“Your god has served us well.”
Valdemar nodded contentedly. Several of the chieftains who had come to fight on their side were Christian, and Valdemar had urged him to show that he respected both the new and the old ways. As long as they were fighting for Sweyn, why should their religion matter? After all, he knew which gods were in charge.
The shouts of hurrah echoed as he proceeded through the camp. Sweyn knelt down by a young man who lay wounded on the ground. His shoulder was bleeding, and he was shivering and feverish, pale and in sorry shape.
“I see that you fought well,” Sweyn said.
“I killed two men and drew the blood of a third with my ax,” the warrior replied, gray in the face from fever. “But I was too slow with my shield and now here I lie.”
“Bear these battle wounds with honor,” Sweyn said and stood up. “I thank you for your courage and grant you relief.”
He nodded to Palna who immediately gave orders for the wounded man to be picked up. Beyla would attend to his wounds, and then there was a good chance he would live to see tomorrow.
Sweyn walked on, greeting warriors, inquiring about their wounds, and praising their courage. After every battle he had made these rounds, acknowledged each and every one of those who had been killed. He had learned from Palna when he was a child that nothing gives warriors as much strength as loyalty to their leader. He took care to conceal his own weariness.
Only when he reached his own tent was he able to wash his hands clean of the blood and mud in the bowl that Ragnvald hurried over with. The boy handed him a towel and followed Sweyn when he went into the tent and took off his sword.
“What else would you like, my king?”
Sweyn dismissed him with a gesture and sat down heavily on his bed. His muscles ached with fatigue, but the victory, the somber celebrations, burned in his blood and filled him with a strength he’d never imagined. Thor must have put his magical power belt, Megingjörð, around his waist because he hardly needed to sleep or eat and still did not feel tired.
Sweyn stared vacantly at the tent wall, where he saw the dead bellowing in horror. The jarls’ sons, some of them no more than children, screamed through their charred mouths as the glowing coals made their bellies boil. He saw women with torn faces, slain enemies, Harald’s thanes with their bellies sliced open. They all screamed day and night from the afterworld, lost souls that thronged around him no matter where he went.
Sweyn turned away in disgust. They couldn’t hurt him. He had been chosen by the gods and had made the sacrifices they demanded. Victory was all that mattered.
The tent flap fluttered, and with relief he noted it was Åke coming in with a drinking horn in his hand.
“Eskil Hardrade is having trouble with the Jutes again. I sent Ax-Wolf to mediate.”
Sweyn nodded. He accepted the mead and emptied the horn in one go. Instantly the cries of the dead faded a bit.
“Magne Toke, a chieftain from the border with the Geats, has arrived to swear his allegiance to you,” Åke said, shaking his head in awe. “They’re coming from every direction, bringing you gifts and paying tribute to you like you were a god.”
Behind Åke stood the pale shadows of former comrades: Eyvind, who had fallen at the battle in Lund, and other warriors, whose names Sweyn no longer even remembered. They had been so full of courage and vitality, and now they stood side by side, row after row, following his feats from the afterworld.
Sweyn clenched his fist.
“Chieftains are afraid of not being on good terms with the victor and thereby missing out on the favors he can dole out. I speak fairly to my men, promise them glory and the freedom their ancestors had of thought and belief, and they swear their allegiance to me, but the day I lose they will immediately crawl to Harald, groveling for mercy.”
Their fawning disgusted Sweyn. He could only trust the ones who had been on his side from the beginning.
“You will never be defeated,” Åke said earnestly.
At his feet lay the memory of the young maiden from Eklunda, the one with the curly blond hair. The blood gushed from her mouth, and her body shuddered in the throes of death.
The valkyries’ triumphant shrieks drove away the shadows and filled him with their dark intoxication. He had been chosen by Thor. The ruler of Thruthvang wandered at his side, and he had to show that he was worthy.
“I swear I will rule over the largest kingdom Scandinavia has ever seen. All of the land from Thule in the north to Rome in the south, from the land of the Rus in the east to England in the west will be mine.”
