The Viking’s Captive Princess

by Michelle Styles

  King Mysing paled. ‘And you, niece, are too much like your mother. Your tongue is far too bold for my liking. What I should have done on the day of your birth, I will not hesitate to do now. The Ranriken royal blood will cease to carry the taint of the Viken king.’

  ‘Do we make the sacrifices to the gods or do we simply depart for Ranhiem?’ Erik the Black’s voice brought Ivar back to the darkened bay.

  Ivar had stood watching Thyre leave until her figure was no more than a memory. His hand tightened around the amulet. ‘Yes. Make the sacrifices.’

  ‘I thought you did not believe in them.’

  ‘In times like these, men need all the help they can get. They need to believe someone else is willing to fight for them.’

  ‘Where do you think she has gone?’

  ‘To Ranhiem. I know my wife. She will do as she wants and not as I ask, but we will get there before her.’ Ivar shook his head as the amulet dug into his palm. ‘I am getting worse than Astrid for getting premonitions. I keep thinking if she goes there then she will meet her doom. Dreams have never plagued me before. But lately my dreams have been troubled.’

  ‘Did you tell her your fears? Or did you simply tell her what to do?’

  ‘All I wanted to do was to protect her.’ Ivar slipped the amulet over his head, so it lay next to his heart. ‘I have been afraid that she would feel it her duty to challenge for the crown. I want her for my wife, Erik.’

  ‘You can’t protect her if you are not with her, Ivar. Neither can you keep her from her destiny.’

  ‘When I need your advice, Erik, I will ask for it.’

  ‘Then can you tell me how we go into Ranhiem—shields up or hanging from the side?’

  ‘We go to rescue a member of the felag.’ Ivar lifted his shield. ‘What scares me, Erik, is that I want to believe in the impossible. I want to believe that she loves me.’

  ‘Bind me? Bind a woman?’ Thyre stared at her uncle King Mysing. ‘Why do you fear a mere woman, Uncle?’

  There was no way her stepfather could fight him. And the rest of the jaarls appeared spineless or simply unwilling to risk his wrath. Ivar and the rest of the Vikens should be here. She wished that her life had not come down to this. It would have been far easier if she had died with her mother. But she hadn’t and she refused to be intimidated by King Mysing. She knew what a real warrior could do.

  ‘Do what you like to me, but leave my stepdaughter alone. She is innocent,’ Ragnfast said. ‘I welcomed the Viken and offered them hospitality. I obeyed your sister’s wishes and the frithe.’

  ‘Not so innocent. Viken blood runs in her veins. She is a member of the Viken court.’

  ‘It only runs because my wife, your sister, was sent as a hostage. A woman, a beautiful woman, sent to the court of a virile young king. What did you expect when you told your father to send her?’ Ragnfast thundered back.

  ‘Are you questioning my judgement? My sister should have died rather than being dishonoured. Once you spoke against me the Storting believed you over me.’ King Mysing jabbed at Ragnfast with his forefinger. ‘But this time, this time, I will punish you for consorting with the Viken.’

  Ragnfast made another choking noise. His complexion was more of a sickly yellow than mottled red. She watched in horror as Ragnfast’s throat worked, but no sound came out.

  ‘Does anyone wish to challenge my right to punish this jaarl?’

  Thyre glanced over at Ragnfast, who half-put his hand out in a pitying gesture. They were dead, all of them. They should have gone back to the steading and safety. She could not expect Ivar to arrive in time. But she knew that she would do what he would have done.

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I will challenge you, Uncle. You are wrong about the Viken and wrong about their intentions. Ragnfast did nothing except extend hospitality, a custom that the gods bless. Ranriken are not pirates, and yet that is what you have turned them into. It is why the gods have turned their backs on this town and this kingdom. I challenge you.’

  Nobody said anything. Nobody responded. Thyre’s shoulders sagged. She had failed before she had even begun. King Mysing whispered something to one of his men, but he seemed content to ignore the challenge.

  Thyre tried again. ‘In the name of my mother whom you banished and all whom you have murdered, I challenge you! By the royal blood that runs in my veins, I challenge you for the right to wear the crown. I will regain the Ranriken honour that you have lost.’

