“What happened to your foot?” Sweyn asked.
“Nothing,” the boy replied stoically.
His shoe leather was worn shiny and there was straw poking out of a big hole in one of his shoes.
“Don’t lie, boy,” Sweyn barked. “You won’t be any good with frostbitten feet. You need new shoes. Next time speak up.”
“Thank you, chieftain,” Ragnvald said, bowing his head.
“Get him some new wool clothes, too,” Sweyn told Åke as they watched Ragnvald hurry away after his buddies.
“The chest of silver is almost empty. Your and my share of the plunder from England has been gone for a long time. Only a little bit of what Ax-Wolf gave us remains.”
“Can we make it to the spring sacrifice?” Sweyn asked.
“Not even if the men do well with their trapping in the woods.”
The cost of keeping his own men was greater than Sweyn could have dreamt. Ships and crews gobbled up silver at a ridiculous pace, and everyone always wanted something from him. Life had been so much easier as one of Palna’s warriors.
“I’ll get more money. Buy what Ragnvald needs and don’t worry. In Svealand we’ll bring in a real haul, and then silver won’t be a concern anymore.”
It would have to be so, otherwise he was going to wind up in massive debt. But hungry wolves hunted best, and Sweyn would be victorious against the Svea. He had to believe that.
“You could borrow some from Father,” Åke said, teasing him.
Sweyn nodded. Palna would demand again that he marry his own sister, but even if Sweyn refused he would get the money. He was sure of that.
They walked through the tall gates and onto the main street where the market was in full swing. The ground was frozen, and the air was so clear and fresh that it bit at their faces. However, Jómsborg’s streets were filled with off-duty warriors and farmers who crowded the market stands. Most of the men were gathered around a dark-haired merchant from the North, who had an animal pelt covered with Thor hammers, crosses, sun crosses, and other amulets with foreign symbols on them honoring unknown gods. There was freedom of religion in Jómsborg. Palna was careful to see to that, and the merchant was doing good business.
“If we have the cash, we ought to gather around the mead barrel tonight,” Åke said, stopping in front of a stand and inspecting some sturdy leather shoes.
“We surely will,” Sweyn said, smiling at his brother.
It would be a good Yule, and everything would work out for the best. He didn’t even worry about Sigrid anymore. Whatever he’d felt must have simply been in his imagination.
“Master.” He turned and saw the house slave standing next to him, shivering with cold, her head bowed.
“Palna sent a messenger for you. You are to go to his house immediately.”
Sweyn and his brother exchanged glances. For once things were going as they should, so hopefully there was no mischief afoot.
Father’s hall was filled with strangers when Sweyn stepped into its warmth. As he walked over to the fire, he carefully inspected the faces, but he didn’t recognize any of them.
Palna stood with a nobleman with a gray beard and the eagle eye of a scarred warrior. His tunic was made of silk, and his wool cloak was trimmed with beaver fur. He was clearly a powerful man of great wealth. Sweyn bowed his head humbly.
“We’ve never met, but I’m Valdemar,” the man said in the voice of a commander. “I’ve come to assist you in the battle against King Harald, the dog who was once my brother.”
A bulge was visible in the vast surface of Sigrid’s enormous belly, as if the baby were trying to push his way to freedom right through the front of her body. Sigrid smiled and ran her hand over the stretched skin. The tenderness she felt took her breath away. My beautiful boy, my beloved son.
“Calm down, your time hasn’t come yet,” she chided him. Her words seemed to quiet him, because he settled down, and she was able to breathe freely again and go back to getting dressed.
“The Scylfing blood must be strong in him,” Alfhild said, helping her pull her dress over her head, the dress that had been restitched to fit her swelling body.
Her belly was so big that the women kept saying they’d never seen anything like it, that it seemed like she was carrying a whole mountain around.
“Well, Erik’s family aren’t really wallflowers either. That’s one thing I know all too well after carrying and giving birth to eleven of them,” Solveig said as she sat on the foot of Sigrid’s bed, sewing. She looked up and gave her daughter Fridborg, who had also started waiting on Sigrid, a knowing look. She got a smile in response.
