North Sea Dawn

by Susan Amund

“You do not have to go into the Hall tonight.”

  “I do. The people need to see me, see that he did not win.” Eric didn’t respond to her resigned words, but stood and moved to the door. “Wait,” she said softly. “Just...will you just turn your back? I don’t want...” Her words trailed off, but he nodded and faced the wall. Julia eased her feet to the floor. She was already starting to feel stiff and sore. She moved slowly to her chest, still open, and the discarded clothing on the floor. She removed a pale grey under tunic from the chest and picked up the black over tunic from the floor. Her torn lavender gown was removed and tossed onto the overturned brazier. She wouldn’t wear it again.

  She dressed quickly and righted her hair, checking in the silvered mirror that she looked presentable and not like someone who had recently been attacked. She was pale and her skin drawn, but the high neck and long sleeves of her clothing disguised any injuries. She waited while Eric unbarred the door and braced herself for the evening. One hand resting lightly on his forearm, she stepped out of the bedchamber.

  Rapport

  The next few days were stilted and tense for the islanders and the English. Only Julia, Ulrich and Eric knew exactly how Dunholm had been hurt, or why Julia was never seen without Vandalsson, but everyone had a good idea. Ulrich announced in a firm, flat voice that he had seen the knight lose his footing on the stairs and fall into the rear corridor. He even instructed two men to begin building a bannister so that such an accident would not happen again. Dunholm kept to his rooms, one of his men brought his meals from the kitchen. Simon brought two monks with him to see to the man’s wounds. He did not comment what was obviously on his mind: it would be difficult for a man to receive two black eyes, a broken nose, cracked jaw, dislocated elbow, fractured arm, and a hand-shaped bruise across his neck from a tumble down the stairs.

  By the tenth of December, Julia’s nerves were frayed to the breaking point. During the day she had to divide her time between following Eric as he inspected men and buildings and the business of running the island, although she had to bite her tongue several times as Eric would not allow her more than an arm’s length from him. He even went so far as to follow her into the baths. He bathed at the same time, with his back turned to her and a weapon within reach. During the day she could not help but feeling suffocated by his presence, rather than secure. Eric’s silent demeanor was far removed from the maddening conversations and pointed teasing she had become used to. As long as Dunholm remained out of sight, the danger was easy to forget. Her appreciation for Eric’s weapons and proximity only rose to the surface at night - along with her fear.

  The evening of the attack she had returned to her room after a dinner that tasted like dust, only to be struck still when confronted with the place where she had been so nearly violated. She was silent while Eric inspected the room, although she could not completely still her shiver. Once he felt she was secure, he went to his own room. The door was nearly closed when she finally gave in,

  “Wait,” she burst out. She bit her lip, holding back what she wanted to say. She couldn’t ask him to stay, not if she would have to marry another. He waited expectantly, one hand on the door. Her eyes flashed down to the floor and the hem of her tunic where it brushed the stone. “Leave it open? Please?” she whispered. He had, without a word, and it had remained open every night since. Julia still had difficulty going to sleep. It was only after hours sitting up in bed, unable to let herself relax, that she would finally slump over in exhaustion.

  With only ten days until Christmas and Dunholm’s deadline, Julia could feel the growing knot of apprehension in her belly winding tighter. When Dunholm appeared in the Hall to break his fast, Julia knew she had to leave or risk doing something that she would regret - like screaming and throwing her eggs in his evil face. Or taking her hand off of Eric’s forearm and letting the Viking do what he wished.

  “I will visit the village this morning,” she announced. She did not wait to see if her guard would follow, the clatter of his spoon as it hit the table and the scrape of his bench as he pushed back from the table was enough. Another cold snow was falling lightly outside as she secured her cloak. Her horse was saddled and waiting for her, another for Eric, when she arrived at the stables. She checked her crossbow at her belt before mounting. She wondered for a moment if Vandalsson knew how to ride, but when she looked back he was already on the horse. They were a mile from the fort before she spoke,

  “Go with Abjorn to train when we reach the village.”