Sweyn smiled at his own clenched fist. Like the names of Alexander the Great, Caesar, and Gorm the Old, his own name would echo through the ages. Only the most ruthless could take what they wanted, and Sweyn was one of them.
“When the Jelling throne is mine, I will make friends with Erik of Svealand. They say he has sisters. I’ll take one of them as my wife. The kingdom of Valhalla will be unified.”
Åke looked at him in surprise.
“Then you really have forgotten Sigrid Tostedotter.”
Sweyn smiled bitterly as he pictured her smiling, reaching out her hand to caress his cheek. He was grateful for that bitch’s treachery because he achieved his full power only after he had given up on her.
“She’s not important,” he said, a jab of pain tearing at his chest.
The valkyries’ dark power grew in strength until a firestorm raced through Sweyn, burning souls and memories to ash. There was only the present. He got up and looked at Åke.
“Neither she nor anyone else can stop me from taking what I want.”
“Are you ready?” Ulf asked.
Sigrid ran her hand over the babies’ downy heads one last time, feeling their warmth. The little ones lay close together. They only slept peacefully when they were close to each other, as if brother and sister found solace and safety in their togetherness. Sigrid, too, had found support from her own brother during the dark months that Erik had been away.
The day after he won at Fýrisvellir and tried to murder the babies and her, he left Kungsgården. The Svea chieftains who had turned their backs on Erik were going to pay dearly for their betrayal, she had learned, and there was no doubt that she, too, would meet her destiny. All summer she had feared the king’s return as ill will around her grew. Crazy rumors abounded. For instance, that she was sleeping with her brother and that the children were really his. The same people who had once thought so highly of her and asked for her blessing now whispered that she had murdered her own innocent kinswomen and was secretly aligned with Harald Bluetooth. Others swore they had seen her praying to a cross and insisted that she was actually Christian. Sigrid had struggled against the lies that were being spread, but none of the friendship she’d known before remained. One by one they turned their backs on her, even the priestesses at the temple. Of all the betrayals, there was nothing that stung more than the priestesses turning away from her. They knew that no one was a more dedicated servant of Our Lady Freya than she was, but it didn’t matter.
Worried that it might put them on Erik’s bad side, no one dared get close to her. They were spineless, false, and useless. Even Haldis eyed her with suspicion. Wherever she turned, she was met with a chilly silence.
It took its toll on her. Every night she watched over her children, certain that someone was going to try to kill them. She jumped anxiously at every sound, and she could scarcely eat. Without Ulf and the Scylfings she would have lost her mind in her loneliness.
Blood really was thicker than water.
Sigrid caressed the babies one last time.
Please let me return to my children with my life intact, I pray you.
Yesterday she had received word that the king was coming back to hold her accountable. Her hands trembled as she secured her cloak with a pin. Before the day was over she might be wandering at her mother’s side in Niflheim, but she would do everything she possibly could to make sure that didn’t happen.
Sigrid nodded to the Scylfing warriors guarding the cradle.
“Fight to the death for my babies,” she said, choking up.
She caught just a glimpse of pity in their expressions before they nodded deferentially. With Ulf at her side, she walked, head held high, toward the hall where her husband and judge awaited.
“This isn’t over,” her brother whispered, but she could tell he was worried.
Sigrid forced a smile but wasn’t able to reply.
All I can do is ask for your protection.
Erik turned his head away in disgust when she entered the hall. Axel and Orm stood beside him, as did Ergil, the family’s ealdorman, who listened to everything but rarely spoke. The three priests stood by the fireplace, their expressions unreadable. Haldis and Solveig were also there, and there was no kindness to be discerned in their faces.
So these nine would decide if she lived or died.
“I can’t look at that abomination,” Erik muttered.
A welcome iciness filled Sigrid at the sight of her husband. He had her to thank for his victory over Styrbjörn. She had selflessly sacrificed her own happiness even though he had wanted to take her life twice, once with the dagger in the bedchamber, the second time with the slave he sent to her room. On this third attempt, he was determined to see it done no matter what.
