Blood Eagle: A riveting historical thriller

by Derek, Julia

When she died, I drank more than normal during my escapades with Ragnar and the rest of the crew and kept ending up in fistfights. From what I was told the next day, unable to remember on my own, the fights tended to begin when lads accused me of stealing their girls. On a couple of occasions, I apparently attacked with nearly no provocation, so furious Ragnar and others had to drag me away from my victims.

  Maybe Hilda accused me of something that did not sit well with me, I mused. Maybe she accused me of being a liar and a cheater for not marrying her. In a way she would have been right. If I hadn’t met Thora, both Hilda and I knew I would have married her. Not because I had promised her that, but it was just something that everyone expected.

  Of course, that did not explain why I had raped her first... Had she tried to get me excited so that she could reject me to get back at me for rejecting her? She must have. If that was so, when did she start? As far as I could remember, nothing about her behavior at the feast had been out of the ordinary.

  Parts of Bjorn Jarlabanke’s grand birthday feast came back to me, parts in which I interacted with Hilda. Like when I had just given my foster father his gift, a precious gold brooch. A flustered-looking Hilda had suddenly emerged from the crowds of people then. At the sight of me and Thora, a strained smile flashed over her square face. She gave us a quick nod. “Good evening, Leif and Thora. How are you?”

  We both smiled and returned her nod, watching her as she strode up to Bjorn’s wife Astrid, her long, ashy-blond locks skipping. Astrid looked up from the red silk cloak in which the brooch was wrapped and listened attentively to what Hilda was telling her. The flustered expression on Hilda’s face intensified as she spoke, her arms gesticulating wildly. The music and the loud guests made it impossible for us to hear what she was saying. Bjorn could, however, and he too listened attentively, his bushy eyebrows scrunching closer and closer together. Astrid rose and disappeared among the dancing people. Hilda made an attempt to follow her when Bjorn grabbed her by the arm.

  “Hilda, Astrid will take care of it,” he said. “Calm down. There will soon be plenty of mead and bjorr on that table again.”

  Bjorn shook his head at his daughter and then, as if he were struck with a bright idea, he glanced at me. “Why don’t you take your foster sister for a dance and show her a good time, Leif? She needs it. I will entertain Thora meanwhile.”

  Thora looked helplessly at me. I shot her an encouraging smile. It was best to do what the man wished; after all, it was his birthday and it would seem rude otherwise. So I offered my arm to Hilda, who took it hesitantly, glancing over at Thora for approval…

  I frowned as I pondered the memory. Had Hilda’s hesitance been an act? Was she in fact glad that her father had ordered me to entertain her so she could seduce me? I could not be sure. I pondered what happened next, after Hilda and I merged with the sweaty crowds of people.

  “Are you all right, Hilda?” I had said, leading the way past a group of laughing men.

  She turned her face up to me and nodded ever so faintly. “Yes. I am just a bit tired. The preparations for this feast have been exhausting. We have planned and prepped from morning to night for four entire days. We wanted Father to have the best birthday possible.”

  I put my free hand on hers, squeezing it. “And it looks like your efforts paid off.”

  “Thank you for saying that. Coming from you, I know it is sincere.”

  We reached the dance area where couples danced with such fervor the combined heat their bodies exhausted made the air moist and foul-smelling. There was hardly any space for me and Hilda to dance, but we still tried our best.

  It didn’t take long before we got tired of pushing and shoving against the many drunken people around us. And neither of us particularly liked the current song the musicians played anyway, a song that had been popular throughout all of southern Sweden that last year. I suggested we go get something to drink instead.

  I led Hilda back through the clusters of people. We stopped for a short while to admire a juggler’s skillful handling of three sorts of apples. A little farther ahead, we ran into my blood father Yakoube and my younger brother Egin. They were discussing wrestling with Hilda’s twelve-year-old twin brothers Rolle and Ricko. I found out that Bjorn had been very pleased with the antique horned iron helmet my father and Egin had given him. At the other side of the room, we spotted Loke standing next to one of the drink tables. Drunk already, the tall man was red in the face and sang along to the music, waving a horn of drink back and forth so violently he splashed the contents on people standing near him. The sight was so amusing Hilda and I burst out laughing. It was unusual to see the normally grim Loke behave in such a free-spirited manner…

  Hmm, I thought. So far, nothing about Hilda’s behavior struck me as particularly seductive, only warm and friendly, her usual self. Had I been blind to it? I must have. It sure would explain why Ragnar had spoken with such sarcasm when we ran into him and Thora shortly thereafter.

