North Sea Dawn

by Susan Amund

  “Of course we will return. Who could resist such a tempting offer?” He tightened his grip on her hand and brushed his free fingers across her collarbone. She didn’t disappoint.

  “You haven’t been offered that yet, Sir Vandalsson.” She slapped his hand away lightly. A furious blush crept up her neck and belied her cool tone.

  “Yet,” he repeated softly, staring at her lips. She blushed harder as he leaned down. When he was close enough to see the pulse fluttering in her neck he shifted his gaze to her eyes. They were wide in anticipation and her warm breath was quick on his face. “I can be very convincing.” He winked. Eric didn’t ever recall having done so before, but the action must have been right because she spluttered.

  “You, you. . . ” He kissed her then, not nearly as gently as the night before, nor as passionately as he wanted to. When he pulled back her eyes had closed and her lips were red and swollen. He sighed. She looked well-kissed - so much for protecting her from gossip on the island. Then he grinned. He would be back soon enough, and it was better that the island was aware of what he was coming back for. She would just have to live through the chatter of the villagers.

  “I will be back.” He was serious, but he couldn’t completely stop his mirth from leaking into his tone.

  “Be careful how long you stay away,” she muttered, “You may not be wanted back.” He laughed and a smile broke through her irritated expression.

  “Are you ready?”

  “Yes.” She pulled her face into a more sober mien and walked beside him onto the beach. The crowd was just losing interest in Mary Ellery and Abjorn. The chandler leaned her heavy body into his side, looking exhausted but not angry. He had a fading red handprint on his cheek. They stopped at the edge of the water. Eric knelt stiffly in front of her,

  “My Lady,” he said formally; it was the first time he had referred to her as such. He looked only at her, but he could see the curiosity of the people gathered out of the corner of his eye. Maybe he shouldn’t have kissed her so soundly. They were clearly interested to know what had transpired to make him claim allegiance to her, and to have her accept it.

  “Sir Vandalsson,” she replied with her own nod and a shallow curtsey. She placed a hand on his shoulder, standing close by necessity. He understood the gesture. He wasn’t a lord, but she was still giving him her utmost respect in front of her people. She spoke clearly and loudly, so that everyone could hear. “I will await the return of MØrket within a month’s time. Aurelius is grateful for your strong arms, quick blades, and,” she turned her eyes to Torvald, who was still lingering next to a rumpled Cassandra, “generous hearts,” she finished dryly. Chuckles escaped the crowd and Cassandra blushed before pushing Torvald into the water and towards the ship.

  “We will protect this island as if it were our own.”

  “If you protect us, we will make this your home,” she replied. A few surprised looks were passed in the crowd, but most nodded in agreement with her decision.

  “We will return,” he said. He removed her hand from his shoulder, squeezing it tightly before letting go. “I will return.” His words were quiet enough that no one would overhear. She nodded to him, her eyes brighter than they had been a moment before, but her voice was steady and strong as she stepped back.

  “Go then, Eric Vandalsson, Captain of MØrket, Bringer of Darkness,” he raised a brow at her use of that name and a smirk flitted across her face as she continued, “Harbinger of Swift Death, Mortvisbrica. Defender of Aurelius.” The crowd was silent at the new title she added to his list. “Go then, and return on swift winds.”

  Julia remained where she was on the stone covered shore while Eric joined the men who pushed MØrket into deeper water. They jumped aboard and took their places at the oars. She watched as they pulled the ship out of the harbor. They raised the sail, and she stayed on the shore until the ship was out of sight. The islanders wandered back to their chores, the village felt suddenly larger and emptier without the noise and endless energy of the Norse. She finally looked away when Mary Ellery spoke from beside her.

  “So they truly will stay?”

  “Yes, nearly all of them.” She turned to give the woman a brief smile and caught sight of Abjorn. He was directing those men who had stayed to their duties, but never let Mary Ellery out of his sight. The red mark on his cheek had not completely faded. Julia glanced between the two of them, a sly grin struggling to escape.

