“It was forged by a Lombard smith from the purest Thule iron,” Sweyn said, drawing his sword a little way out of his sheath so that Olav could examine its quality. Sweyn’s arms were brown from the sun and strong. Two white scars glowed on his wrist.
“I spoke with a master smith who said there were two Ulfberht swords up here in the North,” Olav replied. “I’d give my arm to own one like that.”
Sweyn’s face lit up and he said, “They say Ulfberhts are forged in dragon fire, and nothing can break them.”
“The dragon fire is what makes the blade shine like that,” said Ulf, who had been standing quietly next to Sigrid.
Soon the three men were comparing weapons and different blacksmiths and iron qualities. The ordinary conversation was a relief. Sweyn laughed at something Ulf said, and Sigrid’s heart clenched. He looked just as happy right then as he had in her dream.
Give me strength to forget him, Vanadís.
“Esteemed Sigrid Tostedotter,” someone said. Sigrid felt surprised to see an older servant bow slightly to her. “The queen would like to speak to you.”
This was unexpected and might not go well. Sigrid pulled her hands over her hair and straightened her cloak. She didn’t know what customs prevailed in this court or what the queen was after. Toste might have offered her some counsel, but she didn’t see him anywhere. Ulf shrugged slightly in response to her questioning look.
“The queen is waiting,” the servant said impatiently.
Sweyn turned away, but Olav was able to remedy her indecision. He leaned over and whispered softly in her ear, “Fear not, the queen is the nicest one in this court. Bow deeply, and let her speak first. Remember that you’re equals.”
The words made Sigrid stand up straighter. She supposed that if she hadn’t let the daughter intimidate her, she shouldn’t fear the mother either.
“Thanks, you’re a true friend.”
“Whatever you ask, you shall receive,” Olav said with a playful bow.
With one last look at Sweyn, Sigrid turned and followed the servant.
The hall she entered was just as big as the one she had left and every bit as magnificent. The difference was the two long tables, the largest Sigrid had seen, where the servants were bringing out platter after platter of food.
Queen Tova sat on a chair by the window, thin as a bird in her beautiful dress, with a sad smile on her lips.
Sigrid bowed deeply.
“Erik has chosen his bride well: young, beautiful, and strong,” the queen said in a lilting voice.
“I’m honored,” Sigrid said.
The queen got up with difficulty, then took Sigrid’s hand in her own and gently stroked it.
“I was your age when my father, Prince Mistivoi of the Wends, gave me to Harald to be his third wife. Oh, I was so scared to leave my beloved mother and travel to the North. Are you as scared as I was?”
Sigrid hesitated and remembered Olav’s words about Harald possibly supporting Styrbjörn’s claim to Svealand. Queen Tova’s kindness might be a smoke screen or an act.
“I long to become Erik’s bride,” Sigrid lied.
“He’s an impressive man and your connection is auspicious. You will be well received in Svealand.”
The wrinkles around her eyes deepened as Queen Tova smiled. She was no beauty, but her dignity had great charm.
“I was also beloved by the Danes when I got married, but then my father led the Wends in battle against the Saxons, and he went back to the old ways, our forefathers’ religion. Everyone turned against me because of my father’s actions, even my husband and the Danes. So many things are out of our control.”
Tova turned and looked at Harald, sitting in a throne at the far end of the hall, talking with three men. The king was upset, yelling and swearing at the men who were cowering before him. Powerful or not, he was an unappealing sight with an undignified way about him. The queen sighed quietly.
“My daughter Thyre inherited her father’s bad temper. You must pardon her for what she said to you. Personally I bear you no ill will, rather I offer you my warm friendship.”
Now Sigrid understood why the queen was being so nice to her, a simple chieftain’s daughter from the land of the Geats. She wanted to be allies and secure her support. Sigrid had become so powerful that the queen of the Danes and the Jutes was currying favor with her. The realization was staggering.
“I accept your friendship gladly and return it in kind,” Sigrid said.
