Sophie tells a tragic tale
Olaf had guessed when he and Astrid had been told to wait in the hall that his brother had not come home unaccompanied. However, he could not guess who the visitors might be. The sound of a fussing baby and a whining toddler in the entry confused him, for who would bring a small baby on a visit to such an out-of-the-way house as his brother’s?
But Olaf feared they might have to wait a while to find out. The steward had already been thundering when Olaf and Astrid had come in from the court, and now he could hear the housekeeper shrieking her way down the front stairs.
“Now I just hope Cook doesn’t find out he’s home,” Astrid sighed. “At least not till after we eat. Or we’ll have a burnt supper for sure.”
“Better than no supper like last night,” Olaf smiled.
But their brother seemed to have solved the problem of the housekeeper, for a moment later her voice was stilled by Stein’s bark, and then they heard the sound of a shrieking baby going up the stairs the way she had come, presumably in her arms.
The door opened, and Olaf hopped up from the bench.
The small child Olaf had heard had since quieted, perhaps having seen that he could rival neither the housekeeper nor the steward in the matter of complaining.
Then the woman came in, and Olaf was horrified. The incongruity of such wounds and such bruises upon a lady’s face was matched by the further absurdity of a smile upon the broken lip.
“So, children, this is Eadric, and – ”
“Sir! Siiiiiiirrrrr!”
“What in thunder?”
“It’s Cook,” Astrid sighed.
Thus had arrived the third combatant in the strange, three-sided domestic war that had been waged in Stein’s absence over the past two days. She was short enough that behind Stein’s shoulder Olaf could only see the two stiffly pointed ends of the towel she tied around her head when she cooked, and which had already earned her the secret name of “the Rabbit” between the children.
“Whurshy to? Liar! Irzun furrer haid!”
Stein had admitted that he himself understood only half of Cook’s English, but even Olaf understood the rolling pin she brandished over his brother’s shoulder.
“You had better listen to her if you don’t want supper to be burnt,” Astrid suggested in Norse.
The weirdly flat and red-cheeked face peeked out from behind Stein’s arm, scowling a menace. “Whaddy say?”
Astrid barely caught a tiny shriek in her mouth and ducked behind Olaf.
Stein groaned and set the little boy on the floor. “Excuse me a moment, again. I shall introduce you all properly when I return.”
They stood stiffly until the door had closed on Cook’s jeremiad, and then the woman cocked her head and said, “In the meantime I suppose we might introduce ourselves improperly. Do you kids speak English?”
“We understand and speak not poorly,” Olaf said. “I am called Olaf and this is my sister Astrid.”
“And I am called Sophie and this is my son Eadric. And we are pleased to meet you.”
“Would you care to take a seat?”
“Would I ever!” Sophie sighed.
Olaf felt himself hesitate before taking her hand, but he reminded himself that bruises and injuries were not a contagious disease. Her appearance was simply so shocking…
Astrid pulled herself onto the bench beside her. “So, what sort of lady are you?”
“Astrid!” Olaf hissed.
“Well, what sort of sort do you mean?” Sophie asked.
“Are you an Englishwoman or what?”
“I am a Saxon woman.”
“Are you a princess?”
Sophie laughed, but it was not the high-pitched, disdainful laugh of a snobbish woman before the nonsense of children. It was a good, rolling laugh that came up from depths of hidden deviltry. Olaf felt himself leaning forward slightly to hear her response. Her bruises were momentarily forgotten, for he only saw the back of her fiery head.
“Now, why do you suppose I would be?”
“Are there no princesses in Saxony?”
“Even if there were, it does not follow that I am one. I am only the granddaughter of a baron.”
“Oh. I think you are looking like a story princess with your fire-color hair.”
“Do princesses have red hair in stories?”
“Sometimes.”
Sophie tried to twist one of her curls around her finger but found her hair impossibly tangled. Her hand flopped into her lap like a bird struck dead in the air.
“So,” Astrid said, “what happen to your face?”
Olaf was mortified. Sophie was looking at Astrid, so he permitted himself to pinch his lips between his fingers as a hint to his sister. But Astrid was likewise looking at Sophie.
“Well,” Sophie laughed awkwardly. “That’s a long story.”
“Oh!” Astrid squealed. “Tell me!”
“She doesn’t mean that sort of story,” Olaf said.
“In fact, I do,” Sophie said. “You see, it was an evil troll who did this to my face.”
“A troll!” Astrid’s eyes went wide.
“Do you have trolls in Norway?” Sophie asked.
“Yes! But I never saw one. Are they tall and ugly?”
Sophie smacked her hand down on her thigh. “Yes, indeed!”
“Are there trolls in Lothere too?”
“Only one troll family. And I had the rotten luck to be married to the chief,” Sophie groaned.
“You married a troll?” Astrid cried.
“She does not mean it truly,” Olaf explained.
Sophie snorted. “You say that without ever having met my husband.”
“Did he make you marry him?” Astrid asked.
“That’s another story, my dear.”
“Tell me!”
“Astrid…” Olaf scolded. He kept glancing at the door, but Cook continued her tirade behind it, joined now by the occasional bellow of the steward.
Sophie settled back against the bench. “Well, let me see, A long time ago, long before I was ever born, my grandmother the Baroness died.”
“Was she beautiful and kind?”
“Of course she was. Just as beautiful and kind as a grandmother who is a baroness should be. And my grandfather, the Baron, he then married an ogress.”
“Oh!” Astrid’s mouth remained open long after her exclamation, so astounded was she.
