The conversation now over, Hakon and Sigurd stood, nodded to Ivar, then left the hall.
Chapter 35
An annoying drizzle began to fall shortly after the morning meeting with Ivar and his sons. Hakon ignored it and spent the rest of the day relaxing, due in part to the continued pain in his thighs, but also because this was the first chance he and his party had to really rest their travel-weary bodies.
First he cleaned the grime and filth from his travel gear. Then, when the rain stopped, he went for a swim in the nearby lake with Didrik and Ottar. Though the water was frigid and turned his skin a bright pink, it quickened his blood and brought a renewed vigor to his body and mind. Like little boys, they splashed and dove, swam and laughed, and forgot for a moment the reason for their visit to the Uplands and the war that loomed. They stayed in the water until their skin began to prune, then climbed out and basked in the wan sunshine that peeked through the scattered clouds, naked to the world and caring little. When they were dry, they dressed in the clean clothes they had hung from the branches of a nearby pine and returned to the walled estate of Ringsaker.
At midday, Hakon, Didrik, and Ottar took their meal in the hall with the rest of their group. Hakon ate lightly and drank little and, when finished, joined Toralv on the wall that surrounded the estate, finding a clear spot away from the sight and stench of the hanging heads.
For a long time they stood in companionable silence, each content with the other's presence and reluctant to disrupt the peace that enveloped them. To the northeast, a group of men sparred with spear and sword; their calls and shouts echoed through the air and mingled with the dull crack of axes chopping wood. To the north, male thralls toiled in the fields with horse and plow and pick, churning up the dark, rain-softened soil. Behind them followed the female thralls, sprinkling dried manure onto the upturned earth.
“Do you think she is out there?” Toralv asked softly.
Hakon looked around to see if they were being watched. A guard stood no more than five paces away, his eyes fixed on the tree line to the west. Hakon leaned closer to Toralv. “Tighten your lips when people are around.”
Toralv glanced at the guard and winced apologetically. “Sorry.”
Another long silence followed, and Hakon's gaze drifted to the estate behind him. There was almost no activity, a striking change from the bustle that Hakon had seen upon his arrival. Many of the hersar who had attended the feast had gone home, leaving only those members of Ivar's household—thralls, freemen, guests, and hirdmen—who lived within the walls.
In his lean-to, a smith pounded out a bar of red-hot metal while his assistant sat at his side and sharpened a sword's blade. A woman struggled under the weight of two wooden pails of milk. As she walked, the milk splashed from side to side and spilled onto the ground. Holmfrid observed the woman's struggles from the door of the main hall and loudly cursed her carelessness. The woman bowed her head and ducked inside the hall.
Another movement caught Hakon's eye and he turned to see Aelfwin emerging from one of the shacks. With one hand, she smoothed the skirt of her shift while in the other she carried a bowl of eggs. She must have sensed Hakon's eyes upon her, for she immediately looked up to the wall, directly at him. Then, just as suddenly, she turned her face away and marched off toward the hall. A moment later Udd came out of the shack, tucking his tunic into his breeches. Just as Aelfwin had done, he turned his eyes toward Hakon. But instead of turning away, he stopped and smiled maliciously.
Realizing instantly what had occurred, Hakon fought the urge to jump from the wall and attack. The rush of blood to his ears blotted all sound. He saw nothing save Udd's fat face and the hideous smile that marred it. Then, suddenly, Udd was gone and he was staring up at Toralv. His eyes saw Toralv's lips move, but his mind couldn't grasp the words that Toralv spoke. He realized Toralv held his wrist and that his own hand gripped the handle of Quern-biter.
“—is wrong? Hakon? Do you hear me?”
Hakon shook his head and only then realized that he had been screaming.
“You must control yourself. Hakon! Do you hear me?”
Hakon shook himself loose of his friend's grasp and peered at the spot where Udd had been standing. But he was gone, replaced by those who had emerged from their dwellings to seek the source of the screams. Embarrassment washed over Hakon as he stared at their gaping, befuddled faces. He glanced back at Toralv, shaken. “It is nothing. Leave me be. I need to be alone.”
