The Northmen Series Box Set

by T S Florence

  “I am just slave, why do you care?” Hilda said.

  “You’re not just my slave,” Ragnar said.

  “Then what am I?” She asked, finally turning around. The fire in her eyes caused his breath to catch in his throat, as he looked at the girl that had been taken from distant lands, the girl who refused to speak of her past or tell him her native name. The only thing he knew of her past life was her god. Jesus, she called him. A man who once walked the earth and could perform miracles and encouraged love and not war. Ragnar thought he was a boring god, a weak god, not like Odin or Thor or even Loki, the trickster god.

  “I don’t know,” Ragnar said, confused from his emotions. He knew he did not see her as a slave, but he knew he did not see her as a friend, either. It was closer than that. He didn’t like her the same way that he liked the other boys and girls from the village.

  “I am slave, Ragnar,” Hilda said, turning around again.

  “Well I will free you,” Ragnar said.

  “And where do I go? How I get home? I will never be free in this land. I love your family but I am not your family. I am slave, and I will always be slave on your land,” Hilda said.

  “When I am old enough to go raiding, I will take you with me. I will take you home and free you,” Ragnar said.

  “Your parents will never let me,” Hilda said, though with less anger.

  “I would come home rich with enough gold for them to pay servants until they made it to Valhalla,” Ragnar said.

  “That is nice thought, but there is no Valhalla. There is only heaven and one god,” Hilda said.

  “Do you want me to take you with me or not?” Ragnar asked.

  “Yes,” Hilda said more quietly, her eyes softening as she looked at him.

  “Would you still speak to me if I freed you?” Ragnar asked.

  “Of course,” Hilda said, her smile transforming her face, all the way up to her eyes.

  “Sometimes I wonder if you secretly hate me, but you hide it because you are my slave,” Ragnar said, uncertainly.

  “Ragnar, I could never hate you. I am grateful every day for when you choose me on the beach,” Hilda said, looking at him.

  “I will free you when I’m old enough to take you with me,” Ragnar said, looking into her eyes with a fierce finality that told her there was no way he would ever betray his promise to her.

  And she trusted him. She believed him when he made a promise, for a man without his word was not a man at all.

  35

  Rose

  Current day

  Hilda meant ‘the fighter’ in Norse language, but she knew in her heart that she was not a fighter; she was just trying to protect a boy who was stuck in the same terrible situation as her. A boy who was taken from his family by strange men from a strange land, only to be sold as a slave, who would spend the rest of his life in the fields or fighting wars that he did not believe in. Hilda refused to think of herself as Rose. As the free girl, as the girl who had a family who loved her, as the girl who would have grown up to continue in the same business that her father had. Hilda knew she had to leave Rose behind and become Hilda the Fighter, if she were going to survive in the Northern land.

  Hilda was one of the lucky ones, for she was bought by Ragnar’s family, and as far as treatment of slaves, she was never once mistreated. They treated her with love and kindness; she was sure that they recognised the sad fact that she was just a girl who had been ripped from her home in England.

  Now, the small village of Fyrkat had been invaded by raiding vikings from a neighbouring country, men who spoke a different language to that which she had spent the last ten years learning. At twenty-one years old, she had resigned herself from the idea of ever going back to England. Ragnar had left and he never returned. He would never return. She could see that now. He broke his promise to her. He left without her and for that she would never forgive him.

  He lied to her. He promised her that he would take her with him, but he didn’t. He got on that boat when he was nineteen years old and she was just seventeen. For four years, he had not come home. Stories made their way back to Fyrkat of their success in England, and Hilda could only imagine the terror and sadness that Ragnar and his fellow vikings were causing to innocent people in her home country. She often wondered why her god allowed this to happen.

  And now, for the second time in her life, Hilda watched as the men slowly made their way through the town and towards the farms that sat atop the hill.

  “Shouldn’t we flee?” She asked Elder Ragnar. His wife had died two years ago, after falling ill. Hilda hoped that younger Ragnar did not know, for if he had, despite his selfishness, she was sure he would have come home. If he did know, and he didn’t come, then she knew that war and death had made him a cold man.

  “I want you to run. I will try and stop them,” Elder Ragnar said, his voice telling that he was resigned to the fact he would soon be fighting for their lives.

  “I won’t leave,” Hilda said.

  “You must,” he told her.

  “No,” Hilda repeated.

  “Leave,” he boomed, causing the walls to shake.

  Despite the shock from his loud voice, she did not move. Instead stood her ground, and took a scythe that hung on the wall, which they used in harvest season.

  “Are you stupid, Hilda? They are trained warriors,” Elder Ragnar growled.

  “They will catch me if I flee. We are safer together. Besides, you named me Hilda the Fighter, after all,” She said, her jaw set.

  “Do not let them know you are English,” he said to her, before turning to face the men approaching the cottage.

