by Susan Amund
“Fortunately for you, Abjorn, that is not a problem for me. If you have need of remedy for your own inexperience, I would be happy to give you advice.” He bared his teeth, and Abjorn roughly smacked the back of his head.
“I have quite proven myself, Vandalsson. I had four sons, remember? And I will have more if fate flows my way. It is you who has left no seed to sprout behind you.” Abjorn moved to the curtain, and paused, his expression once more in the stern set that was more common for him, “The fields here seem quite fertile. I hope you are successful soon, for all our sakes.”
The cloth fell shut behind him, and Eric was left alone with his thoughts. Although the friendly taunts and insults were rarer from Abjorn than they had been from Bjorn or some of his other men, the matter behind them was quite serious. The men needed a home. Eric had promised them that. He had been the one to offer them a place on his longship. He found them work in kingdoms far from home – and with Hardrada. And it would be Lady Julia’s decision if they were to stay. Even if, by some miracle, her brother returned, a relationship with her would be the seal on the future for his men on the island.
Not that Eric considered it a hardship. He stood from the hot water as his thoughts turned to the Lady. Each evening he had spent at her table had deepened his knowledge of her and improved his view of the woman. She was intelligent and learned, quick to laugh and free with her smiles. Her skills with a bow were admirable, her skills at womanly duties like sewing considerably less so. She was easily riled, and her blush was becoming.
He rubbed his skin dry methodically and recalled how she had stood at the edge of the field where he worked that morning and offered him a jug of water. Her blue eyes sparkled in the sunshine, the wind tousled her dark hair and clothing. Her skirts were pressed to her legs and hips, and his mouth was suddenly much drier than it had been. He ignored the rush of blood that resulted at the memory of the soft swell of her breasts and the fullness of her lower lip.
He entered the wash room, empty of men while the noise in the cold bath increased, and dressed quickly. He wanted the Lady Julia. His future, the future of all of his men, depended on her accepting him. For several weeks, since they had landed on the island, he had taken only small steps towards securing her interest. The time for that was past. He would need to return to Norway soon, and he wanted to come to an agreement with Julia before then.
Eric exited the bath house and made his way to the village to check on his men and give orders where needed. He would dine with her again that evening, and it was time to make his intentions plain to her. A small smile was hidden under his beard. It would not be a hardship at all.
The Council
In the hour before the evening meal, Julia was getting ready to change her dress for the second time when she realized what she was doing. “Good heavens,” she muttered to herself. She patted her hair one last time, checking for any loose pins, before she found her slippers. “It isn’t as though there is anyone to impress during the meal.” Her mind flashed unwillingly to the handsome man who had dined with her for the past two weeks. She shook her head as she opened the door, unable to quite convince herself or stop a blush from spreading across her cheeks. The walk down the stone corridor to the stairs helped to cool her face.
The great Hall had been built to seat eighty or more, but rarely had it been full during her lifetime. Most of the tables were stacked against the outside wall. Two long tables, flanked by benches and a few chairs, were placed at an angle in the center. Some seats were already filled but most of the diners were milling about in front of the fire. Their chatter was indistinct by the time it reached Julia across the large room.
Her eyes sought out Eric first. She ignored the little wave of pleasure she received when she noticed he had bathed and changed his clothes before returning to the keep. He was speaking seriously with Ulrich. Alvar stood nearby. No doubt Skald had been left to attend the prisoner during the meal. Sarah and several female workers were talking animatedly. Various servants moved around, bringing steaming bowls and platters to the tables and setting out pitchers of ale. Those merchants who were in residence and a few of the island’s monks were present as well. Simon and the Abbot were seated near the foot of the two tables, although Simon rose and moved towards her as soon as she caught his eye.
She met him at the foot of the stairs. “I am so pleased you could make it brother.”
“Yes, I heard Cook was making pheasant tonight. I believe the Abbot is planning on asking her to come to the monastery.”
