by Susan Amund
“Of course, my Lord. I would be most pleased to discuss any topic you would like.” She smiled, and gestured with her free hand to the group behind her. “If there are chambers prepared, would someone show my people the way?”
“Forgive me again, Lady Cruithne. You must be tired from your journey.” He started up the steps, Eric and Julia behind him and de Beaumont bringing up the rear. “I will have a servant show you to your quarters. They are only a few simple rooms, but we are still sorting things out as the treasonous men who held this fortification left things rather unsettled. Your men may find space in the barracks.”
Eric would have spoken up, but Julia gripped his arm and threw him a disapproving glance. He remained silent. It did not really matter if he spoke up, there was nothing that FitzOsbern or any other could say that would make him leave Julia alone with only her maiden cousin to guard her. Although he was beginning to doubt his ability to keep his hands off of her for more than a single day, he told himself that was incidental to protecting her. If he had to sleep by her side to do so, she could not complain about his diligence. Even if he required she be naked and wrapped around him to keep her secure.
FitzOsbern left them with a servant, but de Beaumont continued on with them as they made their way through the Hall to the solar rooms. The servant led them down a long hall, past several other doors before opening one that was not nearly as sturdy as Eric would have liked. A small, windowless antechamber contained a simple table and chairs. The tapestries were serviceable, like the rug, but undistinguished. Behind the only other door was the bedchamber. It too was small and undistinguished, although the coverlets were thick and plentiful, and the linens clean. The bed itself was built for only one and had no hangings to keep out the chill. The brazier stood unlit by an empty window, the shutters half-open and the tapestries not drawn against the draft. The stone floor had a single, thin rug to ward off the chill and a pallet had been laid in one corner for the handmaid. Eric tried to determine if they had been slighted or not - he would have expected far better from any other royal household, but the exterior of the Thorny Island castle left much to be desired. He was unsure if the room was typical or not. Julia answered that question for him.
“Return to your Steward and please let him know this is not acceptable. I understand that the household has been in turmoil, but I know that he would be affronted to think that the royal palace at West Minster had offered such poor accommodations to the House of Cruithne. We will wait here while you fetch him.”
Julia made certain to stress her family name and sent the poor trembling girl off with a gentle smile. As soon as the door closed behind her the smile slipped and she dropped into one of the chairs. “This may take a while; you might as well sit down.”
Skald and his partner gratefully lowered their trunks to the floor and sat down leaning against them. Sarah opened the shutters the rest of the way; the room was already freezing, they might as well have light. Julia glanced up at Eric and waved him to the other chair. “It really will be a while.” She smiled at his raised brow. “That was a chambermaid. She will have to report back to the chief maid that I am not satisfied, who will have to find the Chamberlain and tell him, who will have to report to the Steward. This process may be slowed somewhat depending on how many of the servants have been replaced under William and how many remember Aelfreic, or my brief stay here.”
“The room doesn’t seem that bad,” Skald ventured hesitantly. She smiled at him and relaxed further. The delay with the rooms was a welcome reprieve from dealing with William’s court.
“It isn’t. I would be quite comfortable here. However, this is a lesser room in the palace. It is smaller than even the room I stayed in when I first visited Harold’s court. Here, where I stay is a reflection of my rank and power. If I agree that this is what I deserve, than I am admitting that I have a lower rank and less power today than I did as the mere younger sister of the Lord of Aurelius.”
“If they offer anything less than the Steward’s own chamber, Aurelius will be offended,” Sarah sniffed. Julia coughed into her hand to cover her smile and caught Eric turning away to do the same. She didn’t have to wait nearly as long as she supposed. Less than half an hour later, the Chamberlain was at the door with the little chambermaid behind him. He bowed several times and apologized for the confusion, insisting that she should have been taken to a different set of rooms. He even made the girl curtsey and apologize – as though it were entirely her fault. They were led on another long walk through a series of rooms before finally coming to a halt at a thick oak door.
