A Sacred Storm

by Theodore Brun

  Yes. Bara would play a very special part indeed.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  A mist grey as iron swirls about her.

  Her face is damp. The greyness darkens, then bleeds to crimson. A noise touches her ear, faint at first, growing louder. Murmurs and moaning become screams and shouts. She hears dire curses and the ring of steel. All around the din of war, the clatter of wood against iron.

  The mist swirls again. Another scream, high and piercing, through the wraithlike air. Below blades crash. Dark faces twist in pain and fury through the reddening fog.

  Then a darker shadow appears, scything through the bloody vapours. Wings beat around her. She spies an eagle, more dreadful than the monstrous Hraesvelgr who births the winds from the ends of the earth. An eagle, with feathers stiff and grim, and savage eyes shining like emerald stones...

  Lilla’s own eyes snapped open, staring wide and desperate. Above her, only gloomy rafters. She felt the blanket heavy on her chest, smelled the goose fat burned out in the lamp during the night.

  The tension melted from her body. She reached out. But there was no one beside her, only the empty furs where Ringast had been lying. It was the third morning since their arrival at Dannerborg and every day he had been gone when she awoke.

  She rolled over, closed her eyes again and sighed, pushing from her mind for the hundredth time that look of his as she had ridden away. So cold – like a great door closing, never to be opened again. Pushing away also the hatred for Saldas that tried to burrow its roots into her heart. If it did, she knew, she would become no different from her father’s wife.

  Instead she murmured a prayer to Frigg – the wise goddess – that the Norns would now be satisfied, that their spinning and weaving would only make stronger the oaths that had been spoken and never see them undone.

  She wished she could believe the peace would hold. Because now she had seen with her own eyes the army Ringast had gathered. All around his hall were camped thanes and karls, wandering warriors who sold their swords for silver, even lowly freemen who should have been home sharpening their scythes for the harvest. Men of a dozen different tongues from Wendland and Friesland and many others, lands far beyond the horizon. Men who, if they had ridden north that summer, would have butchered her own people.

  But the Wartooth’s sons had sworn for peace. If their word was true, then what need of these warriors, still infesting this hall like lice? There would be no war. They must disperse. She was the peace. She must see to it.

  There was a noise on the other side of the room. She sprang upright in surprise.

  ‘By the stars,’ exclaimed the intruder, clutching at a bronze basin that had almost jumped out of her hands. ‘You nearly stopped my heart.’

  ‘Oh, it’s you.’

  Gerutha, her new handmaid, put the basin on the washstand. Lilla sank back into her pillow and watched her. She wasn’t young, perhaps just shy of forty – but tall with sharp, weathered features. Although it was the shock of white hair that always drew Lilla’s gaze.

  ‘Thought you was still asleep, mistress. Seemed to me you liked to sleep late.’

  ‘I don’t,’ Lilla replied irritably. ‘Anyway, is it so late?’

  ‘Sun’s near the noon-mark now, mistress.’

  ‘Already?’ She swung her legs out and rubbed the sleep from her eyes. ‘I don’t know why I’m waking so late. Perhaps I’m still weary from the journey.’

  Gerutha gave a thin smile and carried over the basin and set it on Lilla’s knees. Lilla flicked her hair over one shoulder and doused her hands and face in the warm water.

  ‘Sure would be pleasant to have a morning sleeping late. You know, let others do all the work for a change.’

  Lilla looked up sharply. ‘If you think I’m lazy, just come out and say it.’

  Gerutha at least had the courtesy to blush. ‘Oh, it’s not for me to judge, mistress. Only Master Sletti said we weren’t to expect you to work or do anything much at all.’

  ‘Oh he did, did he?’ Her first meeting with Ringast’s steward had hardly been propitious. Sletti had uttered a few obsequious words of welcome, but his manner was colder than an eel’s and twice as slippery. ‘What else did Sletti say?’

  ‘I don’t want to get no one in trouble, mistress.’

  ‘If I ask you a question, I want an answer.’

