North Sea Dawn

by Susan Amund

  “Then I will not stay in your bed.” He was obviously furious that she had tried to refuse him, but his mouth and hands remained passionate, rather than angry. He left open-mouthed kisses across her skin and stroked a fire wherever he touched. Within a few minutes, Julia found herself squirming and panting, biting her lips to keep from begging him to do more. His head disappeared beneath the blankets and she had to dig her fingers into his hair to keep from bucking him off as waves of pleasure rippled through her. Once more will not make a difference, she assured herself before coherent thought was no longer possible.

  January 5, The River Thames

  Julia sat near the mast on Raskdød, the smaller ship that had returned to Aurelius with MØrket. When they had first put up the sail, Bjorn had taken the opportunity to educate her on the finer points of the longship. The MØrket was a Skei, which was common for war and raiding, and could hold up to seventy men. On shorter trips, without many supplies to take up space, MØrket could hold eighty. Vandalsson and his men had sailed in the long ship for years, and had gone as far as Byzantium under her sails.

  Raskdød could be rowed by as few as sixteen men. Bjorn had waved to the shields hung, out of the rower’s way, along the side of the boat Her name meant ‘fast death’ and she was Eric’s first ship. While sailing her, Vandalsson had gained the name Harbinger of Swift Death with good reason.

  By the second day of their journey Julia was no longer as impressed with the stories of bloodshed and valiant battle that Eric’s men recalled smilingly as they rowed. She was tired, cramped and cold. The January air was so bitter that she had not even thought to refuse Eric when he took her into his arms at night to sleep between the rowing benches. None of the men commented or hinted at surprise, much less disapproval. For that Julia was grateful. She was struggling enough with her own conflicting emotions without worrying that her own guard thought her to be a loose woman.

  She placed her elbows on her knees and her chin in her hands and stared absently at the back of the rower in front of her. Eric had spent every night with her since de Beaumont arrived on the island. After the first night on the floor, she had not put up more than a token argument. Even that had quickly died away. She enjoyed his attentions, and if his ardor and the number of times his hard member demanded her attention each night were good indicators, he enjoyed hers as well. She had accepted her fate. She loved him, and he would leave her. She reasoned that a broken heart could not become more broken, so she simply did all she could to ignore the decision looming before her and commemorate each touch, each softly spoken word, to memory.

  The ship rocked a tiny bit as they passed another fishing vessel that had come to a full stop in the shallow river. The workers stood still, nets slack, staring at the Viking long ship with its painted shields and carved prow. Julia ignored the sick twist of her stomach at the motion and sat up straight, daring the fishermen to meet her eyes. “Good, miláčik,” Eric’s murmur was low enough to reach only her ears. His rowing did not change pace as he continued behind her, “Let the whispers of you race ahead of us to London.”

  After another hour, and many more stunned fishermen, the small villages and boats began to give way to partially sacked towns that blended into the great city of London. Eric gave his bench to another man and took her arm to move her to the prow. She stood still - only possible due to the expert rowers and Eric’s steady presence inches behind her - and watched as people gathered on the banks and bridges, staring as they passed. “You look as a queen to them, moja láska,” he whispered in her ear. She was nervous, her palms sweating inside her fur-lined gloves despite the cold. The barbarian tongue, the words he usually reserved for only when he was encouraging her moans, brought a pleasant heat that battled with the anxiety balling in her chest. “You see how they carry the news?” She watched a man on horseback, looking her way as a freeman pointed to the ship. The horseman studied them for only a moment before galloping off, following the river to their destination. “By the time we arrive, de Beaumont will have been filling the King’s ear with compliments of your beauty and your wit. The stories of your wealth and your refusal of Dunholm will have burned through the royal halls. Now these men go ahead of us, to spread tales of the Viking ship under your command. Tales of the cool, beautiful woman, a Lady or a lost princess , come to grace King William with her presence.”