He walked off to a vacant spot along the wall, closed his eyes, and tried to pray, no longer caring who saw him or what they might do if they did. He prayed that God might strike Udd down and forgive Aelfwin for the sins forced upon her by others. He beseeched God to forgive him for helping a girl whose fate was, in God's eyes, already decided. For he, Hakon, could no longer stand by and watch the destruction of an innocent girl.
When his prayers had run their course and he could think of nothing more to say, he opened his eyes and gazed out at the fields. “Help me,” he whispered.
Ivar held another, smaller feast that night for Hakon and his men. Though most of the night dragged in excruciating conversation with Groa, the smaller crowd afforded Hakon a few opportunities to speak with others without so many distractions.
Gudrod and Trygvi told him of their fathers and of the adventures that led them to Ivar's hall. Gudrod was the son of Bjorn Haraldsson, known to all as Bjorn the Chapmen, or the Trader. He had been an extremely business-wise man whose resourcefulness, strength of character, and love of wealth had been the driving forces behind his creation of Norway's largest trading town, Kaupang, which sat in the Vik very close to Mollebakken. When Erik killed Bjorn, Harald had given Bjorn's kingdom to his other son, Olav, who had proved a wise and worthy king. Upon Bjorn's death, Gudrod had been raised in Olav's household alongside Trygvi, Olav's son. Of the same age, the two cousins were like brothers, and together had grown into capable young men.
All that ended when Erik attacked Mollebakken. Though Trygvi and Gudrod had fought together, their defensive stand crumbled when King Olav fell. They barely escaped with their lives. A few days later, they came to Ivar at Ringsaker with what men they had—only a handful—and the clothes on their backs.
Of the two, Hakon's favorite was his nephew Gudrod, whose dry wit and sharp mind he found captivating. According to the others, Gudrod had inherited his father's intelligence, diplomacy, and strength—the very traits responsible for so many of his father's successes. On the other hand, Hakon found Trygvi brash and brazen, over-confident and bull-headed—attributes Hakon found distasteful for their impiety and shameful for their lack of humility. To Hakon, it was strange that two men so opposite could be so close.
Ivar, too, spent more time with his guest, and told him the history of Ringsaker and the kings before him. He spoke of his father, King Eystein of Hedemark, of Harald as a youth, and of the campaign Harald had led against the Uplanders. Though Hakon had already heard the story from Sigurd, it was interesting to hear it told from the perspective of a man who had actually experienced it.
Hakon scratched his bearded chin. “Your were there, were you not?”
Ivar pursed his lips. “Aye, but I was a small lad and do not remember much of the fighting.” He hefted his cup and stared into it as he swirled the liquid it contained. “In fact, I thought I had forgotten it entirely until you rode through the gates yesterday morning. It was like being there again, watching Harald ride victoriously into our camp. Suddenly everything came flooding back. The fires. The screams. The tears of my mother as she watched two of her sons die.” He pulled his gaze from his cup and looked into Hakon's face.
Hakon heard the strain in his voice and wondered how this man could ally himself with someone that tore open such old wounds. But Ivar answered his thoughts with a grunt and a wave of his hand. “Agh, but life goes on and every day brings changes and new situations that require our … adaptation.” He smiled at Hakon, not very convincingly, then turned to Sigurd. �
��Is that not so, Sigurd?”
Sigurd smirked. “Aye. Provided that our adaptation is for the better and sacrifices none of our ideals. Erik's rule, for example, was a change to which I could not adapt.”
Ivar nodded and lifted his cup to Sigurd, then to the others at the table. “Hear, hear. Let us drink to that.”
That night the heavens opened up and released a hail of raindrops that shook the roof over Hakon's head. Hakon sat on his cot and listened, his anxious mind far from thoughts of sleep.
Tonight he would go to her, to tell her there was hope.
