Viking Hostage

by Warr, Tracey;

  ‘Can you remember that voyage?’ Aina asks.

  ‘Yes,’ I say, miserable, wishing I could not remember it. ‘I was near nine years old by then and I can remember every gust of wind and every sparkle of sunlight on the sea as we set sail from the harbour. I remember the sailors calling, the gulls, the sail whipping against the ropes and filling with the sluggish breeze as the sea opened up before us. I remember the hope in the eyes of Lady Astrid as she looked across the expanses of blue sky and sea.’ I pause and wipe at the tears on my cheeks.

  ‘Perhaps you should not continue, Sigrid. It’s upsetting you.’

  I sniff and shake my head. ‘It’s alright. I’ve started now so I must tell the tale, and its telling is for the honour of my father and Astrid.’ I look back down at the coloured map, my eyes lingering on the green of Viken and conjuring a vision of mountains laced with fjords and longhouses with smoke curling up out of their roofs. ‘Perhaps I will go back one day,’ I say.

  ‘I should like to come with you,’ Aina says eagerly. ‘Why don’t we go on an adventure together?’

  I smile at her but this hardly seems likely, that we would be allowed to go where we wished, or that her parents would not soon send men to chase and bring us back if we ran away. I carry on with my story. ‘We set sail and were at sea four days and entered the Baltic Sea, which we called the Eystrasalt, but then we saw the dreaded orange sail of a pirate ship. My father did what he could but there were few fighting men on board and very soon the Eistland pirate ship hauled alongside, the men boarded and killed near everyone. My father was disarmed and forced to his knees before the leader who was named Klerkon. The pirate lifted his sword to strike my father dead. “Give me my sword to hold,” cried my father, but the pirate just killed him.’ Aina knows from previous tellings of the story on cold winter nights that a Norse warrior must die with his sword in his hand if he is to go to Valhalla and feast with the gods.

  Tears are falling down my cheeks and I do not tell Aina of my numb terror at seeing my father killed and thrown into the sea. ‘Astrid covered my eyes but her hand was shaking and I saw it all nevertheless. I wished to see it, to burn the image of those men on my eyes so that I could seek revenge upon them. My brothers, Thorgils and Olafr, were doing the same, staring at their faces. My father’s lifeless body disappeared into the grey depths, into Niflheim.’

  I take a gulp of wine and wipe away my tears with the flat of my palm. The story is on its way now and must flow on. ‘The pirates turned to us, especially looking at Astrid who was a beautiful woman.’

  ‘Wouldn’t they have been careful with her if she was worth a good ransom?’ asks Aina, desperately hopeful as she always is at this part of the story.

  ‘Perhaps,’ I say, ‘but we knew there was a price on our heads and if she revealed her identity her son would be murdered, so she did what she had to, to protect Olafr. The leader took her away and we did not see her again. I heard she was sold as a bed-slave.’

  We are both silent for a moment.

  ‘They didn’t show much interest in us: three bedraggled and distraught children. They tied us together with thick, harsh ropes around our ankles and necks, and lashed us to the side of the ship. When the sea was high the waves washed cold and salty over us. At night when the temperature dropped, we clung together for warmth and comfort and had no coverings. They gave us water and stale bread sometimes. The voyage was two days more and in the shivering nights Thorgils murmured stories to distract and reassure me and Olafr until his voice failed from grief and cold. On the third day we arrived at their pirates’ nest on Smaeland island and they put us, still roped, in the pig-pen.’

  Aina screws up her nose at the imagined smell of it.

  ‘We were there for a few days, sitting and sleeping as best we could. Thorgils shoved the pigs away from us with his foot and shouted when they got too near and the pirates came and laughed at us. At night it was freezing and we huddled together while Thorgils told us that my father was with Freya and we would avenge him and find Olafr’s mother. I sang songs that my father had taught me and when Olafr wept and sniffed we pretended we couldn’t hear him.

  One morning Klerkon came and took us out of the pen. He stripped our tunics from us and threw buckets of cold water over us, as we stood there in our shifts. Then he hung a Thor’s hammer on a thong about each of our necks, and put clean, rough tunics on us. We had no shoes and the burn marks from the ropes were red and raw on our necks and wrists. “Hmm,” he said, hands on his hips.’ I place my hands on my own hips, mimicking the pirate. ‘“They will do,” he said. He tied us again but with a finer rope and pulled us onboard the ship and we sailed for some hours until we came to a large port called Tallinn.’

