by Susan Amund
“There’s an execution block stored in the tower,” Ulrich said. His voice was tight with anger, and something else Eric couldn’t place. Lady Julia was quickly approaching them from the upper bailey. “That won’t be necessary,” Eric stated flatly without looking at Ulrich. Morri’s eyes widened but he did not beg for mercy as Eric’s fist closed around his neck. He lifted the man’s body and leaned close to his ear, ignoring the gasps of the small crowd as he squeezed. “You will apologize to the Lady, and to her guard. Until I can remove you from this island, you will pay off the debt your crimes have put you into by working at whatever task you are set. Any wealth you have with you now belongs to the Lady. If you test me, I will show you what tortures my father’s tribe has forbidden. And then your suffering will truly begin. You will earn back your honor or I will dispatch you to the deepest pit of hell with such slowness that your mother will feel the flames in her womb.”
He finished just as Julia stopped beside Ulrich. He threw Morri, purple faced, gasping at her feet. “Begin,” he commanded. He stood sentinel over the men while Morri struggled to breathe. A low growl prompted him to speak. Lady Julia’s eyes grew ever wider as the beaten man confessed his plans to murder her knight, steal her valuables, and rape or kill any who were unfortunate enough to get in his way. She listened silently, occasionally glancing at the man towering over them all. Ulrich had his sword at the man’s throat as he told of how they had hoped to use her to buy Eric’s compliance, and then pass her amongst themselves along with the prettier women in the village. He ended his story with assurances that they had made their plans without Eric’s knowledge and promised to work off his crimes. Eric waited for her reaction. Julia kept her eyes on the lowered head of the Swede, and placed one slender hand on Ulrich’s sword.
“Enough blood has been spilled. If this is the punishment Vandalsson decrees for those under his authority, the island will abide by it.” She did not look at Eric, but turned to those gathered and continued in English, “This man and some few others disobeyed their Lord and planned to take advantage of us in our weakness.” Eric heard her acceptance, but the rest of her words would have to be stored in his memory and digested later. The anger, sudden and brutal, had yet to dissipate completely and he found he could not concentrate. There were gasps of shock, one elderly woman let out a curse and spat upon the corpse of Undr.
“I have agreed with Vandalsson’s punishment of these men. The instigator has been put to death.” The eyes of the crowd rested on Undr and the pool of blood around him. “Those who colluded with him will work off their crimes.” Eric turned from the grumbled questions of the crowd as Bjorn drew up beside him. Two more of Eric’s men waited at the gate.
“Ye shouldn’t allow them heathens on the island, my lady. They’ll murder us all in our beds.” A woman of middle years spoke out, her eyes accusing. The crowd grew quiet and Eric pulled himself up to his full height, his face impassive. He was not given the chance to speak as Julia stepped quickly around Morri and Ulrich to stand at his side.
“I have given Vandalsson and his men refuge. I will not go back on my word. What a handful of men have done does not reflect on them all.”
“My Lady-” the same woman argued.
“No,” Julia said firmly. She placed one hand one Eric’s arm, headless of the blood spatters on his sleeve. “I am assured of this man’s honor. He has my trust, and he will have all of yours.” She waited for a response, but none was forthcoming. “Good. We have work to do.” The crowd dispersed, but her hand stayed on his arm. He nodded to Bjorn, sending him off to the village to carry out his orders. Alvar went back to his guard duty. Ulrich stepped forward.
“Lady,” he began. He hesitated, glancing to the two men and the dead body on the ground. He rolled his shoulders and seemed to change tack, “Are you alright?”
“I am fine, thank you. Please hold these two until Sir Bjorn and the others return to claim them.” She looked to Eric with a question in her eyes and he nodded. She continued, more sure of herself, “Have someone wrap that one and take him down to the village. If the Norse don’t want to burn him, ask Simon to say a prayer before he is buried.” Ulrich nodded and left swiftly. Eric would have left as well, but for her words, “I would speak with you.” He followed her through a shaded passageway along the outer wall and tried to calm himself.
