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servitude, eight male and five female thralls. They did my bidding but were surly and disrespectful. Then came the day when one of them defied me.
    It was my second week at Swanhill when Lydia, the dark slavewoman from the lands in the South, refused to clean out the privy.
    â€˜Not my work,’ she said in her rolling accent, ‘I weave and cook and…’ The smack as the flat of my hand landed on her mouth silenced all those who witnessed the event but not her. She slipped past me and from a safe distance she screamed:
    â€˜I Princess de Galicia. You no hit! You bad wife! I real wife. Hauk soon make you go, leave!’ She ran towards the lake, where Hauk and a servant were mending nets. I chased after her and we reached them together, panting and shaking. The serving man left after a quick glance at Hauk’s face. Hauk didn’t look up from his work. His scar glowed red under his knitted eyebrows, his movements were jerky and his voice a hoarse growl.
    â€˜Lydia, return to the farm.’ She made to speak but changed her mind and walked slowly with many backward glances.
    â€˜Who is that thrall? She dared disobey me. Unless the insolent creature mends her ways, you’ll have to…’
    Hauk threw the net down, took one long stride towards me and shook his fist in my face. I ducked, side-stepped him and reached for my knife.
    â€˜Don’t even think of hitting me, Hauk! I have a right to know if the wretched woman is more than a thrall on this farm.’
    He breathed hard but lowered his hand. His face was contorted and he choked on his anger as he said:
    â€˜Lydia is my special woman and until you become a proper wife to me, she will remain so. She will not do hard work and you will treat her well. As it stands, she has more right to be the mistress of Swanhill than you have.’
    I ran then. I ran as if it were possible to leave time and place behind, up through the copse, across the newly harvested fields and onto the wooded hillside. I tore past the grasping branches and weaved between the rough trunks. My headscarf caught on the thorns of a dog-rose and I left it hanging on the bush. As the slope grew steeper, I slowed down and walked but all the time I headed towards Loweswater and Becklund.
    I followed the course of a small beck snaking its way down the hillside. Higher up the ground became stony and at times I had to climb over steep rocks. The trees disappeared and on the open fell heather scratched my ankles and bracken snared my feet. Beads of sweat hung on my forehead and my under-dress stuck to my back. Out of breath and with my heart racing, I reached the path on the flat, boggy area flanked by steep, rocky hillsides. Straight on would take me to Crummockwater but before then there was Mosedale, which led north to Becklund. I thought of the reception I would get at home and my steps became heavy. I had the right to divorce Hauk but by running away, instead of taking my case to the Lawmen at the Allthing in the approved manner, I had again brought shame on myself and my family. I thought of my father and how old and tired he had looked and I felt ashamed to let him down.
    My shadow was still short. It was not long past mid-day, not too late to return to Swanhill. I could either try again or get a proper divorce. I stopped to give myself time to think. I longed to return to Becklund and my parents, but I knew that was impossible. My mouth felt dry and I descended to Mosedale Beck. As I knelt down to drink, the bundle of keys, which marked my status as mistress of Swanhill, tumbled with a clatter down on the grass. Fear hit me like a blow from a raven’s wing. I crouched on the ground and moaned. Odin and Freya would be offended by my disregard for honour and duty. I would be punished for breaking my oath, for running away like a thief with the keys to Swanhill. Trembling I prayed and promised I would return there and act with humility and honour. I pledged a