  “That is not necessary.” He walked his horse beside hers, but did not look at her.

  “I will be fine in Mary Ellery’s cottage. Go inspect MØrket, or take your arms to the blacksmith shop.”

  “I will wait with you.”

  “For God’s sake, Eric!” she shouted, pulling her horse up sharply. He stopped as well, finally turning in his saddle to look at her. His raised brows made her realize what she had said. She blushed and crossed herself. “I will be fine. You need a break from guarding me, and I need a break from you.”

  “The last time I left you to be guarded by another, you managed to find yourself alone and vulnerable. You will have to set aside your distaste for me.”

  “Leave as many men outside the cottage as you like, I-” she paused, confused. “Distaste? What are you talking about?”

  “I am aware you are no longer as pleased with our association as you once were. I failed to keep you safe as I swore to do, and that will not happen again. Once the English has left I will renew my efforts to convince you. I am confident that, given time, you will forgive my error and consider me.” His words were bold, but his tone was flat and suggested that he had no hope for a positive outcome.

  “I do not think-”

  “I did not take into account your ability to counter my orders to the men, or your neglect for your own safety. I will not fail you again.”

  “Are you calling me a fool?” Her eyes narrowed. He shrugged.

  “You acted foolishly.”

  “I was about to say,” she bared her teeth in a semblance of a smile, “that I do not think that incident was your error - nor am I displeased with the prospect of an association with you; however, I am beginning to change my mind.” She could feel her face heating with anger. I am the fool, she thought. Because I suffered that idiot Dunholm in my home - endured his touch - all to protect my island, yet I am a fool? “If I hadn’t already decided not to allow your courtship, your overbearing, high-handed, condescending smothering would have!” She urged her horse on, no longer interested in the deteriorating conversation. The gallop she urged her mount into was not sensible considering the snow on the road, but Julia was an excellent rider and if she slowed, he might catch up with her. Then her anger might crack, leaving only frustration and a broken sort of sadness and longing behind. She couldn’t allow that.

  This was her duty. She would walk a fine political line to ensure the future of the island, and if that resulted in a marriage to some unknown Norman she would endure it. If Eric one day left the island because she could offer him no more than a farm and a place among her husband’s knights, she would live. It did not matter that she had come to care for him deeply. It did not matter that even as he hovered at her side, exasperating her with his constant protection, she longed to have him closer. It did not matter that she loved him.

  A sob burst out. Julia pulled her horse off of the road at the last rise before the village. Vandalsson might catch up and see her, but that was preferable to every islander pitying her and knowing that she did not want to do what must be done. She slumped in the saddle and breathed deeply, trying to gain control of herself. Hoof beats thundered behind her and dropped to a standstill at her side. She did not acknowledge him, and there was a long, awkward pause before he spoke..

  “I am often overbearing,” he stated. “Being right all the time is a heavy burden to bear.” She wanted to laugh, but it came out as a tear-soaked sputter. They sat in silence for a few moments, the hors
es shifting weight and snuffling at the snow-covered grass. “You no longer feel I am worthy as a husband?”

  “That isn’t what I said,” she replied.

  “Good, that would make the consummation rather embarrassing for you.” She gasped and spun around to face him, nearly falling off the horse. He was quite serious. “I am more than...worthy. And I do not seek permission to court you. I will pursue, and you will be convinced.” He spoke with such utter conviction that Julia was left with only one response. She laughed.

  “You think this battle is already won?”

  “This is not a battle, my lady,” he said reproachfully. Then he smiled - a wide grin that displayed his even teeth and crinkled the skin at his eyes. “But if it were, you would not stand a chance.” She turned her horse back onto the road, calmer now, and he followed. A few minutes before they reached the village, he asked, “Did you think to refuse me because I allowed you to be touched by Dunholm?”

  “My every thought is not about you,” she snorted. Her next words were more serious, “Or me. I acted - I asked you to return and allowed your...attentions...because I thought I had the right to choose my husband. I was wrong.”

