“I heard that Hedeby never recognized Svealand’s sovereignty,” Sweyn said.
“We pay very close attention to what’s happening up north,” Jarl Sten said, one eyebrow raised.
Sweyn chuckled, and they walked up the path together that wound its way up to the royal castle at the top of the hill. It was an old building with a leaky roof and half-rotten timber walls, but it offered a view of the Danevirke and was removed from the stench of Hedeby’s crowds.
There was a cool breeze as Sweyn climbed up onto the palisade wall to look at the countryside that spread out below him, bathed in the rosy dawn light.
The mighty Danevirke stretched as far as the eye could see across the green countryside to the west. The twenty-foot-tall earthwork rampart topped with a wooden palisade wall ran from Hedeby in the east, with its access to the Baltic, almost to Hollingsted in the west, with shipping access to the North Sea. It ran from coast to coast, and for several generations it had been a shield for the Jutes and the Danes, protecting them from attack from the south. The only way into Denmark was the sole gate in the Danevirke, which was as closely guarded as Sweyn’s chests of silver.
“It’s worth all the silver and manpower,” Sweyn said.
Sweyn had assigned each raiding party a section of the Danevirke to improve and made them swear an oath to defend it. The chieftains had complained about it and only grudgingly paid. Now, terrified and grateful, they huddled behind the wall for protection.
Hedeby had two well-fortified ramparts built in half-moon crescents around the market town, which sat at the end of the narrow inlet. The water was full of sharpened poles and sunken ships, and a ship could safely enter the harbor only if it had a pilot.
“Odo’s camp is just south of here in Kropp,” Jarl Sten said, pointing to the woods on the other side of the Danevirke in Saxony. “Odo has eight thousand battle-ready men, and they say Emperor Otto is sending him reinforcements, who should be here soon.”
“When will they arrive?” Palna asked with a disapproving look.
“The advance guard came two days ago. I’m sure the rest won’t be far behind,” Sten Starke said, concerned.
So Odo had convinced the Roman emperor Otto II to help him capture Denmark. Defending Denmark was not going to be easy, because the emperor had tens of thousands of men at his disposal.
“What condition are your warriors in, Sten?” Palna asked.
“The divisions that responded to the call are good enough for what they need to do,” Sten replied evasively.
Sweyn contemplated the jarl’s puffy, fleabite-covered, mead-swollen face.
“Is the whole wall defended?”
Jarl Sten cleared his throat.
“Yes, but the warriors are spread a little thin in places. Your men are dearly needed.”
The one hundred fifty ships and their crews that he had available weren’t going to do much good against the legions from Rome.
Damn it. Not answering the call was treason. Every man in the kingdom who was fit to bear arms needed to defend the wall to protect his family and the future.
Sweyn crossed his arms over his armor and glumly eyed the sun, which was causing the dew-dampened fields to glitter. This battle was lost before it started, and all he was doing was leading more men to the death that awaited him down on the battlefield.
The mighty, battle-ready warriors of his hird inspected the wall, trying to come up with a way to defeat the enemy.
“They’re going to attack the gate,” Åke said.
“Unless they’ve come up with a different strategy,” Palna said.
Sweyn pulled his hand over the two braids in his beard. If he concentrated his forces to defend the gate, the defenses would be left weak along sections of the Danevirke. The wall was almost twenty miles long, and if Odo managed to breech it, he could attack Sweyn’s men from the rear while they fought at the gate.
“We need more men.”
“Hopefully Borislav will respond to your request,” Åke said.
When Sweyn sent Thyre, his half sister, to marry Borislav, he had asked the king to send warriors to assist him in his battle against the Saxons. The Obotrite king was an old enemy of Emperor Otto’s, so it seemed likely that he would obey Sweyn’s request. Still, even that help wouldn’t go far against such a powerful enemy. Emperor Otto ruled half the world and could send ten thousand warriors at them. This didn’t look good. Sweyn put his hand on Battle-Fire and looked out over the vast forest where those Saxon swine were hiding.
