North Sea Dawn

by Susan Amund

  The weight of the crossbow on her belt was not comforting.

  September 1 st, Norway

  “Well now, what is this pretty little thing doing at the dock?” Snorri stood at the keel, his sanding stone and rag forgotten. Eric Vandalsson looked up from his own work near the mast to see the giant man leaning on the edge of the longship. Abjorn growled a bit from the stern, covered head to toe in sawdust, he was not pleased with any delay.

  “Keep to your work, Snorri! We’re nearly done,” Eric said mildly. In truth, he had been doing repairs to the ship for so many days he wondered if he would ever get the feeling back in his fingers after so much sanding – or the smell of tar out of his nose. He couldn’t begrudge Snorri a break to watch a pretty girl walk past.

  Snorri gave a low whistle and it brought Eric back to the present. The sailor was in danger of falling over the side - he had leaned out so far. Abjorn tossed down his rag and set aside his varnish. He marched to the prow in disgust. Eric sighed, waiting for the inevitable fight between the two old friends. None came. Surprised, he looked up again to see Abjorn leaning over the edge to help a young woman aboard. Both his men were smiling, and with good reason. The woman was beautiful. Her white blonde hair was braided near her face and hung loose down her back. The pale blue of her eyes matched her clothing, and the ivory designs stitched at the neckline complemented her creamy skin. Eric frowned, her skin was exceptionally smooth. He guessed she was more of a girl, barely fourteen - if that. His men did not take notice, as they were focused more on her generous chest and hips. His frown deepened.

  “You bring a girl on my ship, Snorri?” His voice was low and cold. Abjorn snapped to attention, finally taking note of her youth and stepped away from her respectfully.

  “Aye, old man, but I’ll take her off it – and myself too, if she’ll let me.” The girl blushed. Snorri leaned over the petite woman; Eric feared his eyes might fall out of his head and into her cleavage. He crossed the ship in a few long strides and smacked his friend on the back of the head. Snorri growled, his brows drawn together angrily as he stared at Eric.

  “Sirs, please, I was sent here with a message for the Vandal’s son,” the girl said in a soft voice. Snorri pivoted and threw himself down on a rowing bench.

  “There, my captain,” he laughed with the quick change of temper he was famous for, “the girl is at your bidding. See what you will do with her.”

  “Tell it then,” Eric commanded. She glanced up at his significant height through her lashes.

  “I have been instructed to give it to you only, sir,” she blushed further.

  “Only to Vandalsson? Ha!” Snorri’s lascivious laughter was drawing the attention of other men. Sailors nearby stopped work to stare at the woman on the deck of the MØrket. They had not yet crowded up to his ship, but Eric knew it was only a matter of time. Men at sea were always starved for news, entertainment, and a pretty face. “He wouldn’t let you give it to another if he claimed it as his own!” Eric gave Snorri a stern look, but the man was laughing too hard to take notice. At a nod, Abjorn moved to speak with him while Eric gave his full attention to the girl. He recognized her, finally, though he still did not recall her name.

  “Speak now, little princess, before this harbor becomes a stage. My men may hear what you have to say.”

  “My father orders you to come with me for an audience,” she took a deep breath and turned her face up, as if bracing for an angry response.

  “And why would he send you with this request?” The girl paused; he could see she was confused over his choice of words.

  “Doesn’t sound much like a request to me,” said Snorri quietly; a bit more respectful once he knew it was a daughter of Hardrada on the ship.

  “He waits for you in his Hall, to sign the lists for the invasion of England.”

  “He can wait until Ragnorok! The lying son of a-” Abjorn spoke out, but was interrupted by a sharp elbow in the ribs from Snorri.

  “He is King!” Snorri said angrily.

  “Your king,” scoffed Abjorn, “I am a Finn.” They broke into a terse argument.

  “He wished me to-” she swallowed thickly, “he wished me to give you every comfort on your journey to the Hall. He wishes me to express his,” she paused again and her blush intensified, “desire to give you all he has promised and more.”

  “You are not the Queen’s child, are you?” Eric said thoughtfully.

  “No, sir,” she cast her eyes down. “I am Hardrada's by another.”

  “And who has brought you here?”

  “Several of the hirt, sir. My father’s private guards were instructed to return as soon as they ensured I reached the ship.” Eric felt his fist clench. Hardrada had forced him into a corner. Either he escorted the King’s bastard back to the Great Hall, giving the appearance of a biddable subject, pleased to answer Hardrada’s summons, or he would be accused of keeping the daughter of a King against her will. Harald lost nothing if the illegitimate princess was deflowered or lost to him – he had other daughters from his royal wife. But the hirt and the nobles could easily be roused in anger against Eric if it was known that any harm had befallen her while under his care. At the same time Hardrada had implied that she was Eric’s to use - as long as he obeyed. Eric slammed his fist into the nearest rowing bench in frustration.

