Season of the Sun

by Catherine Coulter

  He’d been left with nothing to say, though angry words and commands and threats had choked in his throat, and finally he’d bellowed, “But she’s with child!” to which both women merely frowned at him with tolerant scorn.

  Now they had nearly reached their journey’s end. Only another half-day, she’d heard Tostig say. Perhaps a day, depending on the wind and its constancy. Zarabeth felt Magnus beside her; then after a brief moment his arms went around her and he pulled her back against his chest.

  “Soon,” he said, and hugged her more tightly against him. “Are you feeling well?”

  “I feel wonderful.”

  “I’ve decided to stop ignoring you. It does no good except to make me lonely and gain me condemning looks from the men. I’m tired of pretending you’re not with me, Zarabeth. It does me no good, after all.”

  She turned and smiled at him. “Nay, it doesn’t, and I’m glad you want to see me again. I’ve missed you, husband, missed the touch of your fingers on my lips, and, aye, the fullness of you inside me.”

  Magnus leaned down and lightly kissed her mouth. When he straightened, he studied her face intently. “Listen to me, Zarabeth. Despite all we think we know, despite all we want and expect, we cannot be certain if either Egill or Lotti is alive. Orm could have lied. He is a master when it comes to amusing himself at another’s expense. Aye, tormenting others ranks very high with him. We must be prepared to face whatever comes, but we will face it together.”

  “They’re alive.”

  “Even with the dream, I know it would be foolish of me to claim it for a fact.”

  “They’re alive.”

  He merely hugged her again, but said nothing more. He was nearly as certain as she was that Egill and Lotti lived, but he feared to say the words, feared somehow that fate would turn against him were he to pretend to that knowledge.

  Ingunn stood before Egill in the corner of the garden, uncertain what to do. The king’s mistress, his niece Cecilia, had shrugged and left them alone. “I do not understand you,” Ingunn said, so irritated with him that she wanted to strike him. “I have come here to save you, and you refuse to leave this pathetic little girl!”

  “Where is Orm Ottarsson? Does he know you are here? Does he know what you’re about?”

  Ingunn eyed her nephew. The boy had changed. His voice sounded just like Magnus’—sharp and imperious, as if he were used to giving orders and she, as a woman, was to obey them. She was angry. She was saving him—by Thor, she’d sold her most valued brooch to get the coin—and yet he was acting like she wasn’t to be trusted, and she was of his flesh! “It isn’t important,” she said. “You will come with me now and I will see that you go home to Malek.”

  “It is important,” Egill said. “Orm Ottarsson stole both Lotti and me. We were barely alive. I feared Lotti would die at any moment, for there was so much water in her chest and she couldn’t stop vomiting it up. But he didn’t care, not until he realized how he could use us. He brought us here to York and used us as a bribe to the king for the farmland he wanted. He was pleased with what he had done. If you bring me back to him, he will be very angry.”

  “Nay, he won’t. Besides, you won’t see him.”

  “He hates my father. I heard him talking about how he would see my father pay for all his pride and his arrogance, that he would make him regret that he had married my mother. He bragged how he would steal Zarabeth as well, and use her as he wished. He boasted he could plant a babe in her womb and then he would return her to my father. He hates all of us except for you. I don’t understand that.”

  “What Orm feels for your father has nothing to do with me. He loves me. I am soon to be his wife. There’s nothing more for you to understand. Come now, we must leave. I have a vessel waiting for you.”

  Egill planted his legs wide apart, his fists on his hips. He smiled at his aunt. “I have already told you, I won’t go anywhere without Lotti. Buy her as well and we will both leave here.”

  “That cursed idiot child! She is naught but a pathetic scrap, a worthless slave. You didn’t like her, you never liked her! She stole your father’s affections. She can’t do anything save make those awful mewling noises. You will come with me now, Egill. Forget her.”

  She grabbed his arm, but the boy merely stared at her, not moving. She shook him, but he held his place. He’d gotten stronger. He was no longer a little boy. Her breath hissed out when she saw the scorn in his eyes, his father’s eyes, and they were cold and unforgiving.