“A lot of kicking means a healthy baby. That’s what my grandmother used to say,” said Sigrid, taking the cloak Emma held out to her and wrapping it around her shoulders. “I’m looking forward to showing the king how his son is thriving.”
Erik had returned in the middle of the night with his entire retinue after being away for months. Sigrid had been afraid he would visit her in her room and had lain in bed listening for his footsteps. Instead his men’s laughter had echoed through the hall until dawn. Now she could no longer put off the discussion she needed to have with Erik.
Ever since her mother had rescued her from the afterworld, she’d been thinking about how to protect herself and the baby from the unknown enemy who had almost put an end to her life. Now she’d found her answer, and she truly hoped Erik would welcome it.
But her words about visiting Erik had caused the women to stiffen and Alfhild to look away. Sigrid knew all too well who was missing and had an idea what she could expect. She buttoned her cloak and left her chamber with her head held high.
Both Axel and Orm were in the king’s retinue, who were eating breakfast when she went downstairs to the hall. They stood up right away and despite their fatigue, they greeted her with pleasure.
“Erik’s son will truly be born big and strong,” said Orm, looking admiringly at her belly.
“We received word of the evil deed that almost ended your life,” Axel said somberly. “I swear on my honor that the guilty party will be found and made to pay.”
Sigrid had no doubt he would keep his word.
“Where is my king?”
A shadow came over Axel’s face.
“The king is still resting and shouldn’t be disturbed,” Orm said quickly.
“Surely he’d like a visit from his queen after his long absence,” Sigrid said and smiled pleasantly at the men.
Axel stood up, gave her a pleading look, and said, “Wait, my queen. Let me fetch him.”
It was obvious that Erik wasn’t alone in bed, but Sigrid did not intend to allow them to stall her. Her errand was too important for that.
“I decide where I go in my own hall,” she said, climbing the stairs with difficulty.
She recognized the woman’s laugh she heard from inside the bedchamber right away. It was as she had thought. Sigrid opened the door without knocking.
Jorun lay naked on Erik’s bed, her legs spread and her hair a mess. She sat up, but her face was not filled with horror—more a triumphant gloat. Erik rolled off her and stared at Sigrid in astonishment.
“By Odin’s fist! Why, you’re as big as a boulder, wife!”
Sigrid looked at Jorun. Erik had sex with all the womenfolk. Still, she did not plan to tolerate her own kinswoman and maidservant willingly parting her legs for her husband. Jorun had finally gone too far. In silence she watched Jorun pull her dress on over her head with a smile and put her shoes on without any sense of urgency. Then Jorun nodded her head in parting to Erik, who leaned contentedly back in the bed, following her with his eyes as she left the room.
Sigrid did not speak until the door was closed.
“So, you’ve taken Jorun as your mistress?”
Erik laughed, unconcerned, and said, “Oh, she’ll never occupy that role. I just wanted her. Come have a seat, wife, so I can look at you.” He patted the bed with his hand. “You look like a swellin
g flower bud about to bloom.”
Sigrid remained standing, filled with contempt for her husband.
She had been chosen, had created a life, and had traveled into the afterworld and back. Three times people had tried to kill her, and still she had managed to stay alive. Erik had scarcely been wounded in battle, and in some ways he couldn’t measure up to her in strength. And yet she was forced to serve him as wife and queen. Sigrid swallowed. She had never wished more fervently that Sweyn would dispatch him to Niflheim.
“Did you receive the chieftains’ support?” she asked. It took all her self-control to keep her voice civil.
A shadow came over Erik’s face, and it was clear that things hadn’t gone as well as he’d wished.
“That’s none of your concern. Let me feel your breasts. They’re the biggest I’ve seen.”
Sigrid clenched her teeth. Her back ached, and the baby was moving, making her need to pee. Still, she had to let Erik do what he wanted.