Axel stepped forward, and she saw that even he had turned away from her. There was neither kindness nor understanding in his expression as he began to speak.
“Sigrid Tostedotter, you are accused of having maliciously induced the ruler of Svealand to proclaim your bastard child the king of Svealand, a crime so shameful it is punishable by death.”
So it was decided. She was to die. The fear in her chest gave way to grayish-black emptiness. They knew the truth, and she was going to have to pay with her life for following the will of the goddess. She had sacrificed everything for nothing.
Sigrid raised her head and looked at each person in the hall. All that remained was for her to fight to the death, like the Scylfing she was. She would fight bravely for her children, and then go under.
“Lies have been spread about me since I came to Svealand. Unfounded rumors spread by jealous enemies have been repeated so often they’re taken as the truth.”
Haldis and the men watched her in disgust. She spoke the truth and they heard lies, convinced as they were of her guilt. They were loyal to Erik, and she was being sacrificed just as she herself had sacrificed Jorun.
Sigrid took a breath.
“These rumors are a crime against our king and against Valhalla. Arngrim, our revered priest, would never have proclaimed Olaf king when he was in my womb if he wasn’t Erik’s son. Odin, the wisest of the gods, would have objected if the blood of Erik’s family line were not strong in the child.”
With relief Sigrid saw a shadow of concern come over Arngrim’s face. When Erik had changed his loyalty from Thor to Odin, Arngrim lost his prominent status to Odin’s priest. Arngrim couldn’t deny the power of Odin without denying Odin’s priest.
“A witch can twist the most powerful men through delusion and wickedness,” said Frey’s priest.
Arngrim nodded seriously. “The child I crowned in your womb was Olaf. The ones lying in the cradle are changelings. Twins are a sign of evil. Only the All-Father knows what you did to Erik’s true son. Your maidservant could have sacrificed the child to the darkness you poisoned Svealand with, before taking her own life.”
Sigrid hid her rage as the priests prevented her from escaping the accusations. They were spineless, with their twisted minds. They couldn’t wait to see her hanged. The hall reeked with their desire.
Is this the Valhalla you got me to sacrifice everything for?
Sigrid turned to Erik.
“Erik, hear my oath. The children are yours. All I’ve ever wanted is to serve you and help you to victory.”
He looked at her for the first time since she had entered the room. The king had become emaciated during his absence, and his beard was sprinkled with gray.
“How dare you claim any part of your king’s victory?” he said. “How can you claim the victory that good men fought and died for? You’re insane, woman, a giantess in a human body, spreading lies and poison.”
“You’re talking about my sister,” Ulf said calmly.
“I no longer believe a word of what the Scylfings say,” Erik said, putting his hand on his carved throne.
Ulf’s face darkened. This was a declaration of war against his family, the spark that would cause the war between their two peoples to reignite.
Sigrid’s hand trembled as she adjusted the hood over her hair and prepared to tell the truth about what had happened.
“I sent my servant to the Jómsvíkings with a message. I beseeched them to leave the battle, in the name of Vanadís, and they obeyed me, which gave you the victory. I did all of this for you, my beloved and highly esteemed husband. I willingly serve you and Svealand in everything, and nothing pains me more than to see you angry.”
Doubt was etched deeply on the faces of those listening. They didn’t believe a word she said, but Erik laughed and turned to Axel, who stood with his arms crossed in front of his chest.
“Now she talks as if she were a man. If the Jómsvíkings listened to you, that proves that you slept with them. Jorun was right. You killed her because you were afraid she would spread the truth.”
He waved his hand, dismissing Sigrid as if she didn’t exist.
“Take the bitch away and hang her.”
Suddenly the fear clutched her. She should never have persuaded the Jómsvíkings to leave the battle. She should have let Styrbjörn win. Of all the mistakes she had made, the worst was that she had given Erik more power.
There was only one way out of this.
