Emma whimpered. She couldn’t tell about the incest and hurt Sigrid like that. That was a burden she had to carry herself.
“He who sullies my servant sullies me as well. You can’t keep quiet about this.” Sigrid looked Emma straight in the eye, compelling her to answer.
Shame poisoned every part of Emma’s body. Her belly ached. She felt sick. She had washed herself again and again and rubbed her skin with wet sand until it was covered in painful sores, but even the sea could not wash away the filthy thing that had happened. Emma whimpered again when Sigrid grabbed her arm, which was covered in bruises.
“I swear I’ll banish you if you don’t tell me who did this to you.”
Emma couldn’t imagine a worse fate.
“It was Toste and his men,” Emma whispered. She studied Sigrid’s face, looking for any sign of acknowledgment, but her face was a stiff mask in the dark. Emma was drowning in shame and despair. She’s going to banish me now, she thought. First Kára failed me, now Sigrid is going to turn her back on me. Please let me die soon, because I can’t live with this.
“Father will have to pay,” Sigrid finally said. “He does not have the right to violate my domestic staff.”
Emma started to cry in relief. She would get to stay. With the tears running down her cheeks, she curled up.
“There, there—dry your tears. Your wounds will heal.”
Emma gratefully closed her eyes as Sigrid stroked her hair. She was safe here with her and could tell the truth. She didn’t need to hide anything.
“It was incest,” Emma whispered.
Sigrid grabbed her chin and tilted Emma’s face to look in her eyes.
“What are you saying?”
“Toste raped my mother.” Emma gulped, forcing the words out. “He’s my father. That’s why I was chosen to carry the dís and serve you.”
She looked away, her tears stinging her wounds. May she die as soon as she’d done what Kára demanded. Then it would all finally be over.
A sister. Sigrid looked with disgust at Emma’s feeble sobs. Surely if she had Scylfing blood in her, she wouldn’t be crying like a slave. What a wretched protector—the girl couldn’t even protect herself and was complaining, loudly, about what had happened. Still, Father’s incest was hard to swallow. Sigrid squirmed uncomfortably. If Emma really was her sister, it was just as bad as if Father had forced himself on her. Just the thought of that turned her stomach.
Emma rocked back and forth, sobbing, her arms crossed over her belly. Her lips were cracked and swollen. Her face was full of bloody scrapes and bruises. They’d really been rough with her.
A sister, even if only a half sister. Sigrid bit her cheek. The one sister she had known had died before her first birthday.
Father’s mistress Åse had been forced to put two newborn daughters out in the woods, but the third one she was permitted to keep since she was beginning to get on in years. Father even adopted the girl so she wouldn’t have to be a slave. Sigrid had been pleased, because she was fond of Åse, and she’d been able to play with charming little Helga.
Blood ties were powerful, and Sigrid had felt a connection with Emma from the beginning. Emma carried the dís who came to protect Sigrid’s unborn son, and she did so at considerable cost to herself. The dís was eating away at Emma’s mind.
Did you give me a blood kinswoman? Is it the blood that makes her ready to sacrifice her life for me?
Sigrid’s head hurt. So many things were happening that it felt like she was tumbling down a hill, loose limbed, ricocheting and bouncing off boulders as she fell. Emma’s cracked lips trembled from crying, and she hung her head in misery. A sister.
Sigrid pulled Emma’s head onto her knee and stroked her hair. Emma’s hair was wet, but she felt warm in her lap.
“Why didn’t the dís protect you?”
“Kára failed me,” Emma whispered. “She didn’t come to save me as her vessel until I was dying, but then we put a curse on them.”
“A curse?” Sigrid’s hand stiffened midstroke. Toste was the chieftain of the Scylfings and her own flesh and blood.
“Freya made their pricks soft,” Emma whispered.
Sigrid sat in silence for a long while, struggling to stifle the laughter that was percolating through her like a playful spring brook, but soon it poured forth. She laughed at everything that had happened, at the great sorrows and burdens she and Emma were being forced to bear. She laughed until tears were streaming down her cheeks at the warriors’ limp cocks, Erik’s vanity about his manhood, the Sveas’ hatred of her, the approaching war, the fates of Sweyn and Emma. It was insanity from beginning to end.