“And then he died, and that left only the ogress. So I had an ogress for a stepgrandmother. And if you think an evil stepmother is a bad thing, you should try an evil stepgrandmother.”
“I should rather not.”
“Take my word for it. So, years later when I was a young lady, I met a handsome knight whom I liked very much. But my evil stepgrandmother did not.”
“The ogress!” Astrid cried in wicked delight.
“The ogress! And the ogress wanted me to marry a… a goblin instead! An old, ugly goblin! Older than my father! Older than the hills! Older than the gold beneath the hills!”
“Oh!”
“And I refused, and I laughed him to scorn. The goblin and the ogress were angry, but they did not know how to force me to marry the goblin.”
“And so, then came the troll?”
“Ah, the troll! Then the troll came to my stepgrandmother’s castle. He was a troll, it was true, but he was a young troll. And I wanted to show my evil stepgrandmother that even a young, ugly troll was better than her old, ugly goblin. So I was very pleasant to the troll and very rude to the goblin. I only thought to play a trick on my evil stepgrandmother, but the trick was on me!”
“Why?”
“The ogress tricked me into marrying the troll to punish me because I would not marry the goblin. In truth, a young troll is a much worse husband than even an old goblin, but I did not know it then.”
“Because he hurts your face?”
“That, and many other things,” Sophie sighed and looked up at the high ceiling. Now Olaf could see her face again. Now she seemed weary and unhappy, and quite unlike the vivid, animated young lady she had seemed from behind when she had been lost in her tale.
Olaf had believed at first that she had merely meant to hide some sordid truth with tales of trolls and ogres, but the story was so unique, and the details – however disguised with the trappings of fairy tales – were particular enough to make Olaf suspect she was truly telling the story of her life.
“And then what happened?” Astrid asked in an excited whisper. “Did my brother save you?”
“Stein, the Silver-White Knight?” Sophie chuckled.
“Did he kill the troll?”
“No, dearie,” Sophie said. All of the sparkle drained out of her again in a rush, like water out of a burst barrel. “I killed the troll myself.”
“You did?” Astrid gasped.
“Astrid, that is enough fairy tales for now,” Olaf scolded her in Norse. “Lady Sophie is surely tired from her ride.”
“We’re just talking!” Astrid protested.
“I shall tell you a story later.”
Sophie turned to him. “It’s all right, Olaf.”
Olaf felt himself cringe again at the sight of that dark, swollen eye and the bruised cheek. Perhaps injuries were not contagious, but if it was true that she had killed her husband…? But if her husband could hurt her so…?
“I am certain your brother would have saved me from the troll if he had known what troll husbands are like,” Sophie said to Astrid. “The troll kept me prisoner so no one knew. But he did save my little boys for me – Eadric and my baby Brandt.”
“Are they troll children?” Astrid pulled her legs up onto the bench, as if the little boy staring drowsily up at her from the floor might bite off her feet at any moment.
“No, dearie, only ordinary boys. You see, trolls can only be made by troll mothers. And I am only a Saxon lady, not a troll. But my troll husband’s mother had my boys, and she was a troll. And she might have tried to turn them into trolls.”
“Oh!”
“But luckily your brother came and saved them. And saved me, too, because the troll mother and the troll brother and the troll sister were very angry at me. And perhaps I was in danger.”
“But my brother he will save you with his sword!”
Sophie shrugged. “He didn’t even need his sword.”
“You should stay here with us,” Astrid said. “My other brother he learns to fight with a sword also. And we have guards.”
“I shall stay here, honey.” Sophie glanced over her shoulder at Olaf. Her battered face seemed almost shameful. “Your brother already asked me to stay.”
“For how long?” Astrid squeaked.
“For as long as I last.”
“I’m so glad! Stein!”
Olaf whipped his head around. His brother was only just coming in. Olaf wondered how much he had heard.
“I’m so glad you asked Sophie to stay with us!” Astrid gushed.
“You are?” Stein smiled weakly and collapsed onto the bench.
In the dim light of evening, he looked more like their Uncle Harald than himself, but Olaf decided that it was simply because he looked so old, and that was simply because he looked so exhausted.
“Yes! Sophie she tells good stories!”
Stein smiled over Astrid’s shoulder at Sophie. “I’m afraid to ask what you’re telling her already.”
Sophie ducked her head.
“Nothing about me, I hope,” he said.
“Yes!” Astrid said. “She tells about how she killed a troll, and how you are coming to save her – the Silver-White Knight!”
“Soph!” Stein groaned.
But Sophie did not lift her head. Olaf saw a hint of a smile on her mouth, but it seemed that this smile was truly the incongruous one. It suited the cut on her lip far better, but unlike the smile she had worn when she came in, this one did not suit the lady herself.
Now Olaf wanted to touch her hand, but again he hesitated.
“So, Sophie.” Stein had put on the voice he used sometimes to talk to Astrid. “I’m sorry about the servants. And they will be giving you their own apologies tomorrow.”
Sophie looked up at him.
“I’ve let them get accustomed to kicking me around,” he said, “but they shall respect you.”
“Mine never did.” Olaf could not see the strange smile, but he could hear it on her voice. Her voice was chilling.
“That is because your first husband never did. But I shall.”
Olaf understood then how it was that a small baby and a toddler came to be brought to such an out-of-the-way house. He understood how a young woman could come unchaperoned to live “as long as she lasted” with his widowed brother.
Stein’s few words had told the rest of Sophie’s story. Astrid sat grinning as if she thought it had a happy ending. Olaf thought it all rather tragic, rather sad.