  “You will not marry Dunholm.” His commanding tone was unmistakable. Julia gave him a sad smile.

  “No, I will not. But if I were the Duke, I would not allow an island like this to go to some unknown man with his own small army - a man with no allegiance to the throne. William may very well make other demands of me. In order to secure the future of my people, I will have to be prepared for anything he asks.”

  They were nearly upon the village before he replied, “If you would be prepared for anything, you will consider me as well.” She did not get a chance to argue with him, as Abjorn and another man stepped out onto the road.

  “Good meeting, Vandalsson. Lady.” He nodded to Julia and continued in Norse. “Torvald will take your animals. I will walk you to the monastery.”

  “I came to-” She was interrupted by Abjorn.

  “To pray with your brother.” His eyes slid to the side, but his words kept Julia from following his line of sight. “Do not look, lady. There are ears in the village today. Say it - to pray with your brother.”

  “It is good that you are here, Abjorn. You may keep Vandalsson company while I pray with Simon.” Eric was at her side, wrapping his hands around her waist, before she could dismount. He slowed her descent substantially, allowing her to slide far closer to him than was necessary or proper. She blushed in irritation and embarrassment, but took the arm he offered and fell into step beside Abjorn as Torvald led their horses away.

  “What news?” asked Eric as they strolled through the village. Julia smiled at villagers chopping firewood and children playing in the snow, keeping her mind on the conversation. An English knight crossed their path, finding a sheltered spot out of the snow to lean against a cottage along the path to the monastery.

  “Brother Caemon has returned.”

  “Is he well? Does he bring word from the Duke?” Julia had to work hard to keep her tone light. None of Dunholm’s men spoke Norse that she knew of, but the spy watching them would know something was happening if she acted excited.

  “He requested to speak with you as soon as possible. I did not see him, that message came from the monk who took confession this morning.”

  Julia fell silent for the remainder of their walk while Eric and Abjorn discussed training and guard duty. Her soft shoes left deep impressions in the wet sand bar that lay exposed between the island and the rocky outcropping that housed the monastery.

  They crossed the sandbar and climbed a ramp the width of a cart that was cut into the rock. It swung under the buildings and into the earth, rising to end in a tall, narrow cave. Eric took up a position in front of her and slightly to her right. Abjorn guarded the rear. Heavy wooden doors stood closed, a single monk standing at attention outside. They did not greet him, and he did not speak. The man disappeared into a narrow crevice in the wall, and a moment later the doors swung inward.

  Julia was greeted by the familiar sight of the monastery. A smooth cobbled courtyard, studded with islands of fruit trees and garden plots draped in snow, had been swept clean. Two levels of arcades circled the space, abutting the chapels, kitchens, scriptorium, and monks’ cells that made up the bulk of the building. In the center of the space squatted a low structure, the tile roof only a few feet off of the ground. A long, shallow ramp descended to the doors of the infirmary. That was the heartbeat of the island and the reason the monastery had been constructed. The herbs grown and prepared on the island were used at the infirmary to treat the ill and injured who traveled there, sometimes spending months by road or boat. Treatises copied in the scriptorium were used to train generations of monks in the art of healing. Some were even sold to other churches or extremely wealthy patrons of learning. A few patients were there now, although all were inside due to the weather.

  A novice met them and led the way through a sheltered arcade. He held open a door for them at the far end and closed it behind them. The room was comfortable for Julia in her fur-lined cloak, but she would not have wanted to tarry long if she wore only the simple woolen robes of the monks. She stepped forward to knock on one of the two doors in the room and was immediately held back by a well-muscled forearm. She refrained from rolling her eyes.

  “This is the Abbot’s study.” She gestured to the door in front of them. Eric knocked, more forcefully than was necessary, and the door was opened almost immediately.

  “Sir Vandalsson,” the Abbot said warmly. He leaned to see around the huge man and greeted Julia with a hint of humor, “My Lady, how good to finally see you. I was afraid you would not be available to come to us for some time. Please come in.” He stepped back and waved them into the room.