Emma lifted her head and looked at her in surprise. Then Sigrid caught a glimpse of mirth in her eyes, too.
“Maybe I wasn’t the best choice for their diversion,” Emma said.
“You can say that again,” Sigrid said and then doubled over with laughter. Her stomach ached, and tears were pouring down her face. “Oh, Emma,” she finally said. “What kind of destiny have the Norns woven for us?”
Emma stiffened as a shadow came over her battered face. When she looked up at Sigrid, it was no longer the girl there. Coal-black eyes with splashes of silver stared vacantly at her.
“He’s here,” she said in the whining, unfamiliar voice of Kára. The next moment Kára was gone.
Emma swayed and fell down on the bed unconscious. Sigrid swallowed, consumed by tempestuous joy. She was pregnant.
Your greatest gift, Mistress of Folkvang, blesser of mothers.
Sigrid tenderly placed her hand on the warm skin of her belly, felt the germinating life that grew deep inside. It was her son. Soon she would hold him in her arms, close, and protect the little one until he reached his full strength and could conquer the world.
Sigrid curled up next to her sister, feeling her warmth. She needed her now more than ever.
Freya, I thank you for the ample gifts and the protection you give me, your descendant and servant. Our lady, give of your strength so that my words will be obeyed and these foreign people will show me high esteem. Help me to act justly so that I can sanctify the valuable gift you’ve given me.
Sigrid felt Freya’s strength fill her after she finished her prayer, and she smiled at Emma.
Emma’s swollen face was turning black and blue. She was half-unconscious from wound fever, and Jorun was having a hard time getting her to drink the decoction of boiled willow bark, lady’s mantle, elder, and masterwort that Haldis had given them.
“Rest,” Sigrid said gently to Emma. “Jorun will take care of you in the best way possible.”
Sigrid silenced Jorun with a look before she had a chance to protest. Jorun hadn’t even asked what had happened to the girl. Nor had she and Alfhild obeyed Sigrid and gone to look for Emma as instructed. They would pay for all of it.
“I’ll look after her, my queen,” Jorun said quietly.
“Yes, you will, and if she’s not better by tonight, I’m going to hold you responsible.”
The hall was almost entirely empty when Sigrid came downstairs. A slave woman bowed to her and then hurried away, surely to inform someone that Sigrid had left her chamber. Sigrid walked out into the courtyard, where she found what she was looking for.
Father was inspecting a horse along with Ulf and some other men. He was wearing an embroidered white linen tunic and a cloak trimmed with beaver fur, although it was a hot day. He had a new belt, embroidered with silver thread, around his waist, and his beard was combed and braided. Toste laughed merrily when the steed reared up on its hind legs and kicked its hooves. Then he spotted Sigrid and walked over to meet her, smiling.
“You slept long and well, my daughter,” he said, his eyes twinkling with mirth.
Sigrid hesitated. The rage she felt faded in the sunshine. He was her father, the chieftain of the Scylfings, and he had always treated her with the greatest respect. Toste had taught her everything a nobleman’s daughter needed to know and more. Still. Sigrid ran
her hand over her belly and remembered her obligation and her responsibility.
“Walk with me, Father,” she said.
Doubt briefly flickered in his eye, and then he nodded.
They left the courtyard and followed the path that wound through the foreign farm fields that undulated around them like a lush ocean. Sigrid stopped by a gate and inhaled the scent of soil and flowers.
“This kingdom I gave you is magnificent,” Toste said contentedly. “I kept my word.”
Sigrid looked at her father. She’d sat by many times as he mediated between farmers, and she shared his loathing of people who didn’t just come out and say what was at the heart of things.
“You injured something that belongs to me,” she said.
“You shouldn’t worry your head about things like that on a day like this,” Toste said, his eyes widening. “Your husband will hold a feast soon. You have to make yourself beautiful for him.”