He listened to the rain, knowing it would conceal him, but unable to shake off the dread that held him in its cold grip. He was taking a great risk by going to her, and there would be no end to the fury, should he be caught. Groa's marriage and Ivar's support would be terminated immediately, that was for sure, for no amount of apology would rectify the snub. And with that loss would come the forfeiture of the kingdom and the sacrifice of everything that Hakon had dreamed his entire life of obtaining. It was crazy, he knew. But, like the distant call of some battle horn, the task beckoned him. If he let the call go unheeded, he would be just as guilty as the heathens who defiled Aelfwin. Such inaction would haunt him forever.
Hakon had arranged for Toralv to stand guard and instructed him to let Hakon know when the way was clear. Now Toralv moved quietly from the door and shook his leg. Hakon rose and listened briefly; no one moved. He donned his boots and a thick cloak and moved to the door with Toralv at his side.
“Be careful,” Toralv warned.
Hakon nodded, then stepped into the downpour. The ground squished under his boot as he first moved to the back of the main hall, then across to a storage shed. The clouds blocked the moon, and with it, the visibility of the guards on the walls above him. Nevertheless, he moved slowly and carefully, willing himself to keep low and to step slowly into the puddles to prevent splashes. In this manner, he worked his way around the back of the storage shed, and peered across at the thrall's hut. At fifteen paces, it was nothing more than a dark outline in the downpour.
Hakon looked around. Nothing moved on the walls or on the ground. As if preparing to dive underwater, he inhaled deeply, filling his lungs, before moving from the safety of the storage shed's shadow and creeping in the direction of the hut. As he drew closer, the hut's walls became more defined. And then he was there, crouching against its side and blowing out the breath he had held as he'd approached. For a long moment he stood rocklike, listening and watching.
One more difficulty awaited him. The hut's door faced the courtyard. He was not sure if the door was locked, nor of what would happen if he gained entry. Once again, he held his breath and forced himself forward. The cold hand of fear crept up his spine as he moved to the front corner of the hut and squinted out into the courtyard. Nothing moved. He slipped around the corner and headed for the door.
When Hakon reached it, he pushed down quickly on the handle. It was unlocked. Breathing a sigh of relief, he carefully opened the door a crack and slipped inside. As he did so, his cloak caught on an exposed nail and a scrap tore free. He cursed softly and closed the door behind him.
For a moment he just stood there, gazing blindly into the darkness. Nothing moved, and Hakon could hear nothing save the pounding of his heart. Time stretched. Hakon's eyes adjusted. Only then did he become aware of motion. He knew that the occupants saw him and that they moved to get out of his way, but he remained still for fear that they might call out. Slowly, deliberately, he lifted his hands to show that he meant no harm.
“Aelfwin?” he whispered. “Are you here?”
No answer came back. A bolt of panic shot through his body. Might she be in some warrior's bed, enduring his attention? Had he risked everything only to come up empty-handed? He forced his fear aside and tried again. “Aelfwin. I have risked much to come here. Please answer.”
“I am here,” came a barely perceptible voice from somewhere in the darkness.
Hakon swiveled his head, trying to determine the direction of her voice.
“To your left. Take two steps.”
Hakon did as he was told, knelt on the hard earthen floor, and fumbled for a limb or anything that might help him know where she was. Suddenly his hand brushed against cloth and his fingers locked onto it. He tugged lightly. “Is that you?”
“Aye.”
It suddenly dawned on Hakon that he had no idea what to say or even where to begin. He faltered.
“Hakon?”
“You must excuse me, Aelfwin. It is so hard for me to fathom this. I have so many questions, and so many emotions, coursing through me. How is it that we are here in this place speaking to each other now? What events brought you here?”
“Oh, Hakon. Does it matter?”
“Aye, perchance.”
“I was stolen in a raid upon my husband's estate. I was taken to Dubhlinn and purchased by one of Erik's men, who took me back to the North. When Erik saw me, he took me for his own, and used me until he had had his fill. When Erik strove to deal with Ivar, he gave me and some others to Ivar as a show of his generosity.”
The blood coursed in Hakon's veins. He bit his lip. The thought of Erik and other men violating her stoked his fury—he could hear no more. “Aelfwin. You must listen to me.” His mind searched for the words that so deftly evaded his tongue. “You cannot … must not spend the rest of your life this way. I can give you your freedom.”
