“I feel it too,” Sigmar replied. “We will follow them, but we must be careful to stay out of sight.”
“My granny is old,” Sandor said with a smile. “She walks very slowly, but she knows exactly where she is leading them.”
Sigmar frowned. “What do you mean?”
“You’ll see,” the boy replied.
Sins of the Fathers
They walked for hours. Audra was weary after a fitful night, but Sunngifu led on, thick wooden staff in hand, seemingly unaffected by the miles of hilly terrain and boggy marshland. They scrambled over towering gray tors topped by precarious boulders that looked ready to crash down at any moment; they forded bone-chilling brooks; they plodded warily through thick mists then sweltered under a hot sun.
Audra wasn’t the only one ready to drop. The grumbling among Eadwig’s men grew louder as the day progressed. She sensed the prince too was at the end of his patience. It had begun to dawn on her he’d fled an army of whales, and the notion he was in this predicament because of it was of some solace.
The discovery of two of the three missing men face down in a bog dampened the Anglo-Saxons’ spirits further. “This is their just reward for desertion,” Eadwig pouted. “And for stealing our ponies.”
His men made no reply, though many of them scanned the hills for any sign of the animals.
When Audra feared she couldn’t walk another step, Sunngifu led them into a circle of about thirty enormous standing stones and called a halt.
The soldiers sprawled on the grass, their faces to the sun.
Audra sat on a fallen stone, trying to catch her breath, wishing she hadn’t scoffed down all the bread earlier.
“How much further?” Eadwig asked like a petulant child.
Sunngifu made no reply, astonishing Audra by hopping up onto another gigantic fallen rock as if it were a small stepping stone. A cawing jackdaw appeared, flew around the circle then came to perch on Sunngifu’s shoulder.
The men sat up.
Audra clutched the edge of her stone seat.
Eadwig eyed the old woman warily. “What sorcery is this?”
Sunngifu thrust her arms wide. “Sins of the fathers,” she shouted, her words echoing, echoing off the stones.
The weary soldiers scrambled to stand, backing away from the old woman.
Fear turned Audra’s legs to lead.
Eadwig drew his sword and rushed at Sunngifu. Cawing loudly, the jackdaw swooped at his head. Cursing, he raised his arms to ward off the bird and dropped the sword. Two tiny men ran out from behind Sunngifu, grabbed the sword and ran off with it held high above their heads.
It was then Audra knew she had lost her wits. A near drowning, hunger, fear, thirst, Sigmar’s death; all had taken their toll. Pixie people dressed in blue and red didn’t exist. Everybody knew it.
The soldiers disappeared into the surrounding moorland.
In the throes of a nightmare, Audra watched Eadwig come slowly to his feet. “What do you want, old woman?” he shrieked, his voice full of fear.
“Repentance,” Sunngifu replied.
“For what?” he sneered.
“The sins of the House of Wessex.”
Something peculiar had happened to the crone’s eyes. The sockets were empty.
Trembling uncontrollably, Audra retched into the grass at her feet then lay her forehead on the cold stone.
“Kneel beneath this monolith, and repent,” Sunngifu intoned. “If you are blameless, the stone will not fall.”
Eadwig balked but the little men reappeared, prodding his backside with his own sword until he knelt beneath a rock that sat atop two others.
Eadwig whined unintelligible ramblings, occasionally glancing up at the rock above him.
The jackdaw settled once more on Sunngifu’s shoulder.
Eadwig stopped praying.
An eerie silence reigned.
Then the howling began.
Gooseflesh marched across Audra’s nape.
Eadwig raised his head.
The earth began to tremble, as it had when the dogs rushed by the hut, but Audra could see no reason for the din. Whatever was stampeding by was invisible.
The rock above the Prince of Wessex slipped from the place it must have rested for a thousand years and crashed down onto him with a dull thud.
Audra didn’t even hear a scream, though it was evident the huge rock had crushed the body beneath it.
She knew she had been driven completely out of her wits when Sigmar and her father rushed into the circle. Nothing for it but to surrender to the madness.
