by Ceri Bladen
“What about Halfdan? Did he survive the battle?”
“Which battle? They fought the West Saxon army about nine times, but, yes, he survives. In fact, they won at Reading, Basin, and Meretun, but they decided to accept a truce from Alfred because too many of our men died.”
“Why a truce with Alfred? Isn’t he the younger brother?”
“Ay, but he is now King Alfred of Wessex. His brother, Æthelred, died.” Sigurd made a face. “Of natural causes, so they say. Many say he was wounded by us. Halfdan and what was left of our army retreated to London before returning to Northumbria to quell a revolt against Ecgberht.”
“The puppet-king we put there?”
“Ay. But Halfdan wanted to keep an eye on King Burghred of Mercia, too. Halfdan has an urge to rule Merica.”
Ubba laughed. “Now, why doesn’t that surprise me?”
Sigurd waved his hand in the air. “Well, I might have foreseen something to make him think that’s what he wants.”
Ubba sobered. “Come, let’s talk about our warring brothers, later. I miss them too much to think about them at the moment. We have celebrating to do.”
#
Rosfrith stared pensively at the wooden tubs of water, while thralls busied themselves around her preparing for her bathing. She knew Hilde was walking towards her, but only responded with a smile when she sat.
“What’s wrong with you, lass? You’re not regretting getting married to our sire?”
“Nay, of course not, for I love him.”
Hilde patted Rosfrith’s hand and gave her a tender smile. “I know you do, so why the sadness?”
Rosfrith glanced around at the women in the bathhouse, all preparing to shed her of her unmarried status. She leaned towards Hilde, not to be overheard. “All this.” She swept her arm around and then touched the kransen on her head - it was a symbol of her unmarried status and designed to confine her growing hair. “I feel false for I have already laid with Ubba. I am nay a maiden.”
“Hush, child. It doesn’t matter. This is your wedding, and it’s not a bad thing to find out if you are compatible beforehand. Besides, no one, except you, Ubba and I know for certain. It doesn’t matter when you laid with him.” She patted Rosfrith’s hand again before standing. No one was taking any notice of their conversation, so she continued. “You love each other. It matters not whether you are a maiden on your wedding day.”
Rosfrith sighed. “I know you are right, Hilde. But what will happen with the witnesses?” She glanced up and caught Hilde smile, her skin crinkling around her eyes.
“Don’t you worry about that. That’s one of your customs, so I hear, not ours. The witnesses are there only to check you lie together, not whether you were pure. Come on, let’s prepare you.” Hilde stood and summoned some women forward.
“Stand here for us to help you undress, m’lady,” one of the women said.
It felt strange to hear a title instead of her name, but after today, she would have to get used to it, once again.
When she was undressed from her maiden clothes, birch twigs were handed out and they all entered the steam room. One of the women sprinkled water on hot stones to produce steam. They switched themselves lightly with the twigs in order to induce perspiration, telling her it was to wash her maiden status away. While they all baked in the heat, Rosfrith listened to the women, chatting to her about her duties as a wife, how to live with a man, and how to guide your husband to your way of thinking. Some of the more scandalous stories, relayed with a sparkle in the teller’s eyes, made her blush. She was relieved that she was enjoying herself with the women.
“Come now, you need to go into the cold water to close your skin. A rinse with some water with added oils and flowers, then we have some nice new clothes for you to wear.”
When she was finally dressed, Hilde smiled and squeezed Rosfrith’s hand. She was as proud as she would be if Rosfrith was her own daughter. “You look beautiful, Rosfrith.”
Rosfrith smiled back and fingered her hair, which was now long after being shaved for so many years. Actually, she thought it a shame that it was one of the last times she would wear it unbound and uncovered. “Thank you, Hilde. Thank you for always being there for me.”
Hilde discreetly wiped away a tear. “Oh, I’ll continue to be here for you. Now, and after tomorrow when you marry that handsome man of yours.” She waved her hands at the attendants, giving them instructions to tidy up. “Come on, let’s leave before those big beasts come and invade the bathhouse.”
