Yrsa and Ulf spoke little on their way back from the funeral. As they walked toward their cottage, Yrsa was still quietly sobbing, mourning her father.
Only one thought occupied her mind: “Why? Why did he do it?” As the young woman walked ahead, she paid no attention to her surroundings. She leaned on Ulf’s shoulder.
On their way, they had to pass by her brother’s cottage. It stood among huge trees—walnuts, oaks, and maples. On one of the trees was a hawk’s nest, with the bird currently circling above the cottage, searching for prey. The cottage was old and dilapidated. Yrsa’s brother’s wife had inherited the cottage from her grandparents, so it had seen better days. The roof needed complete replacement, and the wooden walls were so rotted that, in a strong wind, the cottage might collapse entirely. In front of the cottage grew beautiful flowers that brightened their yard with their beauty every year.
Behind the cottage was their field, small but sufficient for their needs. Next to the field, in the pasture, cattle grazed. Bulls and cows searched for the tastiest clump of grass to eat. Devastated, Yrsa saw the children playing in the yard, oblivious to their grandfather’s death. This angered her, but she quickly composed herself. She reasoned that they were just children and did not yet understand the concept of death. She turned her head away from her brother’s cottage and, biting her lower lip, fought against another wave of tears.
“I need to calm down, for Ulf,” the woman thought. “He has been taking care of everything these past few days; he must be exhausted.”
Yrsa raised her head to look at her fiancé. He returned her gaze. She saw great concern and sadness in his eyes. At the sight of this, her heart ached even more. At that moment, she promised herself that she would be strong for Ulf. When they reached the cottage, Yrsa began to take out their everyday clothing from the trunk. She planned to quickly change clothes, tend to their belongings, feed the animals, cook a delicious dinner, and then go to the field in the evening to finish the plowing.
She felt a slight enthusiasm as she thought about how much she could help her fiancé and repay him for his support. As she started to take off her skirt, Ulf stood behind his fiancée and grabbed her right hand. Yrsa immediately turned towards him.
“I want to show you something,” Ulf said firmly.
Surprise was evident on the woman’s face. She turned her whole body towards him and waited for her fiancé to explain what was going on. Ulf swallowed loudly and continued.
“Your father left something before he died.” Ulf’s tone softened as he spoke.
Yrsa felt her heart beat faster. Ulf looked away and pulled a small piece of animal skin from behind his belt. Still not looking his fiancée in the eye, he handed it to her. He scratched the back of his neck and said:
“I don’t know if you want to read it,” he said quickly, as if trying to escape responsibility. “If you need me, I’ll be in the barn.”
He left as quickly as he could. He went to the barn and closed the door behind him. Yrsa, meanwhile, stood confused by the bed, where her clothes were still lying. She held in her hand the parchment that concealed a mystery behind Ulf’s strange behavior.
Yrsa sat on a bench by the table and, with trembling hands, unrolled the parchment. Yrsa sat on a bench by the table and, with trembling hands, unrolled the parchment. Runic characters were written unevenly, as if the writer’s hand had trembled. Quickly guessing it was her father’s handwriting, she held back the tears that welled up in her eyes. Tilting her head back, she closed her eyes and took deep breaths to calm herself.
Whispering a short prayer to Odin, she asked for strength to endure and then returned her gaze to the parchment.
Yrsa. I dreamed of your mother. She said that now you will inherit her curse.
Child! Seek help from the priests!
You cannot live like your mother did. Ask the priests for help. You must have a better life than your mother.
The brief message from her father ignited emotions in Yrsa that she thought she had long discarded.
“Again the same thing. Even from beyond the grave, they want to make me a madwoman,” she thought furiously. She threw the parchment against the wall, overturning the bench with force. With a sweeping motion, she stood up and began to pace nervously around the cottage, trying to control her anger.
“So many years they’ve told me it’s a curse. It’s a gift! A gift from Odin, damn it!” Uncontrolled rage, mixed with still-fresh grief, created such confusion in Yrsa’s mind that she didn’t know how to handle it.
She felt anger towards her father for still calling what Yrsa had a curse, while at the same time feeling guilty for being angry at her father. Her father, who had sacrificed so much for her so she could live peacefully with Ulf and not have to care for an elderly person. Not knowing what to do, she left the cottage. She was wearing only a blouse, but she didn’t care about the neighbors or what they would say. She wanted to go to Ulf to talk to him but saw her brother at the fence.
“Yrsa! Where is Ulf? I need to talk to him,” her brother shouted as he entered her property.
The woman was instantly embarrassed, standing almost naked in front of her own brother. Her face flushed with humiliation. Without replying to her brother, she ran back into the cottage and hurried to the bed to undress completely. Putting on an old skirt and shirt proved challenging due to her embarrassment and earlier emotions, causing her to become tangled up. The shirt was difficult to manage properly.
“What a mess!” she cursed silently at the shirt. “I’ll burn it and be done with it.”
When she finally managed to get somewhat dressed, she ran outside. She saw Ulf standing in the barn doorway, shouting at her brother. She noticed that Geir was not backing down and was also yelling at her fiancé. Uneasily, she moved towards the men. She wanted to support Ulf with her presence. Yrsa wanted to back her man no matter what, even if it meant a family argument. As she approached the men, she began to understand their shouted words.
“Are you joking? No way! You’ll get nothing!” Geir shouted at Ulf.