*
Sigmar scooped Audra into his arms and crushed her to his body. “I’m here, my little one. You’re safe,” he said softly, still shaken by the events he had witnessed.
However, one thing was for sure. Eadwig was dead. They had accomplished their mission, though he doubted any of them would ever reveal how the prince had died.
The jackdaw had flown away.
Svein picked up Eadwig’s sword from where it lay beside the rock that had crushed him.
Sandor rushed to the old woman who’d called down vengeance on Eadwig, but who now lay on the grass. “Granny, granny,” he cried, trying to rouse her.
Dagmar knelt beside the woman, his hand pressed to her neck. “She’s gone,” he rasped.
Sandor threw himself atop her body. “No,” he sobbed. “Don’t leave me.”
Gertruda put a hand on the boy’s back. “Her thirst for vengeance kept her alive too long,” she explained. “It’s her time.”
To Sigmar’s relief, Audra stirred in his arms. She frowned when she opened her eyes. “You won’t want me now, Sigmar,” she murmured. “I’ve gone mad.”
“Nej, min lille en,” he replied with a smile. “I saw everything, and I can understand why you think you’ve tumbled into lunacy. There are dark forces at work on these moors. The old woman is dead.”
She looked to where Sandor wept over his grandmother’s body. “Who is the boy?”
“Sunngifu’s grandson,” he replied. “His father was a Viking.”
“I know,” she said. “The old woman told me of a grandson but I didn’t realize he still lived.”
“He led us here. Without his help I might never have found you.”
“Then we must take care of him,” she whispered. “How old is he?”
“Twelve.”
Audra looked at him as if he too had lost his wits, then smiled. “The perfect age,” she replied.
Crediton
No one breathed when the jackdaw flew back into the stone circle and perched atop the rock under which Eadwig’s crushed body lay. But when the bird looked out to the moor and six ponies appeared in the distance, Audra came close to sobbing with relief.
Sandor had told them his grandmother wished to be buried at Crediton Minster, ten miles to the north. Walking even one more mile was beyond Audra’s stamina. She sat down on the fallen stone while Dagmar and Svein hurried off to collect the ponies.
Fingal approached and went down on one knee, his head bowed. “I am an unworthy father,” he muttered. “Sigmar is a hundred times the better man. He saved my life, daughter, though he could have let me drown, and who would blame him?”
Tears welled. “Fader, you have taken care of me since our exile began. You sought only to protect me.”
“Nej, I was ruled by hatred, but I am rid of it now. I give my blessing to your union with Sigmar. Can you forgive me?”
She put her hands on her father’s bowed head. “It is not my forgiveness you must seek.”
Fingal stood and spread his arms wide. “Sigmar understands.”
Audra went into his embrace, suddenly less fatigued. “Then all is right with the world.”
The ponies came into the circle willingly, showing no hint of where they had been, nor any signs of distress when they were mounted.
Despite her new burst of energy, Audra nestled happily on Sigmar’s lap; Sandor rode behind Gertruda; Fingal and
Svein each had a pony. Dagmar carried Sunngifu’s body.
“Thank you for rescuing me,” Audra murmured to Sigmar, inhaling the scent of his strength. “I was afraid you would think I had drowned.”
He shook his head. “My heart knew you were still alive, Audra. You called to me.”
Audra remembered his name pounding over and over in her head as she lay on the beach. Had he somehow heard her call?
They rode the rest of the way in comfortable silence.
At dusk they arrived at the Minster dedicated to Saint Boniface. A monk greeted them, recognising Sandor immediately. He didn’t question the boy’s explanation that his grandmother had died suddenly, and agreed to her burial within the sanctified precincts of the church.
“We also seek shelter for a night or two,” Sigmar added.
“Of course,” the monk replied, eyeing them up and down. “Welcome. I am Abbot Wynfryth, named in honor of our patron saint’s birth name. You look in need of food, and perhaps a wash.”
They dismounted and followed the cleric. Audra was grateful for Sigmar’s strong arm around her waist.