“These are my own private quarters, my Lady. I hope you will find them satisfactory.” He bowed low, and Julia paused just inside the doorway, allowing Sarah the opportunity to turn up her nose while she examined the furnishings. The anteroom was larger than the previous two rooms combined and contained a brazier which had recently been lit to ward off the chill. Tapestries had been rolled up to allow a bit of natural light to filter in through the closed shutters over the small window, and a low bed was tucked against a wall, sheltered from drafts by a heavy curtain. Several chairs and an ornately carved table with candles already lit decorated the room. The rug was thick and clean, the tapestries bright and well hung. The door to the bedchamber was open, revealing a glimpse of a wide bed, hung with simple tapestries, and another thick rug. A maid was just making up the bed with clean linens and had already laid the foundation for a fire in the brazier.
“Hn,” she copied the noncommittal sound Eric so often made and moved to stand by the fire. The Chamberlain remained politely inquisitive, but his hands twisted behind his back, betraying his nervousness. Julia finally took pity on him. “It is very gracious of you to give up your own rooms for me, thank you Chamberlain. My guard will stay in the outer room, please have a pallet brought into the bedchamber for my maid.”
The Chamberlain bowed low and left with the first, disgraced maid. The second dropped a deep curtsey. “Please bring up some wine and bread. I would also like a bath before the evening meal.” The girl nodded politely and dipped another curtsey.
“Shall I show your men to the barracks?”
Julia nodded, and she did not miss the quick glance of interest the girl threw to Skald. Ulrich agreed to find them both before the meal, and stayed behind. Julia closed the door behind them and sent Sarah to lay out her clothes.
They were not left long to plan. The King’s household was well run, and the maid returned quickly with men bearing a wooden tub and steaming buckets of water. They filed through to the bedchamber while the maid set out wine and a plate of bread, cheese, and dried fish. The servants were well-trained, but Julia could feel their darting glances; no doubt they were eager to return to their regular duties and regale the other servants and guards with a description of the newcomers.
Julia left several buckets in the anteroom for Ulrich and Eric to make use of while Sarah assisted her in her bath. The English maid had seemed surprised by Ulrich’s requests for additional towels for the men, but she hid it well. Ulrich, after all, had grown up on the island where cleanliness was a daily ritual. Even if full baths were weekly for most villagers, everyone made frequent use of water and the scented soaps produced in the drying houses and workrooms at the keep - even if only to wash with a damp cloth.
Sarah discovered from the maid that the Hall would be quite chilly, as braziers were not usually lit until the meal started and the shutters had been open all week to air out the space after the coronation celebration. She dressed Julia in Eric’s betrothal gift. Although Julia was not sure that her audience with the King would be the best time to announce that she had a suitor, de Beaumont had most likely already informed anyone who would listen of Eric’s intentions. In addition, there was no denying that her newest clothing was the finest and warmest she owned. Sarah dressed her hair in a simple style that had been favored on the island for generations. It was not usual at court, and Julia had her misgivings, but her cousin persisted,
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br /> “You want to stand out, my Lady. If these Normans think that our island is afraid of them, you and Sir Vandalsson will prove them wrong.”
Julia consented with a wry smile. The front of her hair was pinned in twisting ringlets and small braids. The back was brushed to a glossy shine and hung down to her waist. When she stepped into the anteroom, both men had already changed into cleaner, finer attire. Ulrich wore the grey overtunic and seal of the House of Cruithne, and he complimented her on her appearance. Eric wore black, as befitting the Bringer of Darkness. His garments, though similar to everything he wore, were none she had seen before. The wool was the same soft Spanish material that was in her tunic. His under tunic was white silk, exposed slightly at the collar and wrists. His boots were new as well, supple black leather rather than the well-worn brown he usually wore. He had removed his axe, but his belt still sported his dirk and a throwing weapon. A thick braid pulled his hair back from his face, revealing a trimmed beard and a faint smile. Julia felt a surge of pride. He was strong and capable; she would be seated next to the most handsome, deadliest man in the Hall. No other could compare to him, and for one evening, she would depend on that.