Hakon waited for an answer but received none.
“I do not judge you for what has happened. I only know that I cannot bear to see you in this state. You are no thrall, nor do you deserve to be treated as one. Aelfwin, I can offer you your freedom here. On an estate. Protected. Once I have defeated Erik, and—” he struggled for delicacy, but the urgency of the moment prevented it “—I am married. Then I will be free to buy your freedom, give you a place to live in peace. It will work, Aelfwin. You must believe me.”
Again his words met with a long, uneasy silence.
“Do not lie to me, Hakon,” Aelfwin finally whispered. “Do not torture me with hurt.”
Hakon ignored the blow and pressed on. “I do not lie, Aelfwin. It is my right to buy your freedom. But I cannot do it before my wedding to Groa. There is too much at stake.”
It was then that he heard the stifled sobs.
“I am sorry,” he muttered. “I did not mean to—”
“I am pregnant, Hakon. Pregnant,” she moaned. “I have a child in my belly, and I do not even know whose child it is.”
The words hit him like a fist to the stomach and for a moment he could not speak. When he finally did say something, all he could manage was, “Mary Mother of God.”
“What do you think now?” she sobbed. “I might bear the child of your wicked brother. Am I worthy of freedom now?”
Hakon hesitated. Could he support Erik's child as his own? He knew he must—there was no choice. “It . . . it changes nothing, Aelfwin. In fact, it is all the more reason for you to be free. Erik's child or not, would you not want freedom for it?”
The sobs continued and Hakon waited as patiently as he could, though he knew his time was running short. “Aelfwin. Tell me you accept my offer and I will do all in my power to set you free.”
“Why are you doing this, Hakon?”
He smiled into the darkness, hoping that she could see him. “I am doing it for you. I have always loved you, Aelfwin, from the moment I saw you smile at my baptism. Now God, working in His strange ways, has granted me the chance to show it. Please tell me you accept.”
The silence dragged to such a length that Hakon began to fear for his safety. He prepared himself to say something more, to force an answer, but her quiet voice cut him off.
“I accept.”
The words were sweeter to his ears than the most beautiful song from any bird. If he could have, he would have whooped with delight. But he could only smile and gently pat her hand. “You do not know how much that delights me. Now, you mus
t be patient. Here—take this.” He reached into his tunic, pulled the cross from around his neck, and placed it gently in Aelfwin's hand. “This is a token of my promise. I swear to you this will come to pass. I must go. If I need to speak to you again, I will do so through my hirdmen. It is too risky for me.”
Instead of answering, she placed her hand upon his own, sending shocks of excitement through his body that he wished would never stop. He stayed that way for a long, silent moment, enjoying the roughness of her palm, trying to engrave the feeling in his mind, in his heart. Reluctantly, he pulled his hand free, squeezed her leg in good-bye, and moved toward the door.
Chapter 36
Sigurd woke Hakon early the following morning and told him to dress. Hakon did as he was told without comment, and followed the jarl outside. The rain had left a clear, crisp sky and a coat of water on the ground that rippled in the soft morning breeze. Hakon breathed deeply, expecting the sharp aroma of pine, but smelled only the death and decay that hung from the walls of Ivar's estate. He spat at the foul reminder.
Sigurd took him by the arm, his manner calm and relaxed, and together they walked up onto the wall and out of earshot of others.
“Today we give Ivar the assurances he seeks. Are you prepared to do so?”
Hakon thought about his question, knowing that it was not as simple as it seemed, but unable to determine the real question underneath. “I think so.”
“Do you?” Sigurd peered soberly into Hakon's eyes. “Your foolery last night would suggest otherwise.”
Hakon stiffened. “How—you were asleep. Did Toralv tell you?”
“Toralv told me nothing. I woke when you returned.”
Hakon frowned.
“Was it the girl from the feast? Athelstan's kinswoman?”
Hakon looked away. “Aye.”
Sigurd remained silent.
“I can tell by your face that you think I was wrong in what I did. But you are quick to judge me, Sigurd. You do not know the whole story.”
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