by Susan Amund
“Please step outside, Sir Knight. My Lady will come outside to see you, but she will be most distressed at this mess in her Hall. Please, Sir.”
“She won’t care about the mud when she hears what I have to say, old man. Go fetch her.”
“Sir, I must insist that-” Dunholm turned cold eyes on Galen. The other servants in the Hall stepped back.
“If you insist one more time - it will be your last.” His hand gripped the pommel of his sword and Galen shook visibly.
“Sir Dunholm,” Julia called out, quickly opening the door. “What brings you to Aurelius? Do you have news of the Norman invasion?”
“My dear,” Dunholm’s voice warmed and Julia felt something crawl across her skin. She shook the feeling away. “I have come here to comfort and guide you in your time of need.”
“My time of...”Julia was genuinely surprised for a moment. “Oh, you have heard of my brother’s passing. Thank you, but there was no need to travel so far to offer your condolences.”
“How else could I express my sympathy, and my deep concern for your well-being, as you are alone here on the island?” Dunholm was moving toward her, and Julia was distracted by the long, muddy smears he left on the stones.
“Write? Oh, I mean,” she awkwardly corrected herself, “you could have someone do that for you, if you do not write.” His face soured, whether at the reminder that he was illiterate or that she wasn’t; she couldn’t tell. He was nearly within arm’s reach when his words sank in. “Alone? The island is full of people, Sir Dunholm.”
“Peasants cannot protect you, nor guide you as you are left with the burden of running the trade and business of the island.”
“Burden?” Julia was beginning to feel like a child repeating his words, but the conversation was completely lost on her. Either she was missing something important, or he was speaking in tongues. Dunholm took advantage of her confusion and latched onto her hand. He squeezed painfully, rubbing his dirty gloves across her fingers.
“Don’t worry yourself, my dear. A Lady should not have to think on anything but her husband’s needs and the health of her children.” The abrupt change of topic had her blinking from Galen, to the servants, to the men Dunholm had brought with him. No one came to her rescue to explain what Dunholm was speaking about. “I will be here for you during the burial of your brother, and I will take care of everything after that.”
“I have already held a funeral for my brother, Sir Dunholm.” She pulled her hand from his with some difficulty, wrenching her fingers in the process. Finally, some glimmer of understanding was beginning to seep in. Dunholm had always had a rather high opinion of himself, and Julia had never been able to politely convince him that she did not count herself among the court ladies that fawned over him. Even if she had been able to stand being close to the man, as soon as he spoke it was impossible not to see that his good opinions on women generally stopped somewhere below their necks.
“How can you have held his funeral, when I have only just now brought back his corpse?” Her brother...His smile made her feel woozy. Julia’s vision narrowed and blurred. From a great distance she thought she heard Abjorn yelling in the Hall. Then she was falling, but darkness overcame her before she hit the ground. Julia’s next thought was that something smelled awful. Then she noticed the voices.
“Remove your hands, heathen.”
“Sir Dunholm, if you will please wait for Sir Ulrich to return he will-”
“Shut up, old man!” The sound of flesh hitting flesh and Galen’s cry of pain forced her to open her eyes. Abjorn was leaning over her, blocking out the bright sunshine. She was half-sitting in Sarah’s lap, her legs stretched out on the cold stones of the upper bailey. Alvar stood at her side, his stance wide and ready for battle. Dunholm and his men, three more had joined him, stood several paces away. Servants gathered in a tight cluster at the door to the keep. The workers from the drying houses congregated at the stairs that divided the two baileys.
“Lady Julia!” Dunholm’s smooth voice grated on her nerves. “If you will move away from this barbarian, I will rid the island of him.” He drew his sword. Julia struggled to stand, making use of the hand Abjorn offered. Her irritation with Dunholm grew into fury when she noticed Galen sitting at his feet. The elderly steward looked dazed. A thin line of blood seeped from his hair and ran down the side of his face to stain his tunic.
