North Sea Dawn

by Susan Amund

  “We will discuss this later,” she managed in a cool voice.

  “I do not think it will come to that.”

  Eric had to hold back a smile when the doors opened and they were met by the servants and workers of the keep in the inner bailey. He dragged his mind away from how much fun she was to tease. He could easily imagine how her temper would lend itself to his bed. Julia’s eyes sparked with anger. Her color was high, her cheeks pink against the pale milk of the rest of her skin. Her lips were swollen and dark red from his kisses. She looked beautiful.

  The crowd in the upper bailey must have thought so as well. There were smiles and nods of appreciation from the men, and gasps and delighted greetings from the women. Balric and Alvar stood at attention near the steps, waiting to fall in line behind Ulrich. Neither Dunholm nor his men were in sight, making it easier for Eric to enjoy the moment. She may have been irritated with him, but she did not let it show. She greeted the people who stepped forward with Christmas blessings and good wishes and returned their smiles genuinely. No one looked close enough to notice how her hand gripped his arm. Her nails would have dug into his skin if not for his woolen sleeve.

  They made their way slowly down the main avenue in the bailey. Eric nodded to those that greeted him, but kept one eye out for trouble. Despite this distraction, he still heard the whispers around him. Eleanor, Brica, and Airin had been sworn to secrecy while they worked on the garments, but after bringing them to the keep he had given them leave to tell others. They had not wasted time. The people had noticed his gift, and apparently his interest in their Lady, now that it was public, was well received.

  They reached the ramp separating the two bailies. Ten of his men and two of Aelfreic’s original contingent lined the steps on either side of the ramp. He felt Julia pause, and so stopped to allow her time to study them. Each of his men had been given an over tunic in the same dark grey in which Aelfreic had issued livery. He felt her eyes on him, knowing she was taking in the greys and blacks of his own clothing. For all intents and purposes, they were her men and should wear her colors, but taken in context with his gift to her, it made a significant statement. He was at her side, wearing her colors, and serving as the captain of her guard. She was wearing his wealth. None present would mistake that for anything but what he had intended, especially not her. He felt a little whisper of doubt. She might not appreciate that he hadn’t discussed it with her.

  A gentle tug on his arm and they were moving again. She stopped him when they were nearly to the bottom, standing just a few feet above the level of the lower bailey. He had heard the celebration described by Mary Ellery, Ulrich, even Simon, but he was not prepared for the reality. The paved courtyard was filled with every living soul on the island. The monks mingled among the women and children. Sarah had slipped past them and stood next to Mary Ellery, each woman holding a twin. Abjorn was at the chandler’s side. The rest of his men had found either a friendly ear to listen to or a soft woman to lean into, sometimes both in a single companion. Braziers were interspersed with the crowd, warding off the winter chill. More than 300 people fit comfortably within the walls, talking and laughing. Only the English had placed themselves apart. Dunholm and his men stood in the shadow of a grain storehouse, scowling at the crowds. Eric noted with satisfaction that Amund and two other men had already taken up defensive positions from which to watch the guests.

  Duncan the Tanner, whose injury was still giving him a limp, presided over casks of ale with the Master Brewer at one end of the courtyard near the drying houses. At the other end, just in front of the tower where the Norman was locked up and guarded, tables from the Hall had been set up and were heavily laden with covered dishes. Even now, more women were emerging from the covered walkway to set out breads and custards, jellies and pies. The center of the courtyard was equally divided with a walkway kept clear of people. To the left was a sizeable fire with a double iron spit constructed over it. Two hogs roasted there, the smell of the meat drifted over the crowd. To the right was a tree, stripped of its branches and trimmed to under twenty feet long. Divots had been hollowed out of the trunk and filled with kindling and scented herbs. The Abbot, accompanied by Simon, waited for them in the center.

  The crowd noticed their arrival and grew quiet. A few whispers stirred among them. If Julia noticed the pointed looks to her lavish clothes and the broad grins she did not react to them. She stepped forward and he walked in time with her. The men and servants from the upper bailey filled in behind them, completing a circle around the four people next to the fire. The Abbot was smiling gently, his eyes sparkling as they drew close. Eric nodded at his obvious good wishes. Simon was less discrete, waggling his eyebrows once before a death glare from his sister put a more serious mien on his face.