  Abjorn and Snorri looked up from their argument and sailors began to gather close enough to the MØrket to eavesdrop. The girl was trembling in fear; no doubt she had heard tales of Eric Vandalsson, the Bringer of Darkness, and the sharpest tool at Hardrada’s disposal. Eric breathed deeply, fighting his temper and struggling to let logic reign. He had one opportunity, one chance to fulfill his responsibility to his men and wring all they deserved from the tight fists of Hardrada. Decidedly he straightened, standing tall on his ship and looking out over the men avidly watching from the dock.

  “You,” he called out, pointing. The man stepped forward, accepting the command of the famous warrior without blinking. “Go into town and bring the goldsmith’s daughter, here. Tell the goldsmith to come as well – tell him I sent you.” The sailor nodded and took off at a brisk jog through the crowd. Eric turned towards his men. “See that this young lady remains on the deck – in plain view – and that none but the smith and his daughter come aboard. She needs a chaperon.” Abjorn nodded quickly and motioned to the princess to be seated on the only rowing bench free of tools or supplies. Snorri eyed her speculatively.

  “She will be guarded like your own daughter, Snorri,” Eric warned, “understood?”

  “Aye,” he sighed and stood to guard against any who would try to board.

  Abjorn calmly acknowledged the manipulations of the King, “So we’ll be killing Britons now?”

  “Perhaps,” Eric replied as he grabbed his bag and swung over the side. He nodded to the quiet Finn who had given him advice worth considering, “But I have recently recalled that I am the son of a Vandal, not a mute blacksmith.”

  September 14 th Aurelius Island

  “My Lady! My Lady!” Thomas screeched as he came flying over a low rise and straight into her line of vision. Julia jerked at the last minute and the bolt flew from her crossbow at an awkward angle and knocked into a tree several feet above the boy’s head. He took no notice of the danger or the grey pallor to his mistress’ face; he was nearly bursting with excitement and self-importance. “Lady Julia! A letter has come from my lord! I was to bring it to you straightaway, Ulrich brought me just so’s I could give it to you!” Julia pried her white fingers away from the weapon and tried to slow her racing heart, if she had been a fraction of a moment slower, or if the boy had not yelled, she would have killed him.

  Thomas the younger was a page for her brother. He was only six, and not quite old enough to go with the men to camp with Harold’s army, but his mother had four children younger than him, and two older, and she had begged her husband to ask Aelfreic to take the boy and work off some of his boundless energy. Julia motioned to Tho
mas to sit down while she retrieved her bolt. Aelfreic was always saying that he needed to learn patience before he got himself killed. Like today, Julia thought, unable to pull out the sharp bolt where it had buried itself into the tree bark. Aelfreic had used the boy twice before to deliver messages to her: comments on the state of affairs in the camp, the mood of the nobles, and news regarding his thoughts on what Tostig or William might be planning. Usually he sent Brother Martin, the friar who had gone to oversee the men’s souls, to make certain Thomas did his duty without falling out of a boat or accidentally being shot by crossbow bolts. She was concerned that he had sent Ulrich, his second in command.

  Julia looked up out of the shallow dale where she had been practicing to see a short, stocky man coming over the rise. His bald head gleamed in the late morning sunshine, and his powerful leg muscles ate up the space between them.

  “My lady,” He nodded deeply, “have you finished reading it already then?”

  “No, I asked Thomas to wait. He gave me a bit of a scare.”

  “Please read it now.” Ulrich had always been a man with a quick smile and a bark of a laugh. He had shown her how to find rabbit dens when she was seven, and had given her a wooden sword to play with when her mother had decreed that she simply must practice her hated embroidery. She had known him all her life and he had never been short with her. He gripped her arm firmly and marched her over to where Thomas was sitting. The boy’s mouth was open wide, as he had never seen anyone put their hands on his mistress. She plucked the missive out of the boy’s hands and sat down beside him to read it.

  Julia,

  “You can really understand all that scribble?” Thomas poked at the opening page with a dirty finger, leaving a smear on the paper. He had the good sense to blush at the mess, but it did not satisfy Ulrich, who hauled him off the tree stump and led him off for a terse discussion on proper manners.

  Julia,

  We have just received confirmation that Tostig has allied with the Norsemen against his brother. Hardrada, King of Norway and Denmark, is bringing a large force to Briton to join with Tostig’s own men and attack. They hope to sweep quickly through the North while most of our forces are occupied on the South coast waiting for William. Harold has decided to move the bulk of his army North, towards York, to halt the invasion. If he can catch the Norse before they take a walled city, he may be able to stop them.

  I have cautioned him against leaving the coast unprotected, and he has conceded to leave a small force behind to guard against William’s attack. I fear if the Normans should come while we are fighting in the North, they will sweep aside any attempt at defense. Still, I agree with Harold that we cannot allow a known threat to stab at our backs while we guard our faces against an enemy that may never come. I wish you to know of what is happening and to guard well against any Norse that attempt to come ashore – they may not be our usual traders. Rumors have reached our ears of how large a force Hardrada commands, and I pray to God that they are exaggerations. No matter what the outcome in the next few weeks, you must keep in mind that the future of Aurelius rests in your hands. Be careful to whom you give your loyalty or your word, there may be men who claim to be my friend and yours who will lead you into their own snares.