  “What, my Lady?” Mary Ellery patted the kerchief over her hair self-consciously.

  “I was just wondering,” Julia glanced from the huge warrior to the woman who was considerably shorter than herself, “how did you get him to bend down so you could hit him?”

  November 8 Stafangr, Norway

  Eric swallowed a curse as he followed the men off of the boat. By the time he had set a watch and bit off instructions to return within three days, he had pushed down enough curses to make a seasoned sailor blush. Fourteen days to sail from Aurelius. Two weeks. More than twice the time the journey was expected to take. Eric bit down on another curse. The men needed at least three days to collect any belongings or gold they had left in safe keeping, to pay debts, to say good-bye to family or get them ready to travel if they would be joining the crew on MØrket. They would have preferred five, but Eric refused to consider it. He knew some of them would make jokes about his eagerness to return, all of which would be true.

  There was something else, though. He felt a burning itch in his arms to pull his axe and bite into an enemy. There was no threat, and he had no reason to believe that his crew or the island was in danger. The Norman army could not physically have made the trip from London to Aurelius in the time he had been gone. Even if they had not been busy laying siege to the English capital and every other walled city on the way, such a large force could not move with much speed.

  A smaller contingent could have made the journey. If Eric had been in charge of the invasion forces, and he knew of a rich jewel like Aurelius, he would have sent a small, skilled band of loyal men to secure the island while the main army continued subduing the mainland. Eric shook his head. It would take the Duke weeks, maybe even months, to sort through the information left in Harold’s castle regarding his vassals and trading partners. He had more than enough to deal with in England to worry about an island that would not even appear on a list of English holdings.

  Eric slung his bag over his shoulder and left the docks at a quick pace. His scowl and black temper kept anyone from bothering him as he strode into Stafangr. He would collect his dolgildi and prepare MØrket to sail. If he was lucky, they would be ready to leave in less than three days. The burning in his arms did not relent. He growled and increased his pace.

  Moving On

  Grief had settled around the island firmly, although most of the time Julia kept busy enough not to dwell on it. The harvest had to be finished. The last of the island merchants returned and their wares were inventoried and their profits noted. Eric’s men were settled more permanently into the barracks for the winter. Julia made daily rounds to visit those who were still recovering, making certain to take extra time with Jens each day as he was still confined to the village and could not make the long walk to the keep. The fall cleaning of the bathhouses and the digging of a new village latrine had to be organized and supervised. And then there were the funerals.

  A feast was held at the keep to honor Aelfreic’s passing. The entire island attended and the servants were instructed to set up tables in the lower bailey to accommodate them. The Abbot gave mass and Mary Ellery supplied a candle for every man, woman, and child to light. Julia was moved by their devotion and she told them so. It was an honor to her brother that, in their own deep personal grief, they would come to mourn his death. She did not cry then, but that night, after the food had been sent home with those that needed it and the bailey swept clean, she walked to her study with Simon. They sat on the rug, drinking wine and telling stories until they both fell asleep, exhausting from crying
. She woke up in Aelfreic’s huge, dusty bed with a dry mouth and Simon’s feet in her face.

  She felt raw after that, but calmer about his death. Which was important, because shortly afterwards, Caemon returned with eight survivors and three bodies. He had been unable to retrieve Aelfriec’s corpse for burial. Services were held for Aelfric's men. The names of those who had died were broken into groups of less than ten so that the families and friends could be accommodated inside the small village church. The Abbot held mass twice a day for six days to pray for all of the dead. When he was finished, it was Sunday. He stood on the shore offering communion and a prayer for all the lives lost.

  Julia checked in with Mary Ellery every day on her way to see Jens, and sometimes before she left the village. The woman continued to grow larger, wondering aloud if she was perhaps growing a horse instead of a baby. The death of her husband would have made her quieter, if she hadn’t spent most of her day badgering Abjorn. She ordered the warrior with the flattened nose to assist with the harvest, house repairs, and anything else she could think of. She was constantly irritated with him, and Julia would have found it concerning if she wasn’t so obviously fond of him.