  “Welcome, my Lady,” the Abbot’s voice boomed in the quiet afternoon.

  “The Welcome is to you, Abbot Rundulf,” she turned her eyes to the crowd, “and to all of you. Welcome, Aurelius!” The crowd clapped and yelled back greetings and welcomes. When they quieted, the Abbot spoke again,

  “We come to you, my Lady, to celebrate the turning of the seasons, the beginning of the end of winter, and the birth of hope, and our Savior. Will you deny us succor at your table? Or will you give hardworking men and women the hospitality of the House of Cruithne?” The Abbot spoke with feeling, but it sounded rehearsed to Eric’s ears. He risked a glance at Julia and confirmed it. She seemed to anticipate what was said.

  “Good Abbot,” Julia said. Simon stepped forward and handed a wooden cup to the senior monk. “Aurelius!” she called. Galen materialized at her side with a small jug of wine. She took it and held it up so that all could see it. “This year your labor has been great,” she paused, “as has your grief.” The crowd seemed to hold its breath. This, Eric gathered, was not part of the ritual. “But so have been your blessings!” She nodded to Mary Ellery. “And your joys!” She smiled at Cassandra, and the black-haired girl blushed and hid her face against Torvald’s chest as the crowd laughed. “We have lost, but we have also gained!” She slid her hand down Eric’s arm and squeezed his fingers. Her golden bracers and dragon pin glinted in the weak winter sunshine. “Aurelius is strong,” she continued, “we do not suffer invaders.” She looked pointedly at Dunholm and smiled a feral smile. Eric was glad he was not at the receiving end of that glare. “But we welcome new friends!” She tipped the jug and filled the Abbot’s cup. Another cup appeared in Galen’s hand at her side. She filled that as well and exchanged it for the jug. “Join me, Aurelius! Celebrate our people, celebrate our Lord!” She raised her cup high above her head, “Waes Hael!”

  “Waes Hael!” The thundering response echoed on the stone and the Abbott and Julia drank. The Abbot handed his cup to Simon with a “Waes Hael” and Julia turned to Eric, offering him her cup.

  “Waes Hael,” she murmured. He did not take the cup from her, but instead bent to drink from her hand. She blushed, but held the wine to his lips. Galen appeared and took the cup, refilling it and waiting as Simon did the same. A boy stepped forward from the fire, holding a torch. Julia took it with a smile, and the Abbot placed his hand below hers as they carried it to the Yule tree. Galen and Simon turned to the crowd, passing the full wine cups into waiting hands.

  “God Bless this Island,” they said in unison. The crowd echoed and the torch was pressed to a depression in the tree. Kindling caught and flamed, the warm, spicy scent of the herbs drifted over the crowd and mixed with the smoky smell of the meat. The crowd cheered. The Abbot took the torch and Julia lifted her hands into the air, commanding the islanders, “Waes Hael!”

  The toast was called over and over again in the crowd as more cups and jugs of wine were passed out. Eric took her hand and placed it on his arm again as she drew close. Her words had been more than inspiring. They had acknowledged immense loss and inspired hope. The people had been left laughing and cheering.

  He had heard a few men give better speeches, and had seen more beautiful
women. He had known friends that made him smile more and had known a few with a kinder heart. She was all of those things, and more to him. He led her into the crowd so that she could pass greetings to these people, and realized something; it seemed so obvious it was as though it had always been a part of him, but he knew that it had not always been so. He loved her. He still wanted the Hall, the home, the place for his men and the chance to have sons and build his wealth. He still lusted for her - more than ever. All of those things were true, and he knew he would give them up for her. He would not have to, praise God, but he would. Nothing else would satisfy him if he did not have her.

  Julia clasped hands with another distant cousin and kissed his youngest grandchild before sending them on their way in good cheer. Eric stood silently by her side, allowing her to guide them but shielding her from all but the friendly faces before her. She glanced over her shoulder at him as she reached out for a chubby toddler and greeted its mother. His eyes were scanning the crowd, but his mouth was soft, almost, but not quite, smiling. She had to hold back a frown. Eric Vandalsson had the strangest turns of mood of any man she had ever met. She still wouldn’t forget about his remarks on her ability to reason, however. She smiled at the child and handed it back.

