The Briton and the Dane: Timeline

by Mary Ann Bernal

  “I would have preferred meeting elsewhere,” Gwyneth told Erik. “We are too visible.”

  “You truly are mistrustful,” Erik replied.

  “We must be wary, even when we are back in the citadel. Your loyalties will be put to the test, and...”

  “I do not want to know, and I grow weary of the intrigue. Cannot we enjoy this day?”

  Gwyneth felt the heat in her cheeks, and tears stung her eyes at the reprimand. Erik did have a point. What was that saying? One did not see the forest for the trees? But she did see the forest and that was her problem. She had stopped living for the day, obsessing instead, upon how and when Erik would die. Not knowing when, but just that it was soon, was nerve-wracking. Instead of taking pleasure in their time together, she was rushing towards his demise, and then what?

  “You are right,” Gwyneth whispered. “Would you fancy walking the abbey gardens once we have booked our passage?”

  “I would rather explore the city, and if ill-fortune falls upon us, then it is God’s will.”

  “You mock me!”

  Erik pulled Gwyneth towards him, and looked directly into her eyes when he spoke.

  “You are my love, and the mother of my children. You have given up everything to become my wife. While there is much I do not understand, what I do know is how I feel. I also know your torment, knowing what happens and being unable to change my fate. And your uncertainty is beyond measure. I know trust in the Lord is something you have yet to acknowledge, but please try to accept His will. We have been more fortunate than most because we have been given this time. I would have you as you were when you first came to the citadel, when you took pleasure in your discoveries, of seeing things as they are and not as they became. I accept that I am not of your world, but you are part of mine. Live it with me while we are together.”

  “Your words are so beautiful,” Gwyneth said. “I promise to do as you ask, and if I falter, remind me that I have given my word.”

  Husband and wife continued walking along the pier as they watched the seagulls flying high above the water’s edge foraging for food. They finally reached the very last ship, which appeared to be deserted.

  “Wait for me here,” Erik told her as he jumped over the rail.

  “Captain,” Erik shouted as he opened the hatch and went below deck.

  “What business have you?” Captain Jean Michel asked with his sword drawn.

  “I seek passage for myself and my wife,” Erik replied. “She stands by the ship.”

  “One cannot be too careful,” the captain said, sheathing his sword. “I do not take passengers.”

  “The Brother Abbot said you were trustworthy. We must return to the citadel at Wareham. Are you familiar with Britannia’s coastline?”

  “You must pay for the cargo I will lose taking you, and my crew must also be compensated.”

  “Half now, the rest when we reach Britannia, and I would also supply casks of ale to sell upon your return.”

  “Agreed. We leave within the hour,” the captain told him as he escorted Erik above deck.

  “We must collect our belongings, but do not be troubled, we only carry rucksacks and a small chest.”

  “This must be your lovely wife,” Captain Jean Michel grinned.

  “Gwyneth,” she replied. “Thank you for agreeing to take us home.”

  “The pleasure is mine,” the captain said, winking.

  Gwyneth blushed as Erik escorted her away from the busy pier. They walked towards the stables where they had left the horses. It did not take them long to return to the abbey where they met with Brother Luke. The Benedictine monk placed their possessions in a cart and drove them to the docks. Erik’s gift of two magnificent horses and a purse of coins had not been expected, which is why Brother Luke personally escorted them to their waiting ship, taking Captain Jean Michel aside as Erik and Gwyneth boarded the vessel.

  “Protect them with your life, or your soul is damned,” Brother Luke said sternly.

  “I need no warning, holy man,” the captain replied. “No harm will befall my passengers. You have my word.”

  ***

  Gwyneth and Erik stood at the bow, watching the seaport disappear as the ship sailed towards deep waters. Even though Gwyneth believed she had assimilated well into the archaic culture, she still had wistful moments, such as now, when she missed traveling by air. Hours, not days, to reach one’s destination, even with delays, was what she had been used to, and she could not curb her impatience. She sensed Erik’s amusement when she realized she was tapping her foot as if willing the vessel to move faster.

