The Last Viking Queen

by Taylor, Janelle

  She inquired in a polite tone, “Is that wise, Rolf? Others might think I favor you for your kindnesses, and cause trouble.”

  Rolf smiled. “You are queen. It would be wise to show others you make your own decisions. Come,” he urged her.

  Alysa relented and followed him into his dwelling. She waited patiently while Enid filled the tub and finally left her alone. She knew the captive was annoyed by Rolf’s attraction to his new ruler, and realized she must handle that matter promptly.

  Before leaving his dwelling, Rolf told Alysa to ask for anything she needed. He ordered Sweyn, a large and strong warrior and best friend, to stand guard outside.

  Alysa barred the door and closed the openings for air. She stripped and stepped into the tub. Because of the strenuous ritual last night, it felt wonderful to refresh herself in the tepid water. She scrubbed the gritty residue of Trosdan’s powder from her body.

  She wondered what was taking place back home. How had her grandparents and Gavin’s parents taken the news of her ruse? She wished Sir Beag and Lord Keegan had returned from those two kingdoms before her departure to enlighten her. Somehow she felt that Bardwyn and Giselde would go along with her deceit, but what were the reactions of Briac and Brenna? Did they blame her for their son’s curious behavior? Would they aid her cause?

  The only way to receive news from home, was to arrange a spot which she would visit during part of the quest. Until then, she had to believe and hope both lands would honor her requests.

  And there was Gavin. Was Eirik her missing husband? If so, what had happened to him? If not, was he back home yet?

  Where are love? What troubles you so deeply? I need you, Gavin. I love you. I must know if you are well and safe.

  Alysa dried herself and put on her garments. She donned a flowing white kirtle in a soft material which was visually impenetrable. She encircled her middle with a gold chain, allowing the extra lengths to dangle down her left thigh, and slid her feet into slippers which matched the kirtle. She brushed and braided her long hair, and the heavy plait hung down her back to halt near her waist. She positioned a gold crown atop her dark hair and touched the image of Odin which was displayed on the raised section above her oceanblue eyes.

  Bending her head forward, she slipped another gold chain over it, settling its jewel-encrusted medallion at her heart. She had decided against wearing any weapons, even the exquisitely bejeweled dagger that had replaced the one which she had used on Thorkel. She slipped wide gold bracelets with more glittering stones over her wrists. She wanted to appear a regal queen with an intoxicating blend of strength and softness. Her image and aura were vital to her ruse and success. Not once could she allow the Vikings to forget her rank and power, or what she meant to them.

  Alysa checked her appearance. She must keep her foes enthralled and intimidated. For the contest to be lethal to many Norsemen, she needed for them to desire her and all that went with winning her. The more foes that were slain or injured, the fewer to battle later. To hold their fealty and to remain safe, she needed to prey on their fear of their head god Odin. Not for even one hour could she allow them to forget their superstitions, their ancient laws, their curse.

  This was a barbaric camp of savage men who lived and thrived on greed, and lust, and power. These were rugged men who constantly needed to prove their prowess to themselves and to others, men who loved fighting and killing and conquering, warring men of fierce pride and determination—all things which she could use against them.

  Alysa straightened up and gathered her possessions, leaving the tub for Enid to empty and clean. She opened the door and, after thanking him, dismissed Sweyn. As she walked toward Eirik’s house with her bundle, she thought of all the reasons she must avoid him. Besides making the other two rivals vengefully jealous and risking his dangerous temptation—she could arouse suspicion about Eirik, her motives for coming here, and about the two of them as a guileful pair of foes.

  “Where is Rolf?” Eirik asked from behind her. He had seen her leave Rolf’s dwelling, fresh from a bath and no telling what else, and was plagued by jealousy and worry.

