North Sea Dawn

by Susan Amund

  “Ulrich! I would speak with you,” she commanded, dismounting and walking a short distance to the water. She did not look back, clearly expecting the man to follow her. Eric watched with interest. Few men of his acquaintance would tolerate such behavior from a woman. Then again, few women he knew could fire a bolt through a man’s neck. Ulrich did not hesitate, but left the Norman under the watchful eye of another man, and joined her. Eric wandered nearby to overhear their conversation.

  “My Lady, the Norman has not ye-”

  “Of course he hasn’t, Ulrich!” she snapped. Her back was ramrod straight and her eyes stared out at the open sea, their color matching the cold blue of the water. The knight straightened at her tone and took a more formal stance, hands behind his back. She let out a long sigh, “I doubt he will give us anything accurate by being beaten, sir. Even if he does, how would we be able to tell the lies from the truth?”

  “Aelfreic has said as much before,” the man answered stiffly. “But I do not feel we have any other choice. We must know the strength of their forces, find out the nature of this battle. My Lord needs me-”

  “You will stay here.” She turned to face him, and for a moment they were locked in a battle of wills. Eric moved closer as the vein in the soldier’s temple began to pound.

  “This battle is over, my Lady. I am sworn to protect Aelfreic, my duty lies-” She cut him off again,

  “Your duty lies here, to this island, as your Lord commanded.” She softened her tone and placed a hand on his shoulder, lowering her voice, “This is your home, Ulrich. And even if you had not sworn allegiance to my brother, I believe you would protect it. We are short too many, and I cannot have the captain of my guard leading our one able-bodied, trained man away from our defenses.” Eric took note of her possessiveness of the island and the soldiers.

  “Very well, Lady Julia.” He gave a shallow bow. “And what of the prisoner?” He turned to stare at the Norman, bleeding where he sat awkwardly on the smooth stones, his broken leg bound straight, watching them with interest. Eric caught a brief expression of uncertainty on Julia’s face, and then it was hardened into command again.

  “Have him taken to the tower room,” she held up a hand to halt two villagers from picking the man up. “Let two of the Norsemen do it,” she did not face Eric, but he could tell she was aware he was listening.

  “I will be happy to supply you with a strong arm, my Lady,” a lift of his chin brought two of his sailors to him, “but I would know your intention. Certainly they can beat him, if you wish, but what other purpose might they serve?” He knew she did not want the prisoner interrogated in that manner and her actions puzzled him. Her sentinel, Ulrich, seemed equally so.

  “Ulrich, send Sarah up to the keep with his men. She can direct them before she returns to her duties.” Ulrich nodded and stalked away to carry out her orders. Eric spoke softly to his men and they followed suit, although much less grudgingly. “I have negotiated with traders from Denmark and Saxony, even Normans, for many years.” She spoke softly and led him away from the beach towards the cottages. “I have found that often it is not actions that induce a trader to meet my demands, but what they fear or imagine my actions will be.” She faced him as they arrived at the first low doorway. Her eyes were dark like the cold northern sea.

  “Then he will convince himself to talk?” he asked skeptically. She shrugged,

  “If not, there still remains the beating.” He laughed - hard enough that his chest hurt and she laid a soft hand on the thin fabric of his tunic.

  “You must be careful not to breathe so deeply, unless it is necessary.” Her hand was small against the breadth of his chest, and Eric had no trouble breathing shallowly as she caressed his ribs, lightly assessing his injury. He considered that a commanding woman with a gentle hand was a rare find. “You should have this bandaged. I will have time after I consult with Brother Simon.” Despite his aversion to wrap an injury that did not bleed, he nodded and she ducked into the cottage with a satisfied smile. Eric did not examine his desire to follow her, and instead returned to the ship to finish his own work. Along the way he stopped and gave orders and suggestions to his more able-bodied men as he had done for the past two days. Amund Svenson, who was markedly better after the monks had broken the fever that had nearly killed him and soothed the gashes on his arms and chest, was directed to assist a round little woman carrying water and food to the injured. He pushed young Bjorn the Red and his even younger brother towards two tall women struggling to load empty baskets onto a cart pulled by an uncooperative donkey. Torvald the Lean was sent off to bring wood to the village, led by an attractive black-haired lass with a quick smile. By the time he had finished on the ship, three other sailors were working under the blustering command of Duncan, the village butcher and tanner.