#
Feeling the effects of copious amounts of ale, Ubba creased his brow, and steadied his gait. “Which grave did you bury it in?” He scanned the mounds, each looked the same.
Sigurd slapped his brother’s arm. “Ah, that’s for you to find out. Find our ancestor’s sword in one of the graves and retrieve it.” He gave his brother a push. He laughed. “Good job we are heading to the bathhouse after.”
Although muddied from digging, Ubba was enjoying himself. The banter and merriment, from the men around him, was infectious.
“Come on, find it, Sire.”
“You’re slow, today.”
“Let’s hope he’s not a slow with his wife”
Ubba glanced at the men, his eyes narrowing, pretending to be offended. They laughed. He sat back on his haunches, giving himself a break from digging. He wiped the sweat from his brow with his arm, and got a muddy streak across it for his troubles. He turned to look at the grave yard. He narrowed his blue eyes and tried to concentrate – once he could focus. He finally spotted a disturbed grave. That must be the one. If he hadn’t been plied with ale, he would have used his brain and spotted it ages ago. He ran over to it and fell to his knees. He waited for the spinning to cease, before he dug. It was only because he trusted these men that he’d let himself become inebriated – he didn’t usually let himself go this far, but for once, he could. Although, being chieftain, he wasn’t completely lax in his safety - Eirik was banned from the merriment until he was sober once again.
Digging, Ubba felt the cold hilt of the sword. He grabbed it and pulled it out of its hidden place. He held it aloft. “Through my action, I have entered death as a lad and emerged into the life of a man, reborn, but the same,” he shouted.
Everyone laughed at his reciting of an ancient verse - no one thought of Ubba as anything other than a man.
“Now, to the bathhouse,” Sigurd shouted above the merriment. His eyes lit with joy. “Let’s hope the women are still there.”
#
The next day
Ubba smiled when he saw Rosfrith walk towards him, escorted by a young kinsman, bearing her wedding gift to him. She looked like a goddess. His heart swelled with pride and, despite all the people and noise around him, his attention was solely on her. When she was near enough, he reached out to take her hand, leaning in towards her. “You’re beautiful, Rosfrith.” He saw a faint blush and a smile touch her lips. “Are you ready to become my wife?” His chest swelled when she nodded.
Without another word, Ubba led Rosfrith and the awaiting group towards the stone alters. They had forgone some of the premarital rituals of the exchange of dowry and bride-price in front of witnesses, as Ubba hadn’t wanted Rosfrith to feel awkward. Animals, who were going to be sacrificed to summon the attention of the gods and goddesses associated with fertility, were housed near in a makeshift pen - a goat for Thór, a sow for Freyja, and a boar for Freyr. Ubba squeezed Rosfrith’s hand. He knew on this aspect, she would never be a Viking. “Remember, the meat will be used to feed the merrymakers later.”
She gave him a small smile, appreciating the fact, but looked away when a goat was dragged from the pen. Luckily, the noise of talking around her drowned most of the noise it made when its throat was cut. Its blood was collected in a wooden bowl and placed on the altar. She watched as the gyðja, the priestess, dipped a bundle of fir twigs into the blood. The gathered crowd closed nearer to her and Ubba, so the priestess could spray them all with sp
ecks of blood, each hoping for blessings from the gods.
After the gyðja had finished, Ubba turned and held out his hand towards his brother. Sigurd stepped forward and handed him the ancestral sword he had found earlier. Reaching into his belt bag, he took out a ring and placed it on the sword’s hilt. Once he had, he watched Rosfrith turn to accept the sword she had brought. By rights, it should have been from her ancestors, too, to symbolise the transfer of her father’s protection to her new husband - but there was no chance of that. He gave her a smile and nod of encouragement when he noticed her hands shake. “Let’s exchange rings, my love.”
The crowd cheered when they kissed, then someone shouted, “Now for the bruð-hlaup.” Another cheer went around, as they prepared to start bride-running. Nobody wanted to lose the race and end up serving ale to the winners for the night.