  Alysa halted and turned to face him. A sensation of weakness attacked her as she gazed into his dark-green eyes. She eyed the neatly trimmed beard and mustache, and wondered if Gavin had worn facial hair before his arrival in Damnonia. Considering the amount of time since his departure and the rapid growth of his whiskers, it was easy to explain this one change in him. But the others… Why were his eyes darker, and exposing expressions she had never seen before? Why was his hair a deeper blond, nearly light brown, and where were its sunny streaks she had loved to finger? Granmannie, her special name for Giselde, had once removed his royal tattoo with powerful magic. What had happened to it this second time? Who else possessed such awesome skills and knowledge? How had his voice changed slightly? How did he know the Viking language, although most everyone here spoke hers each day?

  Alysa’s anxious gaze continued to scrutinize him. Where had the scar come from which now traveled his cheekbone? It did not look fresh! Most importantly, what was the motive behind this ruse, if it was one? It was such a mystery, if this man was Prince Gavin Crisdean. In all honesty, she could not decide, a dilemma which alarmed her.

  “Why do you always stare at me so strangely, my enchanting queen? Do you seek to bewitch me?” he teased.

  Alysa watched the grin which lifted one corner of his mouth and seemingly tickled his eyes to bring them to smiling life. It was Gavin’s expression, one which enflamed her senses and haunted her. Yet her voice was curt when she demanded, “Who are you, Eirik?”

  The man stared oddly at her terse question. At times, his irresistible ruler seemed drawn to him; at others, she seemed repelled. He was utterly baffled. Perhaps she was only worried about his not winning the quest and her! “You wish to know more about me?” he hinted with pleasure and smugness.

  To still his curiosity and destroy his conceit, she replied, “There is something about you which… which worries me. I do not feel as if I can trust you. I must ask Trosdan to study you in the sacred chalice. Tell me, Eirik the Bold, are you friend or foe?”

  Her words visibly stunned him. His eyes widened briefly, then narrowed. He informed her in a level tone, “You are my queen. All I have is yours to command. How can I prove myself to you?”

  “By telling me what it is you want most from life,” she answered.

  He looked confused, but replied, “To survive with honor. To win all battles and challenges. The best of all things.”

  His words and manner did not remind her of her husband. True, Gavin wanted honor, victory, and good things, but his reply would not have been the same. The fact this man responded so quickly and easily and differently pained her. She probed almost desperately. “You are a man who loves raiding and killing. Is that not so?”

  The handsome warrior looked even more puzzled than before. Was that not what Viking life was all about? he mused. Yet her expression and tone were contemptuous of his way of life! Surely that was not her intention. She was seeking something which he could not guess. Even though he did not trust her fully, he craved her with a fierce desire. He wanted to win both the quest and this woman. She was beautiful, she was powerful—his queen, his path to victory, the answer to all his needs. Surely she was his destiny, even if he must seize her by force or deceit! He answered tentatively, “I raid because there are things I desire and I am strong enough to take them. But I do not kill unless I am forced to do so. I give my conquests the chance to yield or flee. If they do not, I slay them. Is that not our way, Queen Alysa?”

  Closely observing Eirik, she asked, “Why do you enjoy such a life? Explain your feelings and desires to me.”

  Without delay he said, “It is like a cliff. To live on its edge is stimulating and empowering. Nothing sharpens a man’s skills and wits more than facing perils every day he breathes. There is a nourishing thrill to winning. It makes life worth all perils and sacrifices. What way is there to b
etter myself than with challenges?” He did not expect an answer, so he went on. “A warrior should never be satisfied with himself or his possessions. He must always be hungry for more. He must be daring and eager to face any danger to gather his dreams. If he is not, he becomes lazy, slack, careless, and weak. He becomes vincible. Would you desire such a man?”

  Alysa did not answer his troubling query. “What of those loved ones left behind if you should fail and die? Or while you are gone if foes should strike your land with raiding and killing and conquering in mind? Are such pleasures worth those sacrifices?”

  “They should be glad I died bravely with a sword in my hand. But there are no loved ones left behind, my queen. My family is dead. I have nothing left but my skills and hungers.”