  “You betrayed my father, didn’t you? You probably betrayed Zarabeth as well. You tormented her and abused her with that whip, and she had never done anything to hurt you. Is she here? Did Orm capture her as he vowed to do?”

  Ingunn stepped away from him. “No, you stupid boy! That bitch is safe as can be at Malek. Malek is now hers! She is wedded to your father! How do you like that—she is now your mother! By all the gods, she won!” Ingunn rubbed her palm over her forehead. “I was a witless fool to come here, risking my own life to save you. You ungrateful whelp, if he knew I was here, he would kill me!”

  “At least I am not a traitor. If I had to die, I would not go to my death with shame or guilt heavy on my soul.”

  “You little prig!” She slapped him hard. Egill’s head snapped back on his neck, but he held his place. He made no move against her. He planted his feet more firmly. He stared at her with contempt.

  “Damn you, you’re free. I paid the king a lot of silver for you. It matters not to me whether you leave or not. I have tried to do my duty by you.” She whirled about, only to pause and turn slowly to face him once more. “Listen to me, boy. You know nothing, do you understand me? I was your father’s steward, his helpmeet, the one he could depend upon to take care of Malek. It was my farmstead as much as it was his! I was more than a wife could be, for I am flesh of his flesh. I oversaw everything at Malek, even his women, and yet he threw me away for that filthy whore. Ah, and there is that whore’s sister, that squalid little idiot! See how she cowers behind you, just as her slut sister cowered behind Magnus, telling him lies about me! Aye, and complaining that I had hurt her, mistreated her. All lies, everything she said was a lie. Stay with her sister, Egill, I care not!” She took an unmeasured step toward Lotti, her hand raised.

  “Don’t,” Egill said. “Don’t touch her, Aunt, or I will make you pay for it. I am no longer a child. My father would want me to protect one who is weaker than I. Lotti is not only in my care, she is also mine.”

  Ingunn stared at the boy. He meant it. He would very likely attack her, she who had cared for him after Dalla had died, she who had treated him like her own child. Suddenly it was too much. Tears came to her eyes and she sobbed. She turned on her heel and left the manor house, only to stop abruptly, unable to go on, though she wanted to. By Thor, would it never end? She paused yet again, furious with the boy, but she knew what she had to do, aye, she knew. She had no choice.

  King Guthrum rubbed his fingers over the richly carved oak post of his chair and stared at Magnus Haraldsson. He’d agreed immediately to see the man. He liked him and trusted him, as far as he’d trust any man, and he was infinitely curious as to what he wanted.

  “So,” he said slowly, his eyes on his fingers tracing over the elaborate carvings, “the boy is your get. I thought he looked familiar, as did Aslak. Aye, he has the look of you. His aunt bought him back from me and took him away. ’Twas yesterday she came. I assume he is gone now.”

  “And a little girl? Her name is Lotti.”

  “Aye, I recall the little one. The woman didn’t want her, though even my dear Cecilia knew she and the boy were inseparable. It is almost as if they acted as one. I assume she is still with my, er, niece Cecilia.”

  Guthrum heard Zarabeth’s sharp intake of breath and turned to her.

  “I recognize you now. You are the woman Magnus saved some months ago, the woman we believed had poisoned Olav the Vain. It is odd, aye, very odd indeed.”

  “What do you mean
, sire? And no, I did not poison my husband.”

  “Aye, all know now that you were innocent of his murder. It was Toki, wife of Keith, Olav’s son, who killed him. She is dead now.” He rubbed his hands together, obviously pleased at the solution.

  Magnus stared hard at the king, wondering at the vagaries of fate. If he hadn’t returned, Zarabeth would have been put to death for the crime and everyone would have been pleased and relieved, certain that justice had been meted out. Now Toki had been shown guilty and she was dead. By the gods, it was more than a man could explain to himself.

  Zarabeth echoed some of his thoughts, her voice disbelieving. “Dead? Toki has confessed to what she did?”

  King Guthrum shook his head. “Nay, ’twas her husband who told the council that it was she and not you who had killed his father. He said she confessed it to him when she was drunk. He beat her to death for it.”