  His words subsided for some time and he settled for simply rubbing soothing circles across her back. They rounded the last bend in the River Thames and Thorny Island lay before them, West Minster Abby to their right. Crowds had gathered on the banks, many more people than Julia had ever seen in one place before, and she gasped, stepping back and bumping into Eric.

  “You are his equal. Aurelius bows before no King, and they are measuring you now, miláčik.” His hand smoothed over the small of her back and came to rest there. The weight comforted her and she straightened her shoulders. “They are right to come to see you.” He whispered other things to her, some she recognized. He called her beautiful, ordered her to take courage, always saying sweetheart, or that other name that she had not yet translated - moja láska. They were only a few strokes from the dock when Eric raised his voice. He called out to the men in Norse, loud enough that the English on the dock of Thorny Island and the banks of London could hear.

  “See to our Lady,” he commanded. “Land defended, wounds healed. Aurelius!” The resounding response was shouted in a single, booming voice that reached every ear and made many of the English step back in fear.

  “Aurelius!”

  Eric’s men brought the Raskdød to an easy stop, not even bumping against the wooden dock. The sailors were so expert that Julia did not even sway as they stowed the oars and threw the moor ropes to waiting hands. The English were neither fast nor skilled enough for Vandalsson, so with a sharp bark, Skald and another man jumped onto the planks and swiftly tied off the ship. The dock workers did not hesitate to hand over the ropes to the fearsome warriors. The crowd parted, and de Beaumont strode toward them with a wide smile.

  “Welcome, Lady Cruithne,” he called. She nodded with the smallest, coolest smile she could manage. Every fear that Eric had managed to soothe returned with a vengeance. The Norman’s attention turned to Eric, and Julia almost let out a sigh of relief. “Sir Vandalsson, why am I not surprised that you did indeed carry your Lady here most safely?” He was smirking at Eric, but the Norseman did not pay any heed.

  “Our ships have been here before,” he shrugged. There was a collective gasp and murmur from the Normans in the crowd that heard his response. Julia had to contain a smile. Only Eric would arrive at a meeting fraught with political tension and remind everyone that his people, in ships just like the one he stood in, had sacked that very City not once, not twice, but many times - even occupying London until they became bored with the lack of challenging enemies in England and made for fresh shores.

  “Indeed.” If possible, de Beaumont’s smile grew wider. Julia had the suspicion that he was enjoying his new position as their liaison a bit much. . Lord de Beaumont held out his hand, ready to assist her out of the ship. Simon had discussed this eventuality with her before she left,

  “The Normans will want you to show favoritism. As soon as you favor one in any way that can be construed as interest, they will hone in on that one as your likely husband. You cannot offend any, but you must not give any indication that you would accept suit from one of them either. If William forces you to choose, make him go into it blind. Let that be his last resort, so that he has time and opportunity to consider how Aurelius could benefit him even without a Norman lord.”

  Eric stepped out onto the dock and lifted Julia out after him without waiting for her response. The first hurdle was done, thanks to his quick thinking. She needed only to meet the next hundred or so political and social traps ahead of her – and, of course, watch the man she loved fight a battle to the death. One step at a time, she thought. .

  “Thank you for meeting me, Lord de
Beaumont.” She laid her hand on Eric’s arm and waited with a smile for the Norman to show them the way. Ulrich followed close behind, and two more men followed him bearing chests with Sarah trailing after.

  “I hope your journey was not too difficult?”

  “Of course not, although Sir Vandalsson assures me that it would have gone even swifter if we had taken a larger ship.” She held her breath. This was part of Eric’s plan to spread rumors of the strength and wealth of Aurelius. When de Beaumont had arrived on the island, both MØrket and Raskdød were at the small harbor, having minor repairs made to their hulls. Although Dunholm had seen both ships, he had never been closer to them than the shore while they were moored in the harbor. Eric guessed, and Ulrich agreed, that if she hinted at a large fleet it would be only Dunholm’s word against hers, and with her clear dismissal and his return to William with broken fingers and in disgrace, they would give credence to her description. She would not have to lie; there was a ship larger than Raskdød at the island. And certainly they had many other smaller vessels - they were for fishing and most not seaworthy, but she could gloss over that detail. de Beaumont hesitated a step, but continued on smoothly,

  “You left another ship behind while you sail MØrket to London, Vandalsson?” It was Julia’s turn to hesitate, but she could not pause for Eric continued on, pulling her with him. She had thrown out his name, Bringer of Darkness, to impress upon de Beaumont the skill of the men on the island, but it sounded as though he had used his time in London to learn more.

