by T S Florence
“That was strange,” Brenna said, as though suddenly feeling the self-consciousness that comes with living in a place that you are not welcome.
“We’re just new, that’s all. Travellers would be stared at in Fyrkat all the time,” Rose said, though her grip on Brenna’s arm suggested that she felt more worried than she wanted to let on.
A brightly coloured stall caught Rose’s eye, and the wool that was being sold took distracted her from the eyes, and drew her in.
“How much is the blue pull over?” Rose asked the man at the stall.
“Ten silver pieces,” He grumbled, not bothering to make eye contact with her.
“Ten? This would not be worth more than 6 pieces in a slow season!” Rose exclaimed.
“Your English is good for a Northern whore,” The man replies.
“Excuse me?” Rose clipped, feeling heat rush to her face.
“How did you learn English? Did your vikings bring back captured priests to teach you God’s language?” The man spat.
Brenna, who could not speak English conversationally, looked at Rose with wide eyes, “Rose, what have you said to upset this man?” She asked.
“I did not say anything, it is he who is being offensive,” Rose said back in Norse.
“Stop speaking your filthy devil language at my stall, you northern whores” The man growled.
“I’m English,” Rose said, fighting to steady her racing heart as people began to stop and listen to the exchange.
“If you’re English, then you’re a betrayer of England and God,” the man said scrunching his blotchy face in disgust.
Rose took Brenna’s hand and dragged her through the sea of people that had formed a crowd around the man’s stall, all of them eager to watch the public exchange between the two.
“Don’t you all have your own business to tend to?” Rose said to the crowd as she shouldered her way through.
She knew that it would take time for people to grow accustomed to her presence, but how long, she did not know. The fear and hatred of vikings was present when she had been taken, and judging from the increasing presence of vikings since she had been gone, she could only imagine the hatred that festered and grown amongst the common people during her absence.
Rose knew that she was English at heart, and she knew that she could make these people accept and respect her again, it was just a matter of figuring out how.
42
Ragnar
Ragnar watched as Rose and Brenna stormed into his courtyard. He put down his sword, and gestured his head toward the buckets of water, signalling for his men to take a break.
“What’s the matter?” Ragnar huffed.
“You didn’t tell us how much people hated us,” Rose growled at him.
“The English love us,” Ragnar laughed.
“They don’t love you, Ragnar, they fear you,” Rose clipped.
“How do you know this?” Ragnar asked.
“Because as soon as we went outside of this place without you, they showed us what they truly thought,” Rose said.
“Then I will go and deal with these people. Come with me and point them out,” Ragnar said.
“Are you listening to a word I’m saying?” Rose huffed.
“People are disrespecting you,” Ragnar growled.
“I don’t want them to be afraid, Ragnar, I want to be accepted,” Rose clipped, before walking to the kitchen where a large bucket of water was kept, so she could wash her face, and clear the dried perspiration that had shone on her forehead.
“You’re still my responsibility. I will do what I need to do to ensure your protection,” Ragnar shot back, as he followed her inside.
Brenna stayed back in the courtyard, sensing a rising tension between the two.
“Stop being a horse’s ass, Ragnar,” Rose said, as she wiped her face with a fresh linen cloth.
“I am being a horse’s ass, are you listening to yourself? You are attacked in the streets and you wish to do nothing. Men rule with fear, nothing else,” Ragnar clipped.
“I don’t want to rule anything, I want to live in peace in my home country,” Rose hung the towel back up, and attempted to storm past Ragnar, but he side stepped, blocking her path, causing her to bump into him.
“Well since you’re going to be with me, then you will be ruling something, someday,” Ragnar looked down at Rose, as he took her by her shoulders. He felt her soft breath against his chest, her bright blue eyes looked up at him searchingly, as though she were looking for an answer in his scarred face.
“You’ve decided I’m just going to be with you, since I always have been?” Rose clipped.
“I will prioritise your safety over your happiness,” Ragnar shot back, as he stared down at her big eyes, feeling humoured at her annoyance, and silently knew that his answer would rouse her even further.
“You think they are mutually exclusive?” Rose snapped.
“It doesn’t matter,” Ragnar said.
“Of course it wouldn’t! As long as you get to swing your stupid axe or sword around like the same silly boy you were four years ago, you don’t care about how I feel,” Rose said.
“My silly axe saved your life, Hilly” Ragnar said.
“Hilly? I thought I was no longer your slave?” Rose tried to push Ragnar, but her hands made a dull thud against his chest.
“I thought we were bringing up the past, sorry,” Ragnar said.
