by Susan Amund
“Lord de Beaumont, please allow your men to partake of our feast.” She nodded to the ale Duncan was pouring into cups.
“Lady,” de Beaumont bowed low, stopping a few feet away. “I must return on the morrow. I would ask that we conduct our discussions as soon as possible.” His eyes wandered across Ulrich and Abjorn, finally settling on Eric. “In private.”
“I have said I will consider your request, de Beaumont. In the meantime -”
“Duke William’s request,” he interrupted.
“So it is,” she nodded in acceptance. “I will consider his request then.” de Beaumont’s spine stiffened and the men dismounting behind him shared meaningful looks. “I am always eager to discuss politics with any nation that we trade with. However, this is an important day for Aurelius. This feast has not been interrupted in five hundred years.” She smiled firmly. It was a reminder that her family had been on the island longer than there had been a Normandy. “Not for the Picts, or the Saxons, or the Vikings raiders, or the Danes have we ever cancelled this celebration. If the Cruithne family will provide hospitality in the face of such enemies, how may I refuse it in the company of those I would like to call friends?” She held out her free hand. Ingrained social niceties played in her favor, and Eric was not surprised to see de Beaumont clasp her fingers and lean over her hand. A small smile even quirked the man’s lips. He was impressed.
“I cannot say no to such generosity,” the Norman responded. Eric kept one eye on him while he noted Dunholm’s approach through the crowd. Without prompting, Abjorn stepped forward to block the English knight. Before Dunholm could protest, de Beaumont continued. “I did not know such a festival was underway, or I would have brought a gift to toast to your hospitality, and your beauty.” Julia inclined her head, but Eric scowled at the Norman who, for his part, ignored the Norseman standing behind her. Eric satisfied himself that the man would be informed of the role Julia had granted him within the hour, once the gossiping islanders had a chance to speak with the Normans.
“That is not necessary, Lord de Beaumont,” she said graciously.
“I insist. I represent the Duke today, and he is a generous guest.” With a snap of his fingers, two soldiers stepped forward, leading a man bound at the wrists. The person was filthy, and dried blood matted a portion of his hair and crusted the collar of his monk’s robes. An old bruise shadowed one eye, but he appeared whole and of his right mind.
“Paul!” exclaimed Sarah, trying to push forward. Abjorn caught her easily and held her back. The Norman looked her over with an eye that Eric determined was appreciative rather than threatening.
“Duke William has accepted your ransom terms, and so I have returned your novice. I will ferry the payment and your prisoner back to London.”
“My men shall prepare the prisoner while you rest and refresh yourselves.” Julia raised her voice, and Eric heard Ulrich acknowledge her and move away to find Galen.
“I am most pleased that the Duke has considered our request.” Dunholm inserted himself into the situation with a broad smile and charm that spoke to years at court. “It shall be a fine wedding present to have these negotiations finished. Come to the keep, de Beaumont, and we can discuss this further.” Julia tipped her head to the side, and Eric could almost feel the anger vibrating her body. She opened her mouth to respond, but Dunholm took advantage of Ulrich’s absence and stepped up to Julia’s side, reaching for her hand. “My betrothed and I are most eager to take our final vows and travel to London to pay homage to the Duke. You understand that I may take a week or so to travel there. You do not blame me with such a fine, willing woman at my disposal?” His fingertips landed on her shoulder, and Eric was undone.
He tucked Julia behind him and met Dunholm’s hand with the head of his axe. A growl, low and threatening, rumbled in his chest. Although the festivities had started up again, a wide circle parted around him, silence radiating as the islanders became aware of the situation. Eric’s vision narrowed to a dark tunnel with only Dunholm at the end. He kept his blood from boiling over by imagining how he would hack off the offending hand first. Dunholm’s eyes widened, no doubt thinking on the lingering pain from their last encounter.
“Eric,” Julia whispered behind him, but he did not acknowledge her plea.