  Eric tried not to smile as the old man treated the Danish warriors to a colorful barrage of English swear words. The debris from one of the burned cottages had already been cleared away and another was being repaired with haste by the Norse. The leader’s eyes were drawn away as Julia stepped back out into the sunlight. She shaded her pale skin against the hot afternoon with one freckled hand and knelt down to see to a man with a broken leg, lying in the shade of a gnarled tree. Eric studied her face as he walked toward the last cottage on the shore. Her black hair had been washed recently. It now crowned her head in a thick braid. He wondered if it would smell of the same crisp apple soap that scented his skin, or if she used something different at the keep.

  His thoughts were banished as his eyes adjusted to the light inside the dwelling. It belonged to a bachelor who had followed Aelfreic to the mainland and so Julia had offered it to Jens and two other injured men who were instructed to remain lying or seated as much as possible. Even now, Jens was propped up on the lone bed, his nursemaid listening to him avidly with wide eyes. The old warrior’s voice spoke in broken English, “…great wings, red with the blood of the dead, spread out from the wyrm’s body. But the King was not afraid. He welcomed this challenge, he wished to fight the dragon to the death, and die with honor.” The lad called Thomas was leaning over the bed, nearly falling into Jens’ lap.

  “Then what happened?”

  “Then the brave young squire went to fetch his mistress,” Eric interrupted. Thomas nearly fell off the bed, scrambling to face the tall man in the doorway.

  “But Master Jens promised to tell me what happened to Beowulf!” he protested.

  “And so I shall, boy, but you had best follow his instructions. Eric Vandalsson is not called the Bringer of Darkness for nothing!” Jens shooed the boy to the door and nodded to his commander, switching to his native tongue. “And I suppose you would like to know what young Thomas has told me today?” His eyes sparkled with merriment and Eric had to swallow hard on his emotions. Only a few days ago, he had not thought to ever see the old man’s smile again.

  “Yes, and what information have you traded your stories for today?” He sat on the low stool that Thomas had abandoned.

  “The settlement on the island is quite old, and seems to have incorporated whoever landed ships here. The Romans left the biggest impression. I gather that Lady Julia’s family is directly descended from the Roman nobles who commanded this outpost.”

  “They built the baths here and perhaps some of the fortress that is still standing. Although I haven’t seen it yet,” Eric added.

  “Baths?”

  “They have a large stone building to the east of the village that encloses a pool. The water is brought in from a stream, so it stays fresh. They even have a method for heating it – so that you may bathe in comfort even in winter.”

  “Bah – sounds like a waste of firewood. Why would anyone want to bathe more than once or twice a year anyway when a good scrubbing will do?”

  “I am given to understand they are used by men and women – perhaps even at the same time,” he teased. Eric struggled to contain his smile.

  “Well, I don’t suppose I should pas
s judgment until I have tried it.”

  “Just to be fair?” Eric asked dryly.

  “Just to be fair.” Jens nodded seriously before returning to his briefing. “The islanders are unusually well educated. Most speak at least one other language, and several have taken lessons from the monks to read and write.” Jens spoke of the wealth of books on the island with a hint of derision. Although they both knew the monetary value of illuminated scripts, or even simple works of a scribe, Eric was not surprised that the illiterate Jens would have preferred to find that the monks of Aureilus were known for their ale, rather than their library. “Aelfreic Cruithne is the Lord here, Lady Julia is his younger sister by a different mother. The good monk Simon is her twin and seems to have a valued place as a healer at the monastery. Cruithne left to defend England in the spring and took nearly all of the able bodied men with him. Young Thomas seems to think this was highly noble of him, rather than his duty as a vassal. I’m afraid I couldn’t get a good answer out of him,” Jens apologized.

  “It is understandable that the boy wouldn’t have any political knowledge,” Eric nodded, “I’ll get that elsewhere.”