He had not felt such rage in years. The battle lust - many called those overcome by it berserkers. It allowed Norse warriors to fight against great odds, to ignore injuries and perform feats of strength and skill. But it left reason behind. Eric avoided it, knowing that one calm head in battle could be worth five raging warriors who slaughtered indiscriminately. Despite his long-held determination to avoid it, he had given in.
The Swedes had merely been planning. They had no weapons drawn, would have been easily put down without any killing. He knew this. Some part of his rational mind had known it even as he approached them and listened to their conversation. Then they had mentioned Lady Julia. Undr and Morri spoke of how they would use her and his blood boiled. He could feel the rage creeping up again just remembering it. It made no sense. Certainly he had thought to court her. He wished for his men to find homes on the island, and she was a comely woman. If her brother did not return, he would ask her to consider him. He was without land or family, but not without wealth. The size and value of the island required a strong guard to protect it, which it would be lacking by the time the fight for the British throne was over. He could provide loyal, trained men and the experience to command them.
He could bring more than adequate compensation to her, and she...he studied her as she led him through the fort. Her black braid was pinned to her head exposing the pale skin of her neck. Her shoulders were delicate, but strong, and her spine was straight and proud. Her hips were generous. More of his anger seeped away as he continued to catalog her. The curves of her waist were more noticeable under in the dress she wore in place of her usual long tunic and trousers. She gathered her skirts as she ascended a short flight of stairs and the fabric was pulled taunt over her backside.
Yes, he would certainly have no complaints if he were to marry her. But he didn’t really know her. It had been less than a fortnight since he had landed MØrket on her shores. He had not been there long enough, known her long enough to develop any attachment. He had reacted as though the Lady had already accepted his suit, as though they had an understanding. He acted as though he cared for her. He stopped, surprised. Julia managed several more steps along the darkened corridor, even opened the heavy door at the end before she noticed he was no longer walking behind her.
“Vandalsson?” He continued moving after her, but his mind was still unsettled. Desire for her was not unexpected; her face and form were pleasing. Her passion and dedication were clear as well. She defended her people with her life, and cared for those in need. Their walk soon ended in an unused room of the barracks. She closed the door behind him and he pushed his thoughts away.
“Is this something I need to be concerned about?” Her face was calm. Eric looked closely for any signs of anger or fear but found none.
“You announced to your people that you trust me. Were those words hollow?”
“No,” she frowned. Frustration leaked into her expression, surprising him. She claimed to trust him, but her surprise that he would eliminate a threat to her belied that. “Perhaps I misspoke.” She sighed and switched to English. “I understood all of the men who landed with you to be under your command - your vassals - but this incident leads me to believe otherwise. Are there other men in your group who do not hold loyalty to you?”
“As I said, they will be dealt with.”
“Sir Vandalsson,” she huffed, “I am trying to ask for your assistance. Is that so difficult for you to give?”
“I owe you a debt. You have only to ask for my help.” They stared at each other for a moment.
“Well?”
“Well, what?”
At his puzzled qu
estion she threw up her hands in the air and slouched, uncharacteristically, onto the bench. “It has been many years since I have had to converse with a Norseman. I thought the Danes were terse, but this is ridiculous,” she muttered. She closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Would you please,” she asked clearly, “explain to me the nature of the relationship you have with the men who came on your ship. I would like to better understand your command and be able to give Ulrich and some others who help keep an eye on the island a better understanding of what to expect from you and them.” She waited a few moments before opening her eyes to stand, only to find him settling next to her.