  Eric entered first, blocking Julia from entering while he took in his surroundings. A small brazier burned in the center of the room. The beams high above were blackened by smoke. A narrow bed, piled with plain but high-quality blankets, was built into an alcove and nearly obscured by thick tapestries. The heavy cloth depicted the conversion of the king Clovis and continued across the back wall. A second door was visible where the tapestry had been pulled back with a length of cord. The Abbot’s reading table was positioned in front of narrow window had been shuttered to prevent drafts from disturbing the meeting. One of the two chairs before it was occupied by Brother Caemon. Eric ignored Julia’s small noises of impatience until he was satisfied there were no threats present. He moved to stand behind the empty chair, leaving Abjorn to close the door and stand guard.

  Julia offered her hand to the Abbot and then the monk before seating herself.

  “Brother Caemon returned last night, and came directly to the Abbey.”

  “I wasn’t certain if any of Sir Dunholm’s men remained in the village,” Caemon said apologetically.

  “That was a good idea, Brother. Although Vandalsson’s men do keep them supervised, we can’t be too careful around the English.” Julia’s calm acceptance and gentle smile eased his concerns. Eric wondered how much power she really had over the monastery. Most Abbots would not admit to answering to any earthly power aside from the Pope, or perhaps a bishop. Some would not even allow that.

  “Go ahead and start at the beginning, Caemon,” the Abbot ordered. The round-faced brother nodded, his serious expression at odds with his usual jolly appearance.

  “I approached the Bishop of London, as we had discussed, and requested he petition the Duke for an audience to discuss a prisoner ransom. We waited for more than a week for a response, before finally being summoned to the Norman camp outside Wallingford.” Caemon looked saddened by his next statement, “They burned most everything outside of Wallingford - farms, houses, whole villages. The camp was in disarray, trying to pack up and move on. The Duke was not there, instead we were met by William FitzOsbern.” Julia frowned. Eric interrupted,

  “Who is that?”

  “Lord of Breteuil,” J
ulia answered before Caemon could open his mouth. “He is a cousin to the Duke, and leads a good portion of the army.” She turned to Caemon, “Why did the Duke not meet with you?”

  “I was not told, but I gathered that ransom negotiations were not something that he could be bothered with. FitzOsbern did not seem overly interested in listening, he only wanted a clerk to record the name of the prisoner and the amount we would ask for him. Even when I informed him that we were willing to discuss an exchange, instead of coin, he waved us off and told me to speak to the clerk. He left before I could even tell him where we were from.”

  “So the clerk will pass our request on to FitzOsbern or the Duke? Did you find out any information on Paul’s condition?”

  Caemon smiled at Julia’s frown. “God be praised, we were luckier than that. FitzOsbern’s clerk was at the council where Paul was discovered. He recognized Aurelius from that meeting and sent a boy to bring FitzOsbern back to meet with us. He introduced me as your proxy to negotiate with the Duke. I hope you do not mind, my Lady.”

  “My proxy? That was quick thinking, Caemon.” Julia sounded impressed.

  “It was Brother Simon’s idea. He felt that you would give a weightier impression if you appointed a proxy as most noblemen do.”

  “Please do not tell him so, but it was a good idea.”

  “We will help Brother Simon learn humility,” said the Abbot. Eric could not help shifting his weight, wishing the monk would get to the point. The portly man glanced back at him, blanched, and continued,

  “I explained to FitzOsbern that you had defeated the Normans that mistakenly invaded your island, believing themselves to be in England, and that two survived.” Caemon continued with his recounting, describing FitzOsbern’s reaction to requesting a price be set for the Saxon Paul, as well as a request to open negotiations for the return of the Norman knight, Sir Robert, and his soldier. “I used your exact words, my Lady: ‘Lady Cruithne does not take offense to this aggression, and she does not hold the Duke of Normandy accountable for the loss of life and property suffered by Aurelius. She is willing to consider a reasonable offer for the return of Sir Robert, and will return the soldier at no cost. However, she expects that her novice shall be sent back to her, whole and well, in a timely manner.”