  “My love, is not the sea air exhilarating? And have you noticed the sky? The sun will be setting soon, and the stars will shine while moonbeams dance.”

  “You still see the beauty when wickedness surrounds us,” Gwyneth replied. “Yet I cannot fault your reasoning.”

  “Is it any different in your time? Were there not wars? And were you not affected because the fighting was elsewhere.”

  “How do you know this?” Gwyneth asked, surprised by his insightful words.

  “Ah, I see that I speak the truth, which you find maddening!”

  Gwyneth tried to curb her laughter, but she was unsuccessful. Erik had touched upon her competitive nature, recognizing an innate ability to do well, whatever the task. While he may not have always been agreeable, he never belittled her, presenting an opinion for her to consider, giving her choices and supporting her decisions.

  “We do not know what we will find upon our return,” Gwyneth reminded him.

  “Which is all the more reason to take pleasure in the days left to us. We can remain below deck whenever you tire of the heat, or if the waves are too forceful.”

  “I would rest,” Gwyneth said mischievously, grasping Erik’s hand as she led him towards the open hatch.

  “I will join you shortly. I must speak with the captain.”

  Erik waited until Gwyneth descended the ladder before he joined Captain Jean Michel who was conversing with his first officer. He paid no attention to their conversation, glancing instead, upon the open waters as the ship glided effortlessly through the strong currents. He noticed the crew watching his every move, which aroused his suspicions since he believed the seafarers might be pirates, but his doubts lasted only for a moment.

  “You are becoming like Gwyneth,” Erik thought. “Besides, the captain had been vouched for by the Brother Abbot, and he is a man of God.”

  “How may I be of service?” Captain Jean Michel asked once he and Erik were alone.

  “I would have us speak without restraint. What is said between us will not be repeated.”

  “What do you wish to know?”

  Erik faced the captain who appeared to be of the same age and of similar build. Their bodies were muscular due to Erik’s warrior training and Jean Michel’s years spent aboard a fishing vessel.

  “I hesitate because I do not wish my motives to be suspect. I only seek information, nothing more.”

  Captain Jean Michel nodded as Erik continued.

  “I would know what is being said of Duke William. Does he seek King Edward’s crown?”

  “I fear I am not privy to Duke William’s thoughts.”

  “That is not what I asked. What do the people say?”

  “Your country has more than one enemy,” Captain Jean Michel said. “It is the same here. Those in power always want more; there is never enough wealth or territory to their liking. It is the people who suffer; farmers forced to fight, young boys dying on foreign soil. And if we refuse, we die a traitor’s death. I do what I must to stay alive and have no opinion. It does not matter who wears the crown because it is all the same.”

  “You sail up and down the coast; you must have heard things.”

  “If you are asking about plots to usurp a throne, I have not heard of any. Yes, there is talk about your childless king dying without an heir, and it is believed Duke William supports the rebels seeking to oust our Duke, a
nd there are even whispers of Norsemen raiding again, but that has not been proven. But you must know this. Who then, do you fear?”

  “I cannot name my enemies because they are unknown to me, but one of your men seems familiar, yet I cannot place him. The assassin must not succeed. Is each man known to you? Have any signed on just today?”

  “One member of my crew could not leave his wife; she carries his child and her time is near. He sent someone in his place. I know the man, and he does not feign his craft. He is seasoned.”

  “Bring him below deck. I would speak with him.”

  While Captain Jean Michel did as he was bid, Erik joined his wife. He took her in his confidence, requesting her not to interrupt the questioning until his doubts were satisfied. Gwyneth agreed, choosing to sit in a darkened corner, her presence barely noticeable as the seafarers slid down the ladder.

  “His name is Pierre,” the captain said, pushing the baffled sailor towards Erik.

  “I have done nothing,” Pierre said. “What do you want of me.”