  “Leif, my friend!” he’d said. “I can see that my sister is having a lot of fun with you.” He gave me an intense, meaningful glance.

  “Ragnar. It’s great to see you, my brother,” I said, feeling great. “Yes, that is true. She and I are always having fun.” I nudged Hilda, who endorsed my statement with an enthusiastic nod and we exchanged a conspiratorial wink. I looked at Thora, who stared at me with a grave face and cornflower eyes so dark they looked black. I wondered what made her look this way and decided that my foster father must have given her a hard time. Unless you knew Bjorn, the old Jarlabanke chief’s ways could be so intimidating even the toughest man was put on edge. I tried calming her with a glance but failed. I turned to Ragnar. “I can see that you have taken my wife under your wing.”

  Ragnar nodded vigorously. “I had to save her from my father before my mother returned. Thora is too new to this environment to face the wrath of mistress Jarlabanke.” He smirked at Hilda, who moved her eyebrows in agreement; Astrid Jarlabanke’s jealousy was well known around the community. “And I think that maybe I should keep Thora for a while. You won’t mind, Leif, will you, if I steal a dance or two with your wife? I have never really gotten an opportunity to speak to her.”

  I waved a dismissive hand. “Of course not. Your sister and I have a lot of catching up to do. Keep Thora for as long as you want.” Feeling magnanimous, I glanced at my wife again. The obscure expression on her face was still there. I had to remember not to leave her alone with Bjorn Jarlabanke again. She was in good hands now, though. Ragnar would show her a good time; he was a great host and entertainer. I bent down and kissed Thora on the cheek. “See you in a bit, dear.”

  She gave me a wintry smile…

  I sat up in the dark cell and rubbed my face, then leaned back against the cool stone wall. It seemed I must have been blind to Hilda’s seductive ways, for, clearly, Thora had noticed them too, making her jealous. Hilda’s pitiable behavior must have been why Ragnar had looked at her with such sadness, and then back at me, with gratitude, before he and Thora left. He must have been grateful that I handled it all so graciously... While these thoughts went through my mind, I feel into a deep slumber.

  3

  I didn’t know how long I had slept, but it must have been a while for I was no longer nauseous, only numb, when I awoke. Numb and sober. And it was dark outside. I glimpsed the full moon through the crack that formed when a guard suddenly opened the cell door to shove in a bowl with something hot in it, a piece of black bread on a plate, and a jug of water. The moon hung low in the sky that had yet to turn inky, so I assumed it must be early evening. Reaching for the water, I ignored the rest. I had lost all my appetite. I emptied the entire jug and put it aside.

  My eyes had adjusted to the darkness by now, making it possible for me to determine where the walls of the cell began and where the corners were. It was small and, except for a wooden stump in one of the corners, the cell was completely empty. I couldn’t see the roof, but, as I stood up, I could feel it with my
hands when I stretched my arms over my head. The air was murky and cold, and the stench of urine and feces mixed with the smell of damp earth covering the ground. I forced away thoughts of how I myself must smell and look after having slept on this ground.

  I sat down on the wooden stump and tried to think now that my head felt nearly normal, tried to remember exactly what it was that Hilda had said or done that had pushed me over the edge in the end.

  I remained in that position for days, head cupped in my hands. More food and water arrived from time to time. Again, I ignored the food and only drank the water. The idea of someone having set me up entered my mind on a couple of occasions, but I soon pushed it away. Why on earth would anyone want to set me up? What would anyone gain by getting rid of someone like me, whose family struggled to make ends meet? And even if someone did want to get rid of me, it was unlikely that they wanted it at the price of Hilda’s life. No, clearly I was the one responsible, just like Ragnar had told me, and clearly he and the rest of the Jarlabanke clan did not trust me to own up to it, which was why I was imprisoned now. Only suspects of obvious and heinous crimes and those who were suspected to run away were ever imprisoned until they were tried at the People’s Assembly, no family members allowed to visit.