“Again?” She laughed, “Won’t he ever give up?” Then she slapped his shoulder, lightly. “Are you saying you only came for the food?”
“It is really good pheasant.”
“You should be above such worldly cravings, brother. Such rich meat can’t be good for your piety.” She failed to suppress a smile while she needled him, ruining her threat. “Perhaps I should have Cook bring out some weak broth?” They had reached the tables by the time she made that comment, and the Abbot caught her teasing tone.
“My child, the Lord has provided us with such bountiful game and given the good Cook exceptional talent to prepare it. It would be ungrateful of us to shun his gifts.”
“Forgive me, Abbott,” Julia conceded defeat with a grin. “You will give a blessing?” At his smiling nod, she clapped loudly. “Let us be seated!”
Eric became aware of her presence the moment she stepped out onto the landing. From the corner of his eye he watched her survey the room. Her over tunic was a dark blue that matched her eyes. Her hair hung loose down her back with only the pieces near her face twisted out of the way. As she moved closer, he noticed the black strands were woven with a pale blue ribbon to match the belt that hung low on her hips, emphasizing the curve of her waist and the swell of her backside. He struggled to concentrate on Ulrich’s questions regarding his training.
“No,” he answered, “I fought first under one of Hardrada’s comitas for a few seasons of campaign against the Danes.”
“Then your lord died at Stamford?” Ulrich quizzed.
“I have no lord, no loyalties to any but my men and Hardrada.”
“And he is dead.”
“He is dead,” Eric agreed.
“You have no lands then?”
“Only what Hardrada had promised me.” Whatever Ulrich had been about to ask was interrupted by a snort from Alvar. Both seasoned warriors turned to him with raised brows.
“Well,” Alvar hesitated, “well, it isn’t as though you were really expecting it this time, were you?”
“This time?” Ulrich picked up on the emphasis, despite Norse not being his first language.
“It doesn’t matter. His promise is lost with his life...and the campaign.” Eric worked hard to keep emotion off of his face. “It is enough that MØrket survived.”
“The ship and your dolgildi.” Alvar nodded.
“Dolgildi?” Ulrich turned over the unfamiliar word for payment in treasure. Julia’s clap halted their conversation.
“Let us be seated!” She called out with a smile. Eric moved to the side as the others found their way to their places. The Lady stood beside a wide chair placed at the head of the angled tables. To her right and on the inside of the table sat an elderly steward and two old retainers that he had not seen before. Across from them, Ulrich seated himself at a chair rather than a bench. It did not escape Eric’s notice that the man had a full view of the room, including the main doors, the stairs, and the exit to the kitchens. The Abbott and Brother Simon sat on the inside to her left. Various other retainers, servants, and some merchants arranged themselves along benches. They were still settling down, a few servants bringing in the last of the food, when Julia motioned him over. She gestured to his usual spot on the bench along the outside of the table.
“Thank you all for joining us! As the Abbott is here with us, he will lead the prayer.” The elderly monk stood, and Julia took a seat next to Eric on the bench. She sat without really lookin
g, and ended up pressed against him from knee to shoulder. He smirked into his folded hands. She did not appear to know what to do with herself. He could feel the heat of her blush - not surprising considering how close they were - as the Abbott continued his thanksgiving. She inched away, so he relaxed his leg to take up more of the bench. She scooted again and he barely reached out in time to snag her around the waist before she fell off the end.
Her soft exclamation went unnoticed, by everyone except Simon. Eric ignored his gaze to keep his eyes on the table and concentrated on keeping a smile off of his face. She remained tense in his arm, still pressed tightly against his side, for a long minute. Her sigh of resignation and the relaxing of her muscles made him smirk again. Reluctantly, he rewarded her by removing his arm and shifting to allow a few inches of space between them. She took immediate advantage by tilting her knees to the side so the only place they touched was at the hip.
