Hakon rolled his eyes as the circling increased in speed. “Don’t worry, my friend. Where’s the harm in keeping her warm and happy through her lonely nights? I got no complaints.”
Helgi poked Hakons ribs painfully.
Everyone knew that this was all just a big joke. While Helgi’s leg sometimes slipped, his wife Agnes was loyal to her husband, most of the time. Agnes knew about how Helgi spent his free time and that really didn’t trouble her. Instead, she often joined feasts and flirted with other men. But whenever they were together, Helgi and Agnes were like silly lovebirds.
A new voice entered the mix from behind them. “Did someone mention my tits?”
Agnes stood in the Hall’s doorway, her fists on her hips, looking very formidable. She was a beautiful woman, tall, strong and with a Healer’s hands. In her younger days, she had been a famous shield maiden. Little wonder that Helgi had fallen in love with her. They had been together for more than twenty years, raised two strong sons and one beautiful daughter who promised to be as fierce as her mother and who was now Fljótdís’ handmaiden.
Agnes walked to Fljótdís and hugged her with a small smile playing on her lips. Then she turned to Helgi. “So, what is all of this about my tits?”
Hakon started to laugh. “Helgi, did you swallow your tongue?”
Helgi gave him a dark look and kissed his wife a bit sheepishly. “I just said that my wife has the most beautiful tits in all of the Nine Worlds.”
“And a beautiful arse as well. Don’t forget about her arse.”
Hakon got a shove from them both for his comments.
Fljótdís straightened. “Alright, enough about tits. We have a business to attend to. Come, let’s join the others at the table.”
Helgi nodded dutifully. “Yes, Commander.”
Hakon tugged on Ulrik’s sleeve and whispered, “Why does no one ever talk about Fljótdís’ tits?”
She heard Helgi chuckle, but Ulrik’s voice answered. “Because she would cut out your tongue for your disrespect before you could even say the word a second time.”
“I heard everything and Ulrik has it right,” Fljótdís said over her shoulder as they sat down at the table.
“Pardon, my lady.” Hakon bowed low and got a cup of mead in his face from one of the shield maidens.
“Cool down, uncle.” A shieldmaiden with a long white braid laughed and winked at Fljótdís. She was one of Ulrik’s nieces.
“Such a waste of a good mead.” Hakon licked the drink from his face and sat down, immediately flirting with the shieldmaiden next to him.
When the King arrived, everyone grew silent. Harald greeted his audience and sat next to Fljótdís, giving her a questioning look.
There had been a time when Fljótdís had been the one who listened to the King, sitting side by side among the others. But now things were different. Now the King and the army listened to her. She was in a position of power and she had worked very hard to earn it.
She stood up and walked around the table to stand before them. All eyes were on her as she spoke.
“Everything is prepared for our raid. The first plan had been to go east and sail from there. But after further discussions, we have decided to sail the river instead till we reach the open ocean. Then, as we reach the sea, ships from the eastern Earldom will join us. We must be prepared for everything. The ocean is not always kind, even to those on a noble mission, as the waters are ruled by Ran. May Njord give us wind in our sails and protect us. We leave tomorrow at first light.”
A roar of approval and anticipation went up from the crowd. They were ready to trust whatever she said was best. She was ready, too. It was time for blood and battle. And in the past, that surge of anticipation would have carried her spirits very high. But as she looked out over the enthusiastic faces, this time, it struck her harder than ever how many of these brave warriors would not return to this Hall.
Images of the old woman in the street flooded her mind’s eye, but she pushed such thoughts away with a vengeance and raised her drinking horn in salute to her loyal army. They gladly did the same in homage to her.
Fljótdís tightened the laces of her armour. She was dressed in light leather. For big battles, she normally wore her chainmail, but for a raid such as this one, mail only restricted her movement. Agility was her greatest asset. She was fast and deadly with her sword and knives.
She donned her dark green cape and buckled the sword belt around her hips. Two knives were hidden in each boot and another knife hung from her belt. She was ready. Her hair was now braided into one long braid, efficient for battle. Everything about her spoke of battle experience and combat readiness. It was time to honour her ancestors.
Most of the men had already taken their places on the ships, while some still said farewells to their families. Fljótdís watched the wives kiss their husbands, watched the children hug their fathers. There was never any guarantee of returning alive or without horrific wounds. You never knew who would become a widow and which child would suddenly become fatherless. It was an honour to fall in a battle, but that honour brought nothing but sorrow to a fallen warrior’s family. Everyone hoped for the best, but also prepared for the worst. It all was in the hands of the gods. Norns would decide whose thread must be cut.
Someone calling her name broke into her thoughts. She turned to find the Queen coming toward her.
Fljótdís bowed her head slightly. “My lady.”
Astrid took her hand fervently. “Be careful. And may the gods protect you. I will sacrifice for your safe return.”
Fljótdís nodded her thanks politely. “You are very kind, my Queen. But now I must go.”
