by Ceri Bladen
“Mayhap she lies with men if her husband doesn’t care enough to bed her?” Someone shouted from behind the crowd.
“Who would touch her?” Another replied.
“No one would pay coin to lie with that!”
Ubba let the heckling continue for a while before he held up his hand to silence the crowd. He wanted her to suffer but he was doing it his own way, slowly — taking her sheep and goats, one by one. Revenge on her, so far, had been child’s play. “Regardless whether she,” – he glanced up and down her dirty, torn clothes – “can make a living, servicing men,” – he ignored the laughter – “If any man or woman knows who is taking her stock, please step forward.” He sat back, confident that no one would. He watched Brynhild scan the crowd, her face reddening with annoyance. “There seems to be no leads, Brynhild Klaussen. Go back to your farm, and keep better watch on your flock.”
“But, Sire,” she spluttered.
He flicked his hand. “Enough, go.” When he saw her turn to leave, he motioned for the next tenant to come forward with his grievance. It wouldn’t take much more to break her.
Ubba stepped into the fading daylight and stretched, taking in a lungful of fresh air. A day sitting in counsel in a darkened, smoky longhouse didn’t always put him in a good mood. He knew what would — to see Rosfrith and his children — but he had another matter to attend to first. “Eirik, you may leave me for a while.”
Eirik raised his eyebrows, well aware how his Sire hated having someone watching over him, even on market day. Regardless, he knew Ubba could take care of himself. “I will meet you by the fire when it darkens.”
Ubba made his way past the bustle of the market, over to the blacksmith’s. “Góðan dag, Magnus Sindrison.” He nodded at the large blacksmith. “Góðan dag, Gunnar. May we speak?” He noticed Gunnar give an uneasy glance towards Magnus, before nodding at him. Their relationship had never been back on track since he’d chosen Rosfrith over Astrid. His former friend was wise to be cautious. “Come, let’s walk.” He waited until Gunnar fell in step beside him. “I have something to discuss with you.”
“Sire?”
“News came today from Skåne.”
Gunnar hesitated briefly. “News?”
“Ay. News. According to a missive that I received today, Skåne is under attack.” He stopped and turned just in time to see Gunnar whiten.
“Under attack? By whom?”
Ubba shrugged, but he knew who was doing it. He’d employed a couple of his brother’s mercenaries to disrupt Skåne. Sigurd Snake-in-the-Eye certainly knew men who would do anything for coin — and those who would die before saying who’d given them it. “I’m unsure, but they must have heard that Skåne’s chieftain has been absent for a long time. “
Gunnar pushed his hand over his face. “I must return. My wife…”
“Hopefully, you will get back before Skåne is captured and she is violated.” He knew nothing would happen to the women — he’d made sure the men knew they wouldn’t get paid if they overstepped the boundaries — but it would not do any harm for Gunnar to think otherwise. “Your children, too.” When Gunnar started to turn away, Ubba stopped him with a hand on his arm. “I think it would be best for your sister to return after everything is settled?”
“Astrid?” His eyebrows knitted together.
“Ay, Astrid.” He removed his hand.
“With Ragnar?”
Ubba shook his head. “Nay, he stays in Ranaricii with me.” He unconsciously widened his stance. “If you find all is well in Skåne, you will send for her. While you are gone, I will find a husband for her. She will be married straight away.” He watched confusion flick over Gunnar’s face. “To avoid gossip.” He placed a hand on Gunnar’s shoulder and put a serious look on his face. “I have noticed her taking a particular interest in one of my men. What is to happen if she is with child?” He left the question hanging in the air before stating, “I will not have my reputation and that of my son’s, sullied by her.” He noticed Gunnar tense at the insult, before he relaxed, letting out a large sigh.
“Fine, you have my permission to marry her off to your choice of man, and I will send for her to return to Skåne, once everything is calm.”
Ubba hid his smile. “So, you are handing over her protection and control of legal guardianship to me until she is married?”
Gunnar nodded. “Our father is dead, and I control her mundium, but I hand it over to you until she is wed.”
