“I will make him talk, Your Majesty,” Kolgrim said, and put his hand on the head of the ax he wore in his belt. “A man filled with as much hatred as Edmund will seek revenge if he is allowed to go free.”
Sigrid didn’t hesitate.
“Do as you think best, Jarl Kolgrim.”
Two of the three suitors came in their finest clothes with white breeches and ample silver around their necks and wrists. Thorleif Skanske, a white-bearded aristocrat in a red tunic and an embroidered cloak, was the same age as her father. His land bordered hers, so he probably saw an opportunity to enlarge his lands.
He had brought a younger relative with him, an ugly slob with buckteeth and the eyes of a simpleton, who bowed deeply to Sigrid as she sat on her throne. The third was a foreigner, a handsome warrior with an auburn beard and a steady eye, who stood up straight and nodded politely.
“What is your business here?” Sigrid inquired.
She didn’t want them as husbands or as guests on the estate, and she really wasn’t planning to show them more than the customarily required courtesy.
Thorleif was the first to speak.
“Fair Sigrid, most powerful and delightful leader of the Geats, we come in hope that you will find pleasure in one of us and select him as your husband. We all three own wealth and land, and having you as a wife would be a tremendous joy.”
Sigrid leaned back on her throne, her head aching.
“Do you want me to marry all three of you, or are you planning to take turns being my husband?”
Ylva and the kinswomen standing behind her laughed, and Thorleif smiled nervously.
“No, no. We hope you’ll find one of us to your liking. When we heard that your husband, the venerable Erik the Victorious, had departed this life, we hurried over to offer our services and protection to the mother of Olaf Skötkonung.”
If they’d had any sense, they would have shown her more respect, but the poor slobs hadn’t thought things through. Sigrid cleared her throat and drank a little water.
“It’s funny that you should see me as so defenseless that I need your protection. Were you not greeted by the warriors of my hird?”
Sigrid gave the little fool with the buckteeth an irritated look and then sighed deeply. It was an insult to drag in such unsuitable partners as if she were a fool.
The warrior with the auburn beard stepped forward, his helmet under his arm.
“It is clear to everyone that you need neither husband nor kinfolk and can manage things on your own. It was not right or proper of me, a lowborn man, to come with a proposal when your brother’s bones had only just burned. I ask your forgiveness.”
He, at least, seemed to have some sense in his head, and beneath his beard he was handsome, too.
“What is your name, oh perspicacious one?” she asked, leaning forward.
“Kåre Talya,” he replied with a smile that made the other two glare at him. “I come from Tuna and am my father’s second son. The crop failures hit us hard, so I’ve set out in the world to seek my fortune.”
Sigrid nodded thoughtfully. Kåre seemed to be a good fellow, and that was the kind of man she could use.
She drummed her fingers on the throne’s armrest as Edmund’s words ate away at her. What if he’d killed her messenger, Ingemar, so that Sweyn never even received her message? Hope flickered in her bosom for a breath before it faded and died. It would be inconceivable for her jarl to have betrayed her so abominably after all these years, but men were fickle creatures controlled by their penises and their hunger for honor, wealth, and power. She had grown altogether too comfortable with Edmund and given him too much leeway. Now she was paying for that, in every possible way. She was going to need to learn from this.
But Sweyn still yearned for her daughter. He and Toste had agreed that he would marry Estrid long before she sent her messenger to him. Why would he do something like that? Distracted, Sigrid glanced up at the three suitors, who were still waiting below her throne.
“There’s not going to be any wedding. I’m not going to marry anyone who’s not a king and isn’t richer than I am. You, Kåre, may serve in my hird if Jarl Kolgrim approves of you.”
She waved them away and then leaned back in her throne. If Sweyn amassed an army to retake his kingdom, he would need all the men he could get. Surely he must have promised Toste whatever he had to, to get the Geats on his side. The whole transaction had been about men, not about her daughter. If Ingemar never even made it to Sweyn with her message, Sweyn would have no idea she had changed her mind after so many years.
