RAINEACH’S STORY.
“Hush,” she said, “don’t crush me, or we shall stumble over yon snoring
swine. Hither, lad: away with me. Into the wood. It was always our
hiding-place,—dost thou mind, Thorstein? Why, what a man thou hast grown!
But I knew I should tell thee among them all, wolf-dark as it was. Kiss
me, Thorstein. Am I woman enough for thee now? Am I bonny? Folk say so;
but I’d have none but thee, heart of mine. Thorstein, Thorstein: my boy,
my little hurt beaten boy! Ah, but I will comfort thee. Laugh lad, never
greet: kiss me. Oh Thorstein, kill me not: I am only a woman, and thou
art a great strong man.
“The queen told me about thee. They say she wept for a day and a night
when thou wast gone, until Olaf the carle gave her a slap and bade her
be merry. If thou could’st but have stayed until I got there;—it was but
a few days. Silly lads to run away from friends! And yet thou would’st
have loved the bonny queen, and poor Raineach was but her bower-may: but
fain, ah fain to serve thee and her, anywhere, any way. But it was so
long a-coming, lad!
“Oh me, I am losing my wits. Only have patience, and I will tell thee all
as it happened. There, loose me awhile, and let me think.
“Orm, it was. Orm said I must tell nobody, but I’ll tell thee,
sweetheart. Orm said thou wast oversea, and bade me come. So I went. I
took all our bravest things to make a show at the wedding. He set me on
shipboard, and bade the skipper have a care of me, and signed farewell
off the shore. And then the waves beat and the wind blew, and eh, my
head worked, and the eyes came out of their pits. They thrust me down
among the bulk, and among poor wretches that howled and groaned in the
bilgewater, and I could see nothing for sickness. The ship whirled, and
flew, and fell into the depths of the sea. Oh, lad, I was sorry for thee
in those terrible ships; and I prayed and prayed to have thee safe on dry
land. And there were poor Welsh lasses and a two or three Saxon ones,
worse off than I, with hands tied: and I loosed them, I did. And then
came the skipper and clouted me over the head, and tied us all again, and
I was mad with him, and begged and shouted; but he laughed, like Orm when
he kicks his thralls, and bade me be at peace, or he would throw me to
the fishes. Eh, it did hurt to have one’s hands tied. Did’st thou ever
have thy hands tied, Thorstein? and kick and scream at people? The other
poor wretches laughed at me, and said things, but I could make nothing of
their talk. And so I was still, for anger and weariness, all that night.
“Well, when it was day, I was no more sick, the water was lound, and the
men were rowing us to shore. Then they gave us food, and the skipper said
I was to look bonny, or I would fetch nothing on Dublin strand, and shame
it were if all his labour and all the money he had spent and the care he
had taken of me should be thrown away. He said we should be very thankful
to be there at all, for in the storm of that night other ships had gone
to the bottom of the sea. I could not hit him, for my hands were tied,
so I spat out the food they put in my mouth, and I looked as ugly as I
could; and he beat me. Oh man, I was angry.
“Then they shoved us over the side of the ship and set us down in a great
crowd of people, but I was too dazed to take notice. At last came a fine
lady; that was the queen, understand. King’s folk have first weel of the
wares in Dublin town. I was the wares, Thorstein: think of that, lad. I
couldn’t think: but I cried to her in my own tongue, I am not a thrall, I
am not a thrall: I am Thorstein Sweinson’s sister.
“‘What girl?’ said she: and I said it again.
“Then there was a deal of talking with the skipper, and my hands were
untied, and they tingled all over, and I could feel nothing with them.
But I made shift to creep after the queen: and she led me to the king’s
house, and oh she was good to me: and it was a bonny spot, if it had not
been for the men-folk plaguing. There’s none of them like thee, lad. I
could tell thee things about yon Olaf—but what’s the good? I am woman
grown now, and bonny; and I can sew and bake and brew and everything. Thy
mother will be pleased with me now, and Orm, won’t he be surprised? Are
they all hearty, Thorstein? And that young lass, does she still play her
tricks on folk? how did they call her—Asdis?”
Thorstein’s arms fell and his knees smote together.
“What’s to do, lad?”
“Three days since—I wedded her.”
“Thorstein!” she cried in a terrible voice, and thrust him away from her,
and fled. He fell backward, like one that has got his deathstroke.