by Susan Amund
“All those who bear the responsibility of others should share their burden. Nobles share their burden with their king.”
“And sovereigns?”
“God is our liege.” There was a quiet moment in which Julia only nodded politely. “Men,” he gestured to de Beaumont, “shall be in need of wives to offer them succor at home. I cannot help but feel responsible for your unmarried state, as your brother was killed at Hastings before he could secure your future. It shall be my duty to act in his stead, and find suitors worthy of such a Lady.”
“Thank you, your Majesty, but I will not trouble you with such minor matters. I have long been capable of discerning whom is worthy of consideration by Aurelius.”
“I must insist - particularly after you have denied one whom I considered of enough merit to include in my court. Lord de Beaumont has told me that you have not accepted Sir Dunholm as a suitor.” Several ladies gave little indignant exclamations. Apparently, Dunholm was as popular at court as he mistakenly believed himself to be with Julia.
“I saw nothing to encourage me to accept what I had spurned before.”
“Dunholm, I have been told, offended you with his attentions?”
“I am not interested in such a match,” Julia spoke carefully, “as I have said.”
“This is a matter of honor, then. One which offends me, as Dunholm is my vassal.” Eric had not thought that William would take personal responsibility for the knight’s actions. He considered how the court might react if he was forced to kill a king. “I am aggrieved that such a Lady might have been have been gravely insulted by one of my own. Thankfully, de Beaumont has offered a solution to determine if Dunholm has acted dishonorably, and to restore any honor lost.” The King announced to the court that a trial would take place, and explained that the Lady had chosen the combat, as was her right. He described the stakes, and commanded the attendance of all the male members of his court for the day after Epiphany. The audience was concluded, and William left with FitzOsbern.
Ulrich rose and Eric stepped forward to offer Julia his arm again. Her fingers trembled where they touched him, but she gave no other indication of the ordeal she had been through. de Beaumont approached them, and they spoke for only a few moments before members of the court stepped forward to be introduced. Some welcomed her, while others offered snide comments which she expertly deflected. Others asked more serious questions as to the status of the island and trade. Eric learned that more than one man had interest in vying for her hand, should he be unsuccessful against Dunholm. The women, Eric was hesitant to call them ladies, were the most difficult. Their backhanded compliments and innocently posed questions insulted Julia and called her character and her morals into question. She remained poised, but Eric felt his blood begin to boil. Before he could do something Julia would regret, a young lady, no more than eighteen, stepped forward.
“Please, Lady Cruithne, do forgive the Norman ladies.” Even Eric’s untrained ear could hear the English accent in her voice. “You understand they have travelled so far, in such conditions, they surely do not mean to sound petty and mean-spirited. Certainly they would be horrified if you thought them jealous! I am sure you would agree, however, that when we reach the mature age of these ladies, we too will have to be forgiven by fresher, untouched blossoms for our wicked tongues.” The women sputtered and huffed, some even attempting to retort, but soon enough the group from Aurelius was left alone again with de Beaumont and the sharp young lady.
Her hair was golden-blonde, and had been pinned to her head in a mass of braids. Her garments were high-quality and well-made, the embroidery fine - even to Eric’s untrained eye. She wore a heavy gold circlet around her neck that bore the intricate designs Anglo-Saxon goldsmiths were known for. She turned her blue eyes on Julia and smiled,
“Won’t you introduce us, de Beaumont? Or do you plan to stand there like a cow all day with your mouth hanging open?” Eric glanced at the Norman, whose mouth was open with a sort of vicious delight, and then to Julia. Her eyes had grown wide and her teeth were biting into her bottom lip. He wondered if she was trying not to laugh, then wondered if she would let him examine the bite marks when they were alone.
“How could I refuse such a gentle request?” de Beaumont looked equally irritated and amused as he motioned between the two women. “Lady Julia Cruithne, allow me to introduce Lady Margaret of Sollwold.”
“Your father is Lord Geoffrey?” Julia asked quietly.
