Dream of Me/Believe in Me

words. A vague sense of disquiet stirred in him, as though something he should have done but hadn't itched at his memory. Distantly, he recalled that women in charge of households always wore keys. Indeed, a gaggle of good wives at market could be heard some distance off by their jangle.
    He frowned. Why hadn't Marta simply turned the keys over to Cymbra after the wedding? For that matter, why hadn't Cymbra simply asked for them rather thanemploy this transparent subterfuge to involve him in what she should have handled for herself?
    His eyes drifted over the hall. Among the men, all seemed as it should be. They were eating, drinking, talking, laughing, fingering their knives, and generally behaving normally. But the women … Sensible male dread stirred in him at the sight of their averted eyes and alternately smug and tense expressions.
    Lest the situation go any further, he caught Marta's eye, noting as he did that she was watching him intently, and beckoned her to him. She came promptly and smiled. “Lord?”
    “Give the household keys to my wife, Marta. She is mistress here now and they are hers by right.”
    The older woman's smile deepened. With a kindly look at Cymbra, she said, “Of course, my lord.” She unhooked the keys from her belt and handed them to Cymbra. Returning her attention to Wolf, she said, “I hope you don't mind, my lord, I thought it best to wait until her ladyship decided to take up her duties.”
    Cymbra inhaled sharply. She did not thank Marta for the keys or acknowledge her in any way. Wolf disliked that. He had known Marta all his life and she always seemed to do her job well enough.
    “Thank you, Marta,” he said, feeling compelled to make up for his wife's silence. “I'm sure my wife is aware of your wisdom and experience, and will depend on you to help her.”
    Marta's face softened yet further. So moved was she that her eyes glistened. “You are too kind, my lord,” she murmured, and with a deep bow withdrew from the high table.
    Cymbra sat frozen, hardly breathing, her hand so tight around the hard metal keys that they dug into the soft flesh of her palm. She had underestimated Marta. The woman must have realized that in a direct confrontation,Cymbra would win. Marta had turned the tables on her effectively, and in the process made it impossible for Cymbra to carry through on the second part of her promise, namely to remove Marta from the household until she changed her behavior. Now, by her husband's own word, she would not be able to do that.
    Wolf said little to her through the remainder of supper. He gave his attention to his brother and the other men of rank who were privileged to share the high table with him. Late into the evening, when the meal was finished and the more serious drinking begun, a skald stepped forward. The assembly hushed, settling comfortably into their seats in anticipation of the stories they would hear.
    At first, Cymbra was drawn into the great epic the storyteller unfolded. He did not offer its name for it seemed well known to all save her. The tale began in the dawn time of the world when a Seeress spoke.
    In the beginning, when Ymir lived, there was neither sand nor sea. The earth was not there, nor the sky—there was only a gaping chasm, with grass nowhere!
    In the night-dark hall lit only by torches that flickered in the summer breeze entering through the great doors left open at either end, Cymbra felt an ancient stirring deep within herself and shivered at it. So she imagined men and women had gathered beside fire since time immemorial, finding comfort and protection in one another, holding off the unseen monsters of the night until day could reclaim the world.
    The skald's voice, deep and sonorous, rose to the high timbered roof. Smoke curled and sparks flew from the huge logs dying down now to embers. The tale continued as Odin and his brothers created the world and all thingsin it, including man. The mighty god Thor battled giants, and the purest of the gods, Baldur, was murdered.
    So caught up was she in the tale that Cymbra only gradually realized that the tone of it was changing. The cock of Valhalla crowed, followed by another “soot red” bird of Hell. The watchdog Gram bayed and tore free of his bonds. The watchman Heimdall let loose a blast from his signal horn. The great world tree, Yggdrasil, trembled and catastrophe was unleashed upon the earth. Men descended into depravity. Mercy became unknown.
    Images of fire and