by T S Florence
Isla sat at the great table, looking at her food. Her appetite had not yet fully returned. She had only stopped being sick that morning, ever since Tomlin had nearly drowned her on the beach.
“These coward savages will leave when they hear that I’ve taken notice of their presence,” Tomlin boasted to the men sitting at their table.
“Oh, I’m sure they will, great King. Maybe you could leave the safety of your castle walls and go scare those cowardly savages away” Isla said, smiling to her husband.
Snickers erupted around the table and Tomlin could hear the sarcasm dripping from her voice.
“You know nothing of battle you stupid woman” Tomlin’s face was red, embarrassed by the public humiliation he had been subjected to. Isla would be punished for this, but she relished in the satisfaction nonetheless.
“I’m sorry to presume to know more than you, as you’re so experienced in the ways of war. I’m sure you could outwit those savages on and off the battlefield if you so wished” Isla’s comments were met with a louder laugh this time, and joined by a man speaking up.
“You should be protecting your damn people, King Tomlin” to which Tomlin shouted for silence, but was drowned out by cheers throughout the hall.
“It was always my intention to go and meet these savages” Tomlin shouted, though his voice cracked into a squeak as he yelled. “I will make short work of that bastard Ivar the Cruel and his savage followers.”
Isla thought back to the day she had seen Ivar the Cruel. The day he had rode into Newcastle like he was a king. Even then, he was a terrifying sight. With a great white bear fur, which people say he killed by himself in a far away land to become a man, which was a part of his culture. Here, Englishmen did nothing to become men, especially not royalty. They were the laziest of all.
Her stomach twisted at the thought of such men getting inside the castle walls and hurting innocent people. Tomlin is surely unfit to be a king, but what would happen to the world if a man like Ivar the Cruel gained power? There would be death and destruction surely. Isla shuddered at the thought of such a beast defeating Tomlin and his men. For the first time in her life, Isla hoped that Tomlin would succeed at something. Succeed against the savages.
The next morning, the Vikings were there for all to see. Hundreds of them, standing out in a field, only a few hundred feet from the castle wall. Isla was with all the women and children in the hall as the men readied for a potential battle. Tomlin was drinking more than usual, and was talking less than usual. His face gave away his nervousness, and his men looked displeased at the sight of the king that was to lead them out to face the savages. Just the sight of him made Isla feel even more sick than usual. There was no way this man-child was going to succeed against a small army of the most notorious warriors in all of their lands. Ivar the Cruel’s words echoed in her mind, as she watched Tomlin swill wine. I will see you again one day. Maybe today would be that day.
Soon the men were on their horses, trumpets blowing and drums beating, as they filed out of the castle walls, with the great gates slamming shut behind them. Isla could make out the battle field from her window. It happened so fast that Isla’s head was dizzy with fear when Tomlin turned to retreat with only several of his men who were left alive. The Vikings had done as Isla had suspected. They started with their shield wall, and in that shield wall, Isla could hear the chanting of terrifying war songs. The sounds of their swords and axes and hammers striking their shields.
She watched Ivar the cruel, on a great black horse, with his great white bear fur, leading his men. His booming voice sounded out across the battlefield, travelling up to her room. A chill went up Isla’s spine.
Less than a handful of Vikings had been killed, when they were chasing down Tomlin, who had stayed at the very back of his men. The gates opened for Tomlin, but they did not close in time to stop the barrage of the savage Vikings.
Hundreds of them galloped into the streets, and shortly afterwards, Tomlin’s screeching filled the hall “Bar the doors, the bastard heathens have breached the gates”. He was out of breath, going immediately for the wine at the table, before continuing to talk “We gave them a damn good fight, I killed ten or more myself,” he said, though his face was red and glistening with sweat, Isla knew it was from fear and not from fighting. She could smell it on him from the other end of the room, as could most others, she suspected.
Loud bangs began to echo throughout the hall and women and children began to scream. Tomlin sat in his chair at the table and began to sob. “Tomlin, send someone for your gold, it’s what they want,” Isla said, her voice not betraying her fear.
“Yes. Yes, of course” Tomlin said, attempting to compose himself. “Frederik, go and get my gold from the vault.”
By the time Frederik was back, the Vikings were almost through the door. The sounds of splinters from the wooden doors raining on the stone gave an eerily calming effect on the people in the hall. The Vikings behind the doors were silent. Why are they here? Do they not work for Englishmen? Isla was becoming frantic at the impending violence they would be subjected to. What would happen to her? What would happen to these innocent people?
Finally, a huge Viking, tall and striking, entered through the destroyed doors. Ivar the Cruel. He stood defiantly in front of his small army, his great white bear fur hanging over his back, his sword dripping red onto the floor. On his face was a scar, running from his eyebrow down his cheek. A scar that was not there the last time Isla saw him. His skin was darkened from days in the sun, and his blue eyes glistened with fury. Until they met her eyes. With no less intensity than the first day he saw her, Isla felt physically unable to move under his devastating glare. She felt something deep inside her, a voice telling her to run to him. To ask him for his help. But he was the enemy. He was Viking, and she was English. Finally, he tore his eyes away and looked towards Tomlin.