“I know how you can become the greatest of kings in Scandinavia,” she said.
Erik leaned back in his throne.
“You’ve said enough. Your life is used up.”
“Wait,” ealdorman Ergil said quietly to Erik. “I want to hear what she has to say.”
Sigrid looked at the shriveled old man in surprise. She had never heard him say anything in all her time here, and yet he was the one who spoke up for her cause. Sigrid took a breath.
“Repudiate me,” she said.
The words silenced the room as they stared at her in amazement.
“Repudiate me and let me return to Geatland in shame with the children. Then the peace between the Scylfings and the Svea will endure and remain strong. Let me rule Geatland for you in your son’s name, and I swear by Freya and my dead mother I will follow your will in everything. Repudiate me and take an Obotrite princess for your wife. Then Svealand will be protected in the east and west, and your kingdom will increase and become stronger.”
The silence that followed was oppressive. This was her last chance, the only thing that could save them. If Erik didn’t see it, then Axel, the most sensible of the Svea, ought to. Sigrid looked at her brother, who nodded encouragingly.
“If you find no likeness in Olaf when he’s seven years old, you can disown him. By that time you will have more sons and can choose another as king.”
Relieved, Sigrid saw a spark of interest in Erik’s eyes. This was a way out that preserved his honor intact. Svealand’s laws permitted Erik to have multiple wives, and if he followed her advice he would get to keep everything and lose nothing. Heartbeat after heartbeat dragged by while Sigrid waited.
“The idea is worth considering,” said Axel.
The other men backed him up, and even the priests nodded their assent.
Ulf put his hand on his sword and somberly said, “I speak for my family when I say that we will honor this. My father Toste has conquered Anund. Geatland is almost two times larger than it was when you married Sigrid, and you would rule over all this land. We Scylfings will honor Sigrid if she rules in your name. But if you kill her, each and every one of us will seek to avenge her death.”
> Sigrid held her breath as she watched those assembled. They had to accept the deal she and Ulf were offering them. It was too good to refuse.
“It is a worthy agreement,” Axel finally said to Erik. “You receive more than you give.”
The ealdorman nodded his agreement. Erik was half turned away from her, but she could still tell how angry he was. After an eternity he nodded slightly.
“The boy stays here. You can take the girl,” he said.
Sigrid clenched her fist. Never in this life or the next would he take her son.
“In the agreement between the Scylfings and the Svea, it says that Sigrid gets to keep the children until their seventh birthday, as is customary,” Ulf said calmly. “To refuse to let her keep Olaf is to break your oath.”
Erik took two steps toward the long table where the jugs of mead and dishes of food were laid out. Enraged, he swept everything onto the floor so the dishes shattered.
“She tricked me into proclaiming a bastard the king of Svealand!”
“If you can prove what you say, then do so here and now,” Ulf said, his hand on his sword hilt.
If Erik drew his sword, they would all die: Ulf, the children, and her. The Svea would attack the Geats, and the Scylfings back home would erupt again.
“Enough now!” roared Haldis, stepping out to the center of the room. “Our family honors its agreements.”
She scowled at Sigrid and Erik.
“Your animosity is poisoning both this household and the kingdom. I see you in the boy, Erik. He looks like you did when you came into this world. Quit denying him and make a deal that is favorable to us.”
Sigrid looked at Erik’s mother in astonishment. She had expected Haldis to fight hard for her son, not to be on her side. Haldis gave Erik a stern look, and he finally nodded.
“All right, until the boy is seven. But I want my own people there, a man who will let me know if the bitch doesn’t obey.”
Victory. Sigrid’s stomach ached with apprehension, and she hardly dared breathe as Erik and Ulf each drank from the treaty horn to conclude the deal. She was going to get to go home, with her children. The fearful nights were over. Haldis took the ornate horn with the silver fittings and drank before passing the horn to Sigrid. The mead was sweet in her mouth, but not as sweet as the relief.
The Unbroken Line of the Moon Page 37