“Let’s go!”
Barely out of breath, Ubba blocked the doorway to the main longhouse when he reached it first. He flicked a glance at the people arriving and searched for Rosfrith. She was giggling, doubled over in an attempt to catch her breath.
She smiled when she caught him looking at her, and marvelled in the fact that even though all the crowd seemed breathless, Ubba did not.
He waved her forward. “Let us enjoy the feast.”
“But we cannot get in, you bar our entrance,” she gestured to the crowd behind her, “dear husband,” she said, a teasing quality in her voice.
The skin around his eyes crinkled when he smiled, he loved the way her violet eyes sparkled just for him. “Is that right – wife?” He moved towards her and bent one knee, arms outstretched to grab under her legs, and around her back. She squealed when he straightened up in one fluid motion with her in his arms. “Dear wife, now you can enter.” He kissed her quickly on the lips, ignoring the chortles around him, and carried her over the threshold towards their seats.
Once Rosfrith was seated, he moved towards the middle of the room. The guests gathered in a circle around him, keeping a safe distance. He reached for the sword Rosfrith had presented him, and smiling in her direction, he buried his sword in the ceiling with all his might. Once everyone knew it was safe, and not likely to fall, they moved forward, eager to see what depth it had sunk in the wood, for it foretold if they would have an enduring marriage. A merriment started to gather and Ubba threw his arms into the air and cheered. Eager to be near Rosfrith, he shouted, “Let’s feast.” He moved to his chair and grabbed her hand tightly while he watched food being laid on the table in front. He nodded, pleased with the fare being served.
“Sire?”
Ubba glanced up and noticed Hilde standing in front of him. She was holding out a simulacrum of Thór’s hammer, Mjolnir, in her hands. Ubba reached over to retrieve it. He studied it a while, before turning and placing it on Rosfrith’s lap.
“Bring the Hammer the bride to bless:
On the maiden's lap lay ye Mjolnir;
In Frigga's name then our wedlock hallow!”
After asking for Thór’s blessing, he gave his new wife a kiss, lingering over her lip’s sweetness - until the crowd started to cheer. He moved away from her slowly, enjoying the heat creep into her cheeks.
“Hey, enough of that,” Eirik jested, nudging his sire in the ribs. “We’ve food to eat.”
Ubba waved his hand in the air. “Well, then, let’s start this feast.” He turned and grabbed Rosfrith’s small hand. He squeezed gently, for he always tempered his strength with her. He leaned towards her and whispered. “Are you ready to assume the first duty as my wife?”
“Ay.”
When she prepared to go, he gently tugged on her hand, pulling her back onto his lap. He laughed at the cheers. He leaned in and whispered into her ear. “I’m most looking forward to your duties, later on.” His chest rumbled with amusement when she gave him a gentle shove, releasing his hold on her.
“Ubba,” she said, feigning shock at his talk.
Her violet eyes told him something different. He sat and watched her walk over to a table, on which their mead and a drinking vessel sat. Its handles, on either side, were in the form of animal heads. She filled it up from a container, which contained enough mead for over a month, before adding a drop of blood from the earlier sacrifices. She carefully walked back to him. He hardly listened to the verse she recited, his gaze flicked between her lips and eyes.
“Ale, of honey-based mead, I bring thee, thou oak-of-battle,
With strength blended and brightest honour;
'Tis mixed with magic and mighty songs,
With goodly spells, wish-speeding runes.”
A nudge in the ribs reminded him it was his turn to follow tradition. It was funny how his wife could make him forget even the simplest of things. Leaning forward, he consecrated the ale to Thór, by making the sign of a hammer over it. He took the vessel from Rosfrith and made a toast to Óðinn, before taking a sip and passing it back to Rosfrith.
She made a toast to the goddess Freyja, as Hilde had instructed her to do, and took a sip. She tried not to think of the drop of blood, which had been stirred into it. Once they drank, in the eyes of the law and gods, they symbolically affirmed their kinship.
