Pattern

Eyvind laughed. 'Oh, it's easy. Younger brothers of the bride and groom, one on each side; failing which, male relatives in order. Unfortunately, there aren't any. You've got no living relatives, apart from your grandmother. On her side, Colsceg can't do it, because he's her father, and he's too old. Barn can't do it, because he'll be head of house when Colsceg's gone. Normally it'd be Egil, but he's conducting the ceremony. We're stuck.'

Poldarn thought about it for a moment. 'It's got to be family,' he said.

'Well, it should be. But in this case, obviously not.'

'Yes,' Poldarn said impatiently, 'but this can't be the first time something like this has happened. There's got to be a back-up procedure, surely.'

Eyvind nodded slowly. 'Well, yes, there is. Where there's no family, it should be two outsiders-neighbours, of course, but they shouldn't be under the jurisdiction of either side. Well, obviously,' he added, and Poldarn didn't ask for an explanation. 'Actually,' he went on, 'Colsceg suggested me for your side, and I suppose there's no reason why I shouldn't, it's just a ceremonial thing after all. But that still leaves us short for their side.'

Poldarn sighed. 'This is silly,' he said. 'Come on, there must be someone. Haven't they got cousins or nephews or something?'

'Oh sure. But not here, they all live a long way away, that's the problem. It'd be days before they could get here, and one thing you really can't do is stop a wedding once it's started. That's really bad.'

Poldarn nodded. 'And nobody considered all this before now?' he asked. 'All those people scurrying about with baskets of leaves and stuff, and no one thought about who was going to say the words or do this guarantor business?'

'No.' Eyvind grinned. 'If you knew us, you wouldn't be at all surprised. It's not usual, you see, it never happens like this, so nobody thought about it. Halder would've thought about it, of course, that'd have been his job, but he's not here. So you'd have thought about it, but you don't know.'

'Nobody told me.'

'It didn't occur to anybody you wouldn't know. Except me, I guess; but I'm not even supposed to be here. I can't suddenly stand up and start telling people what to do-I'm a guest in this household.'

He seemed to be getting upset, so Poldarn headed him off. 'That makes sense, I suppose. It's a bloody nuisance, though. What are we going to do?'

'No idea,' Eyvind confessed. 'Same for everybody. You're head of house, this sort of thing is up to you. It's what you're for.'

'Ah,' Poldarn said, 'well, that answers an important question that's been bothering me for a while. So I've got to choose someone, have I?'

Eyvind nodded.

'And if I make a choice, everybody's got to go along with it? No arguments or people stamping off in a huff?'

'Certainly not.' Eyvind looked mildly shocked at the thought. 'Of course, you've got to choose the right person.'

'Of course.' Poldarn leant the broken axe handle tidily against the woodpile. All right, we need an outsider. That narrows it down to two; and you're already in, and I'm the bridegroom…'

'You aren't an outsider.'

Poldarn pursed his lips, then went on: 'So that just leaves Boarci, doesn't it? Slice of good luck him showing up when he did, really.'

Eyvind made an exasperated noise. 'You can't choose him,' he said, 'he's an offcomer.'

'Isn't that the point?'

'Yes, but-' Eyvind stopped, then nodded slowly. 'All right,' he said, 'that's fine, I'll go and ask him if he'll do it. You wait there.'

'Well, but-' Poldarn said; but by then, Eyvind was back in the house and the door was closing behind him. Poldarn waited for a few minutes, then he picked up the axe handle, sat on his log and started whittling back the broken tongue with his knife.

He'd done one side and was scraping down the other when the door opened again. This time, though, it wasn't Eyvind; it was Barn, his future brother-in-law, looking uncharacteristically anxious.

'There you are,' he said. 'We've been looking for you all over. Are you coming in, or not?'

Poldarn put down the axe handle and stowed his knife carefully away. 'Might as well,' he said. 'Have you sorted everything out yet?'

Barn frowned. 'Of course we have,' he replied. 'Everything's ready. Come on, will you, they'll be wondering what the hell's going on.'

They'll be wondering, Poldarn thought. 'Fine,' he said. 'Lead the way, then.'

Though it had been only a few days since he'd lived there, he'd forgotten quite how dark the inside of the house could be. The only light came through the small side windows (which on this occasion were firmly shuttered), the smoke-hole in the roof, and a battery of assorted pottery lamps lined up on a single table at the far end of the hall. Fortunately, people got out of his way before he blundered into them, and at least there wasn't any furniture left in the house for him to trip over. He followed Barn up to the top table. He felt horribly nervous, more so than if he'd been expecting to have to fight for his life (but that wasn't a fair comparison; he knew he was good at that sort of thing, but this was all new to him). He could feel a sneeze gathering momentum just above the bridge of his nose, and keeping it down was harder than carrying newly felled lumber.

Once Poldarn was inside the circle of pale yellow light, he was able to make out a few faces. There was Colsceg, right in the middle of the table, looking worried and depressed. There was Egil, white as a sheet and very tense, his left hand crushing his right fist. Next to Egil was Eyvind, doing a fine imitation of a dead body, and next to him was Elja, who gave him a very quick, conspiratorial smile before tightening her mouth into a thin line. It was that smile that made him think that, just possibly, this whole mess might somehow come out all right in the end. For some reason they'd draped her in bits of trailing greenery-for some reason, for some reason; he'd have given the farm and the clothes he stood up in for an insight into the coherent Stream of logic that he was sure lay at the back of all this, but for the life of him he couldn't see why a young girl couldn't get married without having to be festooned with salad. That said, it suited her, in a bizarre sort of way. The dark, shining green of the leaves, reflecting the dull glare of the lamps, emphasised the thickness and body of her abundant, slightly coarse brown hair (and maybe that was the only reason; and a very good reason it would be, if only he could be sure). They'd put her in a plain light brown sack of a dress-somehow he knew without any doubt at all that she hadn't chosen it herself-but in spite of everything it looked just right, bringing out the creamy white of her skin and the very dark red of her lips. Pure luck that she should be so perfectly suited to the traditional outfit, which ought to have looked ridiculous; but at that moment, he was almost prepared to forgive and accept all the outlandish and inexplicable things about these people (his people; must remember that), simply because Elja proved that, once in a while, they worked pretty well.

I'm staring, Poldarn thought, that's got to be the wrong thing to do. Try to look properly solemn, or, failing that, stuffed. No sudden movements, and for pity's sake, let's see if we can get through this without killing anybody.

Egil stood up. He had some slight difficulty with the bench, it was too close to the table, and he had to slide and wriggle past it to get to his feet. Once he was there (he had to grab the table with his left hand to steady himself) he took a deep breath and looked Poldarn straight in the eyes.

'Ciartan,' he said-it took Poldarn just a fraction of a second to remember that Ciartan was him-'do you accept this woman as your wife?'

Which woman? Oh, that woman, the one you're standing in front of so I can't actually see her. But there weren't any other females sitting at the table, apart from Rannwey, and he assumed that the chances of marrying her by accident were acceptably slim. 'Yes,' he replied, and hoped that would do.