“Tomlin, why do you run from me” Ivar asked, his voice heavily accented. Immediately, Isla noticed that he did not use the title ‘King’, in a public show of disrespect. Old men who would normally demand death for those who showed such disrespect now stood silently with their backs against the walls of the great hall.
“I’m an important man, you’ll have to answer to other kings if you kill me. Englishmen hate king killers” he said, without any authority in his voice. He sounded more like a child begging to his father.
“Englishmen already hate Northmen, why do I care what they think of king killers” Ivar said back, smiling, displaying perfectly white teeth, which oddly surprised Isla, despite the situation.
“I have gold,” Tomlin began to beg, as Ivar approached him.
“I have gold too,” Ivar replied mildly.
Ivar’s men filled the hall but did not harm the women and children huddled together in the back corner.
“Please, I’ll give you anything, just please don’t kill me,” Tomlin began to sob, falling to his knees.
Ivar looked disgusted as he walked up to him, raising his sword. As much as Isla hated Tomlin, she couldn’t bear to see a man so pathetic get killed like this. “Wait” she called out, stepping forward from the women and children.
Ivar’s face turned from disgust to a smile, “and what is it you have to say, Queen?” Ivar asked.
“I’m not a queen” Isla said, walking towards them.
Ivar laughed, along with his men. Confused, he asked “then what are you?”
“Princess, by title, I suppose” She said, pausing once she reached the two of them, Tomlin still on his knees in front of Ivar. “You have a deal with my father, I can organise for him to make the deal more favourable for you if you spare the lives of these innocent women and children… and my husband…” Isla turned, looking at the women and children, her heart trembling for the scared faces looking back at her.
Ivar’s hard face showed a hint of emotion, his jaw flexing, holding Isla’s gaze. “I’m sorry,” he said.
“Surely there’s-” Ivar cut Isla off b
efore she could continue.
“Your father is with the Gods now” Ivar said, his voice betraying his emotion.
Isla’s mind went numb. I knew from my father would be betrayed because of this deal, and now you come here to tell me you’ve killed my father and you will kill my husband too. The years of staying quiet during the abuse that Tomlin had subjected her to came to a breaking point. The only man that had ever loved her and treated her with true kindness for no other reason than because he loved her was dead.
She leaped at Ivar, knowing this would be her death sentence. But Ivar was fast. He didn’t become Ivar the Cruel without learning how to fight. He leaned back, causing her to stumble into him, her attack spoiled. She cried out as she slapped at his face, the loud crack of her hand hitting his cheek sounding out in the hall. Ivar’s men erupted into laughter, calling out things their language that she could not understand. Ivar held onto his sword in one hand, and wrapped Isla up with his other hand.
“You killed my father you evil man,” Isla sobbed, frustrated that she could not move under his tight grip. Tomlin did nothing to help her, but stayed on his knees, crying for his own life quietly.
“I did not kill your father. He had died in his sleep before I arrived at Newcastle.” He said, quietly, so only Isla could hear what he was saying. Isla stopped struggling after hearing the new information. “I liked your father, he was a smart man, and he had honor. He was a good man, and I don’t just say this about any Englishman.” Ivar held her tight against his chest.
“What do you know about honor,” Isla said to him, beginning to struggle again, “You kill women and children, you take women against their will, you were put on this earth by the devil himself” Isla said, muffled by his chest.
“I was put on this earth by my father Bjorn the fearless and I would appreciate if you did not speak badly of him” Ivar said, his voice sounding impatient.
“Why are you here?” Isla asked, growing tired from struggling.
“To take you,” Ivar said.
“Then you don’t intend to kill me?” Tomlin spoke up, surprising the both of them.
“Are you not angry that I would take your princess?” Ivar asked Tomlin.
“If she is what you are here for then you may take her” Tomlin said, sounding relieved.
Ivar looked over to one of his men, a man bigger than anyone Isla had ever seen in her life. Ivar said something in his native language to him, and he came over and picked up Isla out of Ivar’s grip. “This is my friend, Magnus. He will hold you while I deal with your husband” Ivar said calmly.
“What are you doing?” Isla said, her voice sounding frantic. This man has abused me for years, and now I risk my life to protect him?
“We will make the square. I cannot kill an unarmed man crying like a small baby.” Ivar said, disgust in his voice.
“The square, what do you mean?” Tomlin’s voice was shrill, with dribble running down his chin.
“Pick up your sword, king. If I die, you keep your princess. If I die, my men leave,” Ivar took four long sticks from one of his men, and laid them in a square at the top of the stairs. Isla knew Tomlin would be killed.