“This barbarian is my retainer, Sir Dunholm. And if you strike one of my people again I will have you removed from the island.” The sound of hoof beats in the lower bailey punctuated her tight statement.
“Aelfreic never hired any men-at-arms. Certainly not Norsemen.” Dunholm spit at Alvar’s feet.
“Shall I kill him, my Lady?” He asked in Norse.
Abjorn growled. “He has more men in the village.” Ulrich rode his horse directly into the upper bailey, stopping next to Alvar in time to hear Julia’s response,
“Don’t kill him yet, Sir Alvar. Perhaps later.”
“Ulrich, what is the meaning of this? Lady Julia claims Aelfreic hired these...men.”
“They are part of our guard, Sir Dunholm. What is the purpose of your visit to the island?” Ulrich was terse and it was clear it was barely containing his temper. Dunholm smiled and Julia felt her skin crawl again. The knight was handsome, many of the woman at court vied after him, but his teeth were not well cared for. The rotten smell grew stronger. She wondered if his bad breath had grown worse since the last time she had seen him.
“I came only to assist Lady Julia in her time of need.” He stepped back to a wooden cart behind his men and grabbed the dirty cloth that covered it. “I have brought her brother’s body for burial.” He flipped back the covering and Julia was distantly aware that her stomach rolled over. A corpse lay in the cart, but if it were not for the embroidered hem of his tunic and the worked leather belt at his waist, it would not have been recognizable as Aelfreic. It had been more than a month since the Battle at Hastings, and the body had not been treated well. The head was turned so that she could not see the face, and for that Julia was grateful. The skin on the scalp had fallen off in places, exposing the skull underneath. The hands and feet were exposed, and the flesh and meat had rotted off unevenly. She felt Abjorn’s hand at her back, as though he was waiting for her to faint again. She took a deep breath, and promptly gagged.
“You did not wrap him?!” Ulrich was outraged. He would have drawn his weapon then if Julia had not gotten herself under control.
“We will take care of it.” She breathed shallowly through her mouth and steeled herself to look at the body again. “Sarah,” her cousin stepped forward from the keep, looking a bit green, “run to the monastery and tell Brother Simon to come.” Julia noted the way Dunholm and his men eyed the pretty girl. “Take the boy on duty at the gate with you, and then stay with Mary Ellery until I come to fetch you.” The girl curtsied and ran off. “Margaret,” she called.
“Yes, my Lady?” The middle-aged woman stepped forward from her place with the workers.
“Fetch wrapping and scented water. We will care for my brother in the infirmary.”
“The corpse is beyond that, Lady Julia. Leave the servants to ready him for burial and join me in-”
“He is - he was my brother.” If Dunholm didn’t see how little she cared for his opinion in that moment, he never would. She spoke carefully to control her anger and contempt, “Thank you for retrieving his body, but this is a time of grief for the island. My people will prepare food for you to take with you on your return trip. I will not delay you from the important matters the invasion must be pressing upon you.” She did not wait for his reply, but spoke to her own men in Norse.
“Alvar, Skald is guarding the prisoner?” He nodded and she continued, “Please post yourself at the entrance to the upper bailey, I do not want any more of these knights here. Abjorn, you have left the others in the village?”
“Balric is with Ell and Jens has moved outside to keep things in han
d.”
“Come with me to the infirmary. Ulrich.”
“Yes, my Lady.” He handed his reins to one of the servants. Within moments, Galen and the other servants had moved back into the Hall, closing the door behind them. The workers, except for Margaret, had returned to the drying houses and Alvar had taken a prominent position where he could keep an eye on Dunholm and the front gate. Ulrich and Abjorn gently tucked the cloth around Aelfreic and used it to carry his body into the infirmary. Julia shut the door behind her.
Despite the smell in the close quarters of the surgery, Julia refused to open the shutters to the outside. She did not wish anyone else to see her brother’s body in such a condition, nor did she wish her words to be overheard. Margaret supplied a dull smelling salve for her upper lip that cut the scent of rotted flesh to something manageable. Abjorn and Ulrich stood at the doors, preventing anyone from entering. She asked questions while she worked with Margaret. She needed the answers, and it helped keep her from dwelling on what she was doing. They spoke in Norse, in case anyone should be listening at the windows.