Sigrid stood up, reinvigorated. There was still hope for them. She could still fulfill the will of the gods.
Estrid knelt by the babbling brook and drank from the refreshing water, but even that didn’t restore her strength. Her body ached, and she was so paralyzingly tired, she didn’t see how she could keep going. And things were even worse with Vidya, who had collapsed with exhaustion in the grass.
“Let me look,” Estrid said.
Vidya moaned in pain when Estrid touched her arm. The beast’s bite had penetrated deep into her flesh, which was swollen and now stank of putrid decay.
“I’m going to die,” Vidya said gloomily.
Estrid shook her head.
“The white God saved us from the valley, and he isn’t going to let you die here.”
She looked around at the towering trees surrounding them.
They were in the middle of the Iron-Wood, without food or fire. She had been blessed, but her body still ached with fatigue, and she didn’t know what to do. Estrid took a deep breath and started gathering twigs and leaves.
“They could see us,” Vidya whispered worriedly. They’d been walking for two days and hadn’t heard any dogs or yells from pursuers. By now, Estrid had had enough of trying to sleep on the cold ground with the spear in her hand.
They needed warmth and had to do something about their hunger.
“You can’t die now that you’re finally free,” Estrid said.
Hope was what had given her the strength to go into the light.
“Am I really free?” Vidya stared in amazement with her mouth open.
“When we reach my mother, I’ll pay you in silver for your services,” Estrid said, swallowing her dismal worry.
Sigrid was going to disown her when she found out Estrid had sworn herself to the cross worshippers. Estrid could not have brought greater shame upon the family, and it wasn’t even certain that they would let her live. She took a deep breath and struck the stones together.
“You have your freedom, and you won’t want for anything. You’ll have a place to live and food.”
It took only a few strikes before the sparks from the stones lit the tinder and the dry leaves. She contented herself, watching the flames grow, before standing up and studying the creek, spear in hand.
The creek bed was almost fifteen paces wide and deeper than Estrid would have guessed. Still, it didn’t take her long to see three big fish and several small ones swimming around in a little pool. It would be easy enough to spear them and toss them onto the shore, one by one.
“Thank you,” she said sullenly to the babbling waters, and then started scraping the lichen off the rocks.
A willow tree dangled its slender branches into the water a little way upstream. It wasn’t easy to get the bark off using the tip of the long spear, but in the end she managed to gather a few handfuls and return to the fire, which was blazing warmly, tended by Vidya.
They broiled the fish on long sticks along with couch grass roots the slave had dug up. The cooking aromas made Estrid’s stomach feel hollow and drove her almost out of her mind with hunger.
“Chew these,” she said, passing the medicinal plants to Vidya, who reluctantly stuffed them into her mouth and made a face.
They would surely help with the wound fever.
Estrid reached for one of the fish. It was still half raw but so blessedly good that she moaned with pleasure. She greedi
ly gobbled up the fish and the roots until her belly bulged inside her dress and her renewed strength made the world seem brighter.
Sól smiled in the sky, and the woods were generous to those traveling within. There was always hope.
“Are you hoping for a son or a daughter?” she asked.
Vidya shook her head, taken by surprise, as if she’d hardly considered it.
“All I want is to be able to hold the baby in my arms,” she said, gently rubbing her belly.
She looked at Estrid and smiled.
“If I live that long, they’ll be born at the same time.”
Estrid wiped her mouth on the back of her hand.
“Who?”
“My baby and the one you’re carrying,” Vidya said softly, and brushed a lock of hair out of her face.
Estrid made a face. She wasn’t carrying any baby. Anyone could see that. The wound fever must have dimmed Vidya’s mind so she was muddling things.
Vidya’s skinny face had gained a little color from the food, and the medicinal herbs might help her a bit so she would regain her senses.