It looked as though the Queen wanted to say something else, something important perhaps, but there was no more time. Fljótdís gave her brief farewells and boarded her ship. The vessels set sail. Things were in motion now. Soon, the battle would begin. Fljótdís tamped down the nagging feeling of premonition that scratched at her heart. It was in the hands of the gods now, and she would accept whatever their decisions might be.
Chapter 16
Fljótdís raised her sword toward the dark and restless skies.
“May the Gods of War lead us tonight! Advance!”
All eighty-nine men swooped down on the town like dark crows. They were merciless with their weapons and soon the ground was covered in blood, bodies, and severed heads and limbs.
They had eyed this town for a long time. It was rich and large and it was on the list of Harald’s desires. The King’s desires were his men’s desires. This place was protected by one hundred and twenty men. Harald’s army was outnumbered, but it didn’t save the town from the fury of the Northmen. And it did nothing to spare them from the fury of Fljótdís. She was Death itself. Nothing could save these people. Not their dead god or their prayers. Many fell, men, women, and children. All dead.
Fljótdís blocked the attack of one of the villagers.
He foolishly went on the attack again. “I will show you your place, woman.”
She spun and with one swing wounded the warrior in his stomach. He lost his balance and fell to his knees. With the second swing, she took his head. It was a long and deadly boring fight.
Breathing heavily, she looked around and saw that the battle was over at last. The ground was covered with the dead. Ravens flew overhead, already waiting for their chance to feast.
A loud noise drew her attention. A group of children had been driven into a barn. She crossed the yard and stood next to the King, watching how ruthlessly his men dragged the children into the barn.
“What have we here, my King?”
There was a sly and cruel smile on his lips and that smile made her blood run cold. “This will be a sound warning to the rest.”
Fljótdís folded her arms and watched the unsavoury activity. “Who are they?”
The King gave a snort of disrespect. “The Lord’s family, all his fine daughters and sons.”
“Is this necessary, my lo
rd? Would it not be better to put them into slavery as a lesson?”
Harald’s words were tinged with madness.
“You ask me to spare them? Don’t be a fool! These whelps are the seed of my enemy. If I let them live, they will one day come after my head. This little gesture will generate the right kind of fear and respect. It will be spoken of in frightened whispers for generations to come. And it is my wish.”
“But—“
Harald turned to her ominously, his mood lethal. “Are you questioning my decisions, Fljótdís? To do so is treason. Are you daring to stand in the way of the wishes of your King?”
She had never contradicted his orders or his wishes in all this time. Now was not the time to start. She was in service to him and his word was absolute, whether she agreed with the murder of innocents or not. Her place was what her father’s place had been, to serve him without question.
“No, my King. As with all things, your wish is my command. But with all due respect, my lord, I have proven my loyalty and service to you ten thousand times.”
Harald gave her a wicked smile of satisfaction and handed her a bow and one arrow. “And I am commanding you to prove it to me ten thousand and one. Of all the times I have wished you would behave more like a real woman to please me, this is not the moment for you to show yourself to be nothing more than a wet nurse to mewling brats. Shoot the first arrow.”
She looked behind her and saw a group of their best archers at the ready, their arrows already aflame. She understood his plan now. He was going to burn these children alive. She would gladly slaughter a hundred warriors and place their bloody heads at his feet. This was not the same.
The King circled around her like a spider with a moth caught in its web.
“Shoot the first arrow and I may find it in my heart to forgive you. Prove to me that while you may be the Commander, this is still my army and my word is law, most particularly for you. You will obey me.”
Part of her wanted to run and release these children. They had no part in this, no blame. But the warrior in her knew it was her duty to fulfil this order. She was her father’s daughter, in service to the King, no matter how dishonourable his commands might seem. She soaked the arrow in tar and let the King set fire to it. With a well-trained eye, she raised her bow and aimed at the roof. The sleeve of her tunic fell back, revealing the noble Valkyrie tattoo on her arm. Where was the honour in this, the valour, the glory?
The voice in her head was close to desperate. These are innocent children. You cannot kill them. You serve the Hounds of Hel.
The old woman’s words rang in her mind. The crone had warned this would be her last trip. What if it was true?
The King lost his patience.
“Fljótdís!”
She swallowed hard and pulled back the arrow. Why was it so difficult? If she failed in this, all she had achieved would be lost because of one damn arrow. She took a deep breath and released the shaft. It hit the roof exactly where she had aimed it. A storm of burning arrows followed hers and soon the barn was ablaze.
Harald smiled next to her, pleased with what he saw. “You’re lucky I’m in such a happy mood, Fljótdís. You are forgiven.”
Mindless of the screams of agony and terror from the barn, he walked away as if he had done no more than to ask her to fetch him a goblet of wine.
But Fljótdís remained and watched the flames lick the walls and the roof, the consequences of her action. She pulled the sleeve of her tunic down over her tattoo. The cries of the children were horrific, blood-curdling. They would haunt her as long as she lived. This was the cost of serving King Harald. Had her father known this side of him during his service? It felt wrong, like she was making mistake after mistake by serving an unworthy ruler and perhaps forever closing the doors of Valhalla.