“Fine,” said Ubba holding out his hand to seal the promise. Whatever happened now, Gunnar would have no reason to seek retaliation against his choices. But he had exactly what he wanted — control over Astrid’s life and a less-than-suitable partner for her to wed.
“No, no, no.” Astrid’s voice started to rise with panic as she paced back and forth her small cottage.
“You have no choice, Astrid.” Ubba watched her face turn ashen.
“My brother won’t allow it.” She turned quickly, snapping at him.
“He gave me permission. He handed over your mundium.”
Astrid blinked rapidly.
Ubba waited a moment, before adding, “Before he returned to Skåne.” He detected her stiffen.
“He’s gone?” She shook her head in disbelief.
“Ay, he left first thing this morning. You are to married the day after tomorrow. It will be a small affair, as the man isn’t of wealth.” He heard her expel a pained breath. He knew it would devastate her to marry beneath her station. “You will leave here and reside with him until you leave for your brother’s home.”
“Leave for Skåne? To whom am I to marry?”
“I’m not sure if you know him? He is but a farmer, after all.”
“A farmer?”
Ubba noticed her voice become shrill as she tried to calm the trembling in her chin. He sensed it wasn’t trembling from fear anymore, but anger.
“How can I marry a farmer? You cannot make me marry a farmer. You cannot make me leave this cottage. I am the mother of your child, Ubba.”
“I can do whatever I want, Astrid. You were gifted this cottage while you were here with Ragnar, but as you are to be married…” His voice was carefully controlled.
“But, I was a good bedmate to you.” Her eyes narrowed with resentment when she realised he was not going to bend to her pleadings. She put her hands on her hips. “Remember, it was you who chose Rosfrith over me, not the other way around.”
“That has nothing to do with it. I have my loyal spies, here and in England.” He stood taller and pushed his chest out. “Don’t think I don’t know that your knife is in my back, Astrid.” He watched her colour drain when realisation hit her. “Don’t ever think that because I’ve not done anything about your betrayal, yet, I’m not dangerous. You know me well enough to know that I always look for revenge. The only thing that is stopping me from killing you, is our child, but forsake me again…”
Once she recovered from the discovery, she stuttered, “But that was such a long time ago, and you are happy with Rosfrith. Can’t we just forget my silly mistake?”
“I don’t think you can call it a silly mistake. I am happy, but you caused Rosfrith too much torment for me to forgive. You will be hearing from me, tomorrow.” He turned to leave before he stopped and looked over his shoulder. “And from now on, Ragnar will stay with me in the longhouse.”
He left her standing, open-mouthed.
Late summer – 877
Sweat coated Ubba’s brow. He leaned forward to kiss Rosfrith’s head as she lay in the crook of his arm. “Ek ann þér.”
She turned her face towards him and gave him a tight smile. “I love you, too.”
His brows knitted in confusion at the gloomy tone of her voice. He trailed his finger along her cheekbone and down to her lips. “Why so sad, my love? Did you not enjoy our lovemaking?” He felt her shake her head when she looked away from him.
“Nay, it’s not that.” She started to fidget with the hairs on his ch
est.
He tightened his hold on her. He knew her well enough to know there was a problem. “Tell me, Rosfrith.”
“Ubba, it is time to go. Before the winter months set in,” she lowered her voice as she made the admission. She felt and heard his deep shuddering breath.
He knew what she meant and felt his insides sink. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to go to Briton to find his children — if they were still alive — but the journey could cost either one of their lives.
Since they’d returned to Ranaricii, he’d had scouts across Briton keeping a look out for them. From what he could make out, Briton was in a turbulent transition — the Vikings losing as many battles as they won. He had information which confirmed Bard Klaussen was with Guthrum, but he didn’t know for sure if his twins were there, too. The most recent information he had was that Guthrum’s army had moved on to Cambridge, then Wareham, where they raided and eventually occupied a fortified position. He had no idea where they were now. “Are you sure you want to leave Ranaricii and our children to go back across the seas?” He sounded almost angry, his frustration and fear were so great.
