Fraying Skeins – A Dramatic Novelty For Johnny Fraser

“I read in yesterday’s paper that there’s a play called Hamlet being performed, next Friday, at the Theatre Royal.” Before Johnny could say more Margaret’s face lit up.

“Oh, I read one of Shakespeare’s plays when I was tutoring down in Liverpool years ago, but I’ve never seen a production of his work on stage.”

Johnny had never seen a play by the renowned Shakespeare, either, having only ever seen a comedy farce on stage. However, if something more serious was likely to make Margaret glow the way she currently was doing, then he’d get tickets. Though, he’d also seen another option advertised in the newspaper.

“Or, on Saturday, there’s a variety show at the same venue, I mean the Theatre Royal, which includes singers, comedians, and musical entertainment, including a fiddler of Scottish reels.”

He noted that she looked interested in a variety performance though not nearly as much as with the Shakespeare. “I’m guessing you’d rather see the play?”

“I would, even though we have to work on Saturday.” Her attempt to curb her excitement wasn’t lost on him. “But I don’t mind if you’d prefer the Variety Show.”

On the following Friday evening, Johnny was more fascinated by Margaret’s enthrallment in watching Hamlet than by what was happening on the stage. Before the first interval, her focus was intent on what, to him, was a complicated story that had layers to it that he didn’t understand.

“Oh, wasn’t that marvellous!” Margaret enthused when the curtains finally closed and the gas lighting brightened the theatre. “Thank you for bringing me, Johnny.”

He escorted her out of their seats and into the foyer, his smile genuine. He’d taken different women to theatre productions during the last couple of years but he was sure that none of them would have been so appreciative of the gloomy tragedy they’d just watched. “I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

“You didn’t?” she asked.

“Well, some of it was very dramatic! Though, I might have enjoyed it more if I had read the play first and knew what was to be expected. It was tragedy, indeed.” He grinned at her expression. “All those dead bodies.”

“I feel very spoiled, Johnny. I’ve only ever read of Shakespeare being performed in Glasgow and Edinburgh. To think, if you’d not seen that newspaper advertisement, we’d have missed seeing it here in Aberdeen.”

Tumbling out of the Theatre Royal onto Marischal Street, he suggested going into one of the local pubs for a quick drink.

“Well, why not?” Margaret didn’t even sound hesitant which pleased him greatly. “I don’t have to rush back for Jamie. Maisie is keeping him till tomorrow for me. But are we not too late?”

The pubs on Marischal Street were filling up rapidly with people just like them who had spilled out of the theatre, but Johnny managed to find them a space in one of the hostelries on King Street. Placing a tankard of ale in front of Margaret, he sat down opposite her.

“Would you rather have gone to the Variety Show that’s on tomorrow?” she asked, her expression quite serious.

“Not at all. I’d have missed seeing you so transfixed.”

“Going to a theatre always creates an excitement. It hasn’t happened all that often,” Margaret stopped to take a sip of ale. “And it’s been a very long time since it last happened.”

“Tonight was my first time at an Aberdeen theatre.” Johnny sipped his ale, wiped his lips with the back of his hand and continued. “I’ve been to various venues in Dundee, Music Halls and the like, but that’s it for me. There isn’t a proper theatre in Kirriemuir. What about you?”

“Ah, well, in past years I’ve been very lucky,” Margaret’s quirky smile made him curious. “When I was a lady’s maid – did Sandy ever tell you that was one of my jobs?”

When he shook his head, she continued.

“Sometimes, I was more of a chaperon for Miss Marianne and if she went to soirees in private houses, or to the theatre, or a music hall, then I accompanied her.”

“Time’s up, folks! Finish your drinks.” The raucous sounds coming from the proprietor intruded, pulling Johnny’s focus away from Margaret’s fascinating stories.

She was definitely not a run-of-the-mill girl. She’d had so many experiences that most women he knew of could only dream about. It was with great reluctance he escorted her back to her lodgings, because he wanted to know so much more about her.

Excerpt 3:

The Sólhjarta Tournament

As the setting sun lit the evening sky and glistening fjord with brilliant shades of crimson fire, Brynhildr’s gaze wandered to the drakkar ship whose fierce blue dragon prow was etched with snarling silver wolves.

That is his ship. The fearsome warrior known as Sigurd Sea Wolf.

He’d caught her attention the very first day of the competition, for not only did he stand half a head taller than all the other warriors, his blue grey wolfskin cloak, shimmering in the summer sun, had given him the otherworldly air of a god. Deep blue gems glittered in his braided blond hair, pulled back from his rugged face and tied with leather at the nape of his corded neck. Lapis lazuli stones glinted in his golden beard, braided like his long thick hair. As Brynhildr had sat beside her faðir on the elevated dais to watch the competition, a sizzle of seiðr had shivered up her spine when he’d removed his wolfskin cloak and tunic.

Dark blond hair and blue tattoos covered his rippled chest, and for the first time in her entire life, Brynhildr had shared Astrid’s fascination for the spear-throwing event.

Even his spear had caught her attention.