  ‘Well, mistress, when he appointed me to attend to you, he did say a woman with your upbringing was like to be...’

  ‘Well?’

  ‘Difficult, demanding and spoilt were his words.’

  ‘Spoilt, is it!’

  ‘With you being a king’s daughter and all—’

  ‘How dare he!’

  ‘I’m sure he meant nothing by it.’

  ‘We shall have to see, won’t we?’

  ‘You’re not going to do anything foolish, are you, mistress? I mean, you won’t get me in no trouble.’

  Lilla leaped off the bed, suddenly full of energy, skipped up to Gerutha and cupped her face in her hands. ‘He won’t know you’ve said a whisper.’ She smiled. ‘Now help me get dressed.’

  The sun wasn’t far past the noon-mark when Lilla glided into her husband’s chamber, garbed in a fine dress of black wool with blood-red threads embroidered down her arms, with a simple scarlet girdle.

  The men stopped talking at once.

  Her husband was in conference with a man Lilla didn’t recognize, though the scars on his face didn’t need much explanation. Standing in attendance was the steward Sletti, his smooth forehead so gleaming it might have been oiled.

  Ringast smiled at her. ‘Was there something you wanted, Aslíf?’

  ‘I’ve told you, call me Lilla.’

  ‘I will. Once we know each other a little better.’ He looked at the scarred man and then back to her. ‘Well?’

  ‘I wanted to speak with you.’

  ‘Go ahead.’

  ‘Alone.’

  Ringast and the scarred man exchanged glances. The latter gave a wry chuckle and quit the chamber, but the steward made no move to leave.

  ‘Three is not alone, my lord.’

  ‘Never mind him. You may speak freely.’

  ‘Very well. It concerns him anyway.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘I assure you it’s no more than my right as your wife.’

  ‘Well, far be it from me to deny my wife what is hers by right.’ He slipped his thumbs into his belt. ‘What do you want?’

  ‘Those.’ She pointed at the keys hanging from Sletti’s belt. The steward bridled instantly. The keys gave their holder authority over the household, practically and symbolically.

  Suddenly Ringast burst into laughter. ‘You have a usurper, Sletti! Gods, but that’s bold of you,’ he said, addressing Lilla. ‘Sletti here has been steward of Dannerborg for... What is it?’

  ‘Eight years, my lord.’ His mouth was a thin line of anger.

  ‘Eight years! Hel, has it been that long?’

  ‘The keys are mine by right,’ said Lilla. ‘As your wife.’

  ‘So you said. And you, Sletti. What do you say?’

  ‘Is there really any need for this, my lord? Running your household and your lands is no simple task. Forgive me, my lady,’ he said, with no trace of contrition in his voice. ‘It’s no task for a girl of your... inexperience.’

  ‘I’ve seen twenty summers, yet still you think me a girl?’

  ‘I meant no offence. Only that it takes years to master all that needs to happen here. The timings, the provisioning, the responsibilities. Just to learn everyone’s name would take you months.’

  ‘Then it’s time I made a start. Anyway, I’m not suggesting your experience won’t be useful. Merely that from now on you will report to me. I will have authority over you. And I will hold the keys.’

  ‘But lord.’ Sletti’s high voice assumed a decidedly whining tone. ‘Managing your household is a complicated business. Especially now, with so many—’

  ‘All
the more reason to share it.’ Lilla turned to her husband. ‘I will not be denied this, my lord.’

  Ringast shifted a half-amused look between them, rubbing at the hook of his nose. ‘No. I believe you won’t.’ He turned to Sletti. ‘You’d better hand them over then.’

  ‘But, my lord—’

  ‘Now.’

  Sulkily, the steward loosened the silver chatelaine around his waist and handed it over, keys and all, with a jangle.

  ‘Excellent,’ she said, trying to sound more commanding than she felt. ‘I shall send for you later. But for now you may leave us.’

  A mixture of bewilderment and fury fluttered over Sletti’s face. Ringast laughed and slapped him on the back. ‘Cheer up, old friend. This day has long been coming. For all of us!’

