How could I have been so careless?
She half-hoped her husband was sat up drinking with Thrand or Ubbi or any of the other so-called champions. But when she slipped through the drapes and entered their chamber, the furs on the bed stirred.
She felt the colour rise to her cheeks as he rolled over and sat up. The flame-flicker made his torso gleam like bronze.
‘Where have you been?’
She went to a sideboard and set down her pouch with her back to him. ‘In the wood.’
‘Again?’ Her practices were no secret from him, but that didn’t mean he liked them. ‘I’ll never understand why you can’t just leave all that for the goðar? It’s not fitting for a highborn woman.’
‘It was good enough for my mother.’ She sounded more defensive than she meant. The pulse was thumping in her temples like Volund’s hammer. ‘The gift of the far sight shouldn’t be denied.’
‘The far sight,’ he scoffed. ‘You haven’t seen my brother in your... whatever you call these visits.’
‘No.’ A thousand other faces. But not the one her husband wanted. Nor the one she wanted to see.
‘So what use is it?’
‘The gods reveal what they reveal.’ She shrugged.
He grunted. ‘Perhaps you need to be a little more persuasive.’
She shuddered involuntarily, remembering nine frozen bodies hanging from the Sacred Oak. That was how Saldas had wooed the gods. And worse, they had listened.
‘Look, I don’t want you going there any more. Staying out after dark with Hel only knows what characters prowling around looking for sport? It’s madness. Do you realize what sort of men are camped down there?’
‘Well, you invited them here, didn’t you?’ she snapped, a wave of dizziness rocking through her. She steadied herself against the sideboard. ‘Besides, they wouldn’t dare touch your wife.’
‘I’m glad you have so much faith in their restraint.’
‘You’re over-reacting.’
‘No more of this, understand? I forbid it. That’s an end to it.’
‘You can’t stop me doing what I’ve always done.’
‘That’s exactly what I can do.’
Suddenly the drapes parted and Gerutha appeared. For an awkward moment none of them moved, other than Gerutha’s bright eyes flicking between her lord and her mistress. Ringast sank sullenly back and rolled towards the wall, leaving the handmaid to her work.
Lilla let Gerutha busy about her, trying not to catch her eye as she unpinned her head-cloth, unfastened brooches, removed her belt and keys, lifted her short outer dress over her head and helped her out of her robe. At last she stood before the mirror wearing only her linen shift, while Gerutha’s fingers fussed over her night-braid. She closed her eyes, enjoying Gerutha’s lightness of touch, trying not to let her anger boil any hotter against her husband.
‘Finished, my lady.’
Lilla’s eyes snapped open. She felt suddenly embarrassed – to be caught dozing off on her feet. She thanked Gerutha and hastily gave her leave.
Her maid removed the last remaining torch from its sconce and went out, leaving only a small oil lamp burning in one corner. Lilla slid under the fur next to her husband.
For a while they lay next to each other in silence. She felt the heat of his body, heard the masculine pitch of his breath. She stared at the rafters. They seemed to sway like rushes in a wind. She palmed her brow, wishing the pounding would go away.
‘I’m sorry,’ he whispered. ‘I married you. All of you. Even the things I don’t like,’ he chuckled. Not many men would admit that, thought Lilla. He tilted her face towards him. ‘You understand I’m just fearful on your behalf.’
‘I know.’
He blew out a long sigh. ‘If I’m honest, it’s my kid brother that’s nettling me. Thrand is all guts and gristle. But Rorik – he’s young. Soft-hearted. I shouldn’t have let him go.’
For a long while, Lilla didn’t know how to reply. But she wanted to give this man something. Something good... anyway, he was bound to find out sooner or later.
‘I have something to tell you.’ He rolled over and looked her in the eye. ‘I hope it will cheer you.’
‘What is it?’
‘I’m carrying your child.’ She watched a smile dawn slowly on his face. It was no lie that she wanted the child to be his. Even if it were born with dark hair and dark eyes... it was his.
‘A child, already?’ A grin broader than she’d ever seen there before formed on his rugged face. His hand slid over her belly.