“You are truly a goat’s turd, Ragnar. You don’t care about me, or my feelings, all you care about is some stupid legacy and respect from men whose names you do not know,” Rose shot back, her face pink with anger.
“You might be smart but you know nothing about this,” Ragnar said back, feeling his own temper beginning to rise.
“You abandoned your own family. You weren’t there for your own mother’s funeral. You did not shed a single tear for your own mother’s death,” Rose spat, her nostrils flaring with anger.
“Leave,” Ragnar growled, as he stepped to the side.
“Gladly, Earl Ragnar the Destroyer,” Rose’s voice dripped with sarcasm and spite.
Ragnar did not think the situation would spiral so far or so quickly and he did not see his own temper getting so far from balanced when he followed Rose into the kitchen.
He swiped his hand across the kitchen counter in a moment of rage, smashing an assortment of clay pots that were holding various fine wines and other liquids. Maids rushed into the room and started cleaning the room, all while managing to keep their eyes from looking at Ragnar.
Rose
Rose rushed past Brenda, as a sound of crashing pottery sounded out through the yard, causing men to stop their training and look at Rose as she left the yard. Brenda followed her and took hold of her arm, as if she was afraid Rose would disappear into the bustling mix of people that made their way up and down the street.
“I hate him,” Rose sobbed, as she took Brenda’s hand in her’s.
“You definitely do not, and you shouldn’t say such things. It’s fine to express anger and frustration with someone, but confessing false hatred is not healthy,” Brenna said in a calm voice.
“You can ride a horse, can’t you,” Rose said, as she turned to look at Brenna, ignoring her advice.
“Yes…?” Brenna said.
“We will take the mare,” Rose said.
“To where?” Brenna asked.
“To the castle on the hill,” Rose said.
Rose requested for a slave to assist her and Brenna to saddle the horse, and within several minutes, they were weaving between streams of people, heading towards the castle of Newcastle.
“I’ve never been inside a castle, are you sure the princess won’t mind?” Brenna asked.
“Princess Isla is lovely, and I’ve known her since I was a child, she will be fine,” Rose said back, knowing it to be true.
They passed the blacksmith shelter, but the man out the front was an older, more rotund man. An elderly woman with white str
eaked blond hair stood with him. she watched him work with a scowl on her face.
Rose could clearly see the frown lines set deep into her face, from years of a perpetually disappointed face. She did not look quite like Rose’s mother, for she was too old and mean looking. Rose’s mother was a beautiful and kind woman. At least, she was when Rose still lived with her.
Rose’s heart begged her to go in and ask Jack to take her to her mother, but her head was stronger, as it had been trained to be, since the day she was taken from her father. She knew that what her brother had said came from his heart, and that he believed that her mother was not in a healthy place. She needed to be smart. She needed to be a God worshipping English woman.
As they approached the castle, Rose could see men with brightly tipped warrior spears guarding the front gates.
“M’lady,” They both said in unison as they drew near.
“Excuse me?” Rose replied, as they stood aside and the gates opened.
“The princess gave us your description and ordered us to let you through should you come to the castle,” they said.
As they trotted through, Brenna whispered in Rose’s ear “You know the guards?” She asked.
“I guess so?” Rose replied, shrugging her shoulders.
Rose saw Isla’s husband, Ivar, training in the main yard. She wondered briefly why he was not training with Ragnar, but disregarded the thought and handed the reigns of the horse to the stable boy.
“Rose, how are you?” Ivar called out to Rose, in their native tongue.
“Oh, he’s viking,” Brenna beamed.
“And you must be Brenna,” Ivar said, taking Brenna’s hand and kissing the top of it.
“How did you know?” Brenna asked, wide-eyed.
“Your man Torsten has described you in excruciating detail,” Ivar said, with a light, friendly laugh.
Brenna stayed silent, yet her face went as red as a fully-ripened apple, ready to drop from the tree.
“He does talk about you an awful lot when you aren’t around,” Rose agreed with Ivar.
“I take it you are here to see my princess,” Ivar said.
“I am,” Rose said.
“And Ragnar let you come alone - he didn’t want to come?” Ivar asked, suspiciously.
“Well, he doesn’t exactly know,” Rose said, sheepishly.
“Why?” Ivar said, standing up straighter, looking down at the two girls.
“Well that is between me and Ragnar,” Rose said, before she could stop herself. “Excuse me, I spoke out of turn,” Rose said.
“No, not at all. I can understand Ragnar a little more, now,” Ivar said, with a smirk.
“I don’t want to know what Ragnar says about me,” Rose clipped.
“Very well, Rose. Isla is in her room. One of the guards will take you up, unless you would like my personal escort?” Ivar said.