  It was a small victory. Petty, even. But Lilla was determined there would be no more late mornings. No more ruminating on things beyond her control. If she had chosen to be Ringast’s wife, she was going to make the best of it.

  ‘Satisfied?’

  She nodded.

  ‘It might be prudent to smooth his ruffled feathers next time you meet. He’s a useful head to have on your side.’

  ‘The man puts on such airs.’

  ‘He thinks he has reason to.’

  ‘Why?’

  Ringast sighed and shook his head. ‘If you must know, there’s always been a rumour that he’s my father’s bastard.’ His hooked nose wrinkled, as though it were distasteful to dabble in such gossip. ‘The old man has never acknowledged him, but still... if enough people say it, folk start to believe it.’

  ‘Surely his mother knows the truth?’

  ‘Doubtless. But she died giving birth to him.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Personally, I don’t see the family resemblance. Do you?’ It was a moment before she realized he was making a joke.

  ‘About as much as I see it in your other brothers.’ She smiled.

  ‘Ha! That’s true... So why are we alone?’

  ‘There’s something else.’

  ‘Evidently...’

  ‘The warriors you have camped here.’

  ‘You’ve noticed them.’

  ‘You must disperse them at once.’

  He turned away from her and poured himself another ale. ‘I’m afraid I can’t do that.’

  ‘What do you mean, you can’t? Aren’t you lord of this place? Your word here is law.’

  ‘True.’

  ‘Then why are they still here? You’ve agreed a peace with my father. You swore on Adils’ Ring, which is sacred to both our lines.’

  ‘I know what I swore.’

  ‘Then what need of all these men? You foreswore slaughter. All of you! That’s why I’m here.’

  ‘You’re right that I’m lord here. But my father is my lord and I gave him my word to do two things. To marry you, and to keep every man here until he – and he alone – sent word to disperse.’

  ‘But that goes against all that was agreed!’

  ‘When we rode north we couldn’t be certain your father could be trusted. If it had been a trick – what then? Why do you think my father didn’t come himself?’

  She could see it made some sense. If King Harald’s plans to attack her homeland had been real, he was unlikely to let the army that he had taken such pains to gather dissipate like a morning mist in summer. Not until he was sure he did not need it. After all, there had been no trust between their families for long years.

  For the first time, she began to glimpse what it must have cost them to come. ‘But now you know. There was no trick.’

  ‘Now I know, yes. At least, I think I do.’

  ‘So send them away. Men like that thirst only for ale or for blood. It will come to no good to keep them here.’

  ‘Not before I hear word from my father.’ He took an unhurried pull on his ale. ‘You know, not all men are as you say, Aslíf.’ The name jarred in her ear, making her feel the distance between them. ‘I sent word to Leithra as soon as we left Uppsala. I expect to hear from my father soon. Until then... not one man will leave this place.’

  ‘But, husband, I beg you—’

  He raised a finger to silence her. ‘Not one man.’

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Saldas was losing patience.

  The noise of the smiths’ endless hammering was getting on her nerves. That and the reek of the place – meat-fisted craftsmen stinking worse than Volund’s crotch laced with the acrid tang of soldered metal.

  She wandered along the booths lining the western road.

  There was an urgency to the industry that morning, every smith and fletcher and spinner working feverishly to prepare their wares for the Summer Throng. The assembly would draw the greatest men in the land, attended by their retainers, and many smallholders and freemen besides. A multitude, and each man carrying a purse – which interested the smiths a good deal more. Kings and earls could worry about wars and laws. These craftsfolk only cared about the silver in a man’s pocket.

  She looked back towards the halls, trying to pick out the face of the man she was waiting for among the heads bobbing along the road.

  ‘I received your message, my lady,’ said a voice at her elbow. She turned, a little startled.

  Vargalf’s eyes were cold as ever. ‘Good,’ she said, her composure returning. ‘Walk with me.’ She took his elbow and led him out of earshot of the nearest craftsman.