  The Monday following the service, Julia found Mary Ellery standing in her garden, staring at the door to the chandler’s shed. She stopped beside her and examined the shed as well. “What are we looking at?”

  “He won’t let me in?” It came out as a question, but Julia ignored her tone.

  “Who?”

  “That great idiot, Abjorn. When I woke up this morning he wasn’t waiting outside. That young one, who goes to the keep-”

  “Balric?”

  “Him. He was sitting on my bench and has been following me all day.” Bjorn’s girl-crazy brother was sitting outside Mary Ellery’s cottage. For once he was not watching the village girls, but instead keeping an eye on the confused woman and cheerfully whittling.

  “Did Abjorn say why he won’t let you in?”

  “He never says anything, just follows me around carrying things and growling at people. And I haven’t seen or heard him today at all.”

  “What is he doing in there?”

  “I don’t know!” she wailed. Poor Mary Ellery looked ready to tear out her hair. “I know he’s in there, the younger one pointed to the shed when I asked about the big idiot. He just shrugs when I ask what is going on in there. And when I yell at Abjorn he won’t say anything! But I can hear him moving!” She turned to Julia, The twitch in her eye and set of her mouth was almost frightening. “What if he can’t speak? What if...what if he’s hurt in there?”

  “If Abjorn fell down in your shed the entire village would hear the thud,” Julia rubbed the woman’s back soothingly. “Why don’t we go inside and I’ll get your supper started while you rest. All of this tension isn’t good for the baby.”

  “Do you hear that, Abjorn?” she called out spitefully as they passed the shed door. “You are hurting the baby.”

  “I didn’t say-” Julia began, shocked at her friend’s behavior, but she was interrupted by the shed door being flung open.

  Abjorn stood shirtless in the doorway, sweat dripping off his brow and making his arms and chest shiny. His long hair had been pulled back into a tail and his forearms were covered with wax and angry red welts.

  “Rest,” he ordered in Norse. His expression warred between worry and something else...pride maybe. Worry won.

  “I can’t understand you!” Mary Ellery slapped at his outreached hands as he tried to guide her to the cottage.

  “He said you should rest,” Julia translated. As soon as Abjorn stepped out of the way, Mary Ellery threw her pregnant body into the shed.

  “I’ll rest when I find out what that lout has done with...with my...oh-my-lord,” she finished in a whispered rush and Julia was right behind her to lend support when the woman swayed. After helping her to a seat, Julia looked around the overheated room. It was no wonder Abjorn had been sweating, she was surprised he hadn’t suffocated himself. Three braziers had been lit, all warming huge pots of wax. Abjorn must have been making candles most of the night and into the day, because the room was full to the brim. Every available box and basket, every surface was packed with candles. The shelves where the raw wax, from elderberries and beeswax, was stored were almost bare. Julia turned surprised eyes on Abjorn.

  “I was almost completely out,” Mary Ellery whispered. “After the funeral rites, I had used up almost all of my stores. It would have taken me weeks to make this many...and with the baby…” Her shock was apparent, but it was also clear that she was deeply moved. Abjorn moved to kneel beside her.

  “Rest,” he said again in Norse.

  “He said-”

  “I know,” Mary Ellery interrupted. Her mouth was parted and her eyes wide, but she couldn’t seem to tear her gaze away from the man who had locked himself in a tiny, close room for hours to dip candles. Julia stayed behind to dampen the braziers while Abjorn helped Mary Ellery into the cottage. They were still inside when she left. She passed Balric on her way out of the village. She smacked the back of his head as he tried to steal a kiss from one of the Daubry girls. The little blonde thing giggled and ran away.

  “Don’t worry a pregnant woman like that,” she told him in his own language. He smiled, and rubbed his head.

  “Abjorn gave the order, he knew what he was doing, my Lady.”

  “Abjorn doesn’t run this island, I do. If I find out you did something so stupid again, I’ll assign you to stack grain sacks...” the boy was still smiling cheerfully, “...in the monastery. For a month.” That dimmed his happiness. “You do whatever Abjorn says, but he couldn’t see the state that poor woman was in, you should have taken her to someone who could help - or told Abjorn what was happening. This is your home now too. Use your head and look after the people who live here.”