A chorus of “amen” rang around the table and dishes were picked up and passed while the conversations restarted. Simon offered a heaping tray of pheasant to the Abbot before serving himself and leaning across the table.
“Julia?”
Eric took the platter before she could reach for it, holding it steady while she selected her meat and ignoring the piercing gaze of her twin brother. She set down her knife and he would have moved to take his own meat if the monk hadn’t spoken again,
“Have you forgotten your manners, sister? Won’t you serve our guest?” The Abbot looked up from a fish pie. Julia scowled but raised her knife again.
“Would you care for pheasant, Sir Vandalsson?” Her cool voice belied the wrinkle between her eyebrows.
“Please,” he responded.
“How long did you serve Hardrada, Sir Vandalsson?” The Abbot’s inquiry started a civil conversation between the two monks and the Norseman, punctuated occasionally by comments from Ulrich or Julia. Eric answered all of their questions and asked a few of his own, general curiosity about the island and the people. Julia continued to serve him as dishes were passed around without further scowling or comment from her brother. By the time their meal was over, many of the dishes had been picked clean and the merchants had gotten out a cup of dice to play near the fire with a jug of ale.
As she had done twice before, she spoke to the small group at the head of the table. “Join me in the study.” She signaled to one of the servants, and, to Eric’s surprise, gestured for him to come as well. Eric followed a few yards behind her as she left the table. Simon fell into step beside him.
“I missed dining at the keep for the past several nights. I hope Julia has given our honored guests a warm welcome?” Eric nodded. “All your desires have been met?” Eric stopped in the hall, nostrils flaring. He tried to tell himself that any inference was his own. Simon was Julia’s brother, and a man of the Church. He would never imply; although the monk’s eyes were sparkling and his mouth twitching.
“I am satisfied with the healing and safe harbor we have been given. That is a deep enough debt to repay.”
“Well, if you would like to repay my sister, you should consider some fine silks. Or jewels. She has a few brooches and necklaces, but nothing in the way of rings.”
“A well-harvested field and full storehouse seems to please all of the islanders.” Eric contained his smile as the monk tried to make his innuendos more obvious.
“But surely you would like to offer more personal thanks? A few heartfelt, intimate...words...between the two of you?”
“What could be more intimate than the debt of my men’s lives?”
“Of course. You owe Julia your ship, your men...your very body is-” The monk’s teasing was cut off by a sharp blow to the back of his head. Eric turned to see the Abbot behind them.
“If you cannot speak like a man of God, Brother Simon, at perhaps you should not speak at all.” Simon grinned,
“I was only saying-”
“Simon!” Julia’s call drew their attention to the doorway under the stairs. “Stop waylaying everyone, we have important matters to discuss.”
“If only you knew,” Simon muttered under his breath. His comment earned him another slap on the head from his superior, which put Eric in a much better mood.
The gathering in the study was small. Taking in their positions and demeanor, Eric compared them to a council of advisers. Julia sat at the head of the loose ring. A short bookcase stood behind her. Ulrich leaned against a reading table on her right. Next to him sat the household steward, Galen. The Abbott settled himself in a comfortable chair in front of the single window in the room; Simon stood beside him. Eric bypassed the last empty chair to stand at Julia’s left. A servant placed warm wine and goblets on a table near the Abbott and closed the door tightly behind her.
“Galen, would you-” Julia gestured toward the wine, but Simon waved off the steward.
“Let me,” he said. Galen smiled in thanks, relaxing against his chair. Eric estimated his age to be more than sixty, but his eyes were quite sharp.
“Go ahead with your report, Galen.” Julia and the others fell silent as the steward updated her on the status of the harvest and the trade. The man kept the accounts for the keep and all of the merchants employed at the island. In a few weeks, the trading season would be over and Galen would be able to rest, but Eric had learned that autumn was a busy time as merchants returned with bags and barrels empty of medicines and books and replaced them with chests full of coin and trade goods. The Abbott offered a few questions on the demand for certain tonics and poultices. Julia asked after specific prices for some trade goods. By the time the report was finished, the wine was nearly gone and Eric was left wondering why he had been invited to such a detailed accounting of the island’s wealth.
