Bones of the Dragon - Margaret Weis [85]
“I do not condone what the Chief of Chiefs has done,” Fria said, rising to speak. “Far from it. Still it would be best for the Torgun if they returned home until it is time for the ceremony. Our men have promised they will not fight them, but that promise will be hard for some of them to keep, especially if the Torgun warriors go about the city like young bucks flaunting newly sprouted horns.”
Draya agreed, and as the first order of business, she sent Fria as messenger to Norgaard to explain matters.
Norgaard sent back word that he understood completely. He and the Torgun would sail home with the tide.
Draya was pleased at his response. Norgaard was a man of sense. He would make a good Chief.
“And,” said Fria, squeezing Draya’s hand and whispering excitedly into her ear, “I found out that Norgaard is now a widower. His young wife died last night in childbirth. That is sad, of course, but it makes things easier. Now there will be no messy entanglements, no divorce.”
“I grieve to hear Norgaard’s wife died,” Draya said. “But what else do you mean? Was there talk of divorce between them?”
Fria stared at her, amazed. “Don’t tell me you haven’t thought of this, Draya! If the gods are just, you will have a new husband.”
Draya gasped. She had been so caught up in worrying about how the change to a new Chief would affect her people, she had not remembered that the Vutmana would have a profound effect upon herself.
The Kai Priestess was required to marry the Chief of Chiefs. If the Chief was already married, as Norgaard had been, the law required that he divorce his wife. Such a divorce was most honorable. The woman received substantial compensation and could either remain in her own home or return to live with her family. Norgaard, now a widower, would be looking for a new wife anyway.
Draya considered Norgaard as a husband. He was her elder by some ten years or more; she liked him, but she knew him to be a disappointed man—a somber, cheerless man with a crippled leg who was always in pain. She suppressed a sigh.
“He would be a good husband for you, Draya,” Fria told her. “He can give you children. And he won’t beat you.”
Was that the measure of good husband? Draya wondered. That he didn’t beat you?
In a society where marriages were always arranged between families, few married for love. Songs celebrated love found after marriage, and Draya had only to see the way Sven and Fria looked at each other to know that the words of the poets were not empty. Men and women who had scarcely known each other before they lay together in the bridal bed often found deep and abiding love came after they had said their vows.
Draya longed for such a bond. Instead she saw herself moving from one loveless bed into another. She must hope for a child. That would be her consolation.
“We need to set a date for the Vutmana,” said Draya, addressing the Priestesses. “How soon can all the clans be notified? The other Clan Chiefs will want to attend to serve as witnesses for their people.”
The Bone Priestesses calculated how long it would take messengers to travel from Vindraholm to bring the news to the other clans and how long the Chiefs would need to undertake the journey to Vindraholm. Fortunately the weather was fine for sailing. Most would travel by sea. Add a day or so to take into consideration the possibility of bad weather, and Draya judged they could safely schedule the Vutmana to occur within a fortnight, the last week of the month of Desiria.
Desiria, the month of spring, the time of hope and rebirth, named to honor the Goddess of Life. What dreadful irony! Draya thought. That reminded her of another unhappy task. She would have to tell the people the terrible news about the gods. Now was not a good time, not with all the upheaval and turmoil. Yet she feared Horg would tell them if she did not. He had threatened to do so, after all.
And then Draya realized Horg didn’t dare carry out his threat. If he