  ‘A woman!’ King Mysing laughed and the remainder of the company echoed the laughter. A crowd began to gather at the edges of the square, coming in ones and twos, but coming to see what was happening amongst the nobles. ‘A woman challenge me? A woman rule? Women cannot do any such thing.’

  ‘I killed Sigmund Sigmundson when he threatened me. If I can fight a jaarl, I can fight you.’ Thyre squared her shoulders and tried to be as positive as Ivar had been with Sigmund. If King Mysing were shown to be a coward, the crowd might turn against him and his followers.

  ‘And how will you fight me?’ He gave another laugh and his eyes glittered with the coldness of a snake. ‘Shall we use weaving shuttles? Or maybe spindles? What shall we fight with?’

  ‘Swords,’ Thyre replied quickly. Somewhere she would find the strength. Her arm muscles were strong from rowing. She could fight. It was the only way of preventing the tragedy she saw unfolding. She drew another breath and wished Ivar was there. ‘The challenge is serious, Uncle. Surely you are not afraid of a mere woman? Or do you always avoid challenges? Sigmund did as well. Perhaps he learnt from you? Trading vessels make for easy prey, but they do not bring lasting prosperity to this country. I have been to Kaupang and I have seen what trade can do. We are losing because of you and your ways, not because of Viken aggression. Think on that and answer my challenge.’

  ‘Thyre, have you lost all your senses? You will be killed,’ Dagmar’s hoarse whisper rang out. ‘The king will not take the insult lightly.’

  The growing crowd murmured behind King Mysing, but it was impossible to tell whose side they were on.

  Thyre forced her head to stay erect. She was dead. She had accepted that, but she would have died anyway. And if she was going to die, she was going to go defiantly. She would die free.

  ‘You have not answered my challenge, King Mysing. Are you afraid?’

  ‘I do not fight women, even one as bold as you, Niece. No warrior with any honour would. There is no sport in it. Do you have a champion?’ A queer smile played on his lips as Thyre slowly shook her head. ‘I thought not. They have all deserted you. Those Viken you put your faith in. Untrustworthy. They have probably all sailed for home.’

  ‘Thyre does have a champion—me.’ Ivar’s voice boomed out. ‘I will fight you, Mysing, for the crown. It should adorn a more honest head.’

  ‘You have tricked me, Niece.’ King Mysing shook his head. ‘I will not be tricked into fighting.’

  ‘I have challenged you, Mysing.’ Ivar drew his sword and moved to the centre of the yard. ‘Answer my challenge.’

  ‘And what is the challenge of a Viken jaarl who comes without an army?’

  Thyre glanced at the hostile faces of the crowd. Surely they were not so lacking in honour that they would follow King Mysing now. He had refused a direct challenge. Would he now order his guards to kill Ivar? And she was powerless to do anything but to stand and watch.

  ‘What is it that you want, Mysing? An army bringing death and destruction on us all?’ Ragnfast thundered. ‘When did you become such a craven coward?’

  ‘You said something, Ragnfast?’

  ‘Ivar,’ Thyre breathed. ‘He has given you an opening. Ragnfast is telling the Storting to stand with you.’

  Ivar nodded.

  ‘Fight, Mysing, or for ever let it be proclaimed you are a coward. I challenge you in the name of Ragnfast the Steadfast and his family. I come to avenge your cowardly attack on his lands.’

  ‘Very well, Viken, if you want a fight, you shall have one. I hav
e fought many times and I have never lost. No man calls me a coward and lives,’ Mysing proclaimed as he drew his shining sword.

  Ivar advanced forwards and his sword hissed from its sheath. Before Thyre could breathe, steel met steel.

  Immediately it was apparent that her uncle had not lied. He was a highly skilled swordsman. And the two opponents were evenly matched.

  The clang of the swords rang in Thyre’s ear as the men circled. Each probed for the other’s weakness. Ivar lunged forwards, missed, leaving his body open.

  Her uncle instantly reacted, realising his opportunity. The back of his sword sent Ivar sprawling to the ground.

  Thyre groaned, but could not look away. Silently she implored him to stand up.

  Mysing put his foot on Ivar’s chest and pointed the sword at Ivar’s throat. ‘You see, Viken. I am the victor. Know that your woman will soon join you in Hel’s embrace.’