‘It seems Frigg was in a hurry to bless us.’ She laughed nervously. ‘Are you pleased?’
‘Pleased? Gods, I’m delighted!’
She laughed again, feeling a little giddy, as if she were hovering above the bed, watching herself, prompting her replies. ‘Then so am I.’ And why not? Wasn’t this her destiny? The mother of kings. That had always been her future. Now it was her present. Or soon.
He was murmuring sweet words, moving on top of her, praising her as the best of wives. Perhaps she was. She let him make love to her, riding the wave of his passion, and never once thinking of …him. At least, not until it was over. And then, with Erlan’s face in her mind, she let her husband caress her belly, let him savour the promise of his own life-blood, secure now, flowing on down the rivers of time.
Ringast fell asleep with a smile on his face. She soon followed into a weary sort of oblivion. But Freyja was mocking her. The far-seeing goddess of seidr had no intention of giving her a dreamless sleep. Instead, Lilla felt the wind of the beating wings again against her cheek, then a noose squeezing her throat, squeezing the breath out of her, and she saw the figure again, the stunted, stooping figure with its tousled hair, and her hand moved out – full of dread – and touched the child’s shoulder, turned it towards her. And when she looked upon it, its little features seemed to melt away like tallow in a stream of blood. She tried to scream but the noose was too tight —
Her eyes lurched open. She sat up. Her mouth was wide in a silent cry with her tongue sticking out, dry as bark. She was just thirsty – and her mind was playing games with her. That was all. There was no truth in it. It was only thirst... and the echoes of Urtha’s Weed.
Beside her, Ringast slept on. She slipped out of bed and fumbled her way to the stand in the corner where a pitcher of water stood. She was already halfway across the room when she noticed the oil lamp had gone out. The shadows seemed darker than before.
She shivered, telling herself it was from the cold, not wanting to admit to the whisper of fear in her heart. She felt her way to the table, groping, half-blind, till she found the jug, filled a beaker, poured it down her throat, refilled it, drained it a second time.
Gods – but she needed sleep.
Slower this time, she drank a third cup, at last feeling her thirst slaked. Then she tiptoed back to their bed and slid under the covers.
She lay back and gazed up into the lattice of rafters. For what seemed like hours, her eyes wandered among the beams, sleep always just beyond the grasp of her weary mind. She could hear her heartbeat and her husband’s breathing. Beyond that, the mead-hall and all under its roof were swathed in silence.
She felt a ripple of air over her face. There was a soft sound like the sweep of a brush – hardly a sound at all – and in the crook of her eye, a flicker. She looked over at the drape. It was so dark she could hardly see the doorframe, though she thought she perceived a slight waver of shadow. She looked harder, only now all was absolutely still.
Perhaps she had imagined it.
She imagined so many things...
She closed her eyes, pushing away her fears and her worries and her regrets... But it was no good. Sleep still escaped her.
She opened her eyes, and found herself looking into the most terrifying face she had ever seen.
Skin so pale, hair so white that her mind flew like a comet to the nightmares of childhood – a draugr – one of the dead returned from the ha
lls of Hel holding a long blade, deadly sharp, poised above her husband’s face.
Without a second thought, she threw herself at him. Her head and shoulder smashed into his torso, sending them crashing off the bed in a snarl of limbs. She heard a curse, her head butted the ground, then a lean hand was over her mouth stifling her scream.
She bit down hard, tasting blood and dirt and wood-smoke. The killer hissed in pain. On the bed Ringast was stirring but not nearly quick enough. The seax blade flashed. She lunged for his wrist, stopping the edge bare inches from her eyes, but his other arm was round her neck, squeezing tighter, pulling her back on top of him.
A growl sounded in her throat as she fought desperately to hold off the blade. If she were stronger, she could have prised off his arm or crushed his groin or... something! But he was too powerful and his sinewy forearm was squeezing the life out of her.
For a second, she wondered whether she was asleep and this was just another nightmare. But there was another cry. Then a foot slammed into the man’s skull.