  “Thomas went with Cruithne to the camp and carried letters back to Lady Julia, accompanied by a monk to keep him out of trouble. Recently he was sent back with Ulrich – which he is endlessly proud of – and Ulrich and he have stayed since then, rather than taking a response from the Lady to her brother as Thomas was used to doing.

  “They have been preparing the island for attack by setting watches and training the older boys and skilled women in combat.” Jens paused and his eyes relaxed into a thoughtful distance. “I once heard a story of women warriors in Scythia. They were six feet tall with red hair and breasts that-”

  “And what of the women here?” Eric interrupted. If he had let Jens go on he would have spent hours listening to stories of foreign shield maidens and their prowess on the battlefield and in bed. They were good tales, he had heard them many times, but he had other matters of concern. “Who is left in the village, and when do they expect the men back?”

  “Thomas seems to think the island men will be back any day behind a victorious Cruithne with scads of treasure. My nurse, Mary Ellery, although she is much more tight-lipped, does not seem so optimistic. Her husband is with the army. If the Normans are successful…even if they only make it a hard win for the Britons…most of these men won’t come back. You know how it is, Eric, what battle doesn’t kill, the flesh rot will.” They were both silent for a moment staring out the door at their friends and comrades lying or sitting on the ground, waiting for clean bandages, or water, or a friendly word, but not death. Not anymore. “If these monks had taken their medicines to the battlefield, perhaps, but Cruithne ordered them to stay. Apparently the main export of the island is healing – medicines and books on the subject. The chandler’s wife told me that they send goods in every direction with traders. Nobles and churchmen come from hundreds of miles to seek out the tonics and skills of the monks.”

  “If he had taken them with him and they lost the battle, the island would have no means of support,” Eric concluded.

  “My thoughts as well,” Jens nodded and took a small sip of water. “The fishing here is good, although I’m sure you can tell from their boats-”

  “They stick to the bay,” Eric finished.

  “Aye, and with the women on this island I can’t blame them.” Jens smiled appreciatively. “It seems that there were more women than men even before Cruithne took off to Briton. Thomas laments how few boys there are to play with, and Mary Ellery commented that they are all related to one another. She is kin to both Lady Julia and Thomas. And Thomas is somewhat distantly related to the Abbot, as well as Duncan, the tanner. The chandler was one of only two men on the island who courted Mary Ellery – the others are all kin of one sort or another. I gather Cruithne had begun a select recruiting process for his guard to bring more single men to the island but that the call to arms brought that to an end.

  “Besides that black-haired lass, Cassandra, there are three other young wenches that are of marriageable age and have no prospects on the island. There are several others that are unattached for various reasons. Mary Beth, that is the brown haired woman whose father owns the largest fishing boat, she is one and twenty, but has a bit of a temper that seems to have put off the local lads. Penelope Griven is the oldest of six, her mother died in childbirth three years ago. She is alone now that her father is off fighting. She is on the farm closest to the marsh, good land for grazing, but there are all those youngsters to contend with.” Jens detailed a long list of older girls and women who were either destined to remain unmarried, or would be so if the island men did not return. “And, of course, the Lady of Aurelius, Julia.” Eric tried to remain impassive as he could feel the faded blue eyes watching his face and his posture. “She has been courted by a knight on the mainland, one with some land and considerable men, although what Thomas thinks is a great many soldiers is a matter of debate. There was also another at Harold’s court who requested her hand from Aelfreic, but her brother did not push her to choose.”

  “And of the island men?” Eric asked coolly, snatching a biscuit from the plate near Jens and popping it in his mouth.

  “None have said anything openly, nor has there been any talk. I gather she is thought of as a bit too far above them in station. Although it appears she is widely revered as the prettiest woman on the island, with the exception of her cousin, Sarah.”

  “Sarah is the blond archer?” Jens nodded in confirmation. “She seems quite taken with the Saxon, Paul.” Eric mused quietly and chewed through the biscuit, light and fluffy with a hint of butter.