“Nothing could please me more,” Queen Tova said, taking Sigrid’s arm.
Together they walked along the wall decorated with shields and burning candles.
“May you give your husband many sons. The homesickness gets better after the birth of your first child. It’s a big comfort.” Tova stopped in front of a cross that was hanging on the wall and waved her hand in front of her chest. Sigrid stiffened as discomfort seized her. For a brief moment she forgot where she was.
“Seek comfort in God and the holy virgin, beautiful Sigrid,” the queen said gently. “Only she can grant you peace and salvation.”
Sigrid eyed the frail queen with distaste.
Protect me, Vanadís. Don’t let her false speech entangle my mind.
“I seek my salvation elsewhere,” Sigrid said tersely.
Queen Tova nodded, as if she already knew that.
“I wouldn’t have expected otherwise of Erik’s bride, since Svealand still clings to the old ways. I pray God will guide you to renounce the false gods and seek salvation in Jesus Christ. Only He, and He alone, grants salvation. Don’t you know in your heart that His love is the way out of warfare, blood feuds, and death? Only God grants victories.”
The queen’s face filled with an unusual look of happiness that made Sigrid draw back in discomfort. That must have been the lone god’s spirit, speaking through the queen’s mouth. Behind her back, Sigrid made the sign to ward off evil.
“Everyone is entitled to their beliefs,” Sigrid replied.
“Wisely put,” the queen said, nodding in approval. “Now I know that if a man of God arrives in Svealand, the queen will protect his life, because everyone is entitled to his own belief. Will you give me your word on this?”
Sigrid clenched her teeth as the trap snapped shut. Did the queen think she was a simple, naive girl she could trick with a promise of friendship and some pretty words? She had no intention of being the plank that the men of God, like rats, used to come ashore in Svealand.
“Only my husband can make such a promise. In whatever he decides, I will support him faithfully.”
Such resolve wasn’t what the queen was expecting. Tova’s eyes grew serious, and she let go of Sigrid’s arm.
“I will pray for your soul’s salvation, my child.”
Sigrid couldn’t help but laugh.
“I will sacrifice to the gods for yours, Queen.”
At that moment the doors to the hall were thrown open and the guests streamed in. Apparently it was time to sit down at the table. The queen straightened her back and once again looked genteel and dignified.
“I’m glad we had this time together, and now I know that you’re not only beautiful but also clever. Tread cautiously. The cloak you will shoulder is heavier than you can imagine.”
Sigrid nodded politely and said, “It’s lucky that my shoulders are so strong.”
Even the thinly veiled threats of a queen would not scare her.
Emma looked up at the rising moon, just one night away from full. The chilly light tore at her body like claws and made her pace restlessly back and forth in front of Beyla’s tent.
The warriors had gathered around their fires to eat their suppers, and they were laughing and talking in the twilight. A somber voice sang a sad song about a beloved maiden who sought the peace of Rán’s watery embrace.
Emma greedily inhaled the rank scent of masculinity and blood. She could feel each of their warm bodies against her skin, sense each heartbeat. Kára demanded life force and needed to satiate her hu
nger.
“Give me more of that draft to drink,” Emma whispered to Beyla, who was sitting in front of her tent. “I’m being ripped apart.”
She wanted to hover over the ground again, light and worry-free, but Beyla shook her head and said, “I can’t give you any more today.”
Emma understood that she was being punished for her silence about the vision, but she couldn’t talk about it, not yet, not now when Kára’s hunger was so strong.
The hunger was so many times worse than when she was lying with Palna; like a bottomless cavern it expanded. Soon it would destroy her. She grabbed hold of the seeress’s hair, yanking her head backward so her throat was exposed.
“Give it to me!” she hissed.
But there was no fear in Beyla’s eyes as she gently loosened Emma’s grasp.
“It’s not my brew you need tonight. You can’t satisfy yourself in this camp. Everyone saw how pale and feeble Palna was after you visited his tent. If you do the same thing to another of us, they will drive you away.”