“Most of them are my men, but I am not their lord - as you called me before.” She sat quietly through his explanation of the comitas, his friends who pledged to sail on his longship and call him leader, and the retreat from York. Her frustration with his close-lipped attitude had been quite real, but she had not really expected him to be so forthcoming either. “Sixteen of those who sailed with me have no allegiance to me or MØrket, although some are known to me through their ships or others they have fought with. I had spoken briefly with each of them after we landed, but now I will interview them all and single out any who might cause trouble. The remainder are mine. They are loyal to me and have my trust.” They sat quietly, both thinking..
“I apologize.” His voice was low, but strong, and she turned to him in surprise.
“For what?”
“I should have taken care of this earlier. You expected me to control these men, with all rights, and I did not. I am in your debt, again.”
“Oh, that,” she said with a dismissive sniff. “I thought maybe you were sorry for being so deliberately difficult earlier.”
“This is a serious matter, my Lady.”
“It is all taken care of now, or soon will be. Bjorn will no doubt reach the village soon and collect the others. Certainly the punishment you meted out should serve as a deterrent to any future plans.” She stood and brushed dust off the back of her skirts without looking at him. “In any case, we should discuss the health of your men and your plans soon. Come to the keep tonight and dine with us.” She offered him a sly grin as she stepped outside. “Perhaps food will bring your ears and your tongue into better harmony.” Eric was left staring at the open doorway and wondering when he had last been so insulted yet left in such good humor.
English Lessons
Eric relaxed into the hot water at the village bath house. Abjorn was already seated there, his head reclined back against the lip of the pool. The laughter and talk of other men in the wash room and cold bath was slightly muffled by the thick curtains at the doorway. Never before had the Norse men been so clean. Not that they did not care to wash when necessary, but none of the men who had sailed to the island had ever had such facilities available to them – nor would they have imagined using them so frequently. They had quickly learned, however, that the women on the island were quite used to nicer smells and cleaner hands than those of the average Viking. It did not take long for visits to the bath house to become commonplace for the Norse men.
Eric had surprisingly found that he enjoyed the relaxing hot water after a long day rebuilding the village or harvesting crops. It felt good to wash the dried sweat away after a hard afternoon of training with his men. Of course, he would not lie to himself and say that Julia’s strict adherence to cleanliness – and discrete avoidance of unwashed bodies – did not impact his decision to use the provided soaps and water almost daily.
In the fortnight since the betrayal had been discovered, Eric had dined every evening at the keep. One or two of his men usually joined him. He had been surprised to find that it was not the segregated gathering of nobles and armed men that he was accustomed to in most great houses. Instead, she seated her knight with her brother - or any other monks that might visit the keep - and at the same table as the house steward and her cousin Sarah. The island merchants that carried goods from Aurelis to farther ports at London, Prague, Lione, Frankfort, and even Lisbon, were intermixed with those who worked in the drying houses and apothecaries that lined the lower bailey. Even servants, those not required to watch the kitchen fires during the meal, sat with them to eat.
The first evening, he had been seated next to the Lady, who did not take the place at the head of the table, but rather sat beside it. She had explained the grand chair belonged to the Lord, her brother. The solemn expression on her face and her serious tone was a sharp reminder that he was at war. The moment had been saved by Brother Simon, who teased her that the wide chair was built for two, and since she turned down all who asked for her hand she was unlikely to find anyone to share it with when it was her turn to lead the island.
Paul the Saxon had been absent after that night. Ulrich, after considerable heated discussion with Julia, had sent the boy with Brother Caemon to find news of Aelfric. As a man of the cloth, Caemon would offer protection to the boy. Paul would provide translation in case they ran into Norman forces.
The evenings had started out with Julia trying to soothe any distrust and draw attention away from the long wait for word regarding Aelfric. In only a few short days, a friendly atmosphere had developed. Alvar or Skald took turns watching the Norman or joining the female workers for the meal, which became an excuse for flirting and English lessons. Ulrich began to ask Eric’s opinion on martial matters and defense. And the Lady shared a bench with him, seated always with as much space between them as was proper. She seemed to smile more easily, and if he arrived in the Great Hall after her, she awaited him to sit. Their conversation was full of repressed laughter, witty barbs, and dry humor.