But another side of her contended that his reasoning had been correct. There was every reason to believe one or more of those children might have grown into a serious and deadly enemy of the kingdom. It was a ruthless decision, but it was one that was not without its logic. Was logic all that mattered?
Until a few hours ago, these people had not been enemies of the King. Their only crime against him had been their prosperity. Now, any who survived this day would indeed wish King Harald dead and with excellent reasons for their hatred. She had led hundreds of raids for the King. Most had been distant. This one had not been very far away from home.
It was not like defending against hostile earls and kings who sought victory over her King. This was different, not because she had any qualms about death and the slaughter of opposing armies. That was her duty. It was in her blood. But this slaughter, when they had already proven their superiority in no uncertain terms, this was about twisted cruelty in the mind of the King.
The screams died away and soon nothing was left of the barn but smoke, ashes and the stench of burned humanity. She walked toward the forest, unwilling to make eye contact with all of those who wanted to congratulate her over the battle victory. She was in no mood for congratulations. All she wanted now was to somehow wash away all that she had just seen. But there was no ocean big enough for that task.
A voice from behind called out to her. It was Ulrik.
“Fljótdís, where are you going?”
She raised her head but didn’t turn to face him. “I will return to the camp in due time. Take care of the King.”
Ulrik didn’t like the sound of her mood. “And if he asks for you?”
“Tell him to go wipe his own arse this time, gods dammit.”
She fetched Skodde and rode the mare at a hard gallop until she came to a high cliff at the edge of the sea. The dark and rolling ocean stretched out before her, limitless, free and wild. She looked to the beach far below where her ships stood, strong and seaworthy. She could take one of them and just go home and be done with this place. But the reality was they were not her ships. They belonged to Harald. And so did she.
She tried to convince herself that all she had done was right and justified because it had been in service to her King and that somehow that made it right with the gods. But that line of reasoning had a hollow ring to it now. And if she was not pleasing the gods by her actions, she was failing her father and Ari as they watched her from Valhalla. There was no one to give her counsel or comfort. Erik was gone. Perhaps he had never even existed. She was alone with her decisions and her doubts. Those doubts were growing into giants.
There was no time for regret. She had chosen her path, and a few screaming children were not going to deter her from it. Death was nothing new. It was a constant companion. There was no variety of it that she had not seen on the battlefield. She had watched it, studied it, absorbed it through her skin. It came to all living things and sometimes, it came to children.
It was time to return to her duty. What was done was done. Her strongest defence was to show everyone, including the King, that she was invincible, as invincible as the sea. Like the sea, she had the power to end men’s lives or see them to victory. She was a sister to the great sea goddess, Ran. Ran had no need of any male assistance for her powers to triumph. So it was for her. She was strong, fearless and merciless like the endless storming seas below. It would sustain her and save her.
It was well after dark when she returned to the camp. The King had not returned yet. But someone else had. She stared at the man sitting by the campfire, half convinced that her sight was playing tricks on her. But when his eyes locked with hers, there could be no doubt.
She handed Skodde’s reins to Ingrid and stopped at the fire to greet and congratulate her men for their courage in the day’s battle. One of the warriors handed her a horn of mead and she drank deeply, giving Erik a look that would freeze the sun.
Her words were neutral, but she radiated menace. “And what winds have brought you and your men here, Erik?”
His frown told of his surprise at this frosty welcome. “I came to talk to you, Commander.”
She shrugged and took another drin
k. “Then talk.”
He gave her a long look. “In private.”
She rolled her eyes and walked toward her tent. She felt him following her with every inch of her body. All she could think of was how much she wanted him inside her, here and now. Forget his abandonment of her, forget her anger and pain and disappointment. She needed him now more than ever, in every way. No matter how much she had hardened her heart to iron, she wasn’t dead.
But she had been a fool before. She had given in to his handsome persuasiveness, to his lying words of love. As she lit the candles, a barrage of thunder ripped across the skies in the distance. Good, she needed to borrow from Thor’s angry strength. She was glad Erik stayed in the doorway, not entering without her permission. It would make it easier if he kept his distance.
“What do you want to talk about, Erik? My time is limited.”
He came closer as if to embrace her, but she stepped back out of his reach and he let his hands fall to his sides.
“I have come here only to see you, Fljótdís.”
She raised her chin defiantly. “Now you have seen me. Is there anything else?”
His eyes were full of reproach. “Why are you being so cold? It’s like you don’t remember that night.”
She touched her Mjölnir pendant for strength as the thunder rolled ever closer. “I do remember it. But it was a year ago. You had no more thoughts of me and I had no more thoughts of you. Now go, I am tired. We leave early in the morning and I need some sleep.”
Ever the foolishly courageous man when it came to her, he stepped closer. “I know there was something more between us.”
She sighed and removed her sword belt, putting it on the table. “I received no message from you. For all I knew, you were dead on a muddy battlefield somewhere. And now you return in the hope that we will simply pick up where we left off? I will not be used in such a way. I won’t be your camp whore.”
He was a man who was slow to anger, but he was angry now.
Fljótdís- Daughter of the North Page 19