  My crimes fit all categories.

  At this point, I had resigned myself to receive the harshest punishment the People’s Assembly could think of. I wanted to receive the harshest possible punishment, and even that would not to be enough to pay for what I had done to... to Hilda. The thought triggered a wave of nausea to surge through me.

  I still could not fathom that I had it in me to do such horrible things to anyone, not to mention to someone like her, whom I had known since I was four and she three, which was when I became her foster brother. Spending part of your childhood growing up in another family was common practice among my people. It was done to prepare and encourage certain qualities or skills in a man. If a boy showed talent working with metals, he would spend time with a blacksmith. If he showed prowess hunting, he would become a hunter’s foster son. My father wanted me and my big brother to develop the same skills that had made Bjorn Jarlabanke such a great leader.

  Thinking of Hilda was more than I could bear, so I soon stopped. I could barely bear thinking about what my family and friends must be going through, and what they must be thinking of me: my father, my brothers and sisters, our old housekeeper Elsa, our field hands Jerker and Styrbjorn, Ragnar and my other friends. My foster father Bjorn, Hilda’s father.

  And Thora.

  I was sure that, by now, Thora had returned to her own family and would ask the People’s Assembly for a divorce was I, somehow, not to be sentenced to death. Maybe the Assembly would even annul our marriage; after all, we had only been married less than two months. I couldn’t blame her. She didn’t deserve to be married to a rapist and a murderer. Of course, was my life to be spared, she wouldn’t have to go through the trouble of divorcing me. I would see to that myself, turning her into a widower by taking my own life. A man like me shouldn’t be allowed to live.

  I only wished my family wouldn’t have to pay for what I had done. I was not an expert on Ostgota People’s Assembly Law, but I had witnessed enough trials to know that my punishment was likely to involve my family as well as me. And if I were sentenced to death, surely I would be sentenced to die a blood eagle.

  The thought of dying a blood eagle sent chills down my spine, despite my numb state. Several years had passed since I last witnessed an execution in which a man died as one, but it had made such an indelible impression on me that I still had nightmares about it from time to time. Seeing how the three men had tied the thief so he was hugging a tree trunk, and then began carving into his naked back with long knives, listening to the deafening screams as they pulled out the poor man’s ribs and spread them like the wings of a flying eagle followed by the man’s lungs, I could not imagine a crueler death. Ever since that day I avoided executions, not finding any pleasure in watching them, unlike the vast majority of my people.

  I swallowed hard, realizing that, given what I had done and to whom, before they turned me into a blood eagle, they would probably first cut off my penis.

  But no matter how painful it would be to die a blood eagle, the thought of my family becoming tenant farmers under the Jarlabanke clan was worse. Knowing my foster father, he was likely to work them to death to pay for the assault on his family’s honor. Raping and killing a man’s daughter may be the worst crime a man could commit.

  I couldn’t help but wonder that, if I rubbed the judges the right way during trial, maybe they would leave my family alone at least. I didn’t want my family to suffer for what I had done.

  While it was unusual to punish the offender only, it wouldn’t be the first time. I went through in my mind all the family feuds, disputes, and criminal trials I had witnessed at the Assembly over the years. Yes, the families of offenders had been spared at least once before, I soon concluded.

  I ran a hand over my face. Well, it’s worth a try, I mused. Perhaps, if I tried to reason with the judges and the Law Speaker, they would spare my family as well. Hope began to build within me. Especially since I didn’t run around raping girls on a regular basis—

  A memory had suddenly entered my mind and I became cold. The memory concerned an exchange I’d had with a girl named Stina. If people still remembered what had happened between me and Stina that day, the incident would be damning to me at trial and my family wouldn’t be spared. I sighed heavily and buried my face in my hands. I could only pray that everyone had forgotten, or any attempts I made to influence the judges and the Law Speaker were sure to be fruitless.