While they ate, Ubba half-listened to the lygisogur, the lying stories, which some of the guests had composed for the occasion. He only chuckled at the stories about famous people, romance and the supernatural, when he heard others do the same - he was more interested in his new wife beside him, she filled his thoughts. He couldn’t remember ever being so merry with life. “Are you enjoying yourself, my dear Rosfrith?”
“Ay, my love, although I didn’t like the fighting, earlier.”
“It’s called wrestling, my dear, and they didn’t hurt each other.”
“Good.”
“After they have finished their verse, there will be dancing.” He squeezed her hand, which he’d hardly let go of since they were tied. “Will you give me the privilege of the first dance.”
She smiled lovingly at him. “Of course, dear husband.”
As soon as he could, Ubba made his excuses and left Rosfrith talking to some of the local women, who all wanted her attention now she was wedded to the chieftain. He didn’t particularly like dancing because he was vulnerable to what was going on around him, but he had enjoyed his wife in his arms.
He sat back down, happy to whet his palate with the mead. He glanced over at Rosfrith. She looked so beautiful, laughing with the women folk. His chest swelled with the knowledge they now belonged to each other. He had owned her for years, as a thrall, but this was a totally different feeling. Now her heart belonged to him as well. Feeling himself becoming sentimental, and he didn’t want to get emotional in front of the men he was with, he joined back in with their conversation, all the while, anxious to speed things along.
Astrid crept around the outskirts of the people. How many of these folk missed me over the last couple of months? How many knew I wasn’t around? She pulled her cloak around her in an attempt to conceal her surprise, and slowly made her way towards Ubba and the men he was chatting to. When she finally neared, she stepped out of the shadows and touched Ubba’s arm.
He turned around in his chair to see who wanted his attention – he hoped it was Rosfrith indicating she wanted to go to the bed-closet. He sighed. His gaze narrowed on Astrid, he thought she was in Skåne, not here at his wedding. “Astrid.” He nodded. “I hope you are faring well.”
“Ubba,” Astrid replied as calmly as she could. “I wish you well with Rosfrith.” She flicked a glance at the men with him, before stepping back. “Please. I would like a little of your time, Ubba.”
His jaw tensed.
“Please.”
He paused for a while before standing. “I will be back, later.” He nodded politely at the men and walked towards Astrid, out of earshot of most of the guests. When he neared, he noticed her look around quickly, before she stepped forward and touched his arm. He tensed and pulled it away. “Look, Astrid, I don’t know wh
at you want, but this is my wedding day.” He heard a small laugh escape her lips.
“I don’t want you, if that is what you think. You’ve made it clear I wasn’t bride material.” She glanced over at Rosfrith, surrounded by laughing women, and scowled.
“I never meant to hurt you, Astrid.”
Her gaze quickly returned to Ubba. “But, you did,” she replied coldly.
“I’m sorry.” Ubba hoped she accepted his apology. He genuinely never wanted to hurt her, but when Rosfrith came into his life, he finally understood what love was. “I truly am.”
She waved her hand, dismissing his apologies. She had no time for those anymore. “Whatever…” She stepped towards him again. “Like I said, I need to speak to you. Alone.”
Ubba was unsure of whether it was a good idea or not. Everyone around knew their past, he didn’t want any gossip about them if they were seen alone together. It wasn’t something he wanted getting back to his new wife. But, he did owe Astrid an explanation. He had wanted to talk to her, but she had disappeared to Skåne, back to her family. “All right, but outside,” he indicated towards the main door. “I will meet you, a little later.”
“Fine,” Astrid replied, moving further back into the shadows.
Ubba stepped outside the longhouse and checked the area. He was satisfied. Most of the village folk were inside the longhouse - enjoying the celebrations – but there were enough people milling around outside to witness nothing physical was going on between him and Astrid. He didn’t want gossip. “So, what do you want to talk to me about?”
“This,” she said, before opening her cloak and rubbing her distended belly.
Ubba couldn’t speak. His heart accelerated and he felt himself heat in panic. “Mine?” was all he could mumble.