  “What are you planning here, Eric?” Jens asked quietly. “This island is short of men, but I do not think they would surrender to your command without a bloody fight.” He sat up a bit straighter, “Nor do I think you should try to conquer them. These people have opened their homes to us, although we have so recently been their enemy. Treating hospitality in such a way would be offensive to the gods.”

  “No, Jens. That is not my intent.” Eric stood and paced before the open doorway, watching Thomas chatter to Julia while she changed a bandage. “To be honest, I had first thought to secure the truce we have here until we could sail, but now…” His eyes followed the curve of her spine as she bent over her patient to the generous swell of her hips. Her laughter, mingled with that of his soldier and Thomas, carried across to his ears.

  “Now?” Jens prompted.

  “Now I believe there could be a chance here for something…perhaps more… permanent - for those who wish it.” He turned and acknowledged the surprise and acceptance on his old teacher’s face with a nod. “I have promised these men many things, and I will deliver if I can. I will try to make the men helpful, to find them a place here. When and if Cruithne returns, I will speak to him of allowing those who wish it to stay.”

  “And what of the things you were promised?” Jens asked knowingly. “The land…the woman?” His serious expression faded to a smile as Julia pushed past Eric into the cottage.

  “What woman?” Julia asked offhandedly as she swept biscuit crumbs off the bed and tidied the pallets of the men sleeping on the floor.

  “Hardrada's wife,” Eric answered smoothly, “she is no doubt looking for some poor Norseman to fill her husband's place.”

  “Will word have reached your homeland already?” She asked, surprised, and then turned around. “Poor Norseman? Is it so awful to be married to a queen?” She raised her eyebrows and placed her hands on her hips. Eric’s eyes were drawn to the tilt of her lips and the open neckline of her tunic.

  “You have never heard tales of the wife of Hardrada?” Jens smiled broadly. “She has a face so beautiful men have cast their eyes down in her presence, lest they be blinded.”

  “Oh, so she's a harridan,” Julia said matter-of-factly. She turned her back on the puzzled expressions of the men and began laying out supplies to change
Jens' bandages.

  “Why would you say that?” asked Jens.

  “When a woman is ugly, men tell other women about her sweet nature. When she is a shrew, they speak of her beauty.”

  “And what do men mean then when they speak of a woman's fine figure?” Eric asked, watching the blush creep up her face.

  “When a woman's figure is good enough to make men tell tales of it, they rarely notice her face or her nature,” she replied tartly. Eric smiled and Jens guffawed so loudly he awoke one of his roommates. Julia immediately pressed her hands against his shoulders. “You mustn’t move so, sir. You will aggravate the wound and start the bleeding again.”

  “Then you should send someone duller to attend me, my Lady,” Jens said with a grin, “between your wit and your looks I am sure to expire. Why if I were thirty years younger-”

  “Don’t tease me, Sir Jens, you’re hardly that old. Besides, all this talk of my beauty and wit will make me quite prideful – and I haven’t time to go to confession.” Eric listened to their lighthearted teasing with only one ear while she changed the old man’s bandages. He kept a light smile on his face, but he felt the shadow of a thwarted death fall across him when the deep gouge was revealed. Even after she had stitched it up, the skin on Jens’ chest puckered and sank just under the breastbone. It was impossible to tell from looking if it would heal or turn gangrenous; the color was obscured completely by bruises in every shade radiating out across his chest. It should have killed him. He should be dead, they all should. Nearly every man had been wounded, most gravely. If the wounds hadn’t killed them, they would have died at sea with too few men to row. His mind’s eye saw his long ship, a drifting funeral pyre with no one alive to light it. He was brought back to the present by Julia’s throaty laughter.

  “And after that I had to go to confession – again.” Jens was smiling widely and Julia chuckled as she dug in her bag of supplies. “Now I have something else for you, which I saved to bring you luck.” She pulled out a small square of white silk – Eric recognized it as a piece of the man’s ruined shirt. Folded gently inside was a bit of white rock. About the size of the pad of his thumb, it was rounded at one end and came to a gentle point at the other. There was a small dimple on one flat side. She offered it to Jens.