“He was,” Margaret’s smile dimmed. “He died in Stanswyck. My brother, Martyn, is Lord now.”
“Lord Sollwold is a guest of the King. His sister graciously accompanied him to London.”
“Yes,” a fire snapped in Margaret’s eyes and Eric was reminded of the temper that Julia sometimes displayed. de Beaumont would be wise to stand back. “I would accompany a six-year old boy, as you wouldn’t let his nurse come with him.”
“I did find a suitable replacement, did I not?”
“For now, until you decide to-” she snapped her mouth shut angrily and let out a short breath through her nose. “Forgive me, Lady Julia. Such old disagreements tend to come up at the most inappropriate times. I wished to meet you to express my condolences on Aelfreic’s passing.”
“You knew my brother?”
“I met him once, when King Edward and several lords congregated at Sollwold Hall. Father always spoke highly of the Lord of Aurelius.”
“Thank you, Lady Sollwold, and my condolences to you as well.” The two ladies began a slow circuit of the perimeter, chatting in low voices while Eric and de Beaumont trailed behind. Ulrich excused himself to meet with Skald and Bjorn.
“Her brother will be stripped of his title,” Eric stated it, because it was obvious why the boy had been brought to London. The practice was common enough. He was only surprised the child hadn’t simply been killed.
“That is what is being discussed.” de Beaumont was quiet for a few more moments. “I am curious, Vandalsson, how did you get Lady Cruithne to accept your courtship? She turns down one of her own people who has the backing of the King, but invites the enemy of her brother to her table. It is puzzling.”
“It is not your concern,” Eric responded mildly. de Beaumont did not respond, but continued to watch the ladies before them. Eric would have said something to remove the man’s gaze from Julia, but it was clear he was more interested in the English girl, although he worked hard to disguise it. “Dunholm is not of Aurelius, and he only has the backing of your King because he is a traitor who did all but raise his blade against her brother. My men and I turned back the Normans who invaded the island.”
“So your worth is obvious, because you saved her home.”
“My worth is what it is,” Eric stated plainly. “That was not important in this matter.”
“You would have taken her, and the island, by force if she did not allow your courtship?” de Beaumont’s shrewd gaze turned on Eric and he hesitated. He believed the Norman’s questions were for his personal benefit, but no matter how he appreciated the man’s cunning, he had not yet proven himself a friend to Aurelius. Only the enemy to their enemy.
“That was never a consideration.”
Julia overheard only the last bit of their conversation, but Eric’s bold assertion of his own ego was too much to let go. “I could not find a better man to defend my holdings,” she said to Margaret in a loud voice, “but it will be a blessing if Vandalsson completes this courtship without smothering under the weight of his pride.”
Margaret laughed, and Julia could not help but glance back to see the men’s reaction. de Beaumont was smiling, but watching Margaret. Eric looked down his nose at her.
“It is not pride, Lady, it is.”
Holmgang
Julia waited nervously in the anteroom beside a cooling tray of food and wine. She had not been able to eat, or even drink, as her stomach was tied in knots. Eric and Ulrich had left hours before to discuss the preparations for the combat with de Beaumon
t, Dunholm, and his second. When they missed the morning meal, she had ordered a tray for them. Skald and Bjorn took turns guarding her door and teaching Sarah the finer points of dice. They had invited Julia to join them, but she had been unable to sit still long enough.
Margaret had come for a while. She rehashed the dinner and repeated all of the gossip and goings-on she had heard in the palace. She examined Julia’s healing supplies and admired her clothes. For an hour, the younger woman took Julia’s mind off of the upcoming battle with her insightful chatter and requests for advice on the position of the House of Sollwold.
Both women agreed that marriage to a Norman was the only option; it was only a matter of finding one that could be convinced to simply strip her brother’s title, rather than murder him. Too soon, Margaret excused herself and Julia was alone in the bedchamber again, waiting for Eric’s return.