A guard arrived shortly to escort them. Her audience would take place before the meal was served, as only William’s counselors and court would be present. She gripped Eric’s arm briefly, conscious of her nerves and the import of the meeting. He did not speak or acknowledge her, as there were guards and others who could overhear. For the briefest moment, she felt his hand grasp hers, squeezing her fingers, and then it was gone. That one gesture left her hand warm and settled the roiling in her stomach. She would succeed.
Eric was not nervous as the doors to the Hall were opened. He had met many kings, one emperor, and even the most foolish of them could be made to see reason. He was confident of himself, and had no concerns for the Holmgang. Julia he knew would do well. From the corner of his eyes he watched as she took a deep breath, and then smoothed her features into a calm mask. He did not have to worry about her either. His only concern was to avoid any traps that might have been laid for her, and to keep her from unnecessarily martyring herself for her people.
The Hall was larger than the one on Aurelius. Stone walls rose to twice Eric’s height, and were capped with wooden structures that flowed into expertly joined beams supporting the roof high overhead. Narrow windows had been cut into the wood, and a servant was lowering the last tapestry to shut out the light and the cold air. The tables had been removed, and braziers stood waiting to be lit along the clear central walkway. The aisle was lined with knights and noblemen, even a few ladies arrayed in their finest. Eric noted with satisfaction that none were garbed as fine, nor looked as striking as Julia. The courtiers stared and whispered among themselves as the guard announced them,
“Lady Cruithne, of Aurelius, Sir Ulrich Legat, of the House of Cruithne and Eric Vandalsson...” The guard’s voice died off slowly and he threw an uncertain glance at Eric. Eric did not smile, or frown, but stared at the man calmly. He had found that such a tactic often worked better than traditional intimidation.
The guard moved and Julia let go of Eric’s arm to begin the long walk to the dais at the other end. Ulrich walked beside him, just a few paces behind her. Eric noted the iron in her spine and how she refused to meet the eyes of any but the monarch before her. William was seated on a carved throne; the dais was raised several steps above the room. He wore the regalia of his office and was richly dressed in a fur trimmed tunic. He was not as large a man as Eric had been led to believe. As they drew closer, Eric thought he detected a glint of anticipation in the King’s eyes, although his face remained impassive.
Julia halted a few feet from the bottom step, and so Eric and Ulrich stopped behind her. He knelt, but did not bow his head as Ulrich did. The man was not his King, and he wanted to keep an eye on Julia. For her part, Julia nodded deeply, but did not kneel or curtsey. Whispers and exclamations rippled through the crowd. Eric resisted a smile. She treated the King of England as her equal - as he was. She held no fealty to anyone. This would be the first true test. William might be intrigued and impressed with her show of independence, or it might anger him that she did not show the deference he felt was his due. Eric glanced to the King’s retainers to gauge their reaction. FitzOsbern looked irritated that the audience was talking so long; de Beaumont appeared amused.
“You do not bow before your King, Lady Cruithne?” William's voice was deep and echoed a bit in the large room.
“Your Majesty -William, Duke of Normandy, King of England,” Julia nodded again, holding her hands out to the side in a shadow of a curtsey. Her intricate bracers flashed gold and inlaid pearls in the light of the candles arrayed in the Hall. “I have come to congratulate you on your coronation, and welcome you as a neighbor.” She didn’t have to say it, the crowd heard what was unspoken: you are not my king. Gasps and a few outraged mutters were silenced with William’s upraised hand. He still had not given any indication if he was irritated.
“You do not feel you owe this crown fealty, Lady?”
“The House of Cruithne has held Aurelius for five centuries, your Majesty. We have watched the Romans come and go, we have seen raiders and conquerors, we have counseled kings before you. We stand beside England still, if you wish it, and offer respite, aid, and our counsel to the House of Normandy.”
“These are the only tidings of Aurelius? No other, no man-?”