  Alysa knew it was reckless to ask what those “hungers” were, so she did not. She did not know this man, whoever he was. Yet she was potently attracted to him, as if she could not help herself. If he was an enspelled Gavin, that did not matter. But if he was not…

  “You have that strange look again, my queen. Why do you doubt me? I would not harm you. I shall win you in the quest and cherish you forever,” he vowed, then clenched his jaw in vexation. He had not meant to reveal such things to her so soon! To rush past his annoying confession, he asked, “What are your needs? Do you wish slaves to tend you? I will supply your every wish.”

  “My needs have been filled, Eirik; I have food and shelter, and my people have accepted me. I wish no slave in your house. I love my privacy. Rolf commanded his captive to see that I am fed and tended. He placed Sweyn on guard before his door while I bathed within. It was dangerous to use the brook, and your dwelling has no tub.”

  Eirik grinned happily at her revelation. “I have none, for I bathe in the stream, my queen.”

  Noting his look of relief, she hinted, “There is something you can do for me, Eirik. After I put away my possessions, I wish to visit Calliope. Will you escort me there?”

  “Who is Calliope?” he asked.

  Alysa smiled. “My horse, a beautiful grayish-brown creature. He is used to daily rides and visits. He is in a strange place and will worry if he does not see me today. Do you know where he was taken?”

  Looking relieved again, Eirik nodded and grinned.

  At the makeshift corral, Alysa spent time with her beloved horse while she probed Eirik for more information. “Which one is yours?”

  “There,” he said, pointing to an energetic dun.

  Alysa eyed the beast which was not Trojan, Gavin’s tawny hide mount with blond tail and mane. Disappointment chewed at her and was exposed in her expression, until she realized how closely Eirik was watching her. “When do you fight? Have the lots been drawn?”

  The contest was to begin at dusk and continue until midnight. There were seven hundred and sixty-eight Vikings in camp. Using six rings, one hundred and twenty-eight men would pair off in each. After each round, lots would be drawn for their next opponent in battle. It would require seven battles to leave one victor per ring. Those six men would compete in an eighth fight to leave three champions who would become the band leaders for the quest. Considering how long each battle took, she would probably witness around ten to fifteen today.

  Starting tomorrow, the contests would be held from twelve to six, then eight to midnight—allowing for about twenty fights per day. At that rate, the contest should consume nine to eleven days.

  Although the Norsemen would be distracted during the contest, it was not the time to attack them, as only one fight would be in progress in each of the six rings. That meant not all foes would be fatigued at the same time, fatigued enough to lose a battle to her forces.

  “I drew a high number, so I fight in a day or two, if the men battle hard and long as I believe they will. There is much at stake in this contest and quest. Will you stand at my ring during each fight to inspire me to victory?”

  She bravely met his enticing gaze. “You need no encouragement from me, Eirik. You will be one of the three champions, as will Ulf and Rolf. It is the will of Odin as was revealed to Trosdan in the sacred Runes and chalice. My presence will not affect any fight.”

  “Did they reveal who the winner of the quest will be?”

  “Nay, my curious warrior. Even so, I could not tell you.”

  Eirik’s gaze devoured her hungrily. “What if your choice does not match Odin’s?”

  Alysa stroked Calliope’s forehead and looked at the animal as she responded, “Odin will select the best husband for me and High King for our people. I must trust him and accept his decision.”

  “Even if that choice is Ulf? He is not a good mate for you.”

  Without glancing at Eirik, she divulged playfully, “I must confess you and Rolf are more pleasing to a woman’s eyes, but that is not the most important thing in choosing a husband.”

  “What does a woman like you desire in a mate?” he asked seriously as he patted Calliope’s head so their hands would make contact.

  Alysa moved her hand, almost jerking it away too swiftly and revealingly. Eirik’s allure was potent, and frightening. She craved to fling herself into his arms and cover his mouth with urgent kisses. She yearned to make wild, passionate love to him, wanted to shake him and awaken him from his dark enthrallment. She missed him and needed him. Frantic over her increasing weakness for this compelling stranger, she had to put distance between them. “I must return to your house and rest. This night will be a long one.”