  When they had gone a little way beyond the last of the booths, she steered him towards the footpath that circled round the King Barrows. The ground was well worn, hard packed by summer and the tramp of sentries’ feet. But no sentry would pay them much heed. Folk often took a turn around the royal mounds.

  ‘I trust you had the sense to tell no one of our meeting.’

  ‘Of course. What about the thrall who carried your message?’

  ‘A dullard and so shy she hardly speaks. If she thinks anything at all, she would never dare speak of it.’

  Vargalf grunted. ‘Well, here I am. What do you want?’

  She tilted her face to the sun and closed her eyes, enjoying its warm caress. ‘Those smiths over there... They’re forever tapping away. Watch them long enough and you’ll soon learn – certain tasks need certain tools. A swordsmith takes a hammer weighty enough to club an ox, and at just the right moment with the right force he strikes the blade, to give it the perfect strength and shape. But to craft the hilt, he uses tongs as fine as needles to thread the filigree around each ring. For each task, he has the same purpose in mind, but he must choose the right tool at the right moment. No other will do.’ She opened her eyes and looked at him directly. ‘This is the moment. You are the tool.’

  ‘You flatter me.’

  ‘I don’t believe so.’

  ‘If I am the tool, what is the purpose?’

  She smiled. The man was blunt. That was all to the good. ‘Your loyalty lies with my son-in-law, does it not?’

  He nodded.

  ‘And with the king?’

  ‘I am a subject of his realm.’

  ‘As are we all. But you’ve sworn no personal oath to him?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Nevertheless, your oath to Sigurd surely binds you to the king, does it not?’

  ‘That depends on his son.’

  ‘Hmm.’ She studied him more closely. ‘But I think you care nothing for oaths. Unless I read you wrong.’

  He stared back at her without answering.

  ‘Speak plainly, man.’

  ‘Very well. Oaths bind those who choose to be bound. I’m not one of them.’

  ‘Well, that at least is speaking plain.’ She gave a mirthless chuckle. ‘Another question then. Are you... disposed towards the king?’

  ‘Disposed?’ He snorted. ‘You tell me to speak plain while you talk in circles. What do you want?’

  Saldas laughed. ‘Fairly said. Well then... men may live for many reasons. Women too, if you can believe that.’ She raised a sardonic eyebrow. ‘
I live by one law: do whatever best serves myself. I find this the truest way to live.’

  ‘My lady, I gave up such lessons at my mother’s knee. Come to your point.’

  ‘I am,’ she said sharply. ‘Sometimes, to live this way, I must be willing to make a sacrifice. Now is such a time.’

  ‘You still dance around the fire.’

  ‘Come then.’ She was annoyed because he was right. Why was this so hard to say? ‘A sacrifice must be made. Several times sickness has brought the king to the gates of Hel. The time has come for him to enter.’

  ‘You want Sviggar dead?’

  ‘I do.’

  Now the words were spoken, there seemed nothing more natural in all the world. ‘If you want reasons, I will give you none. Though there are reasons, at least sufficient for me.’

  Vargalf gave a solitary laugh – an ugly, clicking sound. ‘I do not doubt it. But I need no explanation. Besides, reasons matter less than consequences.’

  ‘I see you’re the right tool indeed. As you wish, then. Let us speak of consequences.’

  ‘You mean to take power for yourself?’

  She shook her head. ‘The Sveär folk are not ready to be ruled by a queen.’

  ‘Then they shall have another king. One who answers to you.’

  ‘Precisely.’ She smiled. ‘There was a second reason for summoning you, besides your more obvious... talents.’

  ‘My connection with Sigurd.’

  ‘Indeed. Sigurd shall be king.’

  ‘And you will rule through him?’

  ‘Let’s just say I will be sure to find my place in his kingdom.’

  Vargalf returned her smile, an expression so cadaverous that it sent a chill right through her. ‘We understand each other well.’

  ‘Naturally Sigurd must be persuaded. But he has little love for his father. Nevertheless, whatever notions he has of honour must be – how shall I put it? – taken into consideration.’