She had not slept well since they arrived. Eric had taken the bed in the antechamber, despite Sarah’s gentle hints that she would be happier if she was not sleeping on the floor in Julia’s room. She had gotten so used to his warm presence in her bed that she found she could not rest without him. Instead she lay awake, going over and over every possibility that could interfere with the plan. She managed to not spend more than an hour each night silently crying as she thought of which of the Normans she would choose to take Eric’s place.
She finally left the bedchamber to wait again in the anteroom, only to find that Skald had fixed himself a small bowl of stew from the tray that had been set aside for Eric. Sarah admonished the man for eating a second meal so soon after dining with the other guards, and taking what had been prepared for Eric, Ulrich, and Julia. Julia waved her off, “I wasn’t going to eat any. He can certainly have my share.”
The men returned only a few minutes later, to reveal that they had eaten some time ago with de Beaumont. Eric dropped several packages on a chest and sat down heavily, rolling his shoulders.
“We do not have much time before it shall begin.”
Sarah disappeared into the bedchamber and Ulrich pulled both guards, Skald still carrying his stew, into the hall. Eric unwrapped a long bundle and placed the contents on the table.
“Thank you?” Julia tried to hold back her irritation with the sword he had presented her. The runes †Uthber†t were inlaid on the blade. She was sure he would get around to explaining himself, although as usual it would take far more words than he preferred, and far less than she would like.
“The King allowed Dunholm to select the weapons, as we choose the manner of trial.”
“Swords?” Julia felt the icy ball of fear return with a vengeance. “Have you - do you use a sword?”
“I have trained with all kinds of weapons.”
“Trained? How long ago was that?”
“A while,” he shrugged and Julia threw up her hands in frustration and rising hysteria.
“That is not comforting, Vandalsson. You asked me to declare this battle to the death. If you get killed and I have to spend the rest of my time here trying to find someone to stand between me and that foul-breathed, over-bearing, illiterate-”
“Miláčik,” he interrupted quietly. He stood, wrapping his arms around her. Julia laid her head on his chest and tried to breathe deeply. She had schooled herself to have control, to keep her emotions from overcoming her. The mere sight of the weapon he would use melted all her defenses and had her shaking with fear. “It will be alright. It has been some time, but I learned to use a sword from a Vandal master. I will not lose.”
“If you do, I’ll make you regret it.” He did not correct her ill-conceived threat, but simply agreed,
“Of course.” Julia relaxed into him and he rubbed small circles on her back, soothing her for a few minutes until he stepped away and pushed her gently to a seat.
“Since you are feeling so concerned for me,” he teased with a twitch of his mouth, “you will surely be pleased to honor a request.”
“What would that be?” She narrowed her eyes, knowing her snapping tone was extremely rude, but the stress and frustration wore on her nerves. He picked up a second package and handed it over.
“I have brought you a gift. You will wear it for the Holmgang.” She rolled her eyes at his demand and unwrapped the rough linen. Cool white silk pooled onto her lap and Julia sucked in a breath. “The rest is here,” he nodded to the other parcels.
“This is...” She closed her eyes briefly, feeling something wrench in her chest. “This is a betrothal gift.” She couldn’t accept it. No matter how much she wanted to, regardless of how badly she wanted to be with him.
“Only if you wish it to be.” She glanced up, to find that he had kneeled before her, his eyes level with hers. “Although, I am finding that as you delay the vows, my tokens must become increasingly enticing.” He squeezed her legs, just above the knee, to draw out a smile. “I wonder if you don’t have the same desires as other women but are far more cunning in angling for gifts.”
Julia managed to smile back, but it felt watery. He was patient. He had every right - after what she had allowed, begged, him to do - to expect her to follow him immediately to the nearest church. He understood, though. He knew she had greater responsibilities. Although he had an unrealistic conviction that their marriage was predetermined, he still gave her time.
“If I wanted your favor,” she pushed aside the threatening tears and leaned closer, “I know much quicker ways to entice trifles from you.” Her lips landed on his, and she nearly pushed him over in her zealous attack. His arms encircled her and he returned the kiss with passion. It was some minutes later when they broke apart. She found herself dazed and sitting on his lap on the floor. He had loosened her outer tunic and cupped her through the thin undergarment with one hand. His other hand thrust into her hair.