Emma tore at her face with her fingernails, struggling to gain control of the dís. Don’t do it. Don’t do it.
“Foolish old woman, you are nothing to me,” Emma said.
“Hunt further afield tonight,” Beyla said calmly.
Emma looked out at the lights glowing in the harbor. Without a word she set off running.
The benches by the market’s mead barrels were full of men drinking and talking loudly together. Young girls scurried back and forth with tankards and dishes. A dark-haired wench sat on a warrior’s lap and playfully tugged on his beard while the host watched them both closely. Emma’s prey needed to have the right scent; nothing else would do. She ambled slowly past the benches and pretended not to notice the men’s catcalls.
“Come sit by me, honey.”
“Show us what you’ve got under your gown.”
“Look at her eyes—she’s crazy.”
“Those are the best ones.”
There was no one to pick up in this hall. Irritably she continued onward, stopping to look into the alleyway between two buildings. A man was standing in the alley, moaning as he drove his manhood into a woman with her gown pulled up. He wasn’t the right one either.
Disappointed, she proceeded to the other side of the market square, where there were more men howling in the evening air. A young man with a brown beard was standing by a table talking with several men. Without hesitation, she walked up to him and stood so close that her body touched his.
“Follow me,” she said.
He took a step back while his buddies laughed.
“Get out of here, I’m not paying,” he said.
“I’m not looking for money,” she said, grabbing ahold of his thigh. “I need you.”
The man hesitated, but just for an instant, before he set his mead down on the table with a smile.
“Well, in that case I’ll be happy to accommodate you.”
“I have a relative in Svealand whom I swore I’d visit. Perhaps while I’m up there, you’ll offer me a meal in your hall,” Olav yelled across the table to make himself heard over the pipers and lute players.
Sigrid put down the cup of wine she had been drinking, feeling a little ill. This was the third time the drunken Olav had brought this up.
“You’ll always be welcome in my hall, Olav of Gardarik,” she told him again, but he’d already turned away and was following a busty servant girl with his eyes.
She should have been more than honored to get to sit at the king’s table and dine in his hall. But the meal was lasting forever, and everyone was bellowing around her. She could hardly sit still, feeling anxious to know what the next day would reveal. She snuck a glance at Sweyn, who was sitting farther down the table.
He said something to the warrior next to him, and they laughed together. Then he leaned over his plate and their eyes met yet again. The pipers began a new song, and a man started clapping, and soon everyone was clapping in time. Sigrid couldn’t help but smile at Sweyn. Immediately he looked down at his plate as if she didn’t exist.
“Don’t encourage him,” Ulf said. “You’re acting like a bitch in heat.” He was so drunk he slurred his words.
“Mind your own business,” Sigrid said with a snort.
Ulf had been going on and on about his long-lost Ingeborg all night, and she didn’t want to hear any more.
“I know more about this than you do,” he said.
His elbow slipped as he tried to support himself, and he almost spilled his wine. Not that it would have been very noticeable, because the table was covered with pools of wine and mead and piles of chewed bones in between the dishes of boiled meat and vegetables.
“More about looking like a fool? Yes, you’re right about that, my brother.”
She’d already had too much, but Sigrid made a face and drank the acidic wine thirstily. The sight of the dish full of gray cooked meat turned her stomach, and the heat in the room suddenly became insufferable even though the doors were open to let in the cool night air.
An older woman a little ways away stood up and left the table. Sigrid gulped as the nausea lurched within her.
“I’m going to follow her out,” Sigrid said.
Ulf prepared to keep her company.
“You stay here. The lady is more suitable company for what I need to do,” Sigrid said and left the bench without waiting for Ulf’s response.
The wine made the floor sway under her feet as she walked along the length of the table and hurried out into the moonlit courtyard. The woman she’d followed was gone. The only people around were two guards talking to each other a bit in the distance.
Sigrid took a deep breath of the refreshing air and looked up at the moon. A woman giggled in the darkness at a man’s urgent voice. Groans of pleasure could be heard from the trees. Apparently celebrations had already begun for the summer festival.