  Abjorn’s head towered above the islanders, and Julia changed her course to run into him. Mary Ellery stood at his side, a baby snuggly wrapped and pressed against her. Sarah held the other child, gently rocking it.

  “Mary Ellery, I have never seen you look finer,” she grinned. The other woman blushed and glanced at Abjorn with a shy smile. She wore a red woolen over tunic and voluminous pale blue scarf that had been embroidered with red flowers. Her white linen under tunic stood out sharply against the soft Spanish wool where it stopped at her elbows. Her old blue gloves had been stitched with a rich red thread to match them to her new garments.

  “Abjorn asked me to wear it.”

  “Abjorn,” Julia made a great production of looking around. “Who is that?” She held up one hand and stage-whispered to her friend, “Does the great idiot know about this Abjorn fellow?”

  “Oh you,” Mary Ellery blushed harder and waved off her friend. Sarah laughed, making the baby in her arms gurgle and Abjorn smile. Julia beckoned Mary Ellery closer and they began walking slowly towards the food with Sarah at their side and the men behind them.

  “It all worked out then?” Julia asked softly, much more serious once they had some privacy. Sarah gratefully handed her the fussy baby and Julia tilted him up to rub his back.

  “He speaks English quite well now,” Mary Ellery answered. “He said he wanted to learn all the words he would need before he spoke to me.” They continued on for a moment quietly, making their way around the crowd by crossing the courtyard close to the gate. “He asked me to marry him.”

  “And his wife?”

  “She died, years ago, while he was at sea, and his children too. He understands grief. And he knows how precious these two are.” The women looked at the infants, both nearly asleep.

  “He is a good man, Mary Ellery. You are blessed.”

  “You as well, my Lady,” Mary Ellery shook off her soft smile and grinned. “Indeed, blessed to have such a suitor.” She looked pointedly at the ivory buttons, white fur, and blue silk peeking out at the sleeves. “A wooing of that force must take your breath away.”

  “Mary Ellery! -” Julia spluttered, blushing and laughing. Their teasing was interrupted by Eric roughly thrusting Julia and Sarah behind him. Abjorn pulled Mary Ellery back further, drawing his sword and signaling two more men over to guard the women. Julia stared wide-eyed at Eric’s back. His throwing axe was in his hand. They had moved so quickly, she had been so focused on her conversation, she did not see the threat and by the time she realized what had happened there was a shield of Norse warriors between her and the open gate. The men left at sentry duty on the wall were focused on the road, bows ready.

  The crowd gradually fell silent as more of Eric’s men came forward. Ulrich strode forward and stood at Eric’s right, Abjorn at his left. Although she could not see, her hearing worked fine in the quiet. The steady clop of hooves walked up the road to the keep, growing louder as they crossed the open gate and stood in the courtyard. Leather saddles creaked and bodies shifted as they came to a stop.

  “Who goes there?” called Ulrich in French. Julia glanced to the side and saw that Dunholm and his followers had drawn together at the edge of the crowd. The islanders pulled back from their group, and Julia could not blame them with the eager, vile expression on the knight’s face.

  “Henry de Beaumont,” a strong voice called out. “Where is the Lady of Aurelius?”

  “My love is here,” called out Dunholm. Every eye in the courtyard turned to him in surprise. A few islanders even spit on the ground and crossed themselves. “She is honoring the birth of our Savior. What brings you to interrupt this mass?” There was a long pause, in which Julia imagined the newcomer was trying to determine what exactly about a pig on a spit, a burning tree, and tankards of ale and wine constituted mass.

  “I have a message for her Ladyship from Duke William of Normandy, rightful heir to the English throne.” Julia handed the baby back to Sarah, prepared to step forward.

  “A messenger needs an armed escort?” Ulrich asked. “What kind of ink does the Duke write with, liquid gold?”

  Those in the crowd who spoke enough French to catch his meaning snorted and smiled, quickly turning to their neighbors to explain the joke. Julia could almost hear the frown in de Beaumont’s voice.

