the mice down.’
Annis tried the unfamiliar names out and tentatively reached out a finger. Kisa responded immediately by purring and lifting her head backwards. ‘They are the largest cats I have ever seen.’
‘Kisa likes you. She is very picky about the people she lets stroke her. Cats can tell about people, you know.’ Ingrid gave a decisive nod. ‘I will like you as well, I think.’
Annis started to grind the barley again this time, following Ingrid’s instructions as Kisa settled at her feet.
Annis wiped the sweat from her brow. The sack, which had been full, sagged with only a few handfuls of grain left at the bottom. Two days of grinding barley had been hard work, but she was nearing the end. The only compensation was that she was exhausted at the end of the day and fell asleep next to Ingrid as soon as her eyes closed. No dreams of burning buildings or strong warriors, only blessed oblivion.
She lifted the grinding stone and started to work again.
‘Ow.’ The blister on her right hand tore open and every movement was like fire. Annis resisted the temptation to cry. Of everything that had happened to her, it was this blister that truly hurt. Such a stupid thing to cry over. The monks were undoubtedly suffering far worse, yet this morning she could hear the sound of their chanting as they went about the work of the farm. She used the corner of her apron-dress to wipe away a tear.
‘What is wrong?’ Ingrid asked, hurrying over from where she was making bread.
‘I held the stone wrong.’
‘Let me see your hands,’ Ingrid said, coming over.
Reluctantly Annis held out her hands. The red blister shone against her skin. ‘It is nothing as I said.’
Ingrid touched the blister. ‘Your hands are soft. You did not do this sort of work before.’
‘They will soon harden.’
‘Haakon waits for a large ransom, yes?’
‘Yes.’ Annis forced the word from her lips.
‘Does he know that you are being forced to do this work?’
‘I presume so.’ Annis felt pain at the back of her head echoing down to the base of her spine. She had no doubt that Haakon knew what she was doing and had ordered it, taking some sort of delight in humiliating her. ‘If I had some of my special ointment, I could soothe my hands.’
‘Where do you find this ointment?’ Ingrid stumbled over the last word.
‘I make it from herbs and tallow. A simple recipe to make, if you have the correct ingredients.’
‘That is a good thing.’ Ingrid smiled. ‘Do you know much about herbs and medicines?’
‘Yes, I do.’
‘You are wasted here in the kitchen.’
Annis started to reply, but Ingrid had gone. Annis shrugged. She put her hand on the grinding stone and winced. Then she gritted her teeth. She would do this. She would not think about what her sister-in-law or her mother might be doing; instead she would recite the various medicines and herbs she knew. Anything to keep her mind occupied and away from the pounding pain.
She gave the quern another twist as hard as she could, ignoring the ache that shot up her arm. The grinding stone started to tip. Her hand went out the catch the heavy stone, but other, stronger hands were there, lifting it back up on to the table.
The air crackled with something that had not been there before. Slowly she turned.
Haakon stood next her with a large dog sitting at his side, wagging its plumed tail. How and when he had arrived she did not know—she had been concentrating that hard on the grinding. But he was here, looking most unlike the warrior she remembered from Lindisfarne.
He had bathed and his dark hair still bore shimmering droplets of water. Rather than his chain mail, he wore a soft blue fine-wool shirt over a pair of tightly fitting trousers. His feet were covered in butter-yellow leather boots. He exuded a vitality that filled the entire room.
‘Is there something you require, my lord?’ Annis asked.
She kept her voice cold and formal. She had no doubt who was responsible for her present difficulty. He would see that such chores would not break her spirit.
‘Ingrid came to find me. She said you complained.’
‘I