“When did they arrive?”
“I was training with the men in the high meadow, my Lady,” Ulrich said.
“A few hours after dawn,” Abjorn supplied.
“If I had been in the village, they would not have been allowed to come ashore. What were you thinking, Abjorn?” The knight’s words were angry, but Abjorn was unmoved.
“I sent Thomas to fetch you when I saw the boat. I had no intention of allowing them to land. It was Duncan who recognized the Englishman. They called out that they had Cruithine’s body.”
“You should have waited for me before letting them-”
“I intended to,” Abjorn bit out. His jaw tensed, but he held onto his temper. “When those in the village, including Brother Caemon, heard that their Lord’s body was to be returned, they waded into the water to help the English pull the boat ashore.”
“How many?” Julia asked. She blew out a long breath through her nose and tried to calm her belly. It isn’t him. It isn’t him.
“Twenty, all knights.”
“They obviously did not have a care for Aelfreic or his burial.” The gentle wash of scented water over the body loosened some skin and Julia had to swallow bile. Focus on the words. Focus on the work. It isn’t him. “Why are they here, Ulrich?” They stood in silence for a few moments while Ulrich thought about it. “Why is he not fighting against William? If he did fight at Hastings, why does he have twenty men available to deliver a body? Have they made peace with the Duke already? Or did Dunholm never take up arms for Harold?”
“I cannot answer those questions, my Lady,” Ulrich answered heavily. The room was quiet again except for Margaret’s gentle instructions to Julia and the scented water running off of the table and into the floor drain.
“He came for you,” Ulrich finally said. Julia looked up from her work, the sight of his whole and healthy face a balm to her eyes. Breathe.
“He would have no reason to do so. Aelfreic denied his request to court me - at my insistence. What man would leave his lands during a war to chase after a woman who refused him? Is there any who would think this,” she gestured to the table without looking, “a suitable token of courtship?” Ulrich and Abjorn shared a look that was not missed by Julia.
“What?” Neither would answer, so she turned back to her work muttering in English.
“He didn’t even wrap him. Why would I be interested in a man who couldn’t even...he didn’t wrap him...” Julia rinsed the body once more, the final time over his face. The sight forced her to run to the window, throwing open the shutters that faced the rear courtyard and retching. Margaret patted her on the back. Julia didn’t even realize she had been crying until the older woman handed her a clean, damp cloth.
“Wipe your face with that, my Lady. You have a good go at it in here, because when you leave you will need to be strong in front of that knave from the mainland.”
“Surely my refusal didn’t make him so angry that he would do this to Aelfreic? Why else would he go to the trouble to bring the body back, but let it get like...” Her eyes strayed to the table again and she had to force herself to look away before her stomach rose up again.
“That man.” Margaret’s mouth firmed. “He would have been back the next day to steal you off if Aelfreic hadn’t been wise to him.”
“What?” Julia wiped her face again, her tears subsiding in her confusion.
“This isn’t the time, Margaret,” Ulrich warned.
“Oh, hush up, Ulrich. I remember you when you were in nappies! I should have smacked both you and his Lordship good for not telling her then - I’m of a mind to do it to you now.” Ulrich closed his mouth and Abjorn looked on with raised brows. “When my Lord told that man you weren’t interested, he laughed. He said that a woman’s interest wasn’t necessary, and a few months confined to his bed would show you where your interest should be.”
“He didn’t say it quite like that,” Ulrich muttered in Norse. Julia scowled at him.
“What did Aelfreic say?”
“He told Dunholm to leave, and never come back. That knight threatened Aelfreic. He said that he had scores of court women who would run away with him in a heartbeat, and if Aelfreic didn’t hand you over in a church, you would leave in the middle of the night and he could have the blessings said over your pregnant belly after you had been in his possession for a season.” Julia struggled not to gag again, this time at the idea that she would ever let Dunholm - with his dirty fingers, bad breath, and oily manners - anywhere near her body.
