[bill_n_sam]

The sun was already behind the western hills as Dag made his way home. The sword he carried weighed heavily in his hand, due more to its association to the political machinations and in-fighting between Ulfang’s sons than to its true heft. His heart did not feel the satisfaction which usually came from using his skill to fashion such a weapon. And his spirit rebelled against the implacable force of Ulfast’s will which was drawing him into this game where few could be called winners. Even Mem, and thus Gunna, would now be players, pawns over which the chieftain would have a power Dag would be hard put to countermand. Well, he thought grimly to himself, should it come down to it . . . if his family’s safety was put at risk . . .

He hardly dared to finish that thought even in the secret recesses of his own mind. But he knew what he would do, if the time came.

With no joy in his soul, he pushed open the door to the little house, seeing the two women look up at his entrance. Gunna’s features were set in an expression of angry resolution; Mem’s bespoke the same calm with which she always faced life. Dag did not give Gunna the opportunity to get one word out, raising his hand in a gesture of silence. He shot her a look which she had never seen on his face before, and setting the sword aside, Dag sat down beside the fire, lifting the baby from Mem’s lap. The child cooed and laughed, reaching up to grab a fistful of his hair. Gunna turned away and reached for a wooden bowl. Slowly, she began filling it with her husband’s supper, not wishing to look at him again, not wanting to see that look again.

As she knelt and held the full bowl out to him, her face still turned aside, she felt his hand encircle hers. Tears filled her eyes as he pulled her close, her face resting against his shoulder. As the baby wiggled in his arms in protest, Gunna listened to the steady beat of his heart but for once, the sound did nothing to reassure her. As strong as he was, her husband was only one man. One against how many? How many lackeys did Ulfast own? How many men had he bought with promises of wealth, or power? And how many more had fallen under his sway because they, like Dag, dared not refuse him? Dag had something Ulfast wanted. His skill as an armorer would be of great use, should weapons be needed. And what was the use of weapons, if not for the vanquishing of other men?

Unable to keep silent, Gunna whispered into his neck, “Don’t take her, my husband. Don’t take her to that place. You can not know . . . You won’t be able to stop . . . “

“Quiet, woman!” Dag growled, but his arm still pressed her tightly to his chest. “There’s no way around it. You know that, as well as I do.”

Gunna pulled away from him, leaning back to look him in the face. The expression of a few moments ago was gone, but in its place was one equally as untractable. Still, she had to try. “Dag, listen. Tell them Mem is sick. Tell them she’s too weak to be out. They’ll never know. Ulfast . . . “

“Ulfast has spies all over the settlement! She goes – and I’ll see that she comes to no harm.” Dag’s voice was low and rough, but he stared into Gunna’s dark eyes, willing her to believe, to trust. Gunna wished nothing more than to do so, to believe that her husband would take care of it all, that he would watch over her sister, and watch out for himself, and that they would both return safe and he would laugh at her fears later that night as they lay together.

And she saw that Dag wanted, no, needed the same. He needed that belief from her. A belief in his ability to protect them from harm. Neither one could allow that shield to slip for an instant, for once doubt set in, their fear would be their undoing. When playing the game with one such as Ulfast, or his father, or brothers, the belief a man had in himself might be all that stood between survival and annihilation.

Sinking back onto her heels, Gunna swept the baby from her husband’s arms and pushed the bowl of food into his hands. “Eat!, she commanded, with a forced smile. “I’m sure there’ll be no food for the likes of you at such a grand affair!” Taking Mem by the hand, she pulled the girl to her feet. “Come, we’ll make you presentable, as my husband wishes. Such an honor – to be called to perform for the chieftains. Your blue dress, that’s your nicest one. And the striped scarf . . . “

Dag swallowed his dinner down as Gunna made a show of fussing over her sister. The food had no taste though, and sat like a hard lump in his stomach. Finally, his wife was satisfied with her ministrations and presented his sister-in-law to him for inspection. With barely a glance at the girl, Dag stood, taking the sword in one hand and Mem’s hand in the other. He kissed his wife lightly on the cheek, and with a gruff, “Hurry! It won’t do to keep them waiting.” he led the girl out into the evening darkness.