Lord of Raven's Peak - Catherine Coulter [40]
Merrik grinned, dismissing his foolish feelings, now as carefree as a boy. “Aye, and the brooch I brought my mother will make her smile and feed me all her delicious meals until my belly puffs out.”
Oleg laughed. “I brought Tora an arm bracelet,” he said. “I am so skinny she will have to feed me well for a year. What did you bring your father?”
“Ah, I brought my father a knife of great value, its handle an odd ivory from beyond Bulgar.”
Oleg only laughed louder. “And I brought Harald a cask for his jewels and I will have the runemaster engrave it to him.”
Merrik punched his arm. Oleg hit him in the belly. The longboat rocked. The men laughed and shouted advice.
The two men grappled, grunting from each other’s blows, and the longboat tipped first one way and then the other.
Laren watched them, smiling, until she saw that Merrik was perilously close to a loose sharp-edged oar. She called out just as Oleg shoved him and he lost his balance. He flailed at the empty air, looked utterly astonished and went overboard.
The men hooted with laughter even as they fished him out. He came dripping into the longboat, and shook himself as would a mongrel dog.
“You think it funny?” he said to Laren, who was holding her sides with laugher.
“Aye, you have the look of a drowned god.”
His own laughter died in his throat. A god? She believed he looked like a god? He turned quickly, uncomfortable with her words, at the sound of Taby’s laugh. The child was laughing and pointing and trying to get to Merrik. “Keep your distance, Prince Taby,” he called. “I do not want you to become as wet a god as I.”
When they arrived at the long single dock that lay at the base of a winding pathway up to the huge farmstead atop, the men could no longer contain their excitement, for there were their wives and children awaiting them on the dock, shouting to them.
Merrik scanned the gathered people for his father and mother. He saw his brother, Erik, and from this distance he didn’t see any welcoming smile on his brother’s handsome face. His heart began to pound, slow deep strokes. The foreboding he’d felt, no, it couldn’t be true.
But it was. Both his father and mother were dead of a virulent plague that had struck the farmstead a month before.
8
MERRIK SAT SILENT and still, hunched over on the long bench, a cup of mead between his cupped hands.
His brother Erik sat beside him, silent as well. Finally, Erik said, “Their passing was swift. They did not suffer overly. It struck so quickly, I cannot tell you how it was, not really. Death was here and you could smell it and feel it in the very air around you, and there was naught anyone could do, save look on and watch the ones we loved die.” Erik paused a moment, shaking his head. “Sarla was ill but she recovered. I believe it was she who gave the illness to our mother, for Mother tended to her. And then it struck our father who wouldn’t leave Mother’s side for an instant. Aye, and Sarla survived it.”
Merrik wanted to tell him not to be stupid, that it wasn’t Sarla’s fault, but words stuck in his throat. He felt his control slipping and swallowed, lowering his head even more.
Erik continued after a moment. “The older people, well, they were struck hard and most of them died. Our parents were amongst the first. Ten of our people died, eight slaves. It wasn’t a good time. I wish you had been here, but perhaps it was better that you were not. I would not wish to have lost you.”
“Did it strike any of the other farmsteads?”
“You mean our cousin Egil? Nay, he and his family were spared. It came here and stayed, then was gone suddenly like a ghost that fades away in the stark light of day. All of Gravak Valley was spared, save us.”
Sarla appeared at Merrik’s elbow, and said quietly, “You must eat, Merrik. I have prepared the stewed venison you very much like, at least that is what your mother told me. I have not