The Northmen Series Box Set

by T S Florence

  Slowly, Elder Ragnar turned his head, taking in the sight of his son who stood before him. His voice trailed off, and his hands dropped to his sides. He stayed seated, looking at his son, as if he were looking at a ghost. His eyes widened, and his jaw slackened.

  “Young Ragnar?” His voice cracked as he spoke.

  Ragnar stood before his father, feeling dumb and unable to answer, as he looked at him, who had aged a hundred years in the five years that he had been gone. His father had been young when Ragnar was born, yet he now had grey hairs that streaked through his long braids, and weathered lines made crows feet at the edges of his eyes.

  “Father,” he finally croaked, as white knuckles gripped his axe.

  “Do you intend to fight me?” His father let out a feeble laugh, looking at his son’s hands that were wrapped around the handle of his axe.

  Ragnar shook his gaze from his father and looked down to his hands, releasing his grip, and putting his axe back into its strap on his back. He stepped forwards, putting his hand out for his father, and helped him to his feet. He breathed deep, fighting the emotion that was raging inside of him, as his father took him in his arms. The two huge men stood there, father and son, in an embrace that could not possibly make up for the years that they had been apart.

  “Mother grew sick?” Young Ragnar said, stepping back.

  “She said to tell you she loved you, if we ever saw you again,” Elder said.

  “I know she loved me,” Young Ragnar looked to the ground, fighting his grief, for he knew that what he needed was rage.

  “She’s with the gods now, waiting for us to greet her,” Elder Ragnar said.

  “We will all be together again, one day,” Young Ragnar said, looking back to his father.

  “Hilda?” Young Ragnar asked.

  Elder Ragnar looked at the ground, and sat back into his chair, groaning quietly.

  “I told her to run, but she wouldn’t listen,” Elder Ragnar said.

  “And?” Young Ragnar said, his voice almost a growl.

  “I don’t remember. I received a blade to the stomach and passed out. Other men say that all of the women and children were put onto the boats unharmed,” his father said.

  “To where?” Young Ragnar asked.

  “Do you think they would tell us, boy?” His father answered.

  “I’m no longer a boy,” Young Ragnar said, his voice low.

  “Then think for yourself. Ask less questions and think before you speak,” his father, though without anger or aggression.

  Ragnar was not used to being spoken to like this. Ever since he had left Fyrkat, he was seen as a fierce warrior, and more recently, as a leader of men. But now, he was standing with his father, who still saw him as his son.

  “Who’s in charge here?” Young Ragnar asked, stopping himself from falling into an argument with his father.

  “Nobody, yet,” his father answered.

  “Then I am,” Young Ragnar said, turning to walk out of the hall and address his men.

  “Ragnar,” his father called out, before he left the hall.

  Ragnar turned back around to face his father.

  “It’s good to see you,” a smile broke across his weathered face, and the lines around his eyes creased tight, showing the years he had spent smiling and laughing.

  “It’s good to see you too, father,” Young Ragnar said.

  Although he couldn’t have been happier to see his father alive and well, the news of his mother was like a dark cloud over his head, and not knowing where Hilda was, and if she was ok, left him with more questions than answers.

  “I want twenty men to volunteer to stay here in Fyrkat. Those who stay will re-build the village for when the women and children return,” Ragnar said.

  There are always men amongst the warriors who are just as happy to build or farm as they are to fight, and so it was not long before twenty men had volunteered to stay and restore his childhood home to its former glory. This left Ragnar with one hundred and thirty men, of which every single one he would need, if he was going to find and rescue his childhood friend, Hilda.

  The weather was colder back in his home lands, and the wind had a bite to it that he had forgotten. He spent a day with his men, organising them into groups, deciding what they would be responsible for.

  Einar approached him as he was speaking to several of his men, who would be responsible for felling trees and making pieces of timber to build new homes.

  “Earl Ragnar,” Einar said.

  “Earl?” Ragnar said, incredulously.

  “Well, you are in command of Fyrkat, that makes you Earl,” Einar said, matter of factly.

  “I am not Earl,” Ragnar said.

  “Then we must have a vote, before you go” Einar said.

  Einar shuffled through, stopping men from their work, telling them to gather in front of the Earl’s hall, before he stood on a raised platform to speak to them all. Ragnar knew that Einar was a clever man, and Einar knew that Ragnar was strong. He could see it in the rich clothes he wore and the shining jewels around his neck. He knew that if he announced Ragnar as Earl, that a repeat raid would not be so successful. Einar was clever. He then began to speak with an eloquence that surprised Ragnar.

  “If Fyrkat is to move forward and prosper in the wake of the horrible attack, we must have an official leader; an Earl,” Einar said.