“Thank you, Galen,” Julia smiled. “Why don’t you retire? I expect you will have a full day tomorrow.”
“Thank you, my Lady.” Galen bid the gathering goodnight and closed the door softly behind him.
“I meet with my advisers weekly, Sir Vandalsson. My brother included me in the practice, and I have continued it in his absence. I wanted you to join us tonight so that we might discuss your men and other matters.” She nodded to Ulrich and the knight took charge of the conversation. They discussed the state of his men - all but fourteen were healthy enough to sail. A week or more of rest and most of the others would be ready as well.
“We don’t normally see trade ships this late in the year. Are you accustomed to sailing in the winter?” Julia avoided his gaze while she spoke.
“MØrket has done so many times.” He paused, “However, without a full crew, I would prefer not to delay past the first snow, if possible.”
“Those who are not well enough to travel when you must leave are welcome to winter on Aurelius,” offered Simon.
“Simon-” Julia began, but the sly monk interrupted her.
“If Julia does not have room at the keep,” the notion was ridiculous to everyone present, as even with all of Aelfric’s men in residence much of the fort was unoccupied, “I am certain that the Abbott would not refuse succor and rest to the injured.”
“That won’t be necessary, Simon,” Julia said tightly. Her neck and cheeks flushed, although Eric could not tell if it was from embarrassment or irritation.
“Only Sir Jens and the brute fellow remain in the village. The order will assist you in any way necessary, my Lady. Perhaps we could send one of our order to stay at the infirmary to care for your visitors? It would be a sacrifice worthy of a truly pious man to devote himself fully to their care - every hour of the day.” Eric watched Julia from the corner of his eye. She was nodding, but her mouth was tight. He wondered how she felt about continuing to house the Norsemen, as well as his planned departure. “It will help Simon to remember the lesson of humility.”
Ulrich’s laughter and Simon’s sputtering were interrupted by a commotion in the Great Hall. Raised voices echoed outside the study. Ulrich was up and striding to the door, hand on his sword, just in
time to catch it as it was flung open. Steward Galen, dressed in his under tunic and leggings, was rumpled and out of breath as he struggled to hold back another man. The merchants and other household servants watched slacked-jawed from the Great Hall.
“What is the meaning of this?” Ulrich thundered.
“Sir!” The intruder broke free of Galen and stepped into the lit room. Eric recognized Paul the Saxon. He was out of breath, his face red. His clothes stuck to his back with sweat and he carried a leather satchel.
“Paul...” Ulrich was at a loss for words. Eric hadn’t realized he had moved from his original position until he felt a slender hand on this arm, guiding his drawn axe to his side.
“Paul,” Julia spoke softly, “come in and sit down. You cannot give a report until you catch your breath. Galen-” the steward looked ready to scold the young man for interrupting the meeting, “please have someone fetch water and something to eat. Paul has had quite a journey.” The steward bowed and shut the door, although Eric caught a few mutterings about tracking in mud and waking people who deserved their sleep.
The boy sat in an unoccupied chair, breathing heavily and leaning on his knees. Ulrich returned to his place, but Eric had to be pulled from his protective stance in front of Julia to stand at her side again. Paul fumbled with his satchel, finally taking out a sheaf of papers and passing them to Simon with trembling hands.
“Lady Julia,” he began. His voice shook and he steadied it with a deep breath. “Lady Julia, Brother Caemon and I have returned from the mainland. King Harold and his army have been defeated. The King has been killed and Duke William has claimed the throne. Lord Cruithne is dead.”
Long Live the King
Paul’s declaration was met with utter silence. The room remained that way as Simon read the papers and Galen brought in a cold supper tray. The door closed once more before anyone spoke.