  I have sent Ulrich with Thomas to see to the island’s defenses. He is not happy with my decision to keep him from the battle, but he knows that I have placed all my power in you and will follow your direction. His guidance is invaluable, listen to him closely. I am afraid I have left you woefully unmanned. And should my worst fears come to pass we will be able to regret it together in the hereafter.

  I cannot stress enough that you must look to the future. If Tostig and Hardrada succeed, there may be another battle between them for supremacy. They will both want to give lands and power to their followers. Hardrada has enough loyal men that he will need to requisition every tree and rock in Briton to provide for them. If Hardrada should be crowned King of Briton, you should consider leaving the island or taking vows. The people will be safe enough with a new lord appointed by the Norse king, but you would not find an honorable place in his kingdom – not a position that you or I would find agreeable.

  If Tostig takes the throne, I recommend you make an alliance elsewhere and look to Normandy and Denmark for trade. Ulrich may hire men there or in Saxony to defend the island. Tostig will need your trade to fill his coffers and will probably be unwilling to use brute force to do so. His resources will be spread thin enough as it is. You could hold out against him and find a political balance that would allow life on the island to continue nearly as it has.

  If William of Normandy does attack, he will no doubt find our shores unprotected. Even if we are able to move our armies south again in time to meet him, he will be fresh and eager for a fight while we will be wounded and exhausted. He will take the throne, in less than two years I estimate. I would advise you to marry if he shows any interest in Aurelius. The choice is yours, but once he takes note of the island he will want his own loyal man in charge there. You may be able to convince him to let you choose a husband from his men; otherwise, you could, again, enter a convent or leave the island altogether.

  There is much conjecture in this missive, and I apologize for not being more clear. I would that I was able. Keep your eyes and ears open and use reason and logic to make your decisions. Ulrich will be a sword at your side, and you know that you can count on Brother Simon for divine guidance. We are moving now and I must go.

  Aelfreic Cruithne

  Julia read the letter twice. The first time through her eyes nearly tripped over the words in their haste to take it all in. The second time she went much slower, and when she finally looked up Ulrich and Thomas were standing quietly, at attention in the shade of a large tree. She stared for a moment, not seeing them, and forcing orderly thoughts of all she must do to push aside the quiet terror inspired by the knowledge that her brother was facing certain war, and risking death.

  “Thomas, stop by the creek on your way home. You must wash all of that dirt off before you go see your mother.” She caught his sleeve before he dashed off, “And do not get your clothes wet. Come up to the keep first thing in the morning.” She let him go and watched him race over the hill before turning to the man-at-arms. “Did he tell you what he was writing?”

  “No, my lady. But I was with him when he received reports of the alliance between Tostig and Hardrada.” Ulrich was a man quick to laugh, and his temper was equally so, “Why would he send me to watch over the women when there is fighting to be done? Surely you are in no danger on the island?” For the first time in her life Julia faced Ulrich, a man fifteen years her senior whom she respected, and had to restrain herself from striking him.

  “Do you question the decision of your lord?” She could feel an angry flush heating her cheeks. She was responsible for the survival and success of every person on the island. She needed help to do that, and Ulrich had the temerity to consider his duty beneath him.

  “My lady-”

  “Do you think he would demean you by giving you tasks unworthy of you?”

  “No, I-”

  “Do you find the protection of the Lady of this island beneath you? Do you not remember giving him your word, your loyalty? Are you such a man that you would break your oath?”

  “No!” Ulrich was red-faced with shame, as well as anger. She had incited him so far as to place his hand upon his weapon. His knuckles were bone white against the pommel of his sword, but he had not drawn.

  “I did not think you were, Ulrich.” She took a deep breath. The knowledge and responsibility she had gained in the last few months weighed heavily on her. It had changed her, matured her, and perhaps caused her to lose some of the light-hearted innocence that a Lady of her years was expected to have. She motioned for him to walk with her and whistled for her mount. Taking up the reins she walked along the matted grass path towards the keep. She could hear him beside her trying to bring his breathing and temper under control. Af
ter a few moments she spoke again, “He believes that William will still attack, and that he will not survive the fighting in the North.”

  Ulrich stared at her, “He wrote that?”

  “About William, yes. He wrote nothing about his death, but he gave many instructions on how I should act in the future, depending on how the fighting goes and who takes the crown. He would not have done that if he believed he would be back.” Ulrich nodded and contemplated this new information with a cooler head. “You were with him when he heard of Hardrada and Tostig? How many men does the Norse king command?”

  “Nearly 15,000.”

  “God help us,” Julia whispered, shocked. She crossed herself. She could not even imagine what that many men would look like, together, charging a hill. If Hardrada had brought such an army he could easily fortify York and five or six other towns. There would be no defeating them before William’s army could sweep the South. “We need to set up a watch on the harbor and the little bay. If anyone unknown should approach the island, our first priority will be to get as many as possible to the safety of the keep or the monastery. We will fight only to defend our backs or if we are cornered. Agreed?”