“No, please, we have interrupted your training for long enough,” Rose said.
“As you wish,” Ivar said, bowing his head, before turning back to his men.
The castle was well-lit and had colourful drapes hanging down the walls. There were far fewer guards on the inside then outside. In fact, Rose had not seen a single guard besides the two that stood at the inner doorway.
Rose’s memory, coupled with Ivar’s instructions, led the two girls up a stairway and along a corridor with small windows that overlooked Newcastle and the surrounding countryside. Long rolling hills, a flowing river, and a bustle of activity, men and women going about their business and children causing trouble in the streets.
“I have never seen such large stone houses, and so many people in one village,” Brenna said in her native tongue.
“We call these large stone houses castles,” Rose said, smiling at Brenna.
“Castle,” Brenna repeated, nodding her head, “Torsten hasn’t taught me that one yet,” she said.
After walking down a long corridor, they came face to face with another guard, who stood guard outside a room.
“Is the princess in?” Rose asked the guard.
“Who are you?” The guard shot back in a harsh voice.
“It’s ok Charley, Rose is a close friend,” Rose heard Isla’s voice from the other side of the door.
The guard stood to the side at the sound of the creaking door. Isla beckoned them in, and the site was a surprising one. A small boy, of no more than 2 years old, was lying in the bed, with perspiration across his forehead.
“Who is the sick boy?” Rose asked.
“This is Gunner,” Isla smiled, “My son.”
“You…. I never knew,” Rose said, wide-eyed, as Brenna moved closer to admire the boy’s features.
“You had more pressing issues than seeing a sickly child,” Isla said.
“Is it serious?” Rose asked.
“We were worried at first, but he is already getting better every day. I don’t much like to leave him alone, so I sit and watch him, in case I have a chance to give him water or some herbs,” Isla said.
“You’re a healer,” Rose said.
“Before I met Ivar, I was often out in the woods, studying different medicinal plants,” Isla sighed.
“I bet you miss the freedom,” Rose touched Isla’s arm.
“Some days, yes,” Isla said, “but I wouldn’t trade any of this for anything in the world,” Isla smiled.
“Of course, you get to keep your childhood castle, you married a handsome viking, and you have a beautiful son,” Rose said, moving to look out the window.
“Of course. And what are you and your friend doing today?” Isla asked.
Rose realised that Brenna would not understand any of what the two had just said, and so explained to Brenna quickly what they had been saying, before turning back to Isla.
“We can speak in your language,” Isla said, in perfect Norse.
“Oh,” Rose said, surprised.
“Many of my constituents are Norse, even my husband, I thought it necessary to learn some of the basics,” Isla laughed.
“Your Norse is better than basic,” Brenna beamed, looking at Isla.
“Thank you, that means a lot coming from a native speaker,” Isla smiled.
“We came here because I had a fight with Ragnar,” Rose said quietly, “I needed to get out of the house, but the locals don’t like me much, so we took a horse and came straight here.”
Isla frowned at Rose as she considered the news. “Is he treating you badly?” Isla asked.
“No, of course not,” Rose said, suddenly feeling silly for admitting that, despite leaving his house without telling him.
“Oh thank god, I am very fond of Ragnar, I couldn’t imagine him treating you badly,” Isla gushed.
“No, it’s the men who are rude to me that he wants to treat badly,” Rose said.
“Hmm, he is a warrior. It’s how they think,” Isla replied.
“He feels responsible for me. It’s suffocating,” Rose said.
“Do you need money?” Isla asked.
“No. No, I would never take your money,” Rose clipped.
“Then how can you explain to him that you need more freedom?” Isla asked.
“I do not think it would work; he still feels guilty for leaving me in Fyrkat. If I am to continue living with him, then he will continue to be a bull-headed warrior in every situation,” Rose contemplated for a moment, “I need independence.”
Isla moved to a cupboard, made out of fancy wood, polished to the point that they could see their reflections in the shine. She opened it up and the sight of well-made dresses and expensive tiaras and shoes greeted Rose’s eyes. But one thing stood out. A rainbow coloured pullover.
“The winter pullover,” Rose gasped.
“Of course, you thought I wouldn’t still have it?” Isla smiled.
“It’s been so long,” Rose took the jumper in her hands, and felt the fabric. Of course, it wasn’t quite as bright as it once was, but it was still just as soft, and the knitting still held ti
ght.
“It may fit your boy one day,” Rose smiled.
“Or you could make him one yourself,” Isla said seriously.
“What do you mean?” Rose asked.
“Start selling wool again. You knew your father’s business inside out. You understand the nature of trading better than most experienced men,” Isla replied.