  “Where are you from?” Erik questioned. “And how long have you lived in Brest?”

  “Calais is my home, but I have lived in Brest for almost a year. Why do you ask?”

  “I have seen you,” Gwyneth said from the shadows. “You are a friend of a man named Hugh.”

  “What of it?” Pierre asked. “That is no concern of yours.”

  “It is when the man is my enemy,” Erik interjected.

  “I know nothing of that,” Pierre replied defiantly.

  “I think you do,” Gwyneth said as she stood before him. “Name your master; be truthful, and I shall beg leniency from the king.”

  “Answer her,” the captain said as he held a dagger to Pierre’s throat.

  Pierre pushed the knife aside, spat upon the floor, and looked upon Gwyneth through hardened eyes. He grinned menacingly, revealing stained cracked teeth as he spoke.

  “I have broken no laws.”

  “Tie him to the mast,” Erik instructed the captain. “He will be dealt with once we reach Britannia’s shores.”

  Chapter Twenty One

  The citadel at Wareham loomed majestically above the rocky shoreline, an ominous deterrent for invading armies. The massive stronghold had been fortified during the reign of Alfred the Great to ward off Norse aggression, which plagued his regime. To better defend his kingdom, the Saxon king had built strategically placed fortifications, known as burhs, throughout Wessex, which included repairing the crumbling walls of old Roman structures. Over the ensuing years, many burhs fell into ruin, but not the Burh of Wareham, which not only housed a garrison of seasoned warriors but also trained inexperienced recruits. Its walls were impenetrable, its foundation sound. It would take cannon fire to vanquish such a formidable edifice three hundred years later, bringing the pride of early Middle Ages engineering to its knees.

  Raulf and Wynstan were at the crest of the hill as Erik and Gwyneth disembarked. Warriors waited along the pier, saluting their commandant when he stood before them.

  “Prepare a cell for the prisoner,” Erik told the sergeant as the captain alighted with Pierre whose hands had been bound, “and see to the comfort of my guests.”

  As the sergeant obeyed his orders, Erik met with his second in command, grasping his arm while acknowledging Wynstan. Gwyneth nodded at both men, but remained behind her husband, believing he required privacy. She followed them as they headed toward the southern gate, glancing at the wall-walk looking for a familiar face. Once they reached the courtyard, Gwyneth walked towards their private quarters while Erik, Raulf and Wynstan proceeded to the commander’s office.

  Gwyneth opened the door to their chambers, which appeared just as it did on the day they had left. She unlocked the shutter and looked out the window, watching the puffy clouds changing their shapes as the wind blew. She saw a submarine that turned into a tank, and a rocket that became a missile. She was seeing figures from the future, military objects, which unnerved her. These signs did not bode well, casting superstition aside. But what exactly did it mean?

  “It does not mean anything. You are just visualizing what is to come,” Gwyneth thought.

  Sighing, she walked into the bedchamber and sat upon the bed, retrieving the likeness of her sons. She rubbed her fingers over their faces, holding back her tears as she remembered their tiny hands clutching her finger. She folded the vellum, placing it upon the nearby table before lying down. She closed her eyes, wishing to rest, but could not. She wondered about the problems Erik now faced. There was strife everywhere because, without an heir, the throne was not secure. The contenders for the crown were like vultures, watching and waiting for the king to die. They were plotting, all of them, secretly enlisting men in their armies, promising titles and property for their service. Duke William and King Harald, both of them coveted the citadel with its standing army. Kingdoms were won and lost on the battlefield. The loyalty of such a large garrison must not be questioned in the heat of battle. If the commandant could not be swayed to change his allegiance, then he must be replaced. At first, Gwyneth believed that Duke William was behind the treachery, but when word had reached them that Seymour served King Harald of Norway, she believed the Saxons would be victorious. It was feasible that Erik lived out his years under the heavy yoke of the Norman invader. While it was true that Erik’s name disappeared from the annals around this time, mention of the citadel was scanty. If Gwyneth remembered correctly, the citadel at Wareham’s destruction had been overshadowed by Henry VIII’s demolition of the monasteries.