“I am Aurelius, your Majesty.” She interrupted him, and for a moment Eric feared she had miscalculated. The King paused, and de Beaumont leaned forward with an expression of dreadful fascination.
“Are you the defender of Aurelius as well?”
“As you have done, I have killed to protect my people, your Majesty.” One lady in the audience swooned, and there were guffaws and muttered derisive words from some of the knights. “I do hope that misunderstanding may be forgiven between us.”
“FitzOsbern,” the King commanded. His right-hand man stepped forward and began speaking without being asked.
“We have exchanged ransom with Lady Cruithne for Sir Robert and one of his men, who were believed to be lost in the crossing. The rest of his contingent was given a Christian burial on Aurelius, your Majesty.”
“This woman claims to have killed my subjects with her own hand. Who corroborates this?” A limping step echoed behind him, and Eric had his hand on his axe before he could stop himself. Sir Robert stepped beside him, kneeling, and Eric relaxed marginally. de Beaumont caught the Norseman’s eye and winked. Eric almost started in surprise.
“Sir Robert of Guillinseme, your Majesty. We landed on the island, off course from the army. Of twenty men, only myself and one other survived. I cannot speak to the deaths of each man, but I saw with my own eyes as Lady Cruithne struck down two well-trained soldiers.”
“Your injury, Robert?” FitzOsbern prompted.
“The Viking crushed my leg with my horse, sire.” There were additional murmurs in the crowd, and Robert glanced at Eric with a frown. His mouth worked for a moment, before he finally ground out. “Those who were not killed were imprisoned, but treated well. My man Holbert would have surely died if not for treatment by the monks there, and the Brother Simon saved my leg from amputation.” His expression was sour; Eric imagined that he would rather not owe his life to anyone , much less his former enemies.
“The Viking?” Eric met the King’s gaze and stood, without permission. FitzOsbern frowned, but de Beaumont jumped into the conversation with barely restrained humor.
“Allow me to properly announce him, my liege. Eric Vandalsson, Captain of MØrket and Raskdød, Bringer of Darkness, Harbinger of Swift Death, Mortvisbrica.” de Beaumont intoned his names with all the weight of a god naming his children. Eric stood tall. Among his people, a name was earned; it was a testament to skill, to feats performed and honors that would ring into the afterlife and secure a seat in the Hall of Valhalla. They were him.
“Lord de Beaumont,”
Julia spoke clearly, turning William’s focus to her. Eric wished he could see her face. “I regret that you have not completed your duty. Vandalsson,” she called out in a strong voice, “Sea Calmer. Vandalsson the Storm Rider.” She took a deep breath and held out one arm to gesture to him. “Eric Vandalsson, Defender of Aurelius.”
There was silence in the Hall as the ring of her words faded away. If Eric had been proud of his naming before, hearing her say it, claim him with all that she was satisfied something in him. That drive to secure more than a name and a ship, more than wealth and a place by a king’s side. He had a family and a home, and he vowed to defend them.
“Hugh of Maine spoke of you once,” William stated.
“He gave a good death.”
“But not as many as you. You defeated him at the Rhine.” Eric gave a nod of acceptance, but did not say anymore. He did not know if Maine had been a supporter or enemy of William, and his resounding defeat before forces led by Eric could hurt Julia’s cause as easily as help it.
With a casual flick of his hand, William dismissed Robert and changed the subject, “I was most distressed to hear that you are yet unwed, Lady Cruithne. It is the God-given duty of women to wed and raise their children in a devout household. It saddens me to think that a gentlewoman, such as yourself, has not had such an opportunity.”
“No woman, save those supremely dedicated to God, would not deny a sense of purpose in the rites of marriage. Although I remain unmarried, I am fortunate to have supplanted that duty with a greater responsibility to my people.”
“No woman should have to bear such responsibility alone.”
“Should any one person, your Majesty?”
“Indeed.” A tiny smile vanished before Eric could be sure the King had moved his mouth. There, then, was the trap.