  ‘And that is where you met my mother and father,’ says Aina.

  ‘Yes,’ I say and am silent for a while. I look up to see the expectation on my lady’s face. For Aina this is the ‘good’ part of the story, where I am rescued by her parents, but for me this is the worst part and it hurts me to allow the word-pictures to cross my lips and hang there becoming visible in the still air of the chamber. I do not tell of my terror, even greater than when my father died, at being ripped from Thorgils and Olafr.

  ‘And so I was sold to Lord Ademar and Lady Melisende and came here to Ségur with my head cropped, tied with a rope, a louse-bitten slave.’ I end my story abruptly, unable to inject heroism into this part, and not wishing to linger on it.

  ‘Sigrid, you can’t see anymore to sew in this light,’ Aina says, moving the candle as close to me as she dares. ‘Looking at the great flame of your hair now, it’s hard to remember you as that miserable, shorn-headed child last year. Will you show me the serpent?’

  I push back the folds of my dress to show my brooch pinned on my belt. ‘It was my father’s.’

  She touches the curves of the brooch, and then my cheek. ‘It’s beautiful, Sigrid. Very fine work.’

  The dinner bell begins to peal in the Great Hall below, and we stand up, smoothing our skirts.

  6

  Poitiers

  Easter 974

  ‘Father, I would like to make a new attempt to regain our family honour at this Assembly,’ Guy said the week before the family were due to undertake their annual journey to Poitiers. ‘A fresh voice and face may sway Duke Guillaume?’

  Gerard was silent for a long time. ‘Alright son. I have made no headway with the Duke for years. Now it is your turn to try.’

  They travelled to the city by river – down the Vienne and then onto the Clain until they reached the outskirts where they disembarked to prepare for their entry into the city, through the gateway in the great Roman walls, past the pale pink brick of the Baptistry of St John where the early Christian Poitevins had been immersed in the baptismal pool, past Saint Radegund’s Holy Cross Abbey, past the church of Sancta Maria Maior and onto the Palace of Poitiers with its elegant slender white towers and long slivers of windows.

  Riding into the courtyard of the Palace the family were dressed, according to Guy’s strategy, in their best finery and Adalmode was loaded with all that remained of Rothilde’s jewellery. She wore a dress of fine gold silk, a head veil of gossamer thin gold net held in place with a thick gold circlet, three necklaces of gold, gold bracelets and golden earrings. Thick honey tendrils of her hair showed beneath the veil. There were gold and jewels on each of her fingers and thumbs, gold buckles on her shoes and at her girdle. ‘I can hardly move, Guy!’ she protested.

  ‘Bear up, Addy,’ he said, ‘you look splendid, shining like a golden icon.’ Guy led the best horse from Montignac, covered with a fine saddle cloth as a gift for the Duke.

  ‘If this doesn’t work,’ Gerard grumbled, ‘you’ve finally broken us lad.’

  Their arrival made the impact that Guy had intended. The Duke received the horse graciously and Gerard looked distressed as it was led off to the already very well stocked stables. The Duke’s little son was greatly impressed with Adalmode. ‘Golden lady, golden
lady!’ he shouted with glee, jumping up and down, clapping his hands, stretching out his grubby fingers to touch her, until his nursemaid restrained him.

  The following morning the family prepared to make their case. In the Great Hall, the Duke sat on the raised dais surrounded by nobles. Duke Guillaume’s nickname was Iron Arm, gained from his youthful prowess on the battlefield, but there was no evidence of that now in the raddled and overweight face of the middle-aged man looking down on Adalmode. Geoffrey, the tall, upright, Count of Anjou stood close to the Duke’s throne, splendidly dressed in brown brocade and grey fur, his long grey hair falling below his shoulders. Some two hundred people were crammed into Duke Guillaume’s hall to hear the justice cases before him at this Easter Assembly. In the crowd of people Adalmode caught sight of their kinsman, Ademar of Ségur who was administering Limoges at the Duke’s behest, in place of her father. He was here with his young daugher Aina, whose beautiful dark red hair, hung uncovered down her back. Despite herself, Adalmode exchanged a smile with Aina and a nod with Ademar. She noticed that another red-haired girl, with a long graceful neck, accompanied them. A maid perhaps.