Eric was pleased with progress on that front, although things would need to move apace if he would be ready to openly court her when her brother returned. That thought had given him pause and he stared through the rising steam to the painted ceiling of the bath house. He hadn’t intended to remain unless Cruithne did not return. If Aelfric came home, and Eric did claim Julia, he would only be a sword in another man’s hall. Without his realizing it, gaining his own hall and lands had become less important. He focused on the faded image of a sword, surrounded by a green wreath and did not examine too closely what had caused the change in his priorities.
The Norsemen were gaining strength and health rapidly under the care of Julia and the monks. Only a handful of men, Jens included, were still housed in the village. Those who were mobile had moved off of the beach and into the deserted barracks at the fort. The men who could be moved, but needed to remain bedridden, were taken to an infirmary in the upper bailey. Julia had given him a tour of the building. The structure was sturdy enough, despite its age and rare use, although it needed repairs.
“Send Amund up to the keep tomorrow to take a look at the roof of the infirmary,” he said to Abjorn.
The other man stretched his arms out along the stone and caught Eric’s eye. “He has a bit more masonry to finish to improve the dock we designed. Do you want him to break from that?”
“Yes, I only need his opinion tomorrow. We can schedule the work once the dock is done; that is more important.” The work on the island had kept the men busy, and Eric’s list of tasks was always growing. Cottages had been repaired and rebuilt. They had nearly finished bringing in the harvest. A few more days and the storehouses would be full to the brim of grain, wool, and medicinal plants. Every cellar and basket on the island was packed with apples and vegetables. Each dryhouse filled with meat and fish. His men had worked well with the islanders to earn their keep and secure stores for the winter.
They had little to do now but wait. Wait for the change in weather. Wait for Paul and Brother Caemon to return from the mainland with news of the invasion and Aelfric. Wait for those few still unable to make the journey to Norway to heal. Wait for the tide. It was the 25th of October and he was growing tired of waiting, but some part of him was hoping winter would come on hard and quick. The weather would insulate the island from the war, and prevent passag
e to Norway.
“The Lady seemed pleased with the new pilings. She told Mary Ellery she did not think there was a sturdier landing site in all of England.”
Eric’s mouth quirked up and he could not resist taunting his friend, “Your English lessons must be going well, if you heard all that. Perhaps soon you’ll be able to convince the chandler to let you warm yourself by her fire.”
“Mary Ellery is a married woman,” Abjorn frowned.
“She won’t be much longer.” Eric lost his good humor as the conversation turned serious. “If more than a handful return with Aelfreic to the island, I will be surprised – assuming the Lord returns at all. The Normans are not to be taken lightly, and the English have backed themselves into a difficult position. Their losses could not have been great against Hardrada’s armies, but they had wounded, and used supplies, and then to march across that marshy island to meet William… Even we would find it difficult to slay our enemies and claim honor in such a situation.”
“You must be thinking of some other band of men,” Abjorn said without a trace of sarcasm. “Eric Mortvisbrica leads me and my comrades. There is no enemy that can defeat us if the Bringer of Darkness plans the battle.”
“Careful, Abjorn. If your woman hears you so eager for battle, no amount of sweet English words will gain her favor.”
The huge Finn snorted and stood. He stepped from the bath and reached for a towel, rubbing himself dry while he spoke, “My woman? Perhaps, but only if we are staying. I believe that was the task you had set yourself – correct? How does the wooing of the Lady come along? Well, I hope. If you fail, all of these English lessons will be for nothing.” Abjorn slung his damp towel over one shoulder and frowned thunderously at Eric. “More importantly, I will lose all faith in fate and the gods if you cannot win the heart of a woman whose life and people you saved.” He made a lewd gesture and grinned at his friend, unable to keep up the pretense of disappointment. “It has been a long while since we were at a port. Perhaps you have forgotten what brings women pleasure?”