The guilt was visible in his eyes, hidden beneath his cheery, friendly demeanor. There was no doubt about what he’d done: incest. Sigrid made a face of revulsion.
“Emma is my sister. When you raped her mother, you gave her Scylfing blood.”
“Daughter!” Toste said sharply. “Many people falsely claim they belong to our family. You should have the girl whipped for her lies.”
Sigrid shook her head. She had looked up to Toste her whole life, respected him in thought and deed. All of this crumbled when she saw him standing in the summer sun, an aging man wrapped up in expensive cloth but without honor.
If she hadn’t seen Kára in Emma’s eyes, maybe she wouldn’t have believed the girl, but Freya herself vouched for the truth of what Emma said, and not even Father could blaspheme against the goddess.
“I see your blood in Emma,” Sigrid maintained.
Toste shook his head. “Even if she is mine, she is still nothing, not even a mistress’s child. She’s worth less than my dogs. The gods give us our place in this world. She is a slave, and you are the queen of the Svea. Don’t bring calamity over us all by breaking the gods’ system of order.”
Sigrid smiled joylessly at Toste’s evasive words. She did not intend to let herself be deceived by his ploy.
“Emma is a seeress, a prophetess, and my sister. She serves me, and you injured my property.”
“Enough with your silliness,” Toste said with a laugh, pulling his hand over his beard. “The girl has been spreading her legs and enticing me since I first spotted her in Lejre. She got what she’s been so lewdly begging for, and there’s nothing wrong with that. She rode me with passion and pleasure, and if she says otherwise, she’s lying. You have my word and my honor on that, daughter.”
Sigrid’s decisiveness faltered. He spoke as if only his words were sensible. Then she put her hand on her belly and took strength from her child. Emma was more important to ensure protection for Sigrid’s son than Toste was. In choosing between Valhalla and her own family, she needed the strength to choose Vanadís.
“The gods punish incest harshly,” Sigrid said, looking between her father’s legs.
Only now did he look at her with apprehension.
“Don’t believe her lies. She’s an outsider, a slave. Do you give her words more weight than your own father’s?”
Sigrid sighed heavily. She would never get him to admit guilt, no matter what she said. But Toste had other weaknesses.
“You won’t have any more sons with the curse she put on you. I recommend you reimburse me amply for the damage you caused.” She left him to return to the hall.
“Stop, daughter!” he bellowed.
His words were like a whip crack on her back. Suddenly she was a little girl cowering from her father’s anger all over again. Then she stood up taller and turned around.
“I am the queen of Svealand, and as such I must be addressed with greater respect. I await your reimbursement for the incest.”
Sigrid left him standing by the meadow. She was carrying the child of Scandinavia’s greatest king in her womb, and she did not plan to let herself be bullied by anyone, not even her own father.
Sweyn carefully led the horse through Jómsborg’s open wooden gates and onto the main street. Mother clung on tight, unaccustomed to riding as she was, and bashfully accepted the greetings and congratulations she received from the warriors, housewives, and craftsmen they met. None of them looked unkindly upon her.
“See how they respect you?” he said, pride swelling in his chest.
His mother smiled meekly. She looked even paler now. In the daylight, her skin was almost gray. A messenger would have to be sent for Beyla. Surely she could give his mother her strength back.
Sweyn stopped outside the ship captains’ row and led her to the room that was now his. There were four sleeping benches, a hearth, a table, and a narrow bench for sitting.
“It’s very nice,” she said and sank down onto one of the sleeping benches.
“You’re sick,” he said solemnly.
She shook her head and said, “All I need is some rest.”
A knock made him turn around. Åke stood in the doorway with one of Palna’s slaves, a thin, young woman who politely averted her gaze.
“Father gives you this as a gift,” Åke announced.
Sweyn gave his brother a look of gratitude. He hadn’t had time to buy a slave, even though he really needed one. Every waking minute was taken up by all the commitments he had.
“Do the men have barracks to live in?”
“Yes, they’re waiting. Food and wood need to be procured, and we need to decide who will stay where.”
