The Widow Queen

by Elzbieta Cherezinska

  “Why hasn’t Edwin come?” Sven asked, when Frog had bowed and introduced himself.

  “I hope, King, that when you see my cargo, you’ll cease being interested by Edwin’s offerings. There are many of us in York, and Edwin doesn’t have the best blacksmiths working for him. Those masters work for Morcar Frog.”

  “Show me,” Sven ordered.

  The merchant first ordered a beautiful carved chair to be carried over for the king. When Sven was sitting comfortably, they offered him wine, and his men began to carry in the chests.

  He was supposed to refrain from drinking, he’d promised himself not to make any purchases when drunk, but the wine was good, and Jorun stood behind him, watching his back and counting every sip.

  They knew by the time they looked at the daggers that Frog hadn’t lied. The blades were perfectly balanced, and so many hilts to choose from! From antlers and bone, decorated with silver.

  It’ll be expensive, Sven thought, but worth it.

  “What do you think, Jorun?”

  His friend leaned down and whispered into his ear:

  “Don’t drink anymore. Judge it sober.”

  “I’m asking if it’s worth it.” Sven handed him a knife.

  Jorun took it.

  “It fits as if it had been made for my hand,” he praised, and threw it at the lid of a chest that hadn’t yet been opened.

  The knife turned beautifully in the air and sank into the wood as easily as if it were butter.

  Jorun and the king both nodded, and the knife was placed into the empty chest that the thoughtful Frog had placed at their feet.

  Then there were swords, which they spent the longest time choosing; they also spent much time with the axes, because Morcar had a few different kinds of blade. Straight, bearded axes, to be attached to a long handle, and simple ones meant for swinging, forged from extraordinarily good steel. He also had huge ones, meant to be used with two hands, with wedges to be bent and driven into the handles, creating a blade that wouldn’t fall off no matter how violent the battle. There were silver cleavers decorated with an intricate English pattern, with ornaments at the base of the handle. And a treasure he was sure his lady wife would like: a murderous, wide blade with a cross carved into it. He had his axemen summoned so that they could choose for themselves. They all pointed at the cross axe.

  Night began to fall, so the merchant of York ordered torches to be lit. Sven stretched.

  “We’ll finish tomorrow, I don’t intend to buy in the dark. Value what I’ve chosen.”

  Morcar tapped a finger against a wax tablet on which he’d been making marks as Sven made his choices.

  “Thirty pounds,” he announced.

  Sven grimaced. He didn’t like this part. But he couldn’t murder the merchants because then none would come to his harbors. Besides, that’s not what a Christian king would do.

  “Are you sure you’re not mistaken?” Jorun asked Frog. “Thirty pounds is a mass of silver!”

  “No, friend.” Morcar’s expression seemed to convey concern at the prospect of earning so much. “Thirty pounds. Though perhaps there might be another solution…” He scratched himself behind a large, sticking-out ear with the stylus and smacked his lips horribly.

  “Speak,” Jorun rushed him, knowing Sven hated sounds like that.

  “Edwin has recently brought back from Roskilde a denar of silver with the writing ZVEN REX DENER on it. He bragged about it terribly, and that angered me. If I could be paid in such denars, I’d lower the price.”

  “You’re a fool, though you have excellent blades and steel,” Sven reprimanded him. “Those aren’t for making purchases, they are the king’s stamp. Edwin received one from me as a gift.”

  Morcar Frog counted.

  “If King Sven gives me a jug of these denars as a gift, then I would give him everything he chose for free,” he declared, smacking his lips again.

  “Silence him or there’ll be murder,” Sven said, disgusted.

  “Stop making that sound,” Jorun told him.

  “I beg for forgiveness.” Frog bowed clumsily. “When I count, I smack my lips without thinking. I won’t now, I’ve finished counting. I ask for the king to consider my proposal overnight. We can also throw the jug of denars on scales and see how they match up to the thirty pounds. I assure you that my proposal is fair.”

  Sven glanced into the chest before they left. Beautiful blades. And that cross.

  In the evening, he went to see his wife, and he bumped into Melkorka as she left the queen’s chambers. The two lynxes lay by the door.