A curse on the measly Otto and his armies from Rome. A curse on Odo, his hirdman. May the valkyries rip them to shreds and scatter them screaming and bleeding across the ocean.
Sweyn turned to Finnvid, who was picking his nails, seemingly calm and unconcerned.
“Send a messenger to every dim-witted chieftain in the kingdom, and force them to come to the Danevirke. Anyone who doesn’t show up and bring his men will be declared an outlaw.”
“That’s going to take some time, my king,” the scarred warrior said, looking surprised.
“I’ll give you four days, no more.”
Finnvid smiled sarcastically. “Then I guess I’d better get going,” Finnvid said slowly, before heading down the hill to the ships.
Sweyn turned to Jarl Sten, who stood with his thumbs tucked under his ornate belt.
“Send Odo a messenger with word that I’d like to negotiate.”
The messengers he’d sent hadn’t returned yet. The Saxons had surely killed them. However, Odo couldn’t refuse to negotiate directly with Sweyn.
Jarl Sten didn’t look happy, but he ultimately nodded.
Ragnvald’s cheeks flushed with anger. “We should attack Odo before his reinforcements get here, not negotiate,” he said.
“Quiet,” Palna ordered, his voice like the crack of a whip.
Ragnvald lowered his head immediately while Sweyn smiled to himself at the young man’s eagerness for battle.
“Don’t worry, you’ll be harvesting eagle fodder on the battlefield soon enough,” Sweyn said, looking out over the Danevirke. “But not yet.”
He had to hold out hope that they could survive this battle against the Saxons, Emperor Otto, and mighty Rome, even if he knew that wouldn’t be the case.
“It looks worse than it is,” Vidya said. She pulled back her arm, which Estrid had been examining, and then continued walking.
Estrid followed hesitantly behind her, through the tall trees. The wound didn’t look good, and if they didn’t take care of it, soon it would begin to fester and poison the slave.
Vidya had said it would be a two-day walk east to the first of the outlying farms. But they couldn’t stop there, because some of the people who lived there were loyal to the Anund clan. If they kept up a good pace, it would take five more days until they reached Geatland, and Vidya wasn’t going to last that long.
“You’re going to die if we don’t stop and dress your wound,” Estrid said.
Vidya already had death-shadows under her eyes, indicating that she was being poisoned by the bite.
“I’d rather die from the wound than be murdered by Agnatyr,” the slave replied matter-of-factly, and stepped over a rotten tree trunk.
She jumped when a blackbird cawed in the distance, and looked around anxiously at the dense forest, as if Anund’s people were hiding in the undergrowth. The farther they went into the Iron-Wood, the more frightened Vidya became. Estrid couldn’t bear the thought of losing her as well, but she tried not to think about it. The white god had saved Vidya. Surely he wouldn’t let her die.
She ripped off a new shoot and chewed on it to still her hunger.
“How did you come to be Ragna’s slave?” Estrid asked, looking for something to divert her thoughts from her stomach.
Vidya made a face.
“It’s been seven years since Anund’s people killed my parents. They walked into the valley and took what they wanted. My mother and father, sisters and brothers, were all killed that ni
ght, and I wish I had been, too. Instead the gods cursed me and made me become that seeress’s slave.”
They must be the ghosts Estrid had seen in the valley.
“I’ve borne three of Agnatyr’s babies. Ragna sacrificed all of them to that abomination she worships.”
So that was what Ragna was hiding. The seeress was controlled by an incredible wickedness.
“Does Loki require child sacrifices?”
Vidya shook her head so her pale locks danced around her face.
“Not Loki, Vanadís,” Vidya whispered flatly.
Estrid’s brow furrowed. Vanadís was the All-Mother, who tenderly watched over them, gave them peace and bountiful harvests, and defended them against enemies. She would never want a slave’s newborn infants sacrificed to her, nor would she aid a seeress so full of wickedness.
Estrid shivered, disgusted to realize how the seeress had twisted the old ways.