  “I thought it was Ragnar,” One man said, incredulously.

  “So did I,” Einar said, shrugging his shoulders, “but he would rather we have a vote.”

  “We don’t need to vote, it’s Ragnar,” another man said.

  “Yes, it’s Ragnar,” more men began to echo.

  “Does any man object?” Einar said to the crowd.

  The only response he received was silence.

  “Then it is settled,” Einar said, looking to Ragnar. “You are Fyrkat’s Earl.”

  Ragnar looked around at the village he once called home. It was no more than a mismatch of half-burned cottages.

  “I cannot stay,” Ragnar said.

  “Why did you come here?” Einar asked him?

  Ragnar felt his father’s eyes on him, as he considered his answer.

  “I need to find Hilda,” Ragnar looked to his father.

  “I am coming,” Ragnar’s father said.

  “No,” Ragnar said.

  “How can you tell me no? I raised you from a young pup,” Ragnar’s father growled.

  “You will rule in my stead. I will retain Earlship, and if anyone contends my father they are contending me by extension and I will come back and slaughter them and their families,” Ragnar looked out over the crowd of warriors letting his words weigh down.

  “All hail Earl Ragnar,” one man shouted from the crowd.

  “All hail Earl Ragnar!” The rest of the crowd began to chant, stomping their feet on the ground.

  Hilda

  Hilda woke before the sun and walked to the edge of the cage, careful not to step on any of the still-sleeping soon-to-be slaves. Brenna stirred on the floor, her body missing the warmth that Hilda had provided. She gripped the bars of the cage, and stared at the door of the room, as if she could will it to open; as if she could will Ragnar to walk through that door and save her. Save her and take her back to England, like he had promised to her all those years ago.

  “What are you doing?” Brenna approached Hilda, she stepped gingerly over the sleeping bodies, and whispered quietly, so as not to wake the tired and hungry children.

  “Nothing, just waiting,” Hilda said.

  “What are you waiting for?” Brenna replied, her eyebrow raised.

  “Probably nothing,” Hilda said.

  “Nothing, or no one?” Brenna asked.

  “It doesn’t really matter,” Hilda replied, moving her gaze from the door to the floor.

  A rattle from outside caused Hilda’s head to jerk back towards the door, her heart shuddering from vain hope. A dirty guard walked in. It was the same man who ha
d looked at Hilda like she were a warm body to be bought; which, in reality she was. The man was obviously not a well-respected member of his raiding party, for the hay stuck to his clothes and the manure matted into his dread locks told Hilda that he had slept in the stables the night before.

  He dragged a cart into the room with him. The squeaky wheels caused the sleeping women and children to lift their heads and look towards the light from the rising sun that peeked through the door.

  “Hello my future slave,” the man said, his lips curling up, revealing yellow-brown teeth.

  Hilda looked away, not wishing to engage with the man, lest she encourage him to go out of his way to bargain with his fellow vikings for her. She knew he would not have the money to afford her, but that did not mean he couldn’t negotiate with the leader of his raiding party.

  He lifted a brown hessian sack from the cart, before unlocking the door to the cage. He eyed them carefully, as he threw the bag on the floor. He also changed several buckets; some empty, and some with water. The empty ones were for the prisoners to relieve themselves.

  Hilda noticed the man walked with a limp, which probably explained his low status amongst the raiding party, for a man who was not physically capable of dominating other men was not often well regarded. A man who was not well regarded would likely be happy to take any woman who would look twice at him, and be grateful for it.

  “Thank you for the food and water,” Hilda said, her mind whirling with the possibility of using this man to her advantage.

  “At least someone shows some appreciation here,” The man grumbled, looking up at her.

  “I recognise a good man when I see one,” Hilda smiled, putting her hand on the man’s arm.

  “Well, if you’re lucky, you’ll get to appreciate me well after you’re out of here,” he said, with a raspy voice, his sour breath invading her sense of smell.

  “Well, I would hope you would have a nice place for us to stay, if you were to purchase me,” Hilda said, fighting to keep herself from shying backwards.

  “I have a place up in the mountains,” He said with pride, pushing his chest out, as he locked the cage door.

  “Then maybe you could take both me and my cousin, Brenna,” Hilda reached through the bars, taking his hand.

  “I couldn’t afford both,” he grumbled.

  “Of course you could, you just need to make the money,” Hilda said.

  “And how would I do that?” He asked, looking at her suspiciously.

  “Your raiding party chieftain wouldn’t have split his gold yet, for he would be waiting to share it with the Earl tomorrow, on the market day,” Hilda said, confidently.

  “And?” He asked.

  “So you hedge your bets,” she replied.

  “What does that mean?” He asked.

