The Saga of Freyja Egilsdottir

When I was around 14, our English teacher set us the task of writing a passage of prose in the style of a literary genre that we really enjoyed. I was at that time absorbed in a volume of translated Icelandic sagas that I had been given by a relative and I set out to write a history all of my own.

I conjured up Freyja, a young noblewoman recently widowed. She owns a large farm with a fine house at the centre. Neighbouring farmers and warriors seek her hand in marriage and her property, but she is fiercely independent and resists all advances. She surrounds herself with a personal retinue of six women who jealously guard Freyja's life and estate. Freyja is kind and beautiful. She and her bodyguard are statuesque Nordic women, all around 6' tall with blonde hair 😁

The saga went down a treat and I won a special commendation. Then me being me, with too much time on my hands, I decided to continue the tale . .

I imagined myself as a young British girl captured and sold by Viking pirates on a summer raid. Small and plain, the men have no interest in me and auction me as a slave. I am purchased by Lady Freyja who treats me kindly as she does all her other slaves. At first I am her personal maid responsible for attending to her bed chamber. I sleep at the foot of her bed. The house conveniently has a fully plumbed hot spring and every morning I help her to bathe and to arrange her beautful golden hair into braids. I work my way up through her household, first taking responsibility for the other servant girls and eventually becoming steward of her estate and personal cup bearer. I sit by her side at feasts. Although I cannot share in the adventures of her female knights, I am accepted as part of their fellowship and my intimate relationship with their mistress is acknowledged and respected.

One day she grants me my freedom. To mark the occasion she has purchased horses for her retinue, a mark of great prestige and honour. To each of the warriors she gives a beautiful white horse. To her faithful and devoted steward and companion, who is somewhat on the shorter side, she gives a miniature Shetland pony 🙄

At that moment I know that I can no longer be part of this world of tall and frighteningly beautiful women. I wrap my cloak around my shoulders, mount my very small horse, and with tears misting my eyes ride off into the endless grey horizon in search of other imaginary friends more my own size 😌