  He lifted his sword slightly, preparing for the final blow.

  Ivar thrust his sword upwards and the Ranriken king’s expression changed.

  ‘My wife will live free.’ He withdrew his sword and thrust again. This time King Mysing fell forwards, impaled on the sword.

  ‘You have bested me, Viken,’ Mysing said with a gurgle before he lay still.

  ‘The king is dead in an honourable fight. Ranriken honour demands we support the new king.’ Ragnfast staggered a few steps and fell down, clutching his heart. Thyre rushed to him, but she could find no breath of life. Silently she cursed. She should have seen how ill he was, and what he had tried to do. She had been so wrapped up in her own world that she had failed to notice. She should have gone to the steading, instead of forcing him here. Tears streamed down her face. For Ragnfast. For this situation. She raised him up a little. The guards holding Dagmar let her go and she stumbled over to Thyre.

  ‘He suspected he was dying,’ Dagmar said, tears streaming down her face. ‘But I insisted Thyre needed rescuing. Far believed he had caused the situation through his greed.’

  ‘You will be protected, Dagmar. I promise.’ Thyre held out her hand and Dagmar curled her fingers around it.

  ‘Thyre.’ Ivar’s voice resounded throughout the court yard. ‘I thought we agreed that you would go to the steading, but I see you have disobeyed me once again.’

  ‘No, Ivar, you are wrong. I thought to save you.’ Thyre stood up and faced her husband. ‘My place was here, waiting to warn you. We discovered that King Mysing planned to ambush you. I could not let you die. It was the only thing I could think of.’

  ‘You challenged the king to save me?’ he asked in amazement.

  ‘I would give my life for you. It is the only reason I am here. My challenge was to save you, not to gain the crown. You must believe that, Ivar.’

  ‘Ah, yes, the crown.’ Very deliberately Ivar walked over to Mysing’s prone body and plucked the circlet from his head.

  ‘You will need your crown, Thyre,’ he said, placing it on her head as the crowd began to cheer. ‘It belongs to you by right. I was your champion. I won this crown for you. But it is your destiny. The Ranriken people need a strong ruler. Accept it.’

  ‘I never asked for it,’ she said, backing away. ‘My one desire is to be a good wife.’

  ‘This country must have a ruler. Who better than you?’

  ‘You have won the crown, not I,’ Thyre said. ‘This country needs a strong and wise ruler. You have proved your worth, Ivar.’

  The crowd murmured its agreement. Thyre kept her gaze focused on the faces in the crowd, honest hardworking faces, people who deserved a better king than they had had. It had to come from him. He had to want to stay. But he simply looked at her. ‘I am a Viken jaarl, Thyre. Take the crown.’

  ‘You are my heart’s desire, and I want nothing more than to be your wife,’ she said, ignoring the intake of breath and the hum of the crowd. ‘My heart belongs to you. We will go where you say.’

  He did not move, but stood rigid, the circlet clasped lightly in his hands. ‘If that is what you truly want…then who am I to disagree? But you will wear this crown, Thyre, if it is the last thing you ever do.’

  Thyre resisted the temptation to step into his outstretched arms. ‘Will you rule with me? A queen must have a consort.’

  ‘I love you, Thyre, and I intend to tell you those words every day of our life together. And if it means being king, then I will accept it as a burden I must carry. But do you love me enough to share your life with me? All of it?’

  ‘Yes.’ Thyre forgot to breathe. He had said the words she thought impossible. She took the circlet from his hands. ‘You will need this. A king needs a crown. We will rule together. Equal.’

  ‘Together. I would not have it any other way.’ He bent his head and brushed her lips as the crowd cheered their new king and queen.

  Epilogue

  One year later

  ‘I believe the name-giving ceremony went well,’ Thyre said, taking off her circlet and setting it on top of the ironbound trunk. She shook out her hair so it flowed loose over her shoulders, the way Ivar preferred it.

  Immediately Beygul jumped down from her perch on the bed and wound her body about Thyre’s legs, purring, before going off to welcome Ivar back into the chamber. Ivar obligingly bent down and scratched the cat under her chin.

  Their chamber in the king’s hall was a safe haven away from the noise and bustle of ruling the kingdom. And the crowds had been especially numerous today as everyone had wanted to see the name-giving ceremony of their future king.