“It wasn’t for Vanadís,” Estrid said, swallowing her discomfort. “Ragna used your babies’ life force to feed her own power.”
“She overpowered the valkyries with her battle witchcraft, and she can control people’s minds,” Vidya said, and then sighed heavily. “Her power is immense. I’ve never seen her fear anyone before you.”
Estrid giggled. Her memories from the valley were distant now, the way a nightmare dissolves at daybreak, and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t picture Ragna or Agnatyr. But she could remember the seeress’s fear.
“She can’t have been very powerful if she was afraid of me.”
Vidya snuck a bashful look at her.
“You were awfully gruesome in your darkness, but I saw God in you. I saw his light shining through the demon’s evil.”
Was she talking about Katla’s and Hel’s blessing? Estrid stared sorrowfully at the ground. The radiance of the salvation the white God had bestowed filled her with hope and joy, but she still missed Katla. Her absence was like a painful wound that stung every time she thought of her. Her kinswoman hadn’t been a demon but rather her protector.
“The demon still has a hold on you.” Vidya licked her grayish-white lips, eyeing Estrid sharply. “You must renounce its power, and all false gods. God granted people free will, but you have to recognize on your own that there is only one God, and you can’t have any other besides him.”
This was a whole new world. Pained, Estrid looked at the trees towering around her like a wall of greenery that stretched on forever. Denying Hel and Katla meant admitting that her life had been a lie, filled with obsession and wickedness, but she had loved Katla more than anything else. Worshipping God would cause her mother to hate her. The Scylfings would disown her.
Still, when God embraced her, everything had changed. Estrid took a deep breath, and her chest felt full of vitality, pure and joyful. Neither disease nor darkness weighed on her anymore. Filled with hope, she burned with eagerness to spread his words of atonement, peace, and love. She couldn’t cling to the past when the future was so marvelously bright. “You are mine,” God had said, in the form of Vidar.
Estrid stopped and looked up at the sun.
“I renounce all the Æsir. From this moment forward I worship only the Christian God.”
The ground didn’t shake beneath her feet, and no god sent her any sign that she was doing the right or the wrong thing. God didn’t even embrace her.
Vidya waved her hand around in front of her chest and then put her hand on Estrid’s shoulder and smiled.
“Welcome to life,” she said simply. “From this moment on you are no longer alone.”
“I never was,” Estrid replied, and walked on, disappointed. She deserved at least a sign for renouncing everything for the Christian God.
Toste sat in Sigrid’s formal hall with the men in his inner circle, so drunk that he didn’t even notice when Sigrid entered. His hair hung uncombed, and he seemed several years older.
“It is a tough lot for a father to have to bury his son and be left alone,” he said without turning around. “All the wealth I’ve amassed means nothing now that my most valuable asset is lost.”
The men nodded without saying anything, long since weary of his drunken tirades.
Sigrid took his tankard of mead out of his hand and set it on the table.
“Self-pity doesn’t suit you, Father.”
Toste lifted his head and looked at her with his bloodshot eyes.
“My ruthless daughter wants us to move along. She thinks I’m lazy, drinking to my son’s memory.” Toste started laughing and then said, “Tell her what happened on the journey here, Kolgrim.” And the tough warrior, big as a bear, stood up.
“A young maid I met,” he said, slightly blushing, “said she’d heard about a valley in the woods where the Anund clan is hiding. She wasn’t sure where it was, but said it’s somewhere in the mountains outside Rogaland.”
“That’s good news. All credit to you for procuring this information,” she said, taking a relieved breath.
“We ride first thing tomorrow,” Toste said, standing up unsteadily. “And you should reward Kolgrim with more than honor.” He winked at Sigrid. “Kolgrim has served me long and well as a hirdman. He’s more than worthy to be promoted to jarl.”
Despite his intoxication, the old man had planned this well. Sigrid carefully scrutinized the coarse warrior her father hoped would take Edmund’s place. Light-colored scars ran beneath his black beard, and there was a healed burn on one of his hands. His arms were as big around as her thighs, but what she liked was the blank, merciless look in his eyes.