  “The little Snekkja?” Eric glanced over his shoulder briefly, casting an eye over the long ship and the men waiting there. “Raskdød is a fine vessel. I have cut through many waves with her, washed the blood of my enemies off of her deck. But she is not MØrket.” de Beaumont nodded respectfully and they continued on to the palace wall, a stone base with a high wooden parapet. Julia wanted to grin at Eric. He had sounded nonchalant, as though he had many ships bobbing in the harbor at home, waiting for him to choose which would be sailed to ransack London. Her stomach was still turning with nerves, but his strong arm under her hand and calm words did a great deal to give her confidence.

  The gate was open, though heavily guarded, and they entered under the open stares of William’s knights. Hundreds of them seemed to be lining the walls, leading horses across the bailey and guarding the armory, keep, and gates. The bulk of the invasion forces were outside in an enormous city of tents laid out on the banks of the river. Julia kept her head high and her face impassive. Sarah had helped her change behind a blanket in the early morning on the ship so that she would be clean, and hopefully impressive, when she arrived. She wore her brown woolen over tunic with the gold embroidery. It was not her richest gown, but it was just as fine as most of the travelling garments she had seen when she was last at court, and it would hold up well to the dust and mud she would have to walk through to reach Thorny Island’s wooden Hall. She wore the gold arm bands and the dragon pin, both displayed with one side of her sable cloak thrown back. Mary had cursed the gentle movements of the ship while attempting to style her hair, finally pinning a mass of loose braids to the back of her head. She warned Julia that it wouldn’t stand up to a full day of marching around, but they would hopefully have time to change before her audience with William.

  Eric listened with one ear to de Beaumont’s idle chatter as they crossed the lower bailey to the steep hill that rose to the upper bailey. Without thinking, he noted the defenses, how many men were on each wall, where the wooden construction was most likely to give, the best way to charge the motte to the inner bailey and the tower. He had never personally been to London before, and was somewhat surprised to see that the capital of the English was not even worth comparing to that of other nations. Byzantium, of course, was far larger and grander; but even Rome in its ruined splendor and Stockholm with its neat wooden structures were more impressive than the man-made hills and sharpened sticks that were designed to protect a king. Many nobles would have been most pleased to have such a large, well-fortified castle. Eric had been impressed when he saw the fort at Aurelius, but he better understood now de Beaumont’s observations of envy, having seen the place he had been tasked with fortifying for William.

  Satisfied that he could easily plan an escape or an invasion of the complex, he turned his attention to Julia. She was still nervous, he could tell. Her cheeks were pale and her smile stiff, as though she was afraid of reacting too strongly to anything. Still, she responded to de Beaumont’s inquires with wit and a calm voice. He wished he could pull her closer. The gold of his pin on her cloak flashed in the sun and echoed the glint of the arm cuff that held open her sleeve. The rich sable fur and gold silk at her throat announced her wealth in a quiet way that would impress high-ranking nobles more than jewels. He contained a smirk as he considered the scarf. She had taken to wearing such things daily, much to her chagrin. He encouraged the practice wholeheartedly and made certain that a new mark was added to her neck just as an old one faded.

  As they approached the steep steps that led up the motte, two guards blocked their path. Another four stepped forward, crowding around the group in an attempt to surround them. Eric struggled to remain impassive, though his fingers itched to reach for his axe. de Beaumont stepped forward to speak with them, and a small group of Norman nobles appeared at the inner gate, looking down at them.