“Perhaps you should save this for celebrating my victory. If I finish this now, you won’t have time to repair yourself before you must be in the Hall.” He pressed another quick kiss to her mouth and reluctantly withdrew his hands. Julia felt her cheeks burn, the heat he inspired keeping her nerves at bay for a least a short while. They stood, and he served himself a bowl of the stew and a cup of wine while she did her best to right her clothing. Finally she simply took her hair down completely, reasoning that there was no way she could make it look untouched. She called Sarah in to gather the gifts and turned back to Eric just as Ulrich knocked on the door.
“It is time,” the knight poked his head in and quickly closed the door again at Eric’s nod. He set down the empty bowl and cup before dragging her into another deep kiss. It was over sooner than she liked. Then Eric was gone, leaving behind only the fading scent of his soap and the taste of wine on her lips.
Sarah helped her dress quickly, and was just finishing her hair when Bjorn knocked on the door.
“My Lady, Skald is ill.” She exited quickly, sweeping her new skirts back from the mess the man had made on the floor. Bjorn had rolled Skald onto his side, away from the pool of vomit, but the young Norseman looked terrible. His eyes were glassy and his skin pale and sweaty. Sarah cleaned up the mess while Julia examined him. “He said his sight was strange, and he had trouble breathing.”
Julia lifted his lids and noted his pupils had dilated. She pressed her ear to his chest and listened to his heart. The beat was slow, and almost...she sat up in shock. It was irregular. “Skald,” she called firmly. She smacked his face lightly to get his attention. “Skald, what do you see? How is your vision strange?” His eyes rolled back and he panted,
“sss -yellow, Lady.” Julia crossed herself.
“God help us,” she whispered.
“What is it, My Lady?” Bjorn asked. The warrior, who usually responded to everything with a calm smile, was tense with worry. A frown creased his brow and made his voice hard.
“Foxglove, I believe. Sarah, get my herbs.” She ordered Bjorn to get her water and a cloth and had Sarah keep his brow cool while she searched for what she needed. Thank God, she thoug
ht when she found it. Mandrake root was highly poisonous when used incorrectly, and rare enough to be difficult to obtain. Julia didn’t know how she had managed to put exactly what she needed in her bag, but she was grateful. She sliced a tiny sliver from the rough brown root and pushed it back into Skald’s mouth, forcing him to sit up and drink. She had no way of knowing how much of the foxglove plant he had ingested, so determining the dosage was difficult. Too little and his heart would slow until it gave out. Too much and the mandrake would kill him as surely as the poison could. There was nothing else to do but wait. She glanced at the table, then at Sarah. “What did he eat?”
“I’m - I’m not sure, my Lady. He had some bread, and at least two bowls of the stew and ale.”
“No,” she said softly. Please God, please God, anything but the stew, please God. “Bjorn, find the maid who brought this, now.” She continued praying while she prepared a second dose of the mandrake. She shaved some of the root into a flask of water before Bjorn returned. Julia did not know or care what he said to get the girl to their rooms so quickly, but she was trembling with fear.
“Who prepared this food?” Julia’s voice was steady, but she knew her fear would overcome her if she didn’t control it. The girl looked wide-eyed at the tray and then at Skald.
“One of the kitchen maids, my Lady. I don’t know-” Her face whitened, “He wasn’t supposed to eat it.”
“The tray was for Vandalsson? The Viking?” The girl nodded and Julia’s heart dropped in her chest.
“My Lady, please-”
“It has been poisoned,” Julia interrupted sharply. “I have given Skald medicine, but I need to know if Vandalsson took the poison as well. Now, tell me who touched this food and how. And if you lie to me, and he dies, so help me you will wish you had never been born.” The maid began to tear, but still shook her head. Julia wanted to scare the girl. She wanted to shake her and slap her until she confessed what had happened.