Yrsa saw Ulf lose his temper and hit her brother in the face with all his strength. Yrsa gasped in fear and covered her mouth with her hands at the sight. She saw Geir stagger backward and then fall to the ground. Hearing his fiancée’s gasp, Ulf looked in her direction. Yrsa saw surprise in his eyes, which quickly changed to fury. Ulf clenched his fists. His jaw was tightly set with anger, and veins bulged on his forehead.
Despite her fear, Yrsa ran to her fiancé and stood by his right side. She looked at him with eyes full of terror. She licked her lips, as if preparing to say something to him, but he preempted her.
“Do you know that your brother wants to take everything your father left?” Ulf addressed his fiancée but kept his gaze fixed on Geir. “His body isn’t even cold yet, and this thief already wants to grab his belongings!” he shouted the last words, intending to insult Geir.
Ulf exuded a mix of rage and disgust towards Yrsa’s brother.
“Get out of here! Or I’ll set the dogs on you!” Ulf was so furious that as he shouted these words at Geir, he inadvertently spat.
Geir barely managed to get up from the ground. His cheek, where he was struck, was turning redder. With a dazed look, he searched for an exit from their yard. He staggered toward it, leaning on the fence. Ulf watched as his future brother-in-law left their yard. Once he was sure Geir wouldn’t be coming back, he grabbed Yrsa by the wrist and, not looking at her, dragged her forcibly into the cottage.
Yrsa resisted her fiancé, begging him to let her go because he was hurting her, but Ulf didn’t listen. He pulled her with all his strength. Yrsa, trying to free herself, struggled, which caused her to trip and fall heavily to the ground. Only then did Ulf come to his senses.
He released Yrsa’s wrist and turned his head towards her. He saw that she was trying to get up from the ground, dust off her clothes, and put herself back together. Meanwhile, emotions in Yrsa reached a peak. She understood that her fiancé was furious with her brother, but she didn’t understand why he wanted to punish her for it. As she got up and adjusted her shirt, she involuntarily asked her fiancé:
“Are you satisfied? You dragged me on the ground, and because of you, I fell. Have you vented your anger, or do you want to hit me too?” For the first time, there was a hint of contempt in her voice towards her fiancé.
“This is why I don’t want you to go into a berserker rage! It changes you! You can’t control your emotions anymore!” The woman clenched her fists in anger and, with tears in her eyes, continued, “Will you treat our children the same way?”
The party at Hövdingra’s cottage showed no sign of ending. His friend Ivar and his new wife Freydis were having a splendid time, being entertained repeatedly by the chief Frode’s wonderful sense of humor. Everyone was enjoying themselves, talking, joking, and dancing in the evenings as the musicians played new songs for them.
The only person who was not having fun was Sigruna. She glared with hatred at Ivar’s new wife. Freydis was beautiful—young, slender, with well-defined feminine features. Her thick blonde hair fell beautifully down her back. Her blue eyes revealed her tender and gentle nature.
What struck Sigruna the most was that, although Ivar and Freydis had been married for only a short time, Freydis was already pregnant. This pierced Sigruna in the most sensitive place. She didn’t even mind that Frode was looking at Ivar’s wife, clearly taken with her. What pained Sigruna was that she couldn’t have children.
“I have failed as a woman,” Sigruna thought as she watched Freydis caress her belly.
Such thoughts only fueled Sigruna’s anger. One evening, as everyone was having fun again, Sigruna decided she couldn’t endure looking at Ivar’s wife any longer and pretended to be ill. She called a servant to apologize to her husband and the guests on her behalf.
As the wife of Hövdingra lay in bed, she remembered her conversation with Maciej. She was fascinated by how the slave was not afraid of the consequences of his actions and stood firmly by his beliefs. This behavior was so different from her husband’s. She was impressed that, despite being in a situation where most people would accept being treated like dogs just to survive, he retained his dignity.
“My father would have acted the same way,” the woman thought involuntarily.
From the hall where Frode was entertaining his guests, Sigruna heard loud laughter. The woman rolled her eyes at the sound and pulled the blanket tighter around herself.
“They’re probably devouring another course of meat and drinking wine,” she thought with disgust.
“But if Frode gets drunk again, I’ll have peace at night. He’ll fall asleep under the table, and I’ll be able to sleep alone,” the thought made her smile.
She didn’t want to sleep with her husband because she was afraid she would have to hear again about their lack of children. Since Frode had killed her father, he had not been afraid to express his thoughts about his wife, even in the presence of slaves.
Several times, Frode had deliberately humiliated his wife in front of others. Sigruna knew that this was his way of taking revenge on her for looking down on him for many years. But now the situation was against Sigruna. Her father would no longer defend her.
Recalling Frode’s humiliations, Sigruna tried to come up with a plan to return things to how they were before. She thought about how she could get rid of Frode and take control of the village, becoming the most important woman in the village.
The plan to seduce Ivar wouldn’t work due to his new wife. Sigruna thought about another village, but it was several days’ journey away. She couldn’t just disappear for days. Moreover, the village was inhabited by barbarians—a people who knew no mercy.
“I would have to submit to their chief to have my request fulfilled,” Sigruna thought. It repulsed her. She didn’t know this man. “It would be different with Ivar. I like him.”
At that moment, as she was thinking about it, her husband entered the bedroom. Sigruna knew what Frode would want. To humiliate her once again, showing that despite her efforts to have a child, she still wasn’t pregnant.
“Pull up your dress,” Frode said dryly.
Sigruna, trying to appear unaffected, obediently lifted her dress to her chin and allowed her husband to make yet another fruitless attempt to conceive a child.
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