Tomlin stood with his sword in his hands, speaking incoherently, his armour squeaking from his body’s incessant shaking. “You can take all of my gold and the princess” Tomlin said, helplessly.
“I will kill you and take both anyway” Ivar stepped into the square. “Raise your sword, king”. Ivar spat the word king, as he waited for Tomlin to enter the square.
Tomlin gave a pathetic attempt at raising his sword, the blade giving away his trembling hands. No sooner had he raised his blade did Ivar swing his mighty sword down, knocking it from his hands. The sound of Tomlin’s sword hitting the ground was the only noise in the hall. Isla’s heart was beating in her chest like a drum, emotion rising that she didn’t know she felt. She had just learned of her father’s death, and now she would watch her husband die, not one week after wishing his death upon him.
“Pick up your sword, king” Ivar spat again.
Tomlin reached down, not taking his eyes off Ivar, causing Ivar to laugh. Ivar turned to his men, down the stairs, “He thinks I would strike him while he picks up his sword” which caused his men to erupt in laughter. He could have spoken in his own language, Isla realized, but knew this was meant as an insult for Tomlin to hear and understand.
Tomlin launched at an unsuspecting Ivar, pointing the tip of his blade at his spine. As the blade touched his back, Ivar span around inhumanly fast, his blade perfectly level with Tomlin’s neck. Isla watched her husband’s head roll down the stairs, stopping at her feet. His eyes still showed the fear he felt in his final moments, staring up at the heavens.
4
Isla
Isla went into a state of numb shock after she watched Tomlin’s head roll down those stairs and land at her feet. She would never get to see her father again, for as long as she lived. He was gone. The one man who would protect her from the world. She had not seen him in the years since she had married Tomlin. She had always planned to tell her father of Tomlin’s treatment of her. She was sure her father would have ended Tomlin’s life had he known the reality of her situation.
She could not go to his funeral, she could not grieve like a daughter should grieve for her father. And so she sat in isolation, her memory going to the times they spent together, the lessons he taught her.
Isla’s father always said that a man showed his true colors when he need answer to no one. Tomlin showed his true colors throughout his life, which left his funeral small. People did not mourn his death, but Isla was there, to honor her husband. It was her duty. The people of Chester loved Isla, and hundreds of common people took to the streets, challenging Ivar from taking her with him. They called for Isla to be made Queen of Chester. Isla could hear Ivar having heated discussions with his men in their native language. She could only guess that it was about how they would leave Chester.
“You do not need to kill these people” Isla interrupted. It was two days since the death of Tomlin, and this was the first time Isla had seen Ivar. He had asked for her to come down to dinner. Isla was granted permission to bury Tomlin, but other than that, she was relegated to her room.
Ivar stared at Isla, his jaw muscles flexing as he held her gaze. He's just like Tomlin. He’s thinking about hitting me. He cannot hide his internal rage. Isla felt her face going red, for being subjected to his scrutiny.
“It looks like they leave me no choice. The people love you. They will not let you go. But I am afraid I cannot let you go either.” Ivar said.
“What did my uncle offer you?” Isla asked.
“More than you have. I have seen Tomlin’s treasury.” Ivar said, dismissing Isla’s question.
“Then I will tell the people to stand down” Isla said.
The corners of Ivar’s lips turned up, hinting a smile, only momentarily. “They will listen?”
“I believe they will, yes.” Isla said, knowing that her life was a small price to pay for all of the townspeople.
“And what about Chester, who will rule here?” Ivar asked.
“I will tell the people that my friend Valorie will rule in my name until I return.”
Ivar’s jaw flexed again, “You think you will be returning?”
“They do not need to know I will not be returning. Valorie is a capable woman, and they will grow to accept her.” Isla said, sadness ringing in her tone.
“Why have you come to collect me if my father is dead?” Isla asked.
“Your uncle is paying for your return, he has a new suitor for you, closer to home.” Ivar said.
Isla’s temples began to throb, her stomach tying itself in knots. “So, one man who barely knows me decides I am to marry another man, and you come here, kill my husband, drag me across the country, just to marry another man that I’ve never met? Does your evil know no limits? Does my uncle’s?” Isla asked, feeling her face flush with indignation.
>
Ivar stood, his hands resting against the table. “Judging by the actions of your dead king, you are better off with him dead.” Ivar said.
“You didn’t know him,” Isla said, not wanting to tell the truth that she was married to not only a coward, but an abusive wretched coward.
“You are right, but that doesn’t change our situation. We leave in the morning. If the people do not let you leave, we will fight our way out,” Ivar said.
He paused, resting his hand on Isla’s, looking into her eyes. “I remember you from years ago. You haven’t lost your fierce protectiveness. The young girl has now turned into a fierce Valkyrie. You would have made a good shield maiden, were you born one of us” Ivar said.