  “The king has no reason to go there,” the cook said. “The lady will be giving birth any day.”

  “You’ve been saying that for a week,” he said angrily.

  “If the king knows more about giving birth,” the old one snorted, “then why doesn’t he do it himself? I don’t stick my nose into matters of war.”

  “Bring me my dinner,” he snapped, and regretted it immediately. She had given him burned grits the previous night, saying she had no time for cooking because she was busy with her mistress.

  “Vali cooks from now on,” she announced, satisfied. “My lady has said she needs me with the children. I’ll be looking after Harald, and the new child, too. It’s far more important than the kitchens.”

  When fair-haired Vali brought him dinner, quite a few people came to the hall, lured by the scent of roasted meat. Great Ulf, his wife’s guardian, and little Wilczan ate, shouting:

  “As good as it was in Sigtuna.”

  Sven, for the first time in a long time, ate until he was sated. And he didn’t drink much. When Melkorka slipped across the hall, glancing into the almost empty bowls, he told her:

  “I’m so glad you’ll be looking after our sons.”

  “What if the second is a daughter?” She winked at him almost wantonly, showing a gap where her front tooth had been.

  Jorun joined the king at his table, a roasted goose leg in his hand.

  “We have four jugs of svens left. One weighs as much as fifteen pounds, so we’re saving half the money. Considering that every merchant always asks for more, we still gain at least a quarter.”

  “It’s worth it. The minter can make more svens later. Why are you holding on to that leg? Are you afraid someone might steal it from you?”

  “Not someone, King, but you.” Jorun bared his teeth and stuck the goose leg into his mouth.

  They went to the harbor again in the morning. It was trade day, and there was raucous activity in all of Roskilde. Merchants dragged carts with goods, their servants setting up stalls. It was even busier in the port, as boat after boat of fishermen arrived with their catches. Morcar Frog brightened when he saw them.

  “So early? Has the king had the chance to consider the suggestion of a humble merchant of York?”

  “I know only impudent ones from York, confident and greedy for silver,” Sven greeted him. “I have a jug of denars for you, don’t worry. Jorun, show Master Frog that we’re making his dreams come true. But Morcar Frog should add something for it to truly be a fair trade. Something pretty. Christ, don’t smack your lips, man! Count silently, because nothing disgusts me more than that and snoring.”

  “And rot,” Jorun reminded him, sitting down comfortably. “Rot disgusts the king, so if you have anything rotting, don’t show him.”

  “I’m coming,” Frog said, and walked onto his ship, where he shrilly ordered his servants to carry their chests. He returned momentarily.

  “Should the chest with the weapons you chose last night be delivered to the royal manor?”

  “Yes.”

  It was so large and heavy that four men had to carry it. A girl ran down the ramp to the ship, curtsied to Sven, and ran on, toward the stalls of the craftsmen.

  “My daughter,” Morcar Frog said to her back, which was vanishing into the crowd.

  “So pretty?” Jorun was surprised.

  “I’m also surprised, and have been every day for th
e last seventeen years.”

  “She’s only seventeen? She looks older.” Sven had the irritating feeling he’d seen her somewhere before. Was it possible he’d slept with her in England?

  “My wife says it’s my daughter,” the merchant continued. “And that she’s so pretty because she takes after her. Maybe, the girl is as much of a miser as I am, but she doesn’t speak. Not a sound. I taught her to count on a tablet, so she counts, but she doesn’t speak, so don’t take offense that she didn’t greet you. But yes: if she takes after my wife in her looks, then she should take after me in her talk. So, I ask, how is it that she took the looks but not the voice?”

  “You, Frog, had better not ask,” Sven advised him with some pity. “Think about what would have happened if she had your looks and your wife’s tongue?”

  “Oh, that I didn’t think about, King Sven. How good it is to talk to an intelligent man. And how sad that I must leave today. Will we finish by noon?”

  Sven laughed, and waved a hand to encourage the merchant to get to the point.