The only man she’d ever lain with was Agnatyr, and anyone at all could see that there was no way she could bear his child since she’d only had sex the one time, aside from her dream about Balder.
The hair stood up on the back of Estrid’s neck as she remembered how she’d lain with the white god.
“Have your breasts felt tender at all? Has your belly gotten bigger?” Vidya asked.
Estrid put her hand to her belly and felt the bump with horror-filled delight. Could it be true? Was she carrying the god’s son?
A secretive smile crossed Vidya’s lips.
“You were already pregnant when they brought you. I saw it right away.”
“He came to me in a dream.” Estrid’s mouth was so dry that she could hardly speak. “In the morning my shift was all bloody.”
Vidya leaned in to her and whispered, “Were you a virgin?”
Estrid nodded.
“A holy virgin!”
Vidya made a cross in front of her chest.
“He came to you the same way he came to Mary. You’re going to bear his son.”
Estrid shook her head as if she couldn’t believe this was true.
“No wonder he saved you from limbo. You’re the chosen one.”
Estrid put her hand to her belly, and now she could feel the child’s energy pulsing through her hand. She was with child. Then her smile faded as it sank in. She was carrying the white god’s child.
“What was that?” Vidya stiffened and pointed into the woods.
There was a faint rustling sound and a shadow behind the brush. Something out there was watching them.
“An animal,” Estrid responded, but Vidya warily scanned the woods, her eyes frightened.
Estrid stiffened when she heard barking in the distance, followed by a howl. They got up quickly, and now they heard muffled footsteps and dogs barking.
“Run!” she yelled.
Estrid ran down to the creek and waded upstream. The water was ice-cold around her feet as she struggled against the strong current.
She caught a glimpse of Vidya behind her. She slipped and fell down in the water but managed to get up again.
“Halt!” a man’s voice shouted behind them.
Estrid ran as fast as she could through the creek, but the water made running cumbersome. The shouting voices and barking dogs were closing in.
Just then the ground beneath her feet fell away, and the treacherous creek pulled her down into its depths, where she was tossed around and around without getting any air. She desperately struggled toward the surface but couldn’t get a grip on the slippery rocks.
Then a hand grabbed her arm and pulled her out of the water.
“Quiet!”
Estrid took a raspy breath and filled her lungs with air. A bearded man wearing clothes made of coarse, simple fabric was staring at her.
“Are you completely out of your mind?” the stranger yelled. Estrid frantically struggled to get free as he dragged her back to the camp.
Two teens in the same kind of clothing with axes in their belts stood by Vidya, who was huddled by the fire, afraid for her life. These weren’t Anund’s men.
Estrid’s clothes were plastered to her body. She was soaking wet and freezing. These men were surely outlaws, and that was just as bad. The bearded one put his hands on his hips and glared at them.
“What kind of idiots are you, setting up camp in outlaw territory next to the watering hole the wolves and bears use? Are you looking to die?”
Estrid slowly exhaled and made her way over to the fire, shivering.
A big yellow dog slunk forward and sniffed her while wagging its tail uncertainly.
“We don’t know these parts,” she said, shivering.
“Obviously,” the bearded man said, and then his face softened.
“Mother was right,” one of the teenagers said in amazement.
“Of course she was right, boy,” the bearded man said.
He looked at Estrid and then nodded to Vidya.
“You can’t stay here. That one’s sick, and you will be, too, if you don’t dry off.” He lit a torch in the fire. “Come on. It’s a good way to the farm.”
Estrid gulped and stammered, “We’re g-g-going in the dark?”
“In these parts, there’s more to fear during the daytime than there is at night,” one of the teenagers explained.
“Come on. Mother Anna is waiting,” the bearded man said, and then shook his head again.
The white God must have sent the three farmers. There was no other explanation for how they could have found them. Estrid looked at Vidya, who nodded, and together they followed the strangers into the woods.
A gentle dawn light heralded Sól’s arrival as they reached the farm and walked between tilled fields, outlined with fences. The longhouse wasn’t big, but it was tidy, and the cattle grazing on the grass were fat.