  “I am going to be sick,” he heard Julia whisper quietly. He doubted that was true, she was too collected to let her nerves ruin the first impression these invaders would have of her. As a Viking, he understood impressions well. It was the greatest part of the plan he had devised for her. When his people had raided this very city, they had depended on darkness, flickering shadows in the light of torches and burning cottages, surprise, fear, and the impression of giant men raging with blood thirst and eager to kill. He used many of the same tactics. His men wore only what armor was absolutely necessary, relying on their own skill and the intimidation of rushing the enemy with a howl of rage and show of force that would send their defenses into disarray. Julia was on the Normans’ field now, she needed to take the advantage quickly and set them off balance.

  He withdrew his arm from hers and barked Ulrich’s name. He threw his cloak over one shoulder to reveal the weapon at his side and allow the sun to glint off of the sharp blade. The runes and sigils worked into his leather chest piece were visible, even from a distance. His grey tunic, Aurelius' color, was matched by the dark leather of his armor and the blackened bracers at his wrists. His boots, so foreign to the Normans, took long strides until he stood beside de Beaumont.

  “Lady Cruithne is not here to be herded, Beaumont. Nor am I. What is the problem?” He stood tall, using his height to his advantage. The Norman lord frowned at him.

  “There is no problem, Vandalsson. Only these men have been ordered to verify that I have brought the correct guests.” He raised his voice, Eric guessed intentionally to reach the ears of those men standing above them. “It seems some believe my memory to have faded in my old age. I am not to be trusted to remember the face of a beautiful woman.”

  “The Lady has no need to prove herself to you, or any man here.” Eric too, raised his voice. “Perhaps it is me that they do not trust. I have only one way to prove my name if they will not take your word for it.” A voice from the upper bailey interrupted them.

  “I have lost enough men and have more ground to cover before these English are subdued.” The man came down the steps as he spoke. “Lord de Beaumont is no doubt remembering you correctly. I doubt any would forget the face of Eric Vandalsson, the Harbinger of Swift Death.” The eyes of the guards widened and one even took a step back. The man waved them aside and held out his hand in greeting. “Well met, Vandalsson. I am FitzOsbern, welcome to London.”

  “Well met,” Eric echoed and clasped forearms with the Norman. The man was not very tall, but he was bulging with muscle. The sword at his side was nicked and scratched, the grip needed replacing. This was
a man well-used to battle. “You did not come to welcome me, though.” He stepped back and allowed de Beaumont to introduce her. Julia, for her part, ignored the hand de Beaumont offered and left Ulrich’s side to stand near him. She nodded shallowly and held out her hand. FitzOsbern raised a brow but accepted her fingers and nodded perfunctorily over them.

  “So this is the infamous Lady of Aurelius we have heard so much about.”

  “Hardly infamous, my Lord. Such flattery will drive me straight to confession.” Her dry tone left no room to doubt that she understood the minor insult FitzOsbern wielded. Eric steeled himself for the real test. It would get worse before it got better, and he had to remind himself that killing one of William’s retainers was more than enough for their first visit to his city.

  “Forgive me, my Lady, but between Dunholm’s tales of your holdings and de Beaumont’s near-constant ode to your skills, I am feeling a bit incredulous. Although he did not do your beauty justice, so perhaps the rest of his compliments were not exaggerations either.”

  “How kind of Lord de Beaumont to speak well of me. However, I have always thought that one should not believe half of what one hears. It is better to experience such things firsthand.” She gestured to his weapon, “Like the difference between hearing tales of battle, and striking down your first enemy, yes?” A tiny smile twitched at FitzOsbern’s mouth, and Eric wanted to grin in triumph. Then his eyes wandered from her face to her figure, exposed as it was to show off the gold, and Eric felt the first rumblings of irritation.

  “How astute, my Lady. Perhaps you would allow me some experience as we walk?” He held out his arm, but Julia managed to be looking down and avoid slighting him outright. She lifted her hand up and Eric was quick to place his arm for her. She continued speaking as she shook the dust from her skirts gently, giving FitzOsbern ample time to save face and return his arm to his side.