  “So what will I show you today? Please, Kris, bring me the chest worth half the kingdom. Accessories. Silver- and gold-plated brooches, English work. Eagles in flight, eagles catching prey, falcons and a bear, a fish and an eagle…”

  The men Morcar had sent to carry the weapons had returned. They carried the chest onto the ship. Sven kept an eye out for the merchant’s daughter, because he was still convinced he knew her. But he’d never slept with a girl who didn’t speak at all, or at least, not that he remembered. The girl however, didn’t appear. When he heard the tolling of the bell, which he had bought at the queen’s request, and which his axemen rang every day at midday to praise the Lord, Sven finished picking out jewels. Morcar had graciously added them without extra charge. He took the jug of denars and carefully carried it onto his ship. He returned with a jug of wine to celebrate the successful trade, but at the same moment, Heidi, his son’s wet nurse, rushed over, out of breath and panting. “My lord! My lady! My lord!”

  Sven leaped up.

  “Has something happened?”

  “My lord … my lord…” The Goat tried to catch her breath.

  “Speak or I’ll kill you!”

  “A son!” she exclaimed. “You have a son!”

  53

  DENMARK

  Świętosława’s labor had been easy. Her water broke in the late morning. Wrzask whined, Zgrzyt stared at her with golden eyes and licked the puddle she stood in.

  “Dusza, go fetch Melkorka, tell her it’s begun.”

  When Dusza disappeared, she laughed. “Tell her…” She felt no pain, the contractions weren’t starting. She walked slowly around the bed. Melkorka soon appeared with Goat at her side.

  “Prince Harald is playing with Hildigun. The king is in the port buying weapons. It’s empty in the manor. You can shout as much as you need, my lady,” Melkorka informed her.

  “I don’t want to,” a surprised Świętosława replied, watching as Goat skilfully set out the basin with water, the canvas towels, compresses, and a knife. When she looked at the knife, it began.

  “Dusza,” she whispered, once the first contraction had passed. “Find the Damascene knife I bought in Wolin years ago. I want it to be that knife. I always did, but Olof and Harald were both so difficult, I lost my head.”

  “Will you lie down, my lady?” Melkorka asked.

  “Not yet. I’ll be lying plenty yet.”

  “Wine or mead?”

  “Wine. Tyra was meant to pray for a happy birth this morning. Wait!” She didn’t take the wine from Melkorka because another contraction caught her. She grabbed the back of a chair, leaned over, breathed. The wave of pain receded. “Give me a drink.”

  The gulp of wine spread over her body warmly.

  “A boy or girl,” Goat squeaked. “I just can’t wait. What would you prefer, my lady?”

  “I have two sons, two kings,” Świętosława whispered, because another contraction was coming. “I’d like a daughter, auuu…”

  “I’ve fed a dozen boys and only one girl,” Goat bragged. “So if you ask me, I’d prefer a daughter, too.”

  “My lady.” There was fear in Melkorka’s voice. “I worry that you aren’t shouting. Forgive me for saying, but with Harald you screamed the house down. Are the contractions not too weak? The waters have broken, you have to give birth quickly or the child will be smothered.”

  “Weak? No. They’re strong, but they don’t hurt like the others…”

  “A friend told me that her aunt also had many children like our lady,” Goat interjected, gesturing wildly, “and then with one child she had painless contractions. She just stood there and gave birth and kept chatting away with my friend, but wait … no … with her mother, because they were sisters, and she had a dead baby. With no pain.”

  Dusza hissed, but Goat didn’t realize what she’d said. Only once Melkorka tapped her forehead and made a face did Heidi see how inappropriate her story had been. She blushed, but after barely a few moments her need to fill the silence won.

  “Another friend, from this village near Lejre, gave birth in her sleep. She just didn’t feel a thing, didn’t know she was in labor. She woke in the morning and her child, it was a son I think, was already sucking on her breast.”

  “You must be drunk,” Melkorka scolded her. “What nonsense is this?”

  Świętosława groaned, because she finally felt the pain of a contraction, as if the child had slammed its head into her pubic bone.

  “Lie down, my lady, it’s time,” Melkorka ordered.

  “Give me more wine, I’ll stand for a while longer.”

  She drank a sip, then one more, but another contraction caused the goblet to fall from her hand. She thought she heard the clang of chains. Zgrzyt raised his head and pricked his ears.