  ‘Gerard, formerly of Limoges!’ the steward called out and Adalmode made her way to the front of the crowd of people with her brother and father.

  Amongst the richly dressed people seated with the Duke there were three very striking women. The Duke’s young wife, Emma of Blois, seated to his left, was not a beauty. Her nose was too long, her forehead too high, her expression too stern, but she had tremendous imperious presence. Next to her, was the sister of the Count of Anjou, Lady Blanche, Countess of Gévaudan, whose beauty was legendary, and Adalmode thought, in this case not exaggerated. Blanche’s hair was as golden as Adalmode’s own. Her face was a perfect oval with large brown eyes, a shapely nose and a small mouth with full lips that reminded Adalmode of a ripe raspberry. But Adalmode’s eyes were drawn to another lady who sat at the far end of the dais. She knew from gossip that this was Aldearde d’Aulnay, the Viscountess of Thouars, the Duke’s favoured concubine since they were both very young. There were rumours that Guillaume and Aldearde had wanted to marry but the Duke’s uncle, Bishop Ebles, brokered powerful political marriages for both of his brother’s children, Adelais to Duke Hugh Capet and Guillaume to Emma of Blois. Emma had been a small child at the time of the betrothal and so Guillaume, having to wait a long time to marry, took ‘comfort’ with Aldearde in the meantime. However he had continued to take the same comfort after his marriage too, and after Aldearde’s own marriage. Aldearde was a decade older than the Duchess and Countess Blanche, but her face and presence still had power to hold the eye. Her brown hair was thick and lustrous, her face shapely and her brown eyes alight with humour. It was rumoured that the Duke paid Aldearde’s father and husband handsomely to connive at the affair. Adalmode watched the Duke and Aldearde exchange a fond glance and she saw how Duchess Emma also registered this glance, but Adalmode had no more time for conjecture on the scandals of the Aquitaine court for her brother was beginning his plea.

  ‘Lord Guillaume, my father, myself and all our family suffer great pain that there was anger between our ancesters. Now I ask you, let there be friendship between us. Hear our plea. As descendents of Charlemagne and his county officers we of noble blood should support each other. My family is reduced and not able to sustain a noble life without the honour of Limoges that is rightfully ours.’ Guy’s voice rang out confidently in the hall. The murmur of activity and private conversations behind them stilled as her brother captured the attention of everyone there. Guy paused and looked to the Duke, who gestured with a slight movement of his wrist and hand that Guy should continue. Throughout Guy’s speech the Duke’s eyes had roved over Adalmode and she looked down at her feet in embarrassment.

  ‘My ancestors,’ Guy resumed, ‘received the viscounty of Limoges from King Eudes many generations ago and held it in good faith and peace with your ancestors, until the offence of my grandfather. We are related by blood and marriage to the lords of Aurillac, Brosse and Thouars. We ask that you take account of our descent from the noble officers of Charlemagne, pardon the offence and restore us to our rights, that we might serve you well.’

  Duke Guillaume held up his palm for Guy to halt and called out: ‘Is there a man of great years who knows the full history of this story?’

  A grey-haired and wrinkled man from the ranks of knights assembled in the hall stepped forward. ‘I know it!’ he declared.

  ‘Knows Duke Guillaume’s desired version no doubt,’ muttered Gerard.

  ‘We will hear this story through again then,’ said the Duke, ‘and resume the question in two days.’

  Gerard groaned quietly. ‘So now he will listen to a litany of the wrongs of my father and his betrayals. This gains us nothing Guy,’ he said in a low tone.

  ‘Be patient, Father, there is much negotiation to come yet over the next few days.’

  On the following days the Duke was supposedly hearing other plaints, but he seemed, instead to spend only a few hours in the hall and most of his time hunting, drinking with his doctor Madelme, singing with Viscountess Aldearde. On the third day of the Assembly Adalmode and her family were summoned again to the hall.