  Zarabeth moved closer to Magnus. He felt the quiver of her flesh, the withdrawal of her being from the coldness of the king’s announcement.

  “Aye, Keith said she was a vicious shrew, filled with envy and malice. He said she deserved to die by his hand, for as her husband he was in part responsible for the evil of her act.” Guthrum nodded wisely, his countenance certain and benign. “I agreed with him, as did the York council. He prospers now and is gaining stature. He looks more like his father by the day. He begins to strut about wearing silver and gold armlets and many rings, and he wears only the finest clothes. He has taken a new wife, a lovely girl of fourteen who will bear him many sons. He has given me several gifts.”

  Fate, Magnus thought again. Its workings eluded him, as they did all men. He took Zarabeth’s hand and squeezed her fingers as the king continued, his look one of a ruler endeavoring to be just. “I had forgot that Olav the Vain had said you were to receive all that he owned were he to die. Since you were innocent of his death, you should be recompensed.”

  “Aye, I believe it just, sire,” she said. She looked up at her husband and smiled. “I should like back the coin Magnus paid to Keith in danegeld for his father’s death.”

  “It will be done.”

  “Sire, we wish to fetch my son and Zarabeth’s sister. If my sister, Ingunn, took the boy away, then I must also know where to find Orm Ottarsson, for she is with him.”

  The king said nothing for many moments. Then finally he said, “If the little girl is still with my niece, why, I will give her to you, for Ingunn Haraldsson paid me much for the boy. Go, then, Orm Ottarsson lives by the River Thurlow, on the north side. He has named his farmstead Skelder, and it is three hectares in size. He is a good subject, a man who will bring me strength and coin.”

  The king gave Magnus a deliberate stare, but Magnus merely nodded and smiled. His voice was bland. “Orm has always been good at many things, sire. My wife and I thank you for your kindness and your generosity. We will remain loyal to you, as always.”

  Magnus stared at his huge countryman, the master of the vessel Water Path. Grim Audunsson was rough and crude and the strongest man Magnus had ever wrestled with. He’d lost to him three times to date. Grim was also wily and greedy, and blessed, in his view, with little conscience. Magnus watched him spit and shake his shaggy golden head. They stood on the dock at the harbor, beside the Water Path, the smell of fish strong in their nostrils, the harbor wind sharp in their faces.

  “Aye, Orm was here and he was as mad as the white death. He didn’t try to hide it from me. He used to hide his anger years ago, or perhaps he didn’t have it when he was younger, but he doesn’t bother to hide anything now. A berserker, Magnus, that’s what he seems now. His eyes were black with excitement, his hands fisting and twisting, ready to kill anything he could catch. I can easily see him clothed in naught but a bearskin, whipping himself into a frenzy before he kills without fear, without conscience. He is not an easy man now, Magnus. Nay, he is more dangerous than a berserker, for his rages come on viciously with a simple taunt, a smile, even a jest. Aye, he is as unpredictable as a Frenchman’s moods, and he would speak so calmly whilst he cut your throat. Aye, I gave him the woman and the children. What else could I do?” Grim shook his head and spit into the water. “I wonder if he’d kill the woman. He looked ready to, I’ll tell you.”

  “The woman is my sister, Ingunn. The children are mine. Orm took them all, stole them from me, and set fire to my farmstead.”

  Grim shrugged, but his eyes narrowed. “I am sorry, but again, what could I have done?”

  “You could have killed him yourself. You are the strongest man I know.” He looked at the flexing muscles in Grim’s arms. “Does age sap you, Grim?”

  Grim gave him a huge smile, showing a large gap between his front teeth. “I could have snapped his neck with my hand, ’tis true. But he paid me, Magnus, paid me ten silver pieces. The woman had already given me silver pieces to take the boy back to Malek, so I am now rich enough to buy my wife a new brooch. She’s a lively little creature. I stole her from a village in the Rhineland. She ran from me but I caught her about the waist and flung her over my shoulder. I married her six weeks ago. She has fine black hair, such a color as I’ve never before seen, and the blackest eyes you can imagine, and that sweet woman’s nest between her thighs, well . . . I was thinking about that jeweler on Coppergate, Old Gunliek is his name. What do you think, Magnus?”