The pale wood of his impressive weapon had been painted with blue swirling waves and silver snarling wolves, like his magnificent drakkar longship. And when he’d hurled the spear farther than any other competitor, a thrill of triumph had coursed through her veins, as if she had thrown the weapon herself.

That night, at the feast, her searching gaze had found him seated among the Sjórúlfar, the firelight in her faðir’s royal hall wreathing Sigurd’s wolfskin cloak in shimmery sapphire. He’d pierced her with fierce lupine eyes and seared her soul with a scorching smile.

All week long, she’d watched him. He ran more swiftly and swam more surely than the other warriors, as if he were indeed a Sea Wolf. Tonight, at the feast, her faðir would present gifts to the ten competitors—including Sigurd from Sjóborg—who had won the preliminary trials and would therefore advance to the next round of events in the Summer Solstice Tournament.

There would be a thrilling competition of three skálds, each vying for the prestigious title of Skáld of the Sólhjarta Tournament.

And after the bountiful feast, guests would dance around a bonfire beneath the stars.

Brynhildr’s legs trembled under her silk gown at the thought of being in the Sea Wolf’s arms.

If just looking at him sends shivers of seiðr up my spine, what will it be like to touch him?

A shudder of anticipation shook her whole body.

Excerpt:

The gates of the commandery swung open and we rode into the courtyard. The brothers that had returned the day before were waiting for us, Rudolf included. My heart jumped when I saw him. He stood with his arms folded across his chest and an implacable expression on his handsome face. We reined in our horses and dismounted. The yard was quickly full of men, horses and the carts that rumbled in shortly after. Everyone was glad to be home. Wenno gave the order for two of the sheep to be killed and roasted for the coming feast.

I dismounted from my horse, but before I could lead her to the stables Rudolf approached me through the knot of knights and sergeants milling in the yard and the horses being led away. His aristocratic face was cold and he spoke through clenched teeth. ‘Clean my mail first – it is in the common room. Afterwards, make sure you attend to my horse.’ He leaned in closer until his face was only a hands-breath from my own. ‘And if you ever disobey a command from me again…’

He left the threat unfinished. My breath caught in my throat and I was only able to nod mutely. He turned away and returned to talk to his cronies, all of them knight-brothers in their early twenties. I wondered if that would be the extent of my reprimand.

Otto had witnessed the exchange. ‘You are white as the snow, Richard. What did your master say?’

I explained and he shook his head. He too had seen Rudolf complaining about my insubordination to Wenno. There would be more to come, I was sure of it. We led our horses into the stables, having to wait in line behind all the brothers and sergeants. Then it was time to pray. In the chapel, Priest-brother Berthold again thanked God for our victory against the Lithuanians. Afterwards, whilst the sheep were being roasted in the kitchen, I collected Rudolf’s mail from the common room used by the knight-brothers and sat cleaning it with vinegar and sand in a barrel set aside specifically for the task, before oiling it with goose fat. It was very messy and a job I hated, but I had no doubts about the reaction of my master if I didn’t complete it to his satisfaction.

The brothers were summoned to the refectory to eat while the sergeants waited and I finished cleaning Rudolf’s mail. The mouth-watering aroma of cooked meat drifted across the yard from the kitchen and, despite my belly rumbling with hunger, I knew I couldn’t eat with the pain in my throat. Finally, it was time to groom Rudolf’s horse, Rabe. I left Otto, Hinz, Gerhard and Emich, knowing that soon they would be able to stuff their bellies, before entering the stables, which were dimly lit and empty now after the earlier rush.

I began rubbing down Rabe. He was a magnificent black stallion that I knew well, but as I examined his skin, I noticed new wounds on his flank caused by my master’s spurs, as well as cuts on his neck from the whip. Every time I saw evidence of my master’s ill treatment, it made me furious. Maybe this distracted me from any approaching footsteps in the main stables until it was too late.

A noise behind caused me to turn and I caught a glimpse of Rudolf before strong hands grabbed me and thrust me into the piled hay in the corner of the stall. I tried to rise but he held me down. ‘You impudent little whelp. How dare you make a fool of me in front of the Master!’

He began whipping me with his riding crop, slashing at my back as I lay curled up in a ball, my hands protecting my head. I tried to rise but his foot on the small of my back shoved me back down into the straw. Despite having beaten the Lithuanian champion, I was still just sixteen years old, and no matter how hard I tried to rise, he kicked me down. My shoulders and back screamed with agony and I could hear him grunting with the effort as the blows rained down on me repeatedly. It seemed to last an age as Rudolf smacked and whacked me with the crop. It was as though he was demented, thrashing at me in fury with all his strength.

And then suddenly it ended. I lay heaving in pain as his footsteps receded, the door to the stables slamming after him. I remained on the ground for a moment until I was sure he had gone, before coming to my knees. I was bleeding and the lashing had ripped my back raw. This was not the first time I had been beaten – it had happened with Wolfgang and his friends in these very stables when I first arrived.

But this felt different. And, after everything that had happened, this was a humiliation like none other.