“I should have realized you were a paragon of virtue, Lady Cruithne. One who has grown up so closely tied to the Church should not have to endure such lewd remarks.” The Norman spoke casually, but something in his tone pricked at Eric’s mind - even in his state of rage. Dunholm would never touch her again. Never. “Even from one’s betrothed, the Duke would agree, I am sure.”
Julia tried to determine how the situation had gotten so out of hand. Paul had been returned. The Norman had arrived to negotiate - not exactly as she and Simon had planned - but close. Then Dunholm had stuck his nose, and his hand, where it wasn’t wanted. She stroked Eric’s forearm. His hand was gripping her wrist tight enough that he would leave bruises, she was certain. She had to salvage this. This was her chance, probably her only chance, to be rid of Dunholm and impress upon the Duke that she would make a much better ally than an enemy.
“Sir Vandalsson is ever protective of my honor.” Julia managed a laugh that sounded forced to her own ears. “And your courier has taken a flattering view of me that is too kind. It shall be good for him to return to the London court and be reminded that there are far more beautiful women who shall be grateful for his attentions.”
The next moment was frozen in time, and Julia felt her stomach flip over. Caemon appeared at the gate, just in time to hear her words, and a look of horror crossed his face. Her eyes flitted to de Beaumont, whose calm demeanor and vague irritation at Dunholm had been transmuted into a sly, wicked smile that made her shiver. Dunholm’s mouth opened and his head shook slowly in a movement of denial. Julia’s stomach dropped. What have I done, she thought desperately.
“Dunholm has impinged on your honor, as you say.” Julia’s heart stopped and a sick anticipation built for his next words. “Then you dispute his claim to your hand?”
“Sir Dunholm did make offer for me once,” she replied slowly, trying to find the snare that she knew was coming but unable to see it. “My brother, Lord Cruithne, refused at my request.”
“You are kind to protect his memory, my love, but there is no need to deny your feelings any longer,” Dunholm said with more than a hint of desperation.
“Do you wish Sir Dunholm to court you? Or has he stained your virtue?”
Eric growled again at the implication in de Beaumont’s words. His axe pushed Dunholm back farther, until he backed into one of the Norman soldiers. His eyes cut to de Beaumont with a snarl laced with a fury that would turn on the newcomer next. Julia smoothed her hand along his back in a soothing motion, speaking carefully to keep Eric from attacking while avoiding whatever plan de Beaumont was laying,
“I do not number him among my suitors.”
“Is there none who would defend you from unwanted advances then?” A smile broke across his face and he looked pointedly at Eric’s axe. “If none vie for your attention, then I must insist you consider Dunholm carefully. He is a man of my Duke’s, and unless your attentions are elsewhere, there is no legitimate reason that you would not eagerly receive his...courtship.”
Julia wanted to close her eyes against the blood she felt certain was about to be shed. Eric used the flat of his axe to smack away Dunholm’s upraised hand, drawing a cry of pain and the loud snick of broken bones. The weapon was poised to turn on de Beaumont in the blink of an eye, and it was only her hand on his forearm that kept the furious Viking from removing the knight’s head from his shoulders.
“I do allow another to court me, Lord de Beaumont,” she said. Caemon had slid off his horse and was making furious gestures for her to be silent, but Julia did not know what else to do. “Sir Vandalsson has announced his intentions, and I have agreed that I will consider him.” She pressed down on Eric’s arm, trying to force
his immovable limb to lower the axe. She spoke her next words to him, trying to gain his attention, “I have no need or desire for Dunholm’s regard.” Eric relaxed fractionally. Focused as she was on him, she did not notice de Beaumont’s smile break into a vicious grin, or Caemon’s face fall into despair. “I want no other attentions,” she whispered softly, for Eric’s ears alone. If he would have responded, she did not get to find out, as de Beaumont clapped loudly.
“Then this is a serious matter! Gwain Dunholm!” The knight turned to de Beaumont and paled under his scrutiny. “You have sullied the good honor of this noble Lady and you dispute the claim of this man to her. In Duke William’s stead, I will accept your plea of guilty and payment of any wergild I deem appropriate. Or you may support your innocence in a trial by combat.” Gasps of shock and horrified interest erupted in the crowd as the challenge was translated and spread among those gathered. Julia clutched at Eric’s arm, What have I done?