  “I think I should kill you.”

  Grim laughed, an uncertain laugh but one that conveyed the message that he could laugh and escape punishment. Magnus knew that Grim had tightened his body, had prepared himself for action. He wasn’t a fool. Whatever Grim was, he would remain. It wasn’t up to Magnus to make him sorry. He felt Zarabeth’s hand lightly touch his back. He drew upon what little control he had left. Brawling with Grim Audunsson would gain him naught, Zarabeth was right about that. Besides, Magnus thought, his lips twisting, he just might end up with his face smashed or a broken arm, which wouldn’t do him any good at all. He could imagine Zarabeth’s reaction to that.

  “Did Orm tell you he was returning to his farmstead?”

  “Aye. He said he had preparations to make at Skelder. He said he was expecting a visitor and he wanted to ensure his visitor had a proper welcome.”

  Magnus nodded, then turned to leave. He said over his shoulder, “I shouldn’t use old Gunliek. He cheats on the gold weights. Go to Ingolf on Micklegate.”

  He led Zarabeth from the harbor.

  “Orm knows we are here. He knows you will come.”

  “Aye, he knows.” He hugged her close. “We must move carefully now, Zarabeth. Everything depends on how we proceed now.”

  “If only Ingunn had left Egill and Lotti alone! If only she hadn’t interfered! We would have them with us now, safe and sound.”

  “It would seem my sister at last realized what she had done. She was trying to save them, even Lotti. And herself, it would seem.” He looked at his wife straight and said, “All that you say is true. However, we still wouldn’t have Orm. And I will have him, Zarabeth.”

  Ingunn couldn’t move. She’d tried, two times now she’d tried to move, but the pain had been so great she’d nearly lost consciousness again. She lay huddled on the earthen floor, the cold seeping through the thin material of her gown, her bruised flesh rippling with agony, her cheek pressed into the dirt. She knew several ribs were broken, as well as her left arm. She was thankful she couldn’t see her face, for he’d struck her with his fist repeatedly. She’d tasted blood and her own tears on her mouth.

  And Egill had tried to protect her. By Thor, he was just like his father.

  She whimpered softly. Everything she had done had been wrong. She was weak and spiteful and blind, and now she would die alone, locked away in this filthy hut, and Egill would die as well. Or Orm would sell him again as a slave, both him and Lotti.

  Ah, Lotti. She’d seen how much the boy loved the little girl, how he had shielded her, shared everything with her, his impressions, his thoughts, no matter how private, no matter how fra
nk. At times Ingunn had thought them nearly as one, so closely attuned to each other were they. And she’d seen herself then, suddenly and without warning, seen herself hating the child because she was of Zarabeth’s flesh and she’d hated Zarabeth and had wanted to hurt anything that was part of her. And that was why she’d gone back into the manor house and taken both children to Grim’s vessel. She’d had to make amends. She’d had to do something right, something to redeem herself.

  Orm had been there, waiting for her. She realized she hadn’t really been surprised that he had been there, standing on the dock, his legs spread, staring at her, his eyes cold and black and dead. She couldn’t even shudder with the memory of it without the pain roiling through her, making bile come into her throat, choking her. He hadn’t touched her until they’d returned to the Thurlow River and Skelder, the name he’d given to his new farmstead, the one he’d stolen from the Saxon family, with King Guthrum’s blessing.

  Failure tasted vile. She tried again to rise, but when she tried to balance herself on her elbow, her arm collapsed and she fell hard again to the packed earth.

  She couldn’t die. She couldn’t leave Egill in Orm’s power. Slowly, very slowly, she moved her left arm.

  Inside the longhouse, Orm brooded, his chin balanced on his palm. The house was filling with rancid smoke, for the hole in the roof was nearly clogged. Saxon pigs! They’d accepted this fault, not even considering fixing it? There was no bathhouse either, and he’d put the slaves to work immediately to building one. He turned his head to look at the boy and the little girl. They sat together in a corner, the boy speaking softly to the girl. There were others surrounding them, but the pair seemed oblivious of them.