Two yellow dogs, the same size as the one that accompanied them, came running out, barking eagerly, and the farmers called out cheerfully that they were home.
An elderly woman stepped out the door and wrapped her cloak around her body before hurrying toward them. Her face was tan and wrinkled, and her hair had started to turn gray, but her eyes twinkled with joy.
“Praise the Lord that they found you.”
“How could you know we were there?” Estrid asked, trembling with fatigue in her wet clothes.
The ground swayed under her feet, and she could hardly stand upright.
“Helge, Brodde, carry these poor things inside. Can’t you see they’ve reached their limit?”
Strong arms picked Estrid up and carried her over the threshold into a tidy hall that smelled invitingly of food.
“First we need to get you out of those wet clothes.”
Soon Estrid sat by the fire in a dry dress, enjoying a bowl of porridge that warmed her belly.
“I feared those outlaws had taken you. They’ve taken quite a few in these parts. And it’s truly a miracle that you managed to avoid wolves and bears,” said the elderly woman, whom the bearded man had called Mother Anna.
Like a songbird she hopped around, gathering medicinal herbs that she put on Vidya’s wound.
There wasn’t anything unkind about her or the men sitting on the benches devouring their food. Estrid couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt safe and warm.
It was paradise on earth.
Mother Anna wound a bandage around Vidya’s arm and sat down beside Estrid on the bench.
“You asked how I knew,” she said, patting Estrid’s knee. “My son was the one who guided you, and he asked me to rescue you.”
Estrid was so tired, she could hardly hold herself upright.
“Who is he?” she asked, even though she already sensed the answer.
Mother Anna looked at her with the deepest sorrow.
“His name was Vidar. He was killed by the Scyl
fings.”
When Sweyn and his men first arrived in Hedeby, the town’s streets had been filled with merchants and foreigners haggling, slaves and women selling themselves, tradesmen advertising their wares, butchers, emissaries from distant lands, and all manner of riffraff. But fearing the approaching war, the once-bustling merchants had deserted the harbor. Now only warriors roamed the streets.
“The residents of Hedeby are complaining about the men’s drunkenness. The threat of war has laid waste to their home,” Jarl Starke said.
Sweyn somberly watched a drunken Norwegian twine his arm around an elderly woman who had seen her best days.
“They should be glad it’s not the Saxons rampaging around in the streets,” he said, turning toward the harbor where his ships were moored several deep along the piers and wharves.
All manner of rubbish floated on the water. Branches, human waste, and a dead newborn bobbed around on the gentle swells.
Sweyn looked away in disgust and hurried over to Gunnvald’s ship, which was just pulling up to the wharf. It did not bode well that he returned alone from the Obotrites after having delivered Thyre to become Borislav’s bride.
“Well?” Sweyn asked.
The warrior wiped his hands on his breeches and then somberly shook his head.
“Thyre escaped,” he said.
Sweyn inhaled slowly. Damn that despicable minx.
“How could you let that happen?”
Gunnvald flung up his hands in a gesture of frustration and hopelessness.
“I did my best, my king, but Thyre complained that King Borislav was ugly, and the night before the wedding, she escaped with one of her servants. No one knows where they sailed. The king was furious and wants me to inform you that he’s not planning to help you do anything.”
Sweyn clenched his fist. He could have killed Gunnvald.
“There’s nowhere for her to go,” Åke said grimly. “Dead or not, she robbed us of our most promising ally. Did you bring back the bride gift?”
“Thyre took it!” Gunnvald admitted, his head dropping like an ashamed dog.
Two chests full of silver, a fortune fit for a king. That scoundrel Thyre hadn’t only stolen from him; this was the second time she’d betrayed her own country. Sweyn was so furious, his blood boiled and he could scarcely breathe. This time she had gone too far.
Estrid (The Valhalla Series Book 2) Page 35