“You would have us exhume his bones and bring them here? I thought you did not want to remain here. I thought you believed Wales is your home.”
“What other way is there? You aren’t safe in Wales, and I can’t leave him.”
“There’s your safety here to consider.”
“I’m your wife and we are once again living as a married couple. That should ensure my safety as long you don’t get yourself killed.”
Strian shook his head.
“No.”
Gressa’s brow crinkled as she tried to understand which part he was against.
“Gressa, I will be more useful as a warrior in Wales than you are remaining here. I was a fool not to consider that before I dragged you back here, but now I know the risk. That’s why I agreed to go to Wales with you in the first place. If we disturb his bones, then the gods may not choose him for Helgafjell.”
“Do you think the gods would overlook he was but a babe when he died? Would they punish us for wanting to ensure we buried him among our people and our gods?” Gressa countered.
“I don’t know. None of these choices feel right. What about your mother’s people? Would they accept us?”
“Of course not. I’ve never even met them. A half Norse woman with her Norse husband and a dead baby doesn’t strike me as people who will receive an invitation to live among them.”
“Can we not find somewhere else in Wales to live that is beyond Dafydd’s reach?”
“Perhaps. There are other principalities, but I don’t think you’d be any safer. I blended in because of my darker hair. Your blond hair is a beacon that screams you’re Norse.”
“Not all of our people have such light hair. I’m sure the Welsh have seen other Norsemen with dark hair. They cannot assume every blond man is there to raid and pillage.”
“No. Only the ones who don’t speak their language.”
“You learned it. So can I.”
“It took me years of living there before I sounded like a native. It’s not an easy one to learn. It’s not one I could teach you in the time it takes to sail there.”
“Then we are at an impasse.”
“What if we sail there, but only I go ashore? I gather his remains and return to the ship without you or any of the others stepping foot on Welsh land.”
“Absolutely not. You were sold to them as a slave and given to Grímr as one. I don’t doubt for a minute that they could enslave you again given half a chance.”
Gressa turned back to face the water as her shoulders hunched, and she wrapped her arms around her middle.
“Then the only choices are for me to return without you, or we leave him there.”
Strian slid his arms around her waist and leaned his body against hers as though he could be a shield from the world’s cruelty.
“Must we decide today? There is too much to consider to make our decision now. Let us think about it more before we choose.”
Gressa nodded her head but continued to look out at the water that could carry them back to their son.
“What was his name?”
“Strian. Strian Striansson.”
Twelve
Both Strian and Gressa were weary as they walked back to the homestead. Neither wanted to talk, and neither wanted to face the tribe’s accusations. They steered towards their longhouse, but the crowd remained in the center of the village. They could not make it to their home without being seen. Strian felt Gressa tense as they passed through the gates and people noticed their return.
“There she is. Why would she have run if she did not want to escape her guilt?” A man called out.