The Gauntlet
It took nearly an hour to get the islanders to return to the celebration after the standoff between the English and the Norman knights dispersed. Heavy application of ale had helped, although Julia feared that might cause problems as the afternoon ran into evening. She sat in her chair, brought from the Great Hall along with the table, with Eric standing behind her. She remained stiff but pleasant, despite her longing to throw her head back and scream in frustration. The Abbot and Caemon sat to one side of her, Ulrich on the other. Simon paced in front of the table, serving them from platters and keeping an ear on the conversation.
“The majority of the Duke’s council do not trust Dunholm. They have been talking amongst themselves for weeks to develop a plan to get him out of their circle. The whispers at court say that William will not interfere with any action against Dunholm - as long as it does not affect his plans for Aurelius. He doesn’t care how he gets the island, only that the gold keeps flowing into the royal coffers.”
“They can’t attack him directly while there is a chance he might marry me,” Julia said. She felt as though she had been weighted in lead, but it was only her own foolishness that hung around her neck, dragging her to the ground. “If Eric kills him...”
“That would remove a thorn in their side, and give them a neutral party to blame for Dunholm’s death,” Ulrich spoke slowly, almost admiringly, of the Normans’ tactics.
“If Dunholm refuses the fight, de Beaumont may set any payment for his guilt. Dunholm’s holdings would not be inappropriate,” Julia felt a little flicker of hope. Without his lands, Dunholm would not have good reason to join their holdings.
“de Beaumont would be our nearest neighbor, an excellent holding to build on with whatever the Duke grants him. And he would be in the enviable position within William’s council of requesting your hand in marriage,” Simon said. Julia’s hope died. Such a deal would only exchange one unwanted suitor for another. At least de Beaumont appeared to clean his teeth.
“There are no better circumstances, as far as de Beaumont is concerned. He leads the opposition against Dunholm and the other English who have allied themselves with the Duke.” Caemon continued, “If Dunholm is killed, his lands become available to be reallocated to a Norman. If Eric dies, then you are more vulnerable. Aurelius remains ripe for the taking through marriage or force. If you have refused Dunholm’s suit then all the better. You will have no reason to refuse the Duke when he gives you a choice among his own men. Aurelius will come to William via marriage, thanks to de Beaumont, and the Lord will be richer for receiving Dunholm’s estate as recompense.”
“That will not happen,” Eric said quietly. Julia ignored him.
“So I played right into his hands.” She cursed softly and fluently, then smiled at a passing family that waved and called out Christmas greetings. “My idiocy will risk Vandalsson’s life and put the island in greater danger. I should have just married him.” Her counselors fell silent. Eric’s hand fell onto her shoulder.
“It was not stupidity, but this political game has put you in a difficult position. Will you accept assistance now, or do you still believe that you and Simon can plot your way out all on your own?” Julia could not meet anyone’s gaze. Fury burned in her chest. How dare he, she thought. The clearest, longest verbal contribution he had ever made and it was to offer criticism. He was the one whose quick temper and jealous axe had rushed them into the untenable situation. She turned that over in her mind as the others picked up the conversation and debated the merits of approaching William in various ways. Where there was jealousy, there might also be other feelings.
Julia shook herself. It did not matter. Although she had deep feelings for Eric, she had to put them aside. If William gave her the choice between war or marriage to one of his men, even de Beaumont, she would not hesitate to choose. If she knew Eric wanted her for more than her body and her Hall, she would only be more bitter about her decision.
“It would buy time,” the Abbot was saying, “but the outcome could be much deadlier.”
“I would like to hear your advice,” she said clearly. The men stopped talking and stared at her. Simon, holding a platter of steaming potatoes, halted so quickly one vegetable bounced onto the table.
“That isn’t necessary,” Eric said.