“Aelfreic told him that not only would he take you back - even if you had a passel of bastards - but he wouldn’t let Dunholm have control over an inch of the island, and he would also remove any parts of the knight that touched you without your consent.”
“I would have liked to meet this man,” Abjorn said in heavily accented English.
“Thank you, Margaret.” Julia stood and steeled herself to return to her work. They had only to anoint the body and wrap the winding sheet. Margaret withdrew the oil and a long cloth from her basket.
“We shall leave his clothes on,” the older woman decided. As they worked, Julia switched back to Norse.
“Even if he came here for me, he can’t take what isn’t given. The Abbot will not marry me to any man without my consent. And marriage is the only way to gain the island.”
“How great is your wealth?” Abjorn asked. Ulrich looked oddly at him, but Julia responded to the frank question with the earnings from the previous trading season.
“Of course, this year was a bit low. The talk of invasion stifled trade somewhat.”
“If the income were half that, most men would find it tempting. And you are not...unsuitable.” Julia had the absurd desire to laugh at his attempt to compliment her. “You are strong. But there are ways to break a woman.”
“That’s enough, Abjorn.” Ulrich shook his head. “That won’t happen; she won’t be left alone as long as they are here. And we won’t allow them to return.”
“If he wants the island that badly,” she said slowly, “I doubt they’ll leave.” Both men turned to stare at Julia, calmly brushing oil across her brother’s corpse. “If Dunholm needs or wants the money as badly as Abjorn thinks, why leave? They have twenty men and we have only ten that are healthy. We can’t be everywhere at once, why not stay? He apparently has no idea that no amount of asking or courting is going to change my mind.”
“He won’t court you for long,” Abjorn began.
“I said enough,” Ulrich interrupted. Abjorn continued as though he hadn’t heard,
“If you rape and beat a woman enough times, she will do anything to make the pain stop. He only has to worry that you might kill yourself before you give in to his demands.”
“Stop telling her these things!”
“No,” Julia clutched at her stomach. She was briefly impressed that she hadn’t thrown up again already. Her brothe
r’s body, the smell, the thought of Dunholm in her bed would make anyone sick. “I need to know this, or I won’t be prepared.”
“You don’t need to be prepared, we’ll drive them out.” Ulrich pulled his sword.
“I don’t doubt that you, Abjorn, Alvar and Skald could take the seven men in the upper bailey - but most likely there would be a serious injury. And if you lost, we are down more men, and Dunholm has a reason to say we attacked him when he approached us in friendship. What is to stop his men at the village from doing as they please then? Fifteen or so English soldiers against less than ten Norsemen? And are they all in the village right now? Or are some still in the high meadow?”
“It may not end well,” Ulrich admitted.
“It probably won’t end well,” Julia corrected. “You are the commander here, Ulrich. What tactic would work?” When he didn’t immediately answer, she turned back to the table. Between the two of them, Margaret and Julia managed to lift the body one side at a time and wrap the twisting sheet around it.
“We stall,” Ulrich finally stated.
“Excuse me?”
The knight answered her, clearly uncomfortable with his own conclusion. “Today, we do not have enough men to ensure that we can drive out Dunholm, at least not without serious losses. But in a few days’ time, Vandalsson will return with more men and the odds will be in our favor. Lady Julia and most of the women can wait in the monastery and the men can fortify the village.”
“And we wait for them to attack a village that has no defensible wall? Or plunder all of the stores at the keep? You are right, Ulrich, we can wait them out. But your plan will work better if we act as though nothing were wrong. We can’t let Dunholm know that we are waiting for something, or he will become more cautious and potentially rush his own plan. We need more information. Send Paul and Caemon to the mainland. Find out what they can about Dunholm’s forces and if he has aligned with William or Edgar.” Julia lifted the body for the last time and Margaret removed the soiled cloth he had been brought in on. The older woman began rinsing off the floor under the table with buckets of cold water.