The Sword Song of Bjarni Sigurdson by Rosemary Sutcliff Page B

was already made.
    After that it was the time for feasting. The kegs of bride-ale were brought out and the huge bride-cake was broken up and given to all corners. And the rest of the day went by in feasting and harping, whilebride and groom and priest and chieftains sat beside the chieftain’s fire in the Hall and the young men of the settlement wrestled and raced against each other, between fresh attacks on the little dark carcasses of hill mutton, the seal meat and cod and great dishes of bannock and ewes’-milk curds and honey.
    Evening came at last, with the tawny light of the feast fires beginning to draw men’s faces out of the gathering dark, and the sound of the sea growing louder as it always seemed to do at dusk. Bjarni, pleasantly weary after a day spent enjoying himself, full with much feasting and in a pleasant haze of bride-ale, had cast himself down beside Heriolf on the comfortable fringe of things, their backs propped against the pigsty wall.
    ‘Thunder coming,’ said the merchant, sniffing the air like a hound. ‘Aye well, ’twill come in the night and be cleared by morning.’ He had a personal interest in the weather for, having done good trading through the past few days, he was for the seaways again next morning.
    ‘And what sea-road this time? Or are you reckoning to be making for a haven and laying
Sea Cow
up for the winter?’
    Heriolf shrugged. ‘The Misty Isle, maybe, or further south to Mull. Thorstein the Red is generally worth a visit before the winter closes in.’
    ‘Any bride-ales there?’ Bjarni asked idly.
    ‘Three daughters the man has, all too young for their bride-ales as yet. But I’ve an enamelled cup set with river pearls might please his mother – the Lady Aud has an eye for beautiful things and money of her own to pay for them.’
    ‘That would be her they call Aud the Deep-Minded?’ Bjarni said after a moment.
    The merchant laughed. ‘Aye, that would be her. But she has the wisdom not to let it show too much . . .’
    Out in the clear centre of the garth someone was playing a pipe, and some of the men and older women had begun to sway and stamp and clap their hands for dancing. The hunter’s moon was up, broad as a buckler and yellow as corn sheaves, among the tumble of cloud and clear, its quiet light mingling with the fierce flare of fires and torches; and thrusting through the crowd in answer to the piping, Bjarni saw that in the clear space in the midst of it all, the girls had formed themselves into a ring-dance facing outward, laughing, arms linked and feet moving in little neatly braided steps under them. The young men had gathered also and stood idly looking on, pretending not to be much interested, passing the ale-jack from hand to hand. The clapping women had taken up the pipe tune and begun to make the quick lilting mouth-music that has no words but set the feet jigging and the blood to dance, and the young men drew closer and forgot the ale-jacks.
    Bjarni, watching the girls circling by, saw Thara’s pretty, stupid little face go by with bursts of coloured silk twisted into the pale bright braids of her hair. Three times he saw her go by. Then, circling still, the girls slipped their arms free of each other and the steps became wider and looser, the circle swifter and more ragged as each girl darted out from it to catch whichever of the young men caught her fancy and swung him back with her into the dance. Bjarni found Thara’s face close to him, flushed and foolish, and next moment she had flung herself upon his chest, her arms round him, laughing, trying to kiss him wetly, trying to drag him into the jigging, bounding circle behind her.
    If he had been stone-cold sober he would not havedone it. He would have had too much sense, or maybe too much kindness. But the bride-ale was strong and he had drunk a good deal of it, and he did not want to find himself caught up with Thara Priestsdaughter, who seemed to be forever hanging round him. He pulled her