“Will you serve me faithfully?” she asked, raising her chin.
“Yes, my mistress. I have never strayed from my duty in my life,” he said without the least hesitation. “It would be a great honor to be permitted to serve you, the leader of the Scylfings. I will willingly fight and die for you.”
“You’ve made a good choice,” Sigrid said, nodding to Toste.
He chuckled, relieved.
“There’s no better man to look after my daughter.”
She saw where he was trying to go with that one, but it would still be a big relief to be done with Edmund after his sad marriage proposal.
Sigrid reached for the mead and raised her goblet with a smile.
“I welcome you to my service, Jarl Kolgrim.”
The men cheered and pounded their fists on the table as her new jarl knelt down on one knee with his hand over his heart.
“My sword is yours, unto the death.”
“Unto the death!” Toste and his men chimed in.
People slapped Kolgrim’s back as he rose again, most pleased at having been promoted to such a prominent rank.
Sigrid’s smile died away as Edmund stepped into the hall, observing the cheerful mood with uncertainty.
“Guests have arrived at the estate, Your Majesty,” Edmund announced. “They say they bring a marriage proposal.”
Toste laughed.
“Now they come running with their cocks in their hands and their mouths filled with promises.”
Sigrid sighed heavily. She’d already received her first marriage proposal at her brother’s funeral feast from a lowborn neighbor.
“Serve them food down at the farm. They’ll have to wait until I see fit to summon them,” she said, giving Edmund a sharp look. “After you see to that, pack your things and leave the estate. From this day on, Kolgrim is the jarl of my hird.”
Edmund staggered, and his cheeks went pale under his beard.
“Your Majesty! Have I not served you in every respect?”
It was hard to understand what she had ever liked about this man. Sigrid stretched, coolly regarding his pitiful question.
“You heard what I said.”
Kolgrim moved to stand behind her, ready to safeguard and fight for his new rank. The hall was completely silent as the men listened carefully to what was being said.
“What about me?” Edmund’s wife, Lia, stepped forward, anxiously eyeing her h
usband. “Is it your will that I, too, should leave the estate?”
So, although the pale-skinned maidservant bowed compliantly to every last person, there was still a little strength in her yet.
“The choice is yours,” Sigrid said with a contented smile. “You have served me well and will always have a place in my court if you do not wish to accompany your husband.”
Lia’s eyes twinkled.
“Then I will gladly stay, Your Majesty,” she replied, and withdrew with a humble bow.
“You damned bitch!” Edmund bellowed, his face beet red with rage. “I’ve done everything for you. You have no right to jilt me like this!”
“Who has no right?” Sigrid looked at him with the deepest disdain. “I am the one who decides here.”
She turned to Kolgrim.
“I banish him from my lands. Make sure he leaves immediately.”
The jarl took a step toward Edmund, who stared at the warriors he had commanded as if he couldn’t believe this was happening. They all averted their gaze because no one wanted anything to do with him anymore.
“You damned hussy!” Edmund screamed, taking a step toward Sigrid. “You’ll sit here with your legs parted, waiting for nothing!”
Kolgrim silenced him with a blow, so hard that it knocked him to the floor.
“Remove him, you two,” Kolgrim ordered, and immediately two warriors grasped their former jarl and with some schadenfreude dragged him through the open doors and out of the hall.
Sigrid put her hand on her necklace and thoughtfully ran her fingers over it. You’ll sit here with your legs parted, waiting for nothing could only mean that Edmund knew the messenger she’d sent Sweyn hadn’t reached him. That in turn meant that he had prevented Ingemar from carrying out his assignment. Her suspicions had been true all along. Edmund had betrayed her.
She turned to Kolgrim, who was calmly straightening his belt.
“Some time ago I sent Ingemar, one of my best men, with a message to Sweyn, the king of the Danes. I haven’t heard anything back from Ingemar, and now I know that Edmund was behind this betrayal.”
Estrid (The Valhalla Series Book 2) Page 34