  ‘Young Ragnfast has loud enough lungs. He nearly deafened the soothsayers.’ Ivar took their newborn son from the nurse, dismissed her and laid him down in the cradle. The tiny baby gave a contented sigh, but otherwise kept his eyes closed. The soft sound of his snores filled the chamber. ‘And he tried to grab the sword from the soothsayer’s hands. He will be a great warrior.’

  Thyre looked at her baby’s long lashes and the way his bottom lip moved. Ragnfast had been Ivar’s suggestion for the name rather than his own father’s, and she thoroughly approved. It seemed right to honour her stepfather in this way. Over the past year, in their dealings with the Ranriken Storting, she had learnt about the respect he had commanded, respect she had not truly appreciated before. ‘I begin to understand why Astrid is always worried about Asger. Let Ragnfast be a baby. It is far too soon to think about the time when he will become a warrior and fight.’

  ‘He is my son and one day he will rule.’ Ivar came over and put his arms about her waist. ‘But I am certain he takes after you—ready to argue and inclined to want his own way.’

  ‘I am not that bad.’ Thyre leant her head back against his chest. ‘I let you have your way last night…eventually.’

  ‘Eventually, we found a solution that suits us both.’ Ivar nuzzled her neck and his arms encircled her waist, reminding her exactly how good the solution could be. ‘I would not have it any other way.’

  ‘We make a good team.’ Thyre put her hands over his, holding them against her waist. ‘It was wonderful that Dagmar arrived in time for the name-giving ceremony. Your name choice meant a lot to her.’

  ‘It was good that Thrand came as well. He is full of plans for the timber from your stepfather’s old estate.’

  ‘But I worry about Dagmar and him. Things seem to be unsettled between them. Dagmar thinks—’

  ‘He came here because he does not want to risk losing her for a moment. He worships her, even if she does not see it.’ Ivar pulled her closer as he laid his circlet next hers. ‘I know how stubborn these Ranriken women can be, refusing to see what is before their eyes. Let them settle it in their own way.’

  ‘You are the master of my heart, my love. How could I refuse you anything?’ Thyre touched his cheek.

  Ivar put his finger against her lips. ‘No, I am the partner of your heart. Surely you know the difference by now.’

  Thyre linked her arm with his. She knew he was right and she had found everything she could desir
e in a man with her Viken jaarl. ‘Yes, I do.’

  They stood together, hands intertwined, listening to the gentle sounds of their baby, and Thyre knew that sometimes words or actions were not needed. It was being with each other and listening to their hearts beating as one that mattered most.

  Author’s Note

  The tale of how Richard I of Normandy met and wooed his wife Gunnor in the early eleventh century as related in Queen Emma and the Vikings by Harriet O’Brien helped to inspire this story. Basically, in order to save her sister Sainsfrida’s virtue, Gunnor took her place in Richard’s bed when he visited the family home on a hunting expedition. Although the incidents in my story happen during the late eighth century rather than during the eleventh, there is plenty of evidence from the sagas that providing physical comfort to visiting males of a higher status was a widespread practice during the Viking age. For example, the saga of Bosi and Herraud as well as the saga of King Gautrek feature this sort of sleeping arrangement.

  The sunstone that Ivar used to navigate was a piece of iolite. It has the nickname of the Viking’s compass and is a natural polarising filter.

  The name Thyre is the modern Danish equivalent of Thorvi, but I happen to prefer the spelling. Also once again I have used the modern ‘Storting’ to describe the assembly rather than the more probable Thing or Ting. I used moose as the American moose is the same species (alces alces) as the Scandinavian Elk and in North America elk refers to cervus canadensis. Hopefully the reader will understand and forgive the anachronisms.

  Books I found useful include:

  Jesch, Judith, Women in the Viking Age (1991, The Boydell Press, Woodbridge Suffolk)

  Larrington, Carolyne (trans.), The Poetic Edda (1996, Oxford University Press, Oxford)

  O’Brien, Harriet, Queen Emma and the Vikings—The Woman Who Shaped the Events of 1066 (2005, Bloomsbury, London)

  Magnusson, Magnus KBE, The Vikings (2003, Tempus Publishing Stroud, Gloucestershire)