“We were shipwrecked,” he explained. “Capsized by whales intent on beaching.”
“I have heard of this,” Wynfryth said, his eyes wide. “Hundreds at the mouth of the Exe.”
He led them to the refectory. “Wait here for your supper while I arrange for cells to be prepared.”
“One more thing if I may,” Sigmar said, drawing Audra forward. “I wish to wed this woman on the morrow.”
Audra’s heart careened against her ribs. A few hours ago she had believed Sigmar dead. Now she would become his wife.
The abbot hesitated. “You have the look and the language of Vikings.”
“We are Vikings, but we are Christians, faithful servants of King Canute.”
It was as if they had said they were personally acquainted with the White Christ. “Then I will certainly perform the nuptials,” the cleric gushed. “Abbot Lyfing of Tavistock has told me of our worthy new king. A true friend of the Church.”
*
The next morning Sunngifu was buried within the walls of the Minster. It transpired she had been born in Crediton, and many locals came to the funeral. They fussed over Sandor and thanked the Vikings for bringing the body home. Word had apparently spread quickly about the shipwreck survivors who wished to wed in Crediton. Clothing of all sorts mysteriously appeared overnight, much of it of good quality. Sigmar suspected folk had offered their finery for the occasion. While he felt better in a clean tunic and leggings, he surmised there were no men of his height in the surrounding environs. He’d be glad when the monks had finished cleaning the sand out of his boots. The borrowed ones were a mite snug.
Evidently noticing Sigmar’s surprise at the welcome they’d received, Abbot Wynfryth took him and Audra aside as they were leaving the chapel and shared the tragic story of Sunngifu’s daughter, Edythe. “I myself married the girl to a Viking who settled here and started a farm. I baptised their son, Sandor.
“While encamped in Crediton during one of his campaigns King Ethelred took notice of Edythe and, er…insisted she…er…warm his bed.”
The abbot’s face reddened but he continued. “The Viking objected to the king’s advances. Ethelred had him executed and raped Edythe. Folk in Crediton have no love for the House of Wessex.”
Sigmar was mindful that, for all his faults, Canute had already proven to be a better king than Ethelred. The Anglo-Saxon would have been old enough to be Edythe’s grandfather. He regretted his initial assumption that Sandor’s Viking father had deserted a woman he’d raped.
“Sunngifu fled to the isolation of a sheep farm on Dartmoor with her daughter and the infant, but Edythe died in childbirth. The old woman has taken care of Sandor ever since. I suppose he’ll have to remain here now.”
Sigmar had only discussed Sandor briefly with Audra, but he took her hand and looked into her eyes. She nodded in response to his unvoiced question. “Audra and I will raise Sandor as our own son,” he told the monk.
The abbot beamed. “Well, we’d better ask him if he consents before we solemnize your vows,” he quipped with a wink. “Here he comes now.”
Sigmar beckoned the boy, hoping to wipe the desolation from his young face. He ushered him outside and lifted him to stand on a parapet wall, so they were at least somewhat closer in height. “My mother died a long time ago,” he began. “Almost about the same time as Audra’s mother. They were friends.”
Sandor looked up in surprise. “You knew Audra when you were young?”
“Ja. We grew up together until I was twelve, then very bad things happened and we were separated.”
“But you are together now?”
“We met again a few months ago after years apart.”
“And you decided to wed.”
“Because our hearts have always known we were meant to be together. I never forgot her and she never forgot me.”
As he spoke the words, he silently thanked all the Christian saints for Audra’s love. It had made him a whole man.
Sandor frowned. “Why are you telling me this?”
Sigmar took a deep breath. If Sandor was to become part of his family, he needed to be aware of the history. He sensed the boy was wise enough to understand what he was about to say. “When I was twelve, my father killed Audra’s younger brother.”
Sandor’s mouth fell open.
“Her older brothers then sought vengeance by attacking my older brothers. In the skirmish they were all killed or succumbed to their wounds soon after. Our mothers died of grief. Our fathers were banished. Audra and I had no choice but to go with them. She went to Kievan Rus, I eventually ended up in Canute’s service.”
