Captive of the Viking

by Juliet Landon

  * * *

  She took her concerns to Clodagh and Oslac who, although sympathetic, were unable to offer much comfort except to say that all would come right in the end and that God’s will would be done. If the all-seeing all-knowing God could have given her some indication about His will beforehand, Fearn would have liked it better, but Clodagh felt it might be best if she were distracted from her heartaches by showing her the workshops of the skilled gold-workers who made their gold thread for embroidery. They used a strand of horsehair to wrap with finely beaten narrow strips of pure gold which had first been pulled through tiny holes, a very painstaking and slow method that required years of practice. They lingered in the workshops where women couched the gold threads over the silken surfaces, working by lamplight that shone across a rainbow of coloured silks stretched over frames. And although this was captivating and wonderful, Fearn felt that her mother was not quite as helpful with her problems as she would have liked and that the work with the patients came before everything else, even her daughter. Naturally, there was a limit to the help she and Oslac could offer and, being elderly, their answer to most things of a personal nature seemed to be patience. But it was not what Fearn preferred to hear.

  On many occasions, Hrolf went along with Haesel, joining in with the tasks, helping children to feed, thoroughly enjoying the feeling of being needed. Haesel teased him about this new fatherly side to his character as they walked along the water’s edge, now perfectly at ease together and unobtrusively in love, as if they’d slipped into it without quite knowing how. Sitting together on a boulder, Hrolf slipped an arm around her and pulled her close to him, kissing her long and tenderly, sure of her compliance. Like Fearn, Haesel kept her hair covered with a fine white linen veil which helped to conceal the disfiguring scars on her neck and chest. So when Hrolf slipped his hand under her hair to bare her neck to his wandering lips, she pulled back, holding the veil over it. ‘No,’ she said, looking down. ‘You should not see that.’

  ‘Why ever not, my little love?’ he said. ‘You are beautiful, Haesel.’

  ‘No, I’m not, Hrolf. Not there. You’ll be revolted. I prefer to hide it.’

  ‘Listen. You know I love you. There is no part of you that will revolt me. Let me into your secret and I will show you. Come, love. There’s no one to see us.’

  Reluctantly letting go of the veil, she pulled down the neck of her kirtle to show him the tightly puckered skin and mass of scars, livid and still tender across her throat where the blast had caught her. Her anxious eyes searched his face for signs of shock, but found nothing there except a tenderness in his expression as he bent his head to kiss every part of the terrible wound, soft as a butterfly’s wings.

  ‘This is part of my lovely girl,’ he whispered. ‘Cover it from the stares of others, if you wish, but you need never cover it from me, beloved, and you can tell me about it when you are ready to. I adore you. I want you to be my wife and, yes, before you ask, I will learn about your religion and become one of the Community. They’re wonderful people, like you and the Lady Fearn. We could make our home with them one day.’

  ‘But you forget, Hrolf, I shall have to return to Jorvik with my lady next year.’

  ‘Then I shall come with you.’

  ‘Would the Jarl allow it? You are sworn to be his man. He’ll need you.’

  ‘Then we shall find a way round the problem. It can be done.’

  If Haesel could not imagine how, at that moment, such an obstacle could be overcome, she had faith that this remarkably positive young man would find a way.

  * * *

  Later in the day, however, when she and Fearn were together preparing to attend Uther’s feast, she told her lady of what she had seen that day when she had been with Hrolf. It had been far out down the fjord, apparently too far away for Hrolf to see, until she realised that the distant ship had been for her eyes only. One of her ‘seeings’.

  ‘Was it coming, or going?’ Fearn said. ‘Danish or English?’

  ‘I couldn’t tell. It was not one I recognised from that distance.’

  ‘Not Aric’s, then?’

  ‘I think not. But it was hazy. Then it disappeared.’

  ‘What does it mean, Haesel?’

  The blonde curls shook. ‘That’s the trouble,’ she whispered. ‘I never know what my seeings mean, do I? Coming, going, Danish, English. Just a ship with the wind in its sails.’

  ‘Then it’s a sign of hope,’ Fearn said, shaking out her green lichen-dyed kirtle. ‘I shall wear green, the colour of hope.’