  “Yes, my Lady.” The boy looked suitably ashamed. Julia started down the road to the keep, pausing after a few steps,

  “And Balric?”

  “Yes, my Lady?” he sounded worried.

  “Aine Daubry is only thirteen, leave her alone.”

  “Yes, my Lady.” Julia had to smother her laughter at his remorseful tone.

  “Her sister, Einin, is seventeen. She is probably in the orchard.”

  “Yes, my Lady!” The boy was off like a shot and Julia was left chuckling as she walked to the keep. She used the time to think about Mary Ellery’s situation. Her friend had married the chandler because there were only two men on the island that courted her - almost every other single man was a relation, or far too old or too young. The other man was Debin Lowe, and he had lost most of his teeth when he fell into a shallow creek - drunk.

  Julia believed Mary Ellery and her husband had liked each other. Maybe not loved each other in a grand, passionate way, but they had gotten along well and the chandler had never beaten her or treated her ill. He even waited a six-month after each of her miscarriages to lay with her again. There weren’t many husbands that would put their wife’s health above their need for children - or their personal needs. They smiled often together, and Mary Ellery worried over him if he was late coming back from deliveries at the keep or the monastery.

  But with Abjorn...Julia smiled softly. Mary Ellery didn’t seem to know what to do with herself. She was constantly treating him like a deaf pack mule, but she also fussed over him terribly. She made certain the empty cottage he stayed in with Jens had plenty of blankets. She took them a supper every night and enough bread and a bit of something - hard boiled eggs, cold meat, or fruit - for their breakfast. She even traded another family on the island her husband’s extra set of clothes for a soft pallet and a woven mat so that Abjorn would not have to sleep on the ground. Then there were the candles.

  Mary Ellery would give birth any day now, and she shouldn’t have been standing on her feet for hours at a time over a pot of wax. Certainly she couldn’t have made enough candles to replenish her stores. So he had done it for her: mad
e enough to replace what had been used and then some. Julia laughed. Mary Ellery would have enough candles to last through the winter as well. He stayed up all night to do her work, and even found someone to watch after her - sort of responsibly - while he could not. Julia hoped Mary Ellery would be able to see what everyone else on the island already could.

  November 14, Aurelius

  Julia shivered and glanced at the brazier in her study. A low flame still licked at smoldering logs, but a draft came in under the door. Voices could be heard in the Hall - loud, male voices. She jumped up, an eager smile on her face despite the repeated cautioning she had given herself over the last week that MØrket was unlikely to return before the three weeks were over. They had one more day.

  She slowly opened the door to her study, suddenly shy about appearing too eager. She needn’t have worried. Her face fell when she recognized the men in the Hall. Gwain Dunholm was ignoring Steward Galen as he complained about the mud they had tracked across the floor. The keep had not been built for the use of rushes, like most wooden keeps or mottes in England, so there was nothing to soak up the wet muck that fell off his boots and cloak. Three more men were with him, all equally muddy. She recognized one from Sir Dunholm’s previous visits to the island, but the others were unknown to her.

  She frowned. Dunholm owned a good-sized holding on the coast directly east of Aurelius. The currents did not take trade ships to land there, but on a clear day from the tower wall she could see the faint brown line of his land running along the edge of the ocean. He did not seem like a bad man, had never stood out as unusually cruel to his serfs or wasteful of his money. Still, she did not like something about him. Aelfreic had agreed with her assessment and when Dunholm had asked her brother for her hand in marriage, two years prior to the invasion, Aelfreic had declined on her behalf. She didn’t know exactly what the conversation had been between the two men, but Dunholm had left directly afterwards - despite it being nearly dark and too late to sail back to the mainland. Aelfreic had asked her not to let him into the keep if ever he wasn’t there. Her brother wasn’t there, never would be again, but her servants seemed to remember his instructions.