“I know how you can unify more chieftains under your rule, husband.”
“I’m grateful for the success you’ve had here at home,” Erik said, giving her a disinterested look. “You’ve played the role I gave you splendidly, but that doesn’t mean the king is going to listen to advice from a Scylfing wife.”
Give me strength.
Sigrid tried in vain to halt the rage that erupted from her in a torrent. She’d put up with everything that this wretchedness had subjected her to, but now this was enough.
“Someone nearly murdered me and your son, and still you are thinking more about sleeping around than about protecting those nearest you.”
“Bridle your tongue, woman. You are speaking to your husband and king.”
“Who are you to call yourself king when you don’t even protect your unborn child?”
Erik leapt out of bed and reached her in only two steps.
“Now you will be silent!” he said so fiercely that spittle hit her face.
Sigrid smiled at his ridiculous rage.
“I can see why the chieftains are leaving you in the lurch. A wimp of a man who can’t defend his own farm can never protect a whole kingdom.”
Erik’s fist struck her on the cheek so hard that she almost fell. The pain reverberated through her head, burning through skin and skull. Sigrid stood up taller and calmly looked him in the eye.
“The truth hurts you so badly that you have to hit someone defenseless, you poor cockless creature.”
Erik’s face was bright red with rage when he raised his fist again. The veins in his face bulged, but Sigrid wasn’t afraid. Every blow showed what an unmanly wretch he was. With the cool of a frost giant, she looked him in the eye. They sized each other up in silence. Then Erik screamed out his rage, a loud, crazed howl, and then turned away.
Sigrid’s lips curled as she rubbed her hot cheek. Erik paced back and forth across the floor, still naked.
“Don’t you understand the burden I’m carrying to save Svealand, woman? Why won’t you support your husband?”
Had she done anything but that? Sigrid put her hand on her enormous belly. She had very little energy to listen to him whining about how heavy his cloak was. It was his turn to listen.
“Protect your son’s life,” she demanded. “Proclaim him king at the midwinter sacrifice while he is still in my womb. Then the dynasty of Erik has an heir even if you fall in battle. It will strengthen you as king and secure your son’s life.”
It was the wisest move Erik could make, yet his eyes were filled with scorn.
“Like a loose woman, you screwed a common Jómsvíking before you came to my bed. Now you want your bastard proclaimed king. It’d be hard to find anything more disloyal than this.”
This was bad. Sigrid bit her cheek. Now she understood why Erik showed her such contempt. If she wavered now, both she and the baby would die.
“That is a malicious lie and you know it,” she said calmly.
Erik’s laugh sounded like a growl.
“I do? I don’t remember any blood when we first lay together.”
“I do,” she lied, without breaking their staring contest.
Jorun must somehow have found out what happened and told Erik about the sacrifice. Her kinswoman’s treachery was greater than she’d thought. Sigrid took a deep breath and forced herself to keep her voice steady.
“Anyone spreading such lies about me is clearly serving Styrbjörn. Surely it’s the same person who poisoned your son and me. Are you planning to assist this spreader of lies or stamp out the enemy who advances Styrbjörn’s cause?”
Erik pulled his pants over to him from where he’d slung them on the floor. He put them on and reached for his dagger, which was on the clothing chest, and slowly pulled the blade out of the sheath.
“If I am right, my honor requires me to kill you.”
He really meant it. Erik’s eyes were vacant as he moved the blade through the air just in front of her throat and then down over her belly, gently, almost lovingly. Sweat trickled down Sigrid’s spine.
Turn his insanity around. Give him some of your rationality. Don’t leave me now, I pray you.
“A rumor that your queen is carrying another man’s son comes from Styrbjörn or disloyal Svea chieftains to taunt you,” she said. “Few will want to fight at your side, and you’ll lose everything you have. You will be remembered forever as the man who lost Svealand to the cross worshippers.”
Her voice almost broke when she saw the look in Erik’s eyes. He was teetering on the edge of madness, and if he fell, he would plunge the dagger into her.