  ‘Which reminds me, lady. According to my tally-stick, your courses are due any day now. Do you want to wear some protection for this evening?’

  ‘Yes. What a good thing you reminded me. Now, the green glass and amber beads, I think.’

  Neither of them questioned that what Haesel had seen might have been one of the many ships coming and going along the fjord every day, nor how she could tell it from them except that, in her mind, it was somehow different and it had to do with them alone.

  * * *

  The day after Uther’s farewell feast, Aric and Fearn returned to where Freya and Astrid now lived in a house already cleared of the clutter that had made the hall look more like a storeroom than a wealthy man’s residence. Gone were the piles of worn-out saddles, rusty tools and moth-eaten furs. The walls were now covered with colourful textiles, the shields polished, the floor covered with new rush matting, new candles in all the holders and the sweet smell of fresh herbs instead of the stink of horse sweat. Freya and Astrid had not lost a moment of their newfound freedom but, although the welcome was cordial, it soon became obvious to Aric that his cousin was about to take her father’s will literally when it was confirmed that the house and estate was entirely hers, including the much-prized stud farm, and that she was not about to share any part of it with him.

  ‘But you need a manager, Freya,’ Aric said, glancing at Loki for his agreement. ‘Won’t she, Loki? Don’t tell me you’re as good at horse breeding as you are at navigating a longship, for I’ll not believe you. And anyway, you’ll be going with me on our next voyage.’

  Before Loki could reply, Freya took the words out of his mouth. ‘No, he won’t, Aric. He’ll be here, learning the business.’

  Aric frowned. ‘What are you saying, Cousin? That he’s going to be the new manager? What about me? I’ve been doing the job since I was a lad. Ten years, in between Viking raids. I know the business inside out. You can’t do it without me.’

  ‘Then who do you think managed the place while you were away for well over a year, Aric, and while my father was unwell? I did. With the men and the slaves, I organised the breeding, the foaling, the selling and buying of new stock, and the training, too. Me, Aric. On my own.’

  ‘I thought your father...’

  ‘No, not Father. Me. I know as much about it as you do. Aunt Astrid will tell you so. Perhaps you’ve been assuming too much. You, my aunt and my father, without once thinking that I deserve a say in things. If you’re disappointed, blame yourself. I can run this place as I did while you and Loki were away, but now I shall have him to help me.’

  ‘But do you really want to, Cousin? What if I bought the farm from you? That would leave you free to do other things.’

  ‘I don’t want to do other things, thank you. My plans are for this place.’

  ‘Sell it to me, Freya? I’ll give you a fair price.’

  ‘No. Loki has never taken me for granted the way you have, Aric. He actually wants to marry me, not the farm. No woman likes to be used.’ Stretching out her hand, she smiled prettily as Loki took it and drew her to his side, and Aric knew she had never looked at him like that, not in all the years they’d known each other.

  So far, Astrid had said nothing, but now she had seen a facet of Freya’s character of which she clearly approved. �
�She’s right, Aric,’ she said. ‘We have all assumed too much for too long and Freya is extremely capable. She doesn’t need another manager. Perhaps you’ve been getting your priorities wrong, too.’

  To Fearn’s surprise, Aric’s only response to this onslaught was to stare long and hard at his aunt’s unsympathetic expression as if he was trying to read what else she might have meant behind the words. ‘I think we should leave now,’ Fearn said.

  Without another word, Aric took Fearn’s arm and left the hall, walking in subdued silence down towards the quay where a large ship was coming in to tie up at one of the jetties. ‘That’s not one I recognise,’ he said, shading his eyes against the sunlight. ‘It’s English. One of yours, Fearn, and not a merchant ship, either.’

  ‘I’ve been hoping for a message from my sister in Lundenburh, but she would not have sent...not unless...’

  He looked at her, sharply, still frustrated by the recent meeting. ‘Not unless what?’