  “You are afraid of me, Alysa. I wish that was not so. Do you fear to open your heart to me before I win you in battle? Or do you fear to desire a man who might not be Odin’s chosen one?”

  Alysa looked up into his tender gaze. “It is reckless to pursue and desire a woman you may not win. It is also rash to make others think we favor each other—especially my future husband, if that is not you. I do not want any of you to doubt my honor and behavior. Do not expose feelings for me before the others, Eirik, for you may find yourself craving another man’s wife and inspiring trouble.”

  Alysa turned abruptly and walked away, leaving him standing there and observing her hasty retreat. Craving another man’s wife? Never, he vowed, determined to have Alysa Malvern.

  As the sun set, Enid arrived with the evening meal for Alysa and Trosdan. Alysa was feeding the two birds in a small wooden cage. The beautiful creatures were cooing to her as she spoke to them. Enid watched the tender scene and smiled wickedly.

  An hour later, Trosdan guided Alysa to a raised dais where she could speak, witness the fights, and relax during the lengthy evening.

  The men fell silent at her beauty. They listened to her words with keen interest.

  Alysa looked over the large open space before them and said, “We have gathered in this ve to obey Odin’s commands. Only three of you can become champions and lead your followers in the quest. Once my husband, your High King, is chosen by his victory—we will have need of our warriors to conquer this isle. If you realize you cannot beat an opponent in the ring, yield to him before he is forced to slay you to continue his destined path. There is no shame in bowing to a friend’s superiority. Vikings are the best warriors in the known world. When the moment of life or death is before you, yield if you must and live to battle our foes with us. May Odin guide your hands and minds for justice and mercy. Prepare the rings, Wise One.”

  Trosdan left her side and went to each large ring in turn, each of which was outlined on the ground by a circle of rocks, a boundary which the contestants must honor. He brushed their surfaces with sacred oak branches and cast sacred powder on them. As he did so, he chanted melodiously, “Great Odin, purify this space of earth where your commands will be followed. Protect the warriors you have chosen to ride at the head of your sacred quest. Hear me, Urd, goddess of destiny, guide these men as they seek their fates. I beseech you, Thor, give Odin’s chosen ones power to defeat their opponents. Use your great power to keep Loki away from this special site. Gentle Frey, instill wisdom in all men who battle here s
o they will know when to yield. Beautiful Freyja, goddess of love, instill mercy in the hearts of our warriors. Let no man give or take a life without just cause.”

  Trosdan returned to the dais and lifted his hands skyward. “It is time, my people, to heed the calls of destiny. Go to your rings and let the contest begin. Fight with honor and wisdom and mercy.”

  Each man obeyed by going to his assigned ring and crowding around it to await his turn within it. Einar joined Alysa and Trosdan. The Viking attiba asked, “Since you say you are a volva and know the winners, will you witness the battles, my queen?”

  She glanced at the man who was not attired in the same manner as Trosdan. Today, Trosdan was clad in the ceremonial garb of a Druid High Priest: a long and flowing white surplice with a gold brooch at one shoulder, a gold torque about his neck, and a garland of sacred oak leaves around his head. Trosdan’s feet were bare and he held a yew staff. The Viking wizard was clad in a black robe.

  “Yes, Einar, I will visit each ring during the contests. I wish to observe the strengths and skills of all my warriors, even those who must lose. I will warn you of one thing, do not use your skills to aid your master Rolf. He has been chosen by our god to be one of the three questors, and your magic could interfere with his victory.”

  Einar looked surprised by her warning. “I would not interfere in Odin’s plans, my queen. I am confident Rolf will win you and the quest. Is that not also your desire?”

  “My desire is to serve and obey Odin,” she responded.

  “As it should be, my queen.”

  Alysa strolled from ring to ring as she observed the contests. Some fights were quick and easy victories, some were long and difficult ones. Some men fought to the death, while others wisely yielded when lethal defeat was within sight. Others were injured, but spared by their opponents. The clashings of weapons and muscled bodies were loud in the clearing, as was the noise of cheers for encouragement and victories. Soon, the odors of dust, sweat, and blood could be detected.