  The incident had taken place mere weeks after my mother’s burial. I had been so drunk that I couldn’t recall much of what occurred after Stina dashed out of the woods, only what had occurred before. Like on so many other occasions, however, people filled in the holes for me. Stina, a 14-year-old farmer’s daughter, had pursued me relentlessly ever since we were introduced at the harvest festival where she developed her crush on me. She cajoled, begged, teased me in the hopes of that I would like her back one day. Unfortunately, I couldn’t be any less interested. One night, feeling sorry for her, I invited her and her brother to come out with me and my band of friends to attend a sword fighting game outside the port of Valstad. Of course, I had nothing but friendliness in mind.

  As always, I drank more than I should, the grief so powerful it drove me to fill my body with enormous amounts of mead and beer. As I got drunker and drunker, Stina danced around me, drunk herself, putting her arms around my neck and batting her eyelashes at me. For once I didn’t mind her coming on to me, so I didn’t try to make her stop or push her away. She was so nice and sweet this evening, nothing like her usual annoying self. I needed to be with someone like that in that moment, someone who took care of me, cuddled me. So when she asked me to go for a walk, I accepted. Surreptitiously, we left the crowds around the games and disappeared hand in hand behind the pine trees growing around Valstad. It didn’t take long before she had coaxed me into kissing her. The kisses grew hotter and hands began moving up and down bodies. Suddenly I forgot who I was with. The pain and sorrow had metamorphosed into lust, and I became so aroused I needed to take the girl in my arms at once.

  Stina stepped away from me momentarily to remove her clothing. A roguish grin stretched her lips as she raised her woolen dress. “I knew you wanted me, Leif. Why did you have to play games with me? We have wasted so much time.”

  The sound of her hoarse voice brought me back to reality, and I awoke from the fervent state as abruptly as I had entered it. Parts of my mind began to function almost as when I was sober. What was I doing? Was I really about to have relations with this girl? What if she became with child? Then I would have to marry her. I couldn’t live for the rest of my life knowing I was the father of her child and that I had abandoned them.

  I grabbed her hands just as she was about to pull the dress o
ver her head. With determined hands, I lowered it back to its original position. She looked at me, a question already formed in her eyes. “What… what are you doing?”

  “That’s what I was just asking myself,” I responded. “You and I should not be doing this.”

  “Why not? Don’t you want me?”

  “No,” I said curtly. “This was a mistake. Let’s go back to the others.”

  Her face twisted from confusion to disbelief at first, then to anger and hurt pride.

  “What do you mean ‘this was a mistake’?” she yelled. “You and I both know you want me!”

  I looked at her, not sure if she was serious. It was impossible to tell, but I soon decided that it didn’t matter anyway and nodded toward the meadow where the games were well under way. Traces of screaming voices traveled to my ears through the cool spring evening.

  “Let’s go, Stina.”

  Her eyes flashed with fury and insult. “I cannot believe you’re doing this to me. First you bring me out here and then, when you get me ready to go, you just change your mind again!”

  “I regret having done so, Stina. I told you I made a mistake.”

  About to yell something else, she suddenly stopped herself and just looked at me wildly, silently. Madly. Then she turned around and dashed toward the meadow, back to all the people. I followed her, watching her as her arms began flailing in the air and heard how she screamed something unintelligible.

  As I approached the crowds, people were staring at me with dark eyes, their faces tense and pale with wrath. Stina was standing sobbing between two women who patted her consolingly. She pointed an accusing finger at me. “There he is, he who tried to rape me!”

  The next day, sober and able to think clearly again, Stina withdrew her charges, but it was too late. People were well aware of my friends and our many drunken nightly antics, which often involved girls who did not know any better. The notion that I, the son of a former slave, carried on so with sons of aristocrats and rich farmers, partners in crime that were really too good for me, irritated them, spurring them to believe the worst of me. The suspicion that something unsavory had happened behind those pine trees after all still lingered in people.