  Instead of replying, Fearn walked along the timber gangway to the ship where men were tying ropes to the posts. One man wearing a fur-edged cloak stepped over the side of the ship on to the jetty and then, seeing Fearn with Aric some way behind her, unbuckled his leather pouch, drew out a piece of folded parchment and, with a courteous bow, handed it to her, speaking in English. ‘The Lady Fearn of Jorvik? I am sent by Queen Aelfgyfu to give you this.’

  Smiling with relief, Fearn took it, the first communication she had received since coming to Lindholm. Delight shone from her eyes as she turned to Aric. ‘Look, a message from Elf. May I invite the men to stay with us until their return?’

  ‘You are more than welcome to our hospitality for as long as you wish,’ Aric said. ‘Bring your baggage up to the great hall when you’ve made the ship safe. So,’ he said to Fearn, ‘what’s the news? Go on, read it. I can see you’re itching to know.’

  Breaking the royal seal along the overlap, she prised open the stiff folds, holding it before him so that he could watch her finger move along the words as she read, her voice excited over the first lines of greeting until she slowed and stopped, her finger hovering over the name.

  ‘Isn’t that Earl Thored’s name?’ Aric said. ‘Surely I’ve seen it before.’

  ‘It is. My sister says, “Dear Sister, I write this as soon as the news reaches me of our father, Earl Thored, who died peacefully soon after you left. He was...surrounded...by his...”’

  The letter trembled, and the words stuck in her throat as the terrible news made her gasp, instantly bringing to mind the way she had refused to say farewell or to accept his blessing.

  ‘Oh...oh, no! How cruel! Now it’s too late,’ she whispered. ‘Too late.’

  ‘Too late for what?’

  ‘For me...to tell him...that I understand...oh, how very cruel!’

  His arm came across her shoulders to feel the shaking of her body against him. ‘Fearn,’ he said, ‘it was bound to happen one day and then it’s always too late to tell them something. And if you had been there with him, who is to say you’d have known what you know now that has helped you to understand him? We cannot always be in the right place at the right time. What else does your Queen say?’

  ‘That she hears he was surrounded by his loved ones and that his funeral was a very grand affair in the cathedral at Jorvik, and he was buried there. And me,’ she added, ‘his daughter, not with him. Oh!’ Shaking her head in sorrow, she looked out across the fjord towards the west and the wild North Sea that divided them. ‘I ought to have been there.’

  ‘So neither of his daughters were with him, then.’

  ‘No, neither of us. But you see what this means, don’t you? The situation is quite different now, isn’t it?’

  His arm slid off her shoulder as he began to walk slowly back along the jetty towards the houses and already Fearn sensed that the conversation was in its final phase. ‘No,’ he said. ‘Thored’s death has not changed anything here.’

  Fearn knew that this was not the right time for her to pursue an argument when his mind was still reeling from Freya’s decision and while she was stunned by the news of Thored. She ought to have waited, but felt compelled to argue the point there and then, despite the men rolling barrels and loading packhorses around them. ‘Well, of course it does, Aric. How can you say otherwise?’ she said, skipping over a coil of ropes. ‘Now my father is no longer alive, your quarrel with him is at an end, isn’t it? You can send me home and I will see that Kean is returned to you straight away. Earlier than expected. Isn’t that good? Please will you stand still and hear me out?’

  ‘I don’t want to hear you,’ he said, walking on ahead. ‘I’ve told you, nothing has changed here. My sister was held by Thored for a year and I intend to do the same with you, lady.’

  ‘To what purpose?’ she almost screamed behind him. ‘For revenge?’

  ‘Yes!’ he bawled. ‘For my family’s honour.’

  ‘I don’t believe you!’ she yelled at his back. ‘I will not believe that!’

  ‘Then think of another reason. Or is your imagination not up to it?’

  ‘What?’ Stopping in her tracks, she watched him stride away. And for all her fertile imagination, she could think of no credible reason why he should wish to keep her here.

  Chapter Nine

  The square of parchment, creased and crumpled from weeks in the pouch of the English messenger, trembled in Fearn’s hands as she scanned the words yet again for the last grain of meaning in the Queen’s news.

  ...surrounded by his loved ones and loyal friends...

  ‘Kean would have been with him,’ she said to Haesel, ‘but not me and not Elf, either. There will be a new earl there already, I expect. She doesn’t say.’