  The men came, and Hilda quickly figured that Ragnar could not stop all of them. He swung his rusted sword at them, taking down one of the slower men. In return, he received a sword in the gut, bringing him to his knees.

  Hilda was disarmed before she could do any harm to any of the remaining men. The image of Elder Ragnar lying on the ground stayed in her mind as she watched Fyrkat fade into the distance that night, huddled amongst the other captives in the vikings’ raiding boat.

  This is your fault, Ragnar Ragnarsson. You should have been here. You should have been there to help me and your father.

  Hilda cried silently as she sat against the side of the boat, huddled with other slaves for the second time in her life. She thought of her god, who she was sure had abandoned her again. When she was younger, she had so much faith in Jesus, the holy man who had once walked the earth with man and woman. But now? She wasn’t so sure.

  She felt she had abandoned her god, just as he had abandoned her, when she had decided to bury that side of her when she lost her freedom. She had abandoned Rose, the young girl full of hope and faith.

  When night came, and the temperature dropped, goose bumps broke out over Hilda’s skin. The light breeze that danced across the water brought with it a chill that relentlessly found its way into her bones, without any blankets to shield herself. She thought of the woollen blankets her mother had knitted, and the giant bags of wool her father would sell. She thought back to the nights when she and her brother Jack would sit in the bags of wool, hiding from their mother and father, feeling safe and protected from the harsh world.

  Hilda began to fall in and out of a restless sleep, waking in fits, only to remember that she was on the cold boat filled with strangers and vikings. The light breeze had turned into a strong gale, causing the boat to rock from side to side and icy water to splash over the edges, which stung her skin and soaked her hair and clothes. She instinctively huddled in closer to the person next to her, another girl who looked to be about the same age.

  They held each other through the storm, clinging equally as hard to the boat, lest they were thrown into the dark brutal waves. At one point during the storm, Hilda was sure she saw a small body fly from the boat when it came down from a particularly big wave, but she did not know if it was the lack of sleep causing her to see things. She began to pray again, but thi
s time, her prayers were simply for god to take them to dry land.

  Before daylight broke, she felt the unmistakeable feeling of the boat being forced onto dry land.

  “Off the boat,” one of the men said to Hilda and the rest of the slaves. The land was baron and rocky. There were no people, no signs of smoke from fire; no signs of life at all.

  “We will be staying here and making repairs to the boats. You will all stay right here on the beach and if anyone moves, they will be killed,” one man with a huge blond dreadlocked beard told them.

  Hilda had not released her grip on her new companion’s hand. Now that it was daylight, Hilda could see that she had dark hair and kind brown eyes.

  “I’m Hilda,” she squeezed the girl’s hand, bringing her out of a distant gaze.

  “Oh. I’m Brenna,” the girl said. Her face was tired and her shoulders were slouched down.

  “Your family?” Hilda asked.

  “Dead,” Brenna responded, quietly.

  “I’m sorry,” Hilda said.

  “Yours?” Brenna asked, wiping a tear from her cheek.

  “I’m not sure. Dead, I suppose,” Hilda said, not knowing of her English family’s whereabouts, Young Ragnar’s life or Elder Ragnar’s life.

  They ended up stranded on the empty beach for almost a week, as they waited for boats from their convoy to find them and assist with reparations. They had broken many oars in the storm, which required men to fell trees and carve out new ores from fresh wood.

  Hilda could sense that Brenna was likely a quiet and shy girl even when her family was alive. She stayed close to Hilda at all times of the day and slept next to her at night. The pair of them watched the stars and wondered when they would be separated by the vikings and sold off to their new owners.

  On the seventh day, the boats were finally ready to commence their voyage. After another two days of travel, they made it to a large town, where the docks were bustling and people were busy talking, laughing, arguing, trading, and drinking. Hilda and Brenna were led to a large cage inside a quiet building, along with the rest of the soon-to-be slaves.

  “What are we doing here?” Hilda asked the man locking the gates.

  “You will stay here until the Market day, where you will be sold,” The man said, looking Hilda up and down as he spoke.

  Even at twenty one years old, Hilda had not yet experienced men openly showing their attraction towards her, for her life had been so sheltered living on the farm set on the outskirts of Fyrkat, where she was protected by Elder and Younger Ragnar. Even when she went into the village to help Elder Ragnar and his wife, when she was alive, to sell their harvest, people did not pay her any attention, for Ragnar was respected amongst the villagers and they knew that he looked at her as not just a slave.

  “When is market day?” She asked, despite her instincts screaming to stop talking to the man.

  “One week from now. Maybe I will buy you with the gold I took from your little village,” The man laughed, as he looked her up and down once more, before he left them in darkness.

  36

  Ragnar

  Ragnar earned the new name Ragnar the Destroyer from his efforts in Scotland, where he had destroyed the Mackenzie blood line. He had always been respected by other warriors, but now he was looked at in the same light as Ivar the Clever, the great viking warrior and leader, married to Princess Isla. Ivar had granted Ragnar four ships and one hundred and fifty men; a sizeable army by any count. Some leaders would be intimidated by Ragnar’s rise to fame and the fear he instilled in men, but Ivar was not, for he was a truly great leader, who rewarded and encouraged Ragnar.