Sweyn squeezed his mother’s hand and stood up.
“Take good care of her, or I’ll whip you to death,” he told the slave.
“Yes, master,” the thin woman said and bowed deeply.
With one last worried glance at his mother, Sweyn left the room and followed Åke to his men.
Sigrid slowed down on the path when she saw her brother coming to meet her.
“Why this anger, sister?” Ulf said. “Are you in trouble so soon? If so, more awaits you in Kungsgården. Your presence is desired there.”
Sigrid breathed in with relief. She had never felt lonelier than when she turned her back on her own father. Ulf was her only brother.
“That can wait,” she said, sighing heavily. “I have something important to tell you. I have learned that we have a sister: Emma, my own maidservant.”
“Father’s mistresses have many children,” Ulf said with a shrug, unimpressed.
“Does he screw them, too, with his men and then beat them to a pulp?”
“Sigrid!” Ulf said quietly. His voice was both admonishing and somber.
“Were you in on the whole thing?” Sigrid spat out the words. That thought hadn’t even occurred to her until now, and it filled her with revulsion.
“No. Father’s escapades don’t tempt me.”
“So this wasn’t the first time?” Sigrid rubbed her hand over her forehead. Her head felt like it was splitting in two from everything going on—with Erik, the temple, the dís in the guise of Emma, her own uncertain position as queen of Svealand.
She sat down on a boulder.
“It’s what people do,” Ulf said.
“It’s incest,” she whispered.
Ulf sat down next to her and looked out over the village below Kungsgården. She could tell that behind his beard he was disgusted, and now she sensed his silent anger.
“Will she live?” he asked.
“I think so.”
He looked down at the ground and interlaced his fingers with a heavy sigh.
“Father is a good man, but he makes mistakes just like we all do. You’ve usually only seen what you wanted to see. You’ve always held him in such high regard.”
“It really opened my eyes when he married me off to Mama’s murderer,” she said with a snort. “And when he humped my sister and beat her half to death.”
She would never be able to stand
by her father again, never give him the benefit of the doubt.
“I’m far from home, and everyone wants to kill me. The Svea hate me, and to Erik I’m just a broodmare that he can’t impregnate quickly enough. Jorun and Alfhild defy me in everything.” She stood up and paced back and forth, despair raging in her chest. “My only comfort and strength is Emma, who’s possessed by the dís Freya sent to protect me. And now my sister is almost dead, half-fornicated to pieces by our own father. Is it any wonder I’m going crazy?”
Sigrid stopped and looked at her brother, her heart pounding.
“It could be worse,” he said.
“How could it possibly, in any reasonable way, be any worse than this?”
He held up his hands, laughed glumly, and said, “Yrsa was queen of Svealand when she was captured by Helge Halvdansson and they had a son together. When the child was three, Yrsa found out that Helge was her own father. And then Tok-Harald slit both the mother’s and the child’s throats because gnomes told him to. That’s the kind of stuff we do in our family.”
He was giving her such a gentle look that she couldn’t help but smile a little.
“You’re crazy,” she said. But she used a calmer tone and felt like laughing.
“No, not yet, I’m not,” he said with a shrug. “And you aren’t either, sister. You’ll rise to meet their expectations. You’re strong, and your faith will help you.”
Her brother’s words meant a lot to her. She ought to tell him about the baby she was carrying, how the dís had appeared to her and told her that her son was in her body.
“Father made a mistake, and whenever he does that he feels deep remorse and tries to pretend he’s innocent,” Ulf said. “He’ll reimburse you for the injuries he caused your maidservant.”
“Our sister,” she corrected him.
“No, she’ll never be our sister,” he said, noting the fierce look in her eye.
Their moment of closeness was over.
The deceit and the incest were wounds that would always gall her. If her father reimbursed her, she would forgive him. Even if Sigrid could never forget, she would be satisfied with that. Emma had cursed her father’s manhood, so he would surely pay quite a bit of silver to get that spell removed.
The Unbroken Line of the Moon Page 25