  ‘There’ll be some changes, then,’ Haesel said.

  ‘Which will give Hilda even more to moan about,’ Fearn muttered, adding hurriedly, ‘I must not be uncharitable.’

  ‘It would be charitable,’ Haesel said, folding her lady’s linen shift, ‘for you to go and tell Clodagh and Oslac. Tomorrow?’

  ‘Yes, of course. Tomorrow. And I shall send a message back to the Queen.’

  ‘Shall you tell her your courses have not appeared this month?’

  ‘Not until I’m more certain.’

  ‘It’s never happened before.’

  Fearn lay back upon the furs that covered her bed, placing a hand over her womb, protectively. What if it were true? What if she was expecting his child? How many more reasons would Aric need to keep her here?

  His intransigence angered and puzzled her. Why did the death of Thored not cancel out the need for revenge? How could he revenge himself on a dead man? She had given him countless opportunities to say if she had a part to play in his future and now not even Freya could be used as an excuse when she had taken matters into her own hands, after all Aric’s expectations. Perhaps she, Fearn, should do the same. If he would not let her go, nor would he invite her to stay here as his legal and beloved wife, then there was only one course of action, for the prospect of staying with a man who did not love her and did not want her to love him was unthinkable. If she were indeed carrying his child, she would prefer to give birth in the safety of her sister’s royal care, not here where nothing was certain, not even the life of a newborn child.

  ‘Hang my clothes on the line as you usually do, Haesel, will you?’ she said as a wave of nausea swept over her. ‘I shall not be telling Clodagh, either. Not yet.’

  * * *

  Aric had not come to her the previous evening, having parted on a sour note. He had offered her no more words of comfort nor, she suspected, did he feel the need to explain his unreasonableness. In the morning, after recovering from an unusual bout of sickness, she learnt from Haesel that he had departed for Aggersborg with Hrolf to attend to the building of a new ship designed to his own s
pecifications. It was to be a fast seagoing vessel for which Deena, the deaf slave, had been weaving the sails for many months. Naturally, Fearn’s first assumption was that this was a ship being made ready to take her home next year, since Hrolf had mentioned that it was to have a permanent shelter erected on the deck for the use of passengers. Feeling out of sorts and cynical about his mission, Fearn also wondered if he would be seeing anything of the woman who had threaded blossom in his hair on their one-night stay at Aggersborg.

  In desperation, she took her troubles to the elderly priest of the small church where her parents worked close by, finding him sympathetic, but of no real help except to offer her some vague advice to have faith that all would be well, in the end. As ‘the end’ was precisely what she would like to have known more about, now, she came away even more determined to create it for herself and not to wait on faith alone. Had the ship that Haesel visualised been the one carrying news of Thored’s death? Or had it been Aric’s new one? These sightings were all very well, she thought, but could Haesel not be a little more exact?

  ‘You’re looking rather pale, my dear,’ Clodagh remarked as they entered the sweet-smelling infirmary. ‘Are you not well?’

  ‘Perfectly well,’ Fearn said. ‘Just the time of the month.’

  ‘Ah, then I have a nice little task for you. There’s a young lassie over here who’s having problems suckling her new bairn. It’s her first. D’ye think you could sit with her and help? She gets so upset... Fearn...what..?’

  Fearn had turned away, hurrying to the door, reaching the ditch just in time. Haesel held her as she doubled up. Clodagh followed. ‘What’s this about?’ she said. ‘Time of the month? Or something else?’

  ‘Something else,’ said Fearn, ‘if you must know.’

  ‘Of course I must know, child. I’m your mother. Come, I’ll give you something for the sickness. It always works. Then you’d better tell me about it.’

  Telling her mother about it, repeating what she had told the priest, made her wish she had gone to her first, for here she received the physical contact of motherly arms and the practical advice she needed to hear, even when she had heard it given to others on numerous occasions. Nevertheless, Fearn did not go as far as to discuss any plans to leave Lindholm before the allotted time, knowing that Clodagh would insist on her being delivered right there, with her, when the time came. She did not care to get into an argument of that kind, or to make promises she could not keep.