Rosfrith looked up at him. “I have been preparing and gaining my strength for this moment since you brought me home from East Angles.”
Ubba’s his arm tightened around her. “All right, wife I will start the preparations for our absence.” He leaned down to kiss her lips. He intended on a light peck, but it quickly turned into a hard kiss of desire. This was one way he knew how to show her his utter devotion to her. He rolled on top, and pinned her down, swallowing her sigh.
Ubba stared up at the ceiling with his arms crossed behind his head. Rosfrith’s head lay on his chest, her leg thrown across his.
“Who will you put in charge when we leave?”
Ubba didn’t need to think. “Eirik Ulfsson”
“A good choice, although wouldn’t he be better coming with us? He knows the land of Briton, after all.”
Ubba was quiet for a while before he shook his head. He removed a hand to trail down Rosfrith’s arm. “Nay. I need someone here that I can count on. I cannot trust that Gunnar or another chieftain won’t take a fancy to our lands while we are away and try to take it by force. If Eirik and Asmund are here, our home and family will be safer.” He felt Rosfrith stiffen.
“May I ask you something?” She picked at the hairs on his chest.
“Of course, my love, anything.” He noticed her eyebrows furrow before releasing. She was worried about what she was about to ask.
“What is the problem with Gunnar? Why did he suddenly return to Skåne? Even after the run in about Astrid, haven’t you been friends for many winters?”
His hand gently gripped her forearm, silencing her wandering hand. His lips pressed together in a grimace. He didn’t want to lie to his wife, but he didn’t want her involved with his plots of revenge. Her heart was too soft for what he had to do. She didn’t even know about Astrid’s part, and for the moment, that suited him. With a heaviness, he lied. “His wife, Hallgerar, was ill, so he returned.”
“Oh.”
“Astrid will return to her homeland, too, after she is wed. To help her brother’s family.”
Rosfrith moved up onto her elbow. A frown creased her forehead. “Married? To whom?”
He shrugged. “Someone she loves.”
“What about Ragnar.”
“He stays with us.”
“Astrid won’t like that.”
“Astrid has no choice in the matter. A child stays with the father. Besides, she is not of mothering material. She hands the child to Hilde whenever she can.”
Rosfrith lay back down and let out a small sigh. “You are speaking the truth, Ubba.”
He patted her arm. “No more talk about the Hamundarson family. They are no concern of ours. Their lives are in Skåne, not Ranaricii.”
Chapter 5
Ærra Geola (December) 877 - Dunwich Fortress
“Cate! Cate!” Bryan threw down his soft shoe in the doorway he was hollering from. He shouted again. “Cate, come here now!” Where is that servant when I need her? He turned and strode back into his bedchamber, pulling at his undershirt.
“Ay, Lord?”
He raised his eyebrows when she entered. She looked flushed with her dash, and clearly out of breath. “Come, you must help me dress for church.”
“But…”
Bryan let out a large, annoyed sigh. “I know you don’t help me to dress, but my servant is taking his Yule break. Damn King Alfred and his silly two-week holiday law. No one is around until the twelfth night. How is that law a help to someone like me?” He suddenly stopped pulling at his sleeve and turned, his eyes narrowing on Cate. “Actually, why are you here, not off somewhere, fasting with the rest of them?”
She looked away. “I have no family, Lord, so have no use of the holiday.”
“Oh.” He waved her forward. “Good, you can tend to me for the next couple of weeks then.”
“What about your father?”
His jaw clenched, and a tic played on his jaw. “He. Is. Not. My. Father.”
“I’m sorry, Lord. I mean…”
He rubbed his brow to ward off his mounting headache. “You are only to call that man my father if there are others around. When we are alone, he is to be referred to his real name, Gifre. Is that clear?”
“Ay, Lord.”
He briefly clenched his hands, trying to hide his annoyance. “How is that man doing?”
Cate hesitated. “He is… he is finding it easy to pretend to be your father, Lord.”
Bryan raised his eyebrows. “Enjoying the extra food, no doubt.”
She nodded and looked to the floor.