He rolled away, groaning and she wriggled clear, gasping, her throat burning. Then a shadow seemed to fall on him. She heard a squall of grunting and scuffling and butting and curses. Ringast must have hurled himself bodily into the fight. But what chance did he have, naked and unarmed?
Arms. Weapons.
The word jolted her brain. Of course! Ringast’s sword was in the corner, as it was every night. If she could get it, she could end this fight. She forced herself to her feet. At once the giddiness hit her again like a slap in the face. She practically fell into the corner, cursing the darkness, throwing her arms about until at last her fist struck something solid, its shape familiar. The sword clattered to the floor. She threw herself down, fingers scraping at the floorboards. Behind her there was a cry of pain and a horrible laugh she knew was not her husband’s.
Then she had it, her hands scuttling apart till she found the hilt. She felt strength surge through her as she began to drag it free. But suddenly the roots of her hair screamed, her head yanked back and sharp steel kissed her throat.
‘No – no – no, my lady,’ hissed a sibilant voice in her ear. ‘Leave it where it lies.’ The wicked edge pressed deeper into her skin.
It didn’t feel real. Any of it. She hesitated.
‘Do as he says!’ That was Ringast’s voice. ‘Lilla!’
She let the hilt drop. The half-drawn sword hit the ground with a clang. Immediately the killer pulled her to her feet and spun her round. In the gloom, she saw her husband on his knees, clutching at his chest. Wounded, but alive.
‘You should have gone for your sword instead of your woman,’ sneered the killer in his grating whisper.
Ringast made to get up. At once Lilla’s head was pulled back harder and the pale man’s bicep tightened.
‘Not another move, Dane. Unless you want the floor painted with your wife’s blood. Call for help, it’ll be the same.’
‘Who are you? What do you want?’
The man didn’t answer at once. Instead he toed the floor till he’d found the sword and kicked it behind him. ‘Who am I? Aye – that’s the question, eh? But you ought to know.’ He chuckled – a thin, hissing sound. ‘A man should know why he’s about to die.’
‘Do I know you?’
‘Not so well as you knew my brother. Gettir the Black.’
Lilla saw Ringast’s shadow stiffened. ‘You’re the White... Your brother was a murderer. So are you.’
‘You had him flayed alive.’ That’s a lie, thought Lilla. Her husband would never do something so cruel.
‘No less than he did to dozens of my people,’ replied Ringast. Lilla could hardly believe her ears. ‘No less than you did yourself.’
‘So now you know why I’m here.’
‘If it’s me you want, let her go. She’s nothing to you.’
‘But she’s something to you, isn’t she?’ His lips were close enough for Lilla to feel the heat of his breath. ‘The Danish dog got himself a new bitch, didn’t he? Everyone knows that.’ He gave an ugly snigger.
Ringast said nothing, only shuffled forward on his knees.
‘No-no.’ The White pressed the knife closer. Ringast froze. ‘I’m the only one left now, thanks to you and your father. There’s a blood debt to be paid.’
‘We’ll give you silver.’ Ringast was trying to sound calm, but Lilla could hear the alarm creeping into his voice. ‘However much you want. Just let her go.’
‘She must be a good ride, huh? Or is there something in here you’re worried about?’ His fingers spread over her stomach. Lilla shuddered. ‘That’s it, isn’t it? More spawn of that crooked old cocksucker!’ Suddenly he shoved his hand down between her thighs. She struggled, tried to pull away, revolted by his touch, but the steel edge only bit deeper, this time drawing blood. ‘Still wet with your muck.’ He scoffed. ‘Ain’t no amount of silver can buy what I want.’
‘What do you want?’
‘The blood of the Wartooth and all his seed. All of it. Down to the last fucking drop.’
Lilla felt his grip on the seax tighten. Her husband cried out. There was a short, sharp sting as the knife began to cut into her neck.
She blinked and suddenly blood was gushing down her chest over her breasts, soaking her shift. There was a strange gurgling noise in her ear, a sucking sound, a clatter and something heavy slumped against her back, almost pulling her down to the floor. Then a thud.