Sandor swayed, clutching Sigmar’s arm to prevent his tumble from the wall. “I have met Audra’s father. He is here with you. Where is your father?”
“Dead, slain by Audra’s father a few months ago, in a fair fight he himself instigated. He was a man with a short temper.”
Sandor stared at him. “But you did not seek revenge.”
Sigmar chuckled. “You may not remember your Viking father, Sandor, but you surely know Viking ways.” He sobered. “Audra and I realized we had to put a stop to the killing. Our love for each other overcame the thirst for blood.”
He recognised the moment understanding dawned on Sandor’s face. “You see why I am telling you all this?”
Sandor nodded. “I cannot let vengeance rule my life, like it ruled my grandmother.”
Sigmar tousled the boy’s long hair. “You are wise beyond your years, and quite handsome now the grime has been washed away.”
Sandor smiled, his face reddening.
Sigmar prayed for the right words. “I will pass no judgment on your grandmother, but you cannot be consumed with hatred if you are to be my son.”
*
Watching from where she stood in the shadows of the Minster’s entryway, Audra was elated and relieved when Sandor launched himself at Sigmar. She laughed out loud when her future husband staggered backwards, evidently taken by surprise.
He hugged the boy clinging to him, then nodded to her.
She studied them as they shared their happiness. In a short while she would become wife to the tall, broad warrior with a heart big enough to take in an orphaned boy. Even dressed in borrowed raiment that was slightly too small, he was a sight to behold. Her breath hitched in her throat. Was she woman enough for such a man? A tomboy in childhood, as an adult she’d lived the life of a man.
Preoccupied with her thoughts, she didn’t notice Gertruda approach from behind until her comrade coughed. “Dreaming of your wedding night?” she teased.
Audra was torn between laughing at the sight of Gertruda in a gown, or throwing herself into her friend’s arms and blurting out her fears.
She frowned when Gertruda thrust a pair of boots at her. “Sigmar’s,” she explained. “The monks have cleaned them. I expect he’d prefer to get wed in his o
wn boots.”
Sigmar must have seen the exchange because he was suddenly by her side, taking the boots from Gertruda. Before Audra had the chance to utter a word, Sandor almost knocked her off her feet with his embrace. “I promise I will be a good son,” he said hoarsely, his face buried against her ribs.
She stroked his hair. “I know you will,” she whispered.
Abbot Wynfryth bustled toward them as Sigmar hopped about, pulling on his boots. “Everyone ready?” the monk asked. “I am the bearer of good news. One of Sunngifu’s distant cousins has a handsome cottage in the village. He and his wife insist you spend your wedding night there. They’ll stay in the Minster.”
Audra acknowledged her fears had led her to hope they would be obliged to wait to consummate their marriage since a monk’s cell was hardly a suitable place for a man and woman to—
She was about to refuse the generous offer. The joy on Sigmar’s face drove the thought from her mind.
*
Sigmar acknowledged his attention should be on the solemn ceremony binding him to Audra, but couldn’t take his eyes off his bride.
It was difficult to know from her facial expression if she liked wearing women’s garb. Perhaps she was simply saddened by Sunngifu’s death. She’d undergone things in the past few days that would have killed most women. There was a strength in his future wife that he loved, the well-remembered tenacity that had kept her going almost to the top of the catapult tower in Jomsborg’s harbor.
In his opinion she looked beautiful in the modest gown; her face reddened when he told her so.
Fingal hovered behind them like a proud peacock, chest thrust out, chin raised.
As he said his vows Sigmar acknowledged in his heart the road ahead held many challenges. He was marrying a woman with an unusual past, and together they planned to raise a boy with a difficult history.
However, it was the future that mattered. His duties as head of Canute’s Dodeka meant constant exposure to danger, but Audra would fill his life with love, something he’d lacked since the death of his mother, and never thought to find.
Sirens of the Northern Seas: A Viking Romance Collection Page 18