  “We could have years left,” Gwyneth thought, “yet why am I so scared?”

  There was a slight knock on the door in the outer chamber, which Gwyneth did not hear. She arose at the sound of muted voices, walking into the room as her possessions were being delivered. She thanked the young men who closed the door behind them when they left. She unpacked the few items of clothing, placing the articles in a large chest in their bedchamber. The few books she had managed to procure were placed upon the shelves. She wanted to bathe, hoping to find the warm water relaxing, but she first had to find a servant.

  Gwyneth wondered if Rheda was still here or if she had run off with Seymour. She also needed to speak with Aedre who would reveal all that had transpired whilst she and Erik were away. And could she or should she tell Aedre about her sons? The woman would know of the one, but would never suspect there had been two boys. No one would, yet could she risk putting either child in harm’s way? Had Richard’s birth saved Erik’s life because he would die in his brother’s stead?

  “That is horrible; how could you?” Gwyneth said beneath her breath.

  Gwyneth could only shake her head, appalled by such an idea. What upset her the most was that she could be right. There had been many unscrupulous usurpers sitting on thrones that had been won on the blood of the innocent. If anyone in power believed Erik’s heir stood in their way, the child would be slain. Eliminating rightful successors happened all too frequently, and the men responsible were rarely punished for their deeds. Men in power ruled with an iron fist, and the ill-used were forgotten. She was becoming immersed in the mindset of the times, which she found disconcerting.

  Instead of searching for Rheda or Aedre, Gwyneth went to the chapel. She needed the Lord’s guidance. She crossed herself when she entered the dimly-lit room and knelt before the Crucifix, keeping her head lowered.

  “Forgive my doubts,” Gwyneth mumbled. “I am not worthy to serve you.”

  “My child, why are you so troubled?” Father Gerard asked while making his presence known.

  “I did not see you,” Gwyneth replied.

  “I was lighting candles,” Father Gerard told her. “Tell me why you are so distraught.”

  “Help me, Father. I have so little faith,” Gwyneth whispered, “and I am so afraid.”

  ***

  The sea air filtered through the open door of the commander’s office, cooling the room as Erik and his trusted officers dra
nk heartedly, preferring to quench their thirst prior to apprising their commandant of all that had happened during his absence. There was nothing unusual to report. There was still dissension in Wales and Mercia, and even Northumbria, which had concerned King Edward. His piety was a ruse as many of his subjects attested. The king was cunning and vengeful, having the Welsh prince, Rhys ap Rhydderch, assassinated in retaliation for raiding his kingdom. He was also spiteful, refusing to name his successor, and having Norman advisors at court did not endear King Edward to his people.

  Speculation abounded of an impending invasion by the Norsemen, which kept the garrisoned warriors highly trained. The standing army could deploy at a moment’s notice, defending the realm against any aggression, internal or foreign, whatever the need. These soldiers had sworn fealty to their king, but the commandant held their allegiance. A charismatic leader could be persuasive if loyalties were challenged, affecting the outcome of a battle by switching sides. Erik was such a man. His magnetism resembled an addictive drug, drawing in the soldiers like a fly to a flame. They would fight for him, whatever their beliefs, no matter which king he chose to serve. Erik’s reputation was well known amongst King Edward’s subjects. He was honorable, his word sacred, and he served the rightful king as befitted a man of his station. A man of duty who acknowledged King Edward as the Lord’s anointed sovereign. And these qualities were the reason Erik’s life was in peril. There was the Norse menace, which was very real since King Harald believed he was the lawful claimant. The politics were complicated because the Danish King Hardicanute had ruled England prior to King Edward’s succession. If Erik could not be persuaded to support the Norwegian king, then he would be disposed of, replaced by an equally charismatic leader loyal to King Harald.