  “These are dangerous times, knight, as your Lord no doubt knew.” That comment sobered the crowd. “Bring her forward, Dunholm, and let me meet your bride. I shall take word back to the Duke of your good fortune.” de Beaumont’s sour attitude fell on the English knight, who bared his teeth in a semblance of a smile.

  “A docile, shy thing, my love is. You will have to wait until I return to London to meet her.” Dunholm was counting on Eric not understanding the language and refusing to expose her to a threat. If de Beaumont left believing Dunholm had succeeded, the knight would gain more time to try to corner her and force her to his will. Julia was frustrated, unable to see, and poked Eric sharply in the back. He did not move, but growled.

  “Does your friend have something to add, Sir?” de Beaumont stared at the Norseman, and the giant warrior at his other side.

  Ulrich glanced over his shoulder and caught Julia’s eye, then let his gaze slide to Eric’s granite jaw. He ignored her furious gestures to let her out. “It is not you he takes exception to, Lord de Beaumont.”

  “Then he will not mind letting us pass so that we may treat with her Ladyship indoors.” Eric growled again, lower, and Julia gave up trying to whisper him out of her way. She pressed herself close to his back and rubbed her hand down his buttocks and across his inner thigh. She blushed furiously, but he stiffened and she took the opportunity to squeeze between him and Abjorn to meet the new arrival.

  Parlaying with the Normans

  Eric barely managed to not grab the foolish woman by the neck and force her behind him. Ten armed, mounted knights and two archers were arrayed before them and she fondled him to distract him and put herself in danger. He was of half a mind to take her back to the keep and paddle some sense into her. After he kissed her in sheer relief that she had not been shot with an arrow.

  “I am Julia Cruithne, Lady of Aurelius. What brings you to my island without invitation?” Her voice was cool and steady, and Eric would have been impressed if he was not also furious with her and afraid for her life.

  “Lady,” de Beaumont bowed at the waist. “I have come with an invitation.” He reached one gloved hand into a bag on his saddle and withdrew a folded paper. Even from a distance, Eric could make out the remains of a grey wax seal that had stamped the missive. It was the letter Julia had sent with Brother Caemon to FitzOsbern.

  “And the messenger who delivered it?” Eric could see one side of her face. She raised
a brow in question and Eric would have sworn she was looking down her nose at the Norman.

  “The monk and his guard did not have mounts. They are no doubt still on the road here.” Julia turned to him, but Ulrich had already signaled a man over and was instructing him in a low voice to take a horse to fetch Caemon. “Would you parlay with me, Lady?”

  There was a long pause, during which de Beaumont grew irritated. Eric loosened his grip on his axe and braced himself, prepared to launch the weapon at the Norman and pull Julia to safety. Ulrich whispered in a low voice, his lips unmoving, “I have this, send Abjorn after Dunholm.” From the corner of his eye, Eric saw Abjorn give a slight nod, indicating he heard.

  “I will consider it, Lord de Beaumont.” The Norman raised his brows and Eric took a half step toward Julia, his free hand reaching for her arm. “In the meantime, you have interrupted a celebration. Come, feast and drink with us.” She opened her arms to encompass the entire courtyard. “Waes Hael!”

  The islanders repeated her cry and movement and laughter resumed. In a turn of events that he could not have predicted, she diffused the situation and made guests out of would-be invaders. She turned, her mouth open, and nearly bumped into Eric. He cupped her elbow roughly, trying to get his emotions under control and ease away from battle readiness. He scowled at her, struggling to curb his desire to yell at her for a complete lack of common sense. He consoled himself that he could lecture her privately after the celebration. For a brief moment, her composure slipped. A look of fear and absolute anxiety had completely drained her color. Her eyes were tight at the corners, and she let out a quiet breath. Her weight leaned into his palm, and he felt that she would have fallen over if he weren’t there to support her.

  The Normans dismounted, de Beaumont giving orders to his men before crossing towards them. Her expression became shuttered and a polite smile tipped her mouth up. She turned back to meet the Lord, shoulders squared and spine straight, but she did not pull away from Eric’s hand. She remained a hairsbreadth from him while she called out greetings.