  “Tell your leader that you would relinquish any rights to gold for the two of us, and we would make you far happier than any cold metal could,” She said, squeezing his hand through the bars.

  “Grim would likely listen to me,” he said, referring to his leader.

  “Well you’re a valued member of his viking clan, I’m sure he would grant you this small favour,” Hilda said, releasing his hand and stepping back.

  “If you both want me so badly, maybe I will do you this small kindness,” he said, enjoying his sudden importance.

  “You never told me your name,” Hilda gushed.

  “Dag,” he said.

  “Thank you for noticing us, Dag,” Hilda said, looking from Brenna’s bewildered face to Dag.

  “I can’t make any promises,” he said, looking the pair up and down, before scratching himself as he walked out of the room.

  Brenna gripped Hilda’s arm, staring at her wide-eyed “What in Odin’s name are you doing?” Brenna asked.

  “I’m getting us out of here,” Hilda said.

  “And how exactly to you propose to do that? By whoring our way out?” Brenna half shrieked.

  “Did you see how he walked?” Hilda asked.

  “I wasn’t paying attention,” Brenna said, folding her arms.

  Hilda smiled to herself, only now noticing that Brenna had found her voice, and was speaking her mind. A far cry from the dazed and quiet girl she had held on the boat during the rough storms.

  “Well, firstly, he was covered in hay and horse dung, so it is clear that his house is not in this village, but rather up in the mountains. I didn’t need him to tell me that to know it. And secondly, he walked with a bad limp. I doubt he could chase us for more than one hundred yards before he gave up,” Hilda said.

  “That’s impressive,” Brenna said, a smirk beginning to replace her bewildered expression.

  “I don’t find horse dung or a limp even mildly impressive, but each to their own,” Hilda smirked, as she began to hand out pieces of bread to the children and women, blessing the food silently, hoping that it would provide them with some protection from her god, the one true god.

  For the first time since she saw the boats approaching Fyrkat, Hilda felt a glimmer of hope.

  After a restless and broken sleep, Hilda woke the next day again before the others began to stir. She sat with her back against a dirty wall, picking at her fingernails as she waited for the door squeak open. She had put her only egg into the one basket that was available. Dag. She barely believed that the man could achieve the task of negotiating with a fierce chieftain, yet the hope for freedom and the belief that her god maybe was still watching over her made her jittery with energy.

  The squeak of the door took her energy away from her hands and drew her focus to the dirty man who stood in the doorway, fumbling with the keys in his hand. Dag. Brenna slowly lifted herself from the ground, and rested her back against the wall, next to Hilda. The noise of people gathering in the markets filled the room, as the Dag walked into the room.

  Hilda was too nervous to approach the gate, for the possible bad news would leave the two girls, destroyed. She would have liked to save every single one of the women and children that had been stolen from Fyrkat, but she knew it was an impossible task. Saving just one girl would be better than none at all.

  “Blondy,” he said, smiling at Hilda.

  “Good morning, Dag,” Hilda said, clutching at her stomach, in an attempt to calm the sick feeling that bubbled inside of her.

  “Good news,” he said.

  “Really?” She said her mouth falling agape, looking to him.

  “You’re coming with me today,” he said, puffing out his chest, as he fiddled with the lock to the cage.

  “I knew you could do it,” she said, walking towards him.

  “But not the dark-haired girl,” he sniffed, as he looked towards Brenna.

  Hilda’s hands fell from her chest down to her sides, in sync with the fall of her smile. “What do you mean?” Hilda asked.

  “Fyrkat didn’t exactly have a lot of gold, the real value is you lot,” he said, waving his hand over the women and children.

  “Surely there is something else you can use to negotiate with your leader? What about putting up your future earnings?” She asked, yet she knew that even Dag, the halfwit, would know better than to wager future earnings; for any raid would just as likely give a man incredible riches, as it would give him nothing at all, or worse, his death.

  “Don’t be ungrateful, slave” he grumbled, taken aback at her displeasure of his news.

  “Of course,” Hilda said, too ashamed to look at Brenna.

  Dag tied them with rope to one another, one by one, until they were all linked like a long chain, and led them out into the market. Men, women, and children, spoke excitedly to each other, as they pointed, talking of which slave they would like to purchase. Men walked forwards, feeling the women, looking at their stomachs to see if they had mothered children.

  One man went to touch Hilda, but Dag stopped him. “She’s mine,” he grumbled.

  “Don’t make the poor girl go with you, she could have a far better owner,” the man laughed in D
ag’s face.

  “I made a deal with Grim,” Dag said, ignoring the jab.

  “What could you offer Grim?” The man asked, incredulously.

  “More than you,” Dag said.