Please don’t let him hurt my son. Take my life, but save my child.
In vain she held her hands over her belly.
Madness still in his eyes, Erik said, “I married you to secure the borders in the southwest and because I needed a son. I couldn’t have made a worse mistake, because your duplicity and bloated body make me sick. Fools might believe that you were chosen by Vanadís, but neither you nor the priests are fooling me with your Valhalla. It’s all empty pretense spun of air, serving false gods, made up by lying, greedy priests who covet sacrificial gifts.”
Sigrid flinched. Svealand’s king could not renounce the gods!
“Don’t blaspheme,” she pleaded.
Erik put the blade to her throat again: cold metal against skin and just one heartbeat from death.
“I hope you die in childbed and that my son survives. That would be the best.”
The baby kicked so hard that Sigrid could hardly stand upright. She felt the shivers coming.
Give me the strength to overcome this denier.
“You need both me and your son for the chieftains to want to fight Styrbjörn,” she whispered. “Proclaim the baby king at the midwinter sacrifice. Then the chieftains will willingly fight for you, and you will kill the lies. They will hail you as a manly king and not mock you as a weakling.”
“I would rather die than be fettered to you and your bastard.”
Sigrid closed her eyes. This was it. She was going to die here now by her own husband’s hand.
“The baby I carry is yours, your own flesh and blood. Do you trust a Scylfing maidservant of low birth, a foreigner, more than the daughter of a chieftain, your queen?”
The darting look he gave her confirmed Sigrid’s suspicion. Jorun was the one who had turned Erik against her.
“I have no reason not to believe her words,” he said, the blade trembling in his hands.
“Yes, you do, Erik,” said a calm, male voice.
Relief flooded through Sigrid. It was over. Thank you for protecting me from his insanity.
Axel had stepped unnoticed into the room, and he walked right up to the king without showing any concern.
“Leave us,” Erik ordered. “Without you I’d have been free of her.”
But Axel shook his head and said, “Without her you wouldn’t have a son to present or have the Scylfings on your side. Lower your dagger. Proclaim the baby king. Put your d
ynasty and Svealand before yourself.”
The true power behind the king was speaking.
Erik looked grim.
“How can you stand by her? She’s a foreigner. Her people killed your son. Have you forgotten that?”
Axel’s face remained completely calm.
“I’ll do anything for Svealand, as should you if you’re worthy of your throne.”
The look Axel gave Erik seemed to rein him in. Erik sat down on the bed, glaring at them in disgust.
“Is this going to lure the Fredes and Hågvard’s people to the battlefield?”
“I don’t know that for certain. But I do know that if you let the rumor spread that your queen is carrying a bastard, everyone will turn their backs on you.”
Erik clenched his fists so hard that his knuckles went white. He sat there in silence for a long time before he finally nodded.
“Then that’s what we’ll do,” he said, his voice choked with anger. “Damn you for binding me to this duplicitous woman.”
For the first time since he’d entered the room, Axel looked at Sigrid.
“It is decided,” he said.
Sigrid had won. The baby’s life was saved. She nodded briefly and walked calmly to the door so as not to show how frightened she had been by the king’s insanity. Only once her back was turned to them did she permit herself to smile.
“Indulge your husband,” Axel said. “Support him in his hour of difficulty.”
Sigrid turned around.
“Of course,” she replied. “I apologize for leaving you. I’m having some difficulties with my domestic staff that I need to attend to.”
She had won, but rumors were hard to quash. They spread like weeds, nourished by people’s ill will. The baby wouldn’t be safe for sure until Jorun’s poison was completely obliterated.
Axel bowed his head.
“It does you credit that you maintain control over your domestic staff. Don’t hesitate to ask my wife for help. She is quite skilled in this domain.”
They exchanged a look of mutual understanding, and Sigrid could not have felt any more grateful to Axel.
“I will do as you suggest,” she replied and was finally able to leave the king’s room.
The Unbroken Line of the Moon Page 30