  “Dusza, open the door. Arnora is coming to us,” Świętosława ordered.

  The lynx walked to the door as if on command.

  “No, don’t let her in here,” Melkorka protested. “She’ll bring you bad luck, bad fate.”

  “I don’t believe in superstitions. Give me more wine.”

  Świętosława stood, leaning against the chair, her side to the door. She had to turn her head to see Arnora.

  “Come in,” she said, seeing the woman pause in the door. “I’m inviting you. I’m in labor.”

  Dusza offered Arnora an arm and led her to a bench. The old woman sat, and the golden-eyed Zgrzyt lay down at her feet. Wrzask paced around Świętosława.

  “If you know any interesting stories, tell us, because Heidi says whatever comes to mind. Melkorka, give her wine.”

  “The tales of my family are beautiful and sad,” Arnora said. “One of my ancestors, disregarding the vows he gave his wife, fell in love with an ocean enchantress with whom he sired a monster…”

  “Holy Mary,” Melkorka groaned.

  “Ah…” Świętosława took a breath to survive the contraction.

  “You’re right.” Arnora nodded her silver head. “The story of Grendel isn’t the most appropriate for a time of birth. The son you are having…”

  “We wanted a daughter,” Goat squeaked accusingly, and fell silent.

  “… has been sired from a knot…”

  “Wine!” Świętosława shouted.

  It was true. One night, they’d argued again, but at least Sven hadn’t called her Gunhild, so she, to let out her anger, was tying knots in a silken kerchief. Then he asked if she’d come to him, and she agreed. Great Ulf and Jorun walked her to her husband’s bedchamber. He asked if she’d give him the kerchief. He sat on the edge of the bed and, one by one, undid the knots she’d made during the feast. “If we could do the same with our problems…” she said. “You know, Sigrid,” he replied, “when you get so angry with me, I desire you even more, but I’d like to receive just an ordinary love from you one day. Men have different fantasies. Mine is simply love.” And they’d both thrown off their clothes, went to bed, and ha
d simply made love. She wasn’t taking her anger out on him, and he wasn’t defeating Eric by claiming her. She’d stayed with him until morning; they fell asleep together, a thing they never did. She woke up, covered by his long red hair. Then, he helped her tie her dress, and they had breakfast together, laughing over little things. She briefly entertained the thought that she could grow to like him. But by the time evening came, they’d argued, about one thing or another, until sparks flew again, and she wouldn’t let him touch her. Then, it turned out she was pregnant, and the lynxes began to guard her door.

  “You give birth as the queens of old did,” Arnora said. “In the past, women didn’t give birth lying down. They had children standing up, or crouching, or sitting on a royal chair.” She took a sip of wine and caressed the lynx’s head. “It’s uncomfortable on the chair,” she grimaced. “It’s better to stand. Well, finally it’s begun. Bold lady, hold on. And one of you, on the ground to catch the child.”

  She was right. It began. Contraction followed contraction.

  “Dusza, cut open my shirt,” she asked.

  “You’ll be naked!” Goat said indignantly. “Ah, but there are just women here, and those boy lynxes…”

  They all started to laugh, as if Goat’s comment was the best joke in the world.

  Świętosława was groaning and laughing at the same time. Melkorka lay on her back between her legs, reaching out her hands and chuckling until she cried. Arnora sipped her wine.

  “I can see the head,” Melkorka said. “Push, Queen, push!”

  Świętosława dug her fingers into the wood. And she closed her eyes, because it was better like that. An image of her sister Astrid, who she hadn’t seen for so long, came to her. It felt like a good omen.

  “It’s coming out! Push!”

  “Conceived from a knot,” Arnora called out. “Come to us.”

  “Push!”

  “Son of the queen, come to us!”

  “Push!”

  “King of the north, come now!”

  “Push!”

  “He’s flying!” Goat squeaked. “Like a bird!”

  “A king is born.”

  “A boy, healthy and red-haired,” Melkorka announced from between her legs. “Dusza, help me, because I can’t get up. That’s the first time I’ve received a child on my back.”