How painless death is, after all, she thought, feeling nothing.
Everything was slow as if moving underwater. Her husband was lurching to his feet, pulling her tight to his blood-slicked chest. Her vision was a blur of shadows. She turned, wondering why the draugr-man had let her go, but where he’d been stood a woman instead, trembling like a sail in a squall, her eyes mad and staring, a streak of white in her hair.
That was when Lilla knew she must still be dreaming. She looked down and saw that other face, the pale face, shining up at her like a fallen moon, and jutting from his neck was the bloody haft of Gerutha’s work-knife.
CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
Sigurd’s reflection in the mirror stretched, threaded his fingers behind his head and leaned back against the wall.
Saldas could feel his eyes roaming over her body while she combed out the final tresses of hair. She put down her comb, drew her dark mane over one shoulder and turned towards him.
He was regarding her with the same thirsty expression she had often noted in his eyes since she first came to these halls. Before it had been clandestine. Now he wore it brazen as the sun.
She let her shift fall to the floor.
‘Come to bed.’
She moved towards him, lithe as a serpent. Soon as she was in reach he pulled her down and rolled her onto her back. She drew in a deep breath and purred, her breasts swelling against his chest. He slid his hand up her stomach, then cupped her soft orb of flesh. She felt her nipple tighten. He bent down, circled his tongue around it.
‘Hard as an acorn,’ he whispered.
‘Just what your father would say.’
He looked up sharply. ‘Why did you have to say that?’
She glared at him, feeling little but contempt, then shook her head. ‘Forget it. I don’t feel like this tonight.’ She rolled away.
‘You’re my queen and my wife.’ He gripped her arm. ‘You’ll do as your king demands.’
She jerked round. ‘Do you know how pathetic that sounds? Oh, I certainly would do as my king demanded if the king was any kind of man.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘How is it you still dawdle around these halls while the cripple lives?’
‘Erlan?’
‘You let him slip through your fingers. He’s made a laughing stock of you – of you and that... slave of yours.’ To say Vargalf had proved a disappointment was a towering understatement.
‘We hunted for him for days. We don’t know which way he went.’
‘There’s only o
ne way he could have gone. South, you dolt! To the Danes. Into the arms of your enemies... and his love,’ she added acidly.
‘His love?’
‘Your sister! Gods, were you blind to that as well?’
‘Bah! If he loves my sister, he’s the fool. Besides, he’ll find no friends among the Wartooth’s sons. Those he has left,’ he sniggered. ‘No. The cripple has fled for good. By sea, like as not.’
‘Evidently, you don’t know him as I do. He has gone to them, and by now he’ll have told them all that’s gone on here. Ringast will know your strength is growing. You must strike at once, without delay. That’s what a king would do. Instead, you lie here, pawing at me like a little boy.’
Sigurd scoffed, though she could see the insult had struck. ‘You heard Rorik crowing like a cockerel. Ringast will sit on his arse waiting for news from his boy-loving brother. Ha! He’ll be waiting a long time. Meanwhile they’ll stick to their oaths.’
‘You think they haven’t guessed the worst for Rorik by now?’
Sigurd considered this. ‘That’s soon fixed. We send a messenger, purporting to be from him, telling them to await his word.’
‘It’s too late, you fool! Erlan will have carried the truth to them by now.’
‘We don’t know that.’
‘You’re as blind as your father. First you let this man who... who violated my body and your honour escape justice – aye, and the man you told your earls was a traitor in the pay of the Wartooth – and now you sit back and hand the initiative to your enemies. Do you think your earls will tolerate such weakness in their king?’
‘No one can call me weak with the strength I have now. With Starkad’s ships, we have ten thousand spears. We will defeat any foe that stands against us. Starting with these sons of Autha’s line.’
‘It’s not enough to defeat them. You must slaughter every one of them. Grind their bones into the dust, soak the earth with their blood.’ She watched her fervour spark in his close-set eyes. ‘And your sister must die as well.’
‘Lilla?’
A Sacred Storm Page 45