“Excuse me?” Julia felt her eyes narrow.
“Actually,” the Abbot began softly, “she will have to designate-”
“It will be me, and I will ask for Holmgang.”
“She will have to demand-” Simon started. Eric interrupted him.
“Then she will.”
“I won’t do anything,” Julia’s voice rose in volume until she was nearly shouting. Passersby turned to stare. “Unless you tell me what in God’s name you are thinking!” She smacked her palm on the table, making her hand sting and rattling cups and plates. The men stared at her in silence.
“Three Hail Mary’s and an act of contrition,” Simon said. At the looks turned his way he shrugged, as if to say that there was nothing unusual going on, “For the blasphemy.”
“You,” Julia pointed a finger rudely at her brother. She wished her gaze could convey what she was feeling. “You need to be quiet unless you have something helpful to add. Someone needs to check on Paul and Sarah and make certain that Sir Robert is presentable to be turned over to the Normans. Brother Caemon,” the monk leaned back at the snapping command, “you will explain every detail of what you learned of court politics while you were with FitzOsbern and William. And you,” she tilted her head up again to catch Eric’s eye. His calm expression only made her angrier. “Explain your advice to me now, or I won’t have use of your suit or your blade for long.” She could see he was ready to argue, so she overrode him in a louder voice, “And sit down before I break my neck trying to look up at you!”
Julia turned forward again, forcing a smile and a nod for the islanders who had stopped to stare. Her temper had gotten the better of her, and she was angry with herself for it. She drank deeply from her cup and tore off a chunk of bread. Chewing furiously did not make her feel better, but at least it was something to do that looked considerably more normal than smashing her plate against the faces of the idiots around her who tried to shield her from decisions that were hers alone to make. They would not have protected Aelfreic.
Her thoughts spluttered out when Eric sat down next to her. For a moment, she was stunned, not only that he had claimed a seat at her side - in the Lord’s chair - but that it immediately felt right to her to have him pressed against her. His heat and power comforted her and lent her strength. Then she took notice of those around her. Her shouts had drawn unwanted attention - his had every eye watching them. The Normans wouldn’t know the significance, and she doubted anyone would tell de Beaumont, but the islanders understood. Even Dunholm, who had been to the island infrequently when Aelfreic was alive, guessed that only the Lord and Lady would sit in the elegantly carved chair made for two. Wearing his gift had been a calculated admittance that she allowed him to court her.
If she let him sit at her side it was all but pledging her troth to him in front of her brother, the Abbot, and all of her people.
Eric kept his eyes on the side of Julia’s face, although he could feel the stares focused on them. Ulrich had even held his breath, letting it out in a shaky sigh when she didn’t immediately order him to get up. She had asked him to sit; there were no other seats. He would say so if she asked what he thought he was doing, but of course that wasn’t his reason. Dunholm had tried to force her more than once, and would still take the first opportunity to snatch Julia away. The woman herself had only just publicly acknowledged that she would consider Eric. Now, de Beaumont had arrived with the threat that even with Dunholm out of the way there would be others that William would press on her. Eric was tired of being patient, waiting for Julia to admit that she was his. He would defend the island and his Lady, even if that meant taking on William of Normandy, but he didn’t think it would come to that if she would listen.
The islanders needed to know that he would not allow her to give herself over to some unknown Lord. Eric was at her side now and forever more. If she had any common sense she would not object, but help him give confidence to the people and demonstrate to Dunholm and de Beaumont that neither they nor William had any right or ability to dictate who would rule Aurelius.
She reached for her cup again and Eric felt some of the tension within him relax. The Abbot and Ulrich sat back, Simon smiled and waggled his eyebrows, Caemon whispered a quiet, “Thank the Lord”.
“What,” said Julia in a flat voice, “is Holmgang?”
“It is a duel to settle a dispute or an issue of honor. It has been outlawed in Iceland and among the Danes, but Hardrada still allows – allowed - it in some instances.” Simon filled a cup with ale and passed it to Eric, who accepted it, but did not drink.