His eyes narrowed with interest. She was jumpy and biting her lip. “What is it? Speak, what is the problem, Cate?”
“At times, he is eager to leave the room, Lord.”
“He cannot!” His face reddened as heat flushed through his body. “No one must see him.”
“I know that, Lord. You made it clear. But he asks to leave to…”
He glared at her. “To what?” He noticed Cate look at the floor, embarrassed.
“To have physical relations,” she stuttered out.
“What? Have relations? He’s about ninety winters. Why does he need physical relations at his time of life? Shouldn’t he be concentrating on breathing, not coupling?”
Cate stayed quiet.
After his anger subsided, he moved in a circle to think, silencing Cate whenever she tried to speak. His lips pressed together. He had come up with a plan. “You.” He turned to stare at Cate. “You,” he repeated.
“Me?” She blinked at him, unsure of what was happening. She brought her shaky hand up to her forehead.
“Ay, you. You will take care of the old man’s needs.”
“I can’t do that, Lord. You can’t ask that of me,” she pleaded, stepping forward to grab his hand for mercy.
Bryan backed away, his lips curling back in disgust. “You have told me you have no family to run to. If you don’t follow my wishes and I push you out, you will have nothing. Then,” – he looked at his nails – “then, it will matter not how many men you have to service. It will be your own job.”
The colour drained out of her face. Her shoulders dropped and she clutched her arms over her stomach. “You can’t ask me to do it, Lord.”
Bryan turned away from her and flicked his hand through the air. “Go, and make a decision, Cate.”
Bryan walked down the church path. The ringing bells, which indicated the winter solstice, were giving him a headache, but he was in a good mood. He had a feeling the next year was going to be a decent one for him. The harvest had indeed been plentiful, the coffers were full of coin, Cate had agreed to entertain that old impostor, Gifre, and his sister and that barbarian husband of hers were still a long way off in Ranaricii, thinking that the ledgers he was sending them were accurate. They had no idea of the profits he was skimming off. He quickened his ste
p. Ay, this new year was going to be a good one, indeed - even if it started with one of his rare appearances inside a church.
Bryan half-listened to the minister drone on about the birth of Christ.
“Then it happened, while they were lodging in the town of Bethlehem. Her time came to give birth. Mary gave birth to her first-born son. She wrapped him in baby-clothes and laid the child in the asses’ manger because there was no room at the inn…”
He’d heard the tale so many times, he shut most of the sermon out. He had more important things to think of — like who was going to cook and serve his food? Once again, he cursed King Alfred and his stepmother, Judith, for bringing in such a ridiculous law. Especially as it seemed to favour the lower class.
The minister’s words interrupted his thoughts. “We hope that the simple folk, on seeing that their Pagan temples are not being destroyed, may abandon their error in their Pagan ways, and flock to the true house of the Lord and come to know and adore the true God.”
This time, when he caught the words, he had to stifle a grin. He was only showing his face in the church because he was the Lord of Dunwich, but he would prefer to be celebrating with some of his tenants who were still Pagans. They were, no doubt, in the woods celebrating Mōdraniht — Mother’s Night. It was a celebration linked to the rebirth of Mother Earth and to ensure fertility, so Bryan was sure there would be plenty of copulation going on within the shadows. He felt his blood heat. He would wander over after this tedious sermon was over.
Uninterested, he started to fidget. He knew it wasn’t going to go on much longer when he saw the wooden bowl being passed along the pews for donations. When it was given to him, he ignored the vessel and handed it straight on. He wasn’t going to give any coin, for he’d already begrudgingly given alms for Yule. He’d done his part and wasn’t going to give any more charitable offerings.
As soon as the minister blessed the offerings and the service finished, Bryan stood up to go. He was determined not to waste another breath inside the church. It would be polite to thank the minister for his service, but he couldn’t be bothered. All that talk about pagans had his blood heating. He was going off to find someone to pound his frustrations on. And, what made him smile more was that if he couldn’t find a tenant willing to tend to him, mayhap he’d seek out Cate’s. He’d sample her charms and warm her up for his pretend father.