  ‘Your grandfather committed a gross breach of loyalty to mine,’ stated the Duke.

  Guy put a restraining arm on his father’s and stepped forward. ‘Yet my father and I offer you nothing but unwavering loyalty. We captured and held Helie of La Marche prisoner who so wickedly offended against your kinsman and God.’

  The Duke inclined his head, with a smug expression on his face. ‘Indeed. I hear that he has unfortunately escaped now.’ There was an awkward pause. ‘Yes your loyalty is proved but your cousin Ademar of Ségur, and his father before him, have administered Limoges well on my behalf these many years. Can you continue to give me this same yield? And how would he be recompensed if I were to restore the honour of Limoges to you?’

  Lord Ademar stepped forward, and the two red-haired girls stood hand in hand behind him. ‘May I be heard, Lord Guillaume? Sire as you know my father and I have given you stalwart service as vicars of Limoges.’

  ‘Yes,’ said the Duke, ‘and I would not wish to see my revenues there decreased, or my defences weakened, or to offer damage to a family that has always chosen mine.’

  ‘Dammit,’ Gerard muttered, his face growing red with anger.

  ‘No, father,’ Guy cautioned. ‘I spoke with Ademar last night and he speaks now on our behalf.’

  Gerard and Adalmode looked at him in astonishment. ‘Why would he?’ asked Adalmode.

  ‘You will see.’

  ‘Lord Guillaume I am alas suffering from an illness that weakens me and the doctors say there is no cure for it,’ pronounced Ademar.

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that Ademar,’ said the Duke, lazily. ‘Madelme here is a miracle worker. Get him to look you over.’ He gestured to the Italian who was asleep crumpled in a corner with his mouth open after a hard night drinking with his patron.

  ‘I will,’ said Ademar, in a neutral voice, glancing unimpressed at Madelme. ‘However, Lord Guillaume, in the meantime, I must make arrangements for the future.’

  ‘I see,’ said the Duke, sitting up straight.

  ‘As you know Lord I have no son. My daughter Aina is my heiress.’ Ademar drew the girl with darker red hair forward, and put an arm around her shoulders, showing her to the Duke.

  ‘Hmm,’ said Duke Guillaume, who obviously was surprised to hear this but did not say so. ‘No nephews or brothers, Ademar?’

  ‘No sire, but I would have Guy here as son-in-law if you permit it, and then the honour of Limoges might pass back into his family and yet my daughter will retain the prosperity and position that I and my father have worked for.’

  Adalmode turned her head to glance at Aina and saw how the girl was looking at Guy with a shocked expression on her face. Everyone it seemed, including Aina, had been taken by surprise at this revelation.

 
Duke Guillaume cleared his throat. ‘Well, well, I will think on it.’ He looked towards Gerard with dislike.

  ‘My lord,’ said Guy, deciding that he had to carry their case home now or never, ‘if we cannot reach concord, with this suggestion of Lord Ademar’s, then I must regrettably ask that we agree to settle this dispute by judicial duel.’

  Adalmode gasped and placed her hand urgently on Guy’s arm. ‘No, Guy!’

  Guy glanced briefly at her, and she was surprised to read amusement in his eyes.

  ‘You distress your golden sister,’ said Duke Guillaume, looking at her again with frank sexual interest. ‘I will think on it and command you to hear our decision in some days,’ he said, waving to dismiss them.

  Back in their chamber Guy flung himself down on the bed laughing, ‘Excellent gasping there, Addy!’ whilst their father took to pacing up and down the small room with a great frown on his face and then without speaking a word to them, left, evidently in search of Rothilde.

  ‘What on earth are you thinking Guy? You can’t fight a judicial duel. You know you won’t win that. I will have to fight it disguised as you.’

  Guy laughed loudly. ‘You aren’t wearing the right kind of shoes for fighting, darling! Don’t worry if the Duke insists on the duel then we have a serf who will do the fighting on our behalf, but very often a contender will back down from a duel and then we would win by default. What do you think about Aina? She’s pretty isn’t she?’

  The question was genuine. Guy could not really see Aina, only that she had red hair. ‘Yes, she is,’ Adalmode said, distracted, considering the ramifications of their recent audience with the Duke.