  Ragnar left Newcastle with a farewell chant of people shouting out his new name, Ragnar the Destroyer, in unison. The cold wind bit at his face as he wrapped his great brown bear fur tight around his body. With viking war songs being sung by his men while they pulled hard at the oars, they battled against the current and made their way out into the deep blue.

  I will fight my way through all the viking lands until I find the truth of what happened.

  Ragnar’s power and authority had grown immeasurably since he had left Fyrkat at nineteen years old to fight for glory and gold. Four years later, at twenty three years old, Ragnar was in his prime, and there was no man alive who would wish to face him in combat. He was a giant man, with arms like oak trees and a barrel chest. The scars on his body told stories of glory and war; of men who tried and failed to kill him. And now, the once joyous Ragnar was coming back to Fyrkat. Ragnar was known for his joyous disposition and joking; but now there was no more joy in Ragnar’s soul, only dark stormy clouds and a thirst for war. For the only thing, the only people, that truly mattered to him, were in danger.

  They weathered the storms that matched Ragnar’s soul, with rain so heavy that men could barely get the water out of the boat as fast as it was coming in. Yet, Ragnar did not slow his pace, he cut through the ocean like a red-hot sword cut through freshly made butter. He had one thing on his mind. The only girl who he had ever cared for. He cared deeply for his mother and father as well, but something deep inside of him was awoken at the thought of his childhood friend in danger. The girl he had promised to look after. The girl he had promised to take back to her land. Hilda. His Hilda. His slave. His friend. His.

  Ragnar was also concerned for his mother and father, but the broken promise had haunted him ever since he left Fyrkat on that fateful day. He knew in his heart that he would bring her back to England, but now other men had interfered with his plans and taken Hilda from his childhood home. The man who lead him on his first journey to England was Bjorn the Fearless. Bjorn the Fearless could see that Ragnar had a weakness for Hilda, and that if he had brought her with him, it would have distracted him from what they were there to do: Win land and conquer armies.

  The one year journey turned into four years. Bjorn the Fearless had died and Ivar the Clever had taken command of his armies. Ragnar returned now, because of the rumours that raiding vikings had plundered his home town of Fyrkat, killed their Earl, and taken every woman and child with them.

  Ragnar knew that there was no other option than to rip through every town, city and country, until he found the people who had done this. He wanted to find his family and Hilda, and he wanted to kill the men who had taken them from him. Finally, after five days at sea, they found Fyrkat.

  Ragnar leaped from the boat onto the small dock, standing for a moment to take in the carnage of the town before him. The town was smaller than he remembered. The once bustling town was a deserted jumble of half-burned buildings, with no children or women in sight. He saw a group of old men sitting out the front of the Earl’s hall, huddled close together, looking at his boats that had arrived.

  “You have already taken everything, do you wish to kill the old men now, as well?” An old man shouted.

  “Who are you?” Ragnar asked the old man.

  “I am Einar,” the man said.

  “Einar, I have come looking for the men who did this,” Ragnar said.

  “Who are you?” The old man asked.

  “I am Ragnar the Ragnarsson, Ragnar the Destroyer, son of Elder Ragnar,” Ragnar said.

  “Young Ragnar?” The man said, his mouth slightly agape.

  “Where is my family?” Ragnar asked.

  “Alive,” Einar said, happily.

  A smile broke out across Ragnar’s face; the news like a shock of cold water on a winter morning.

  “He’s inside,” Einar said.

  “He?” Ragnar asked.

  “Elder Ragnar,” he said.

  “What of my mother and Hilda?” Ragnar asked.

  “You didn’t hear of your mother?” He asked, his mouth dropped, showing a sadness that he felt for Ragnar.

  “What?” Ragnar growled.

  “She’s been gone for years. She fell sick. I thought you would have known by now,” he said.

  Ragnar’s chest contracted, squeezing tight, causing his breaths to go shallow and sharp.


  “Show me my father,” He wheezed.

  Einar led Ragnar into the Earl’s hall, where injured men were lying in beds, being tended to by other old men. He saw Elder Ragnar sitting in a chair, talking with another man. He was holding his stomach with one hand, while gesturing with his other hand. His face was hard and serious. Ragnar walked slowly towards his father, butterflies took over his stomach, with mixed emotions pulling his heart one way and the other.

  Ragnar did not speak, for he was scared his voice would betray the abundance of nerves that he felt. Instead, he waited for his father to notice him as he stood before him. Elder Ragnar did not move his gaze until the man he was speaking to had become distracted from the conversation by younger Ragnar, who stood before them in all of his war glory. Ragnar knew he would be a fearsome sight, due to his sheer size, his weapons and his great brown bear fur that draped across his back.