Sigrid swallowed and felt the nausea come over her. With her hand over her mouth she ran into the darkness, doubled over, and retched.
“It’s true, King Harald was out of his mind with drink when he drove the guests from his table, screaming that he would castrate them all,” said Ingolf, who had just sat down at the table after having been away for a good, long while. “Styrbjörn the Strong of Trelleborg saw it with his own eyes and told us about it while we were pissing.”
Sweyn looked at Harald with distaste. The king was half-asleep in his high seat, his mouth hanging open.
“With a lack of honor like that, he’s an embarrassment to all Danes,” Sweyn said.
Ingolf drained his cup and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand before he responded in a low voice, “That’s why we need a strong king.”
The ship captains looked at Sweyn and nodded their agreement and then continued teasing Gunnar, who had split his pants earlier that day.
“Seeing your ass through your breeches was worse than being hagridden,” Torstein said, and everyone started laughing.
Sweyn silently drank his mead. He couldn’t laugh with the others. Instead he stole yet another furtive glance at Sigrid, who was sitting farther up the table with Olav from Gardarik. Whenever they leaned toward each other intimately, he felt a stab in his chest. Damn it all. His desire for her was a hunger in his body. He’d never cared about any woman like this before. Even women he’d had sex with he rarely gave any more than a fleeting thought.
She must have bewitched him and cast a love spell on him that made his heart heavy. That was the only reasonable explanation.
Sweyn emptied his goblet and held it up so the servant would refill it. Sigrid turned to look at him and grinned at his torment. Damn that bitch.
“She’s a witch,” he grunted.
Åke looked at him with a furrowed brow and said, “How can you even think about her when all this is within reach?”
Sweyn bit his teeth together so hard that his jaws ached. Did Åke think he was drawn to her of his own free will?
“I don�
��t want anything to do with her,” he said, “and will force her to break the spell she put on me.”
At that moment Sigrid stood up and walked toward the doors. Temptress or magic spell, he would make the bitch heal the damage she’d done. He put his hands on the table and pushed himself to his feet.
“Don’t bring shame on yourself or your brothers,” Gunnar said in a sharp voice. “Remember our code.”
“I’m just going for a piss. There’s no shame in that,” Sweyn muttered.
The courtyard was empty, apart from the guards. There was no sign of Sigrid anywhere. She had probably sauntered off to bed, satisfied at having teased him. Incensed, he walked around the corner and stopped short. Sigrid was doubled over in the courtyard, vomiting like a cat.
“Go away,” she sobbed when she spotted him. Then she retched again.
Sweyn’s annoyance evaporated as if by magic. He started to back away but paused. If it had been one of his brothers-in-arms, he would have roared with laughter and kicked him in the ass, but this was something else. Sigrid was draped loose limbed over a fence and could hardly hold herself up.
There was only one thing to do. Sweyn strode over to her, took a firm hold around her waist, and held her up while he pushed aside the hair that had fallen over her face. She retched again, but her stomach was empty.
“Let go of me,” she whimpered.
“Don’t worry,” he said, the tenderness he felt at her pitiable state practically suffocating him.
Her warm body trembled in his arms. Her waist was suspended in his hand; her back pressed against his chest; her thigh rubbed against his prick. Damn it. Too late, feeling himself harden, he quickly turned to the side. Palna would beat him senseless if he found out about this.
Sweyn cleared his throat, embarrassed, and asked, “Are you . . . better?”
Sigrid got up and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, avoiding looking him in the eye.
“Water,” she croaked.
There was a water trough a few steps away and Sweyn led her over there.
“Will that do?”
She washed off her face and rinsed out her mouth, then ceremoniously dried herself off with her cloak. Damned woman. Fresh from vomiting, she was still beautiful. Her hair looked like it had been spun out of moonlight, and her lips were blood red in the evening light.
The Unbroken Line of the Moon Page 15