by T S Florence
Rose’s mother, Elsbeth, started towards her, pushing her way through the distracted men, and lurched at Rose.
She fell short. Torsten had stuck out his foot, causing her to fall harmlessly into the long grass.
“Devil child,” Rose’s mother gasped, as she clawed at Rose’s legs.
“My child is no devil,” Rose snapped, as she stepped back from her mother’s grasp.
“What child? You have no child,” Elsbeth said.
The thundering of horse hooves grew louder in the still night. Men began to disperse into the darkness, putting out their torches.
“I’m pregnant,” Rose said to her mother.
“You’re having a child?” She asked, as if returning to sanity.
“Yes,” Rose said.
“Whore,” Elsbeth spat, “Sinner! Un married! No man will ever want you, you traitor, may god have mercy on your soul.”
Tears began to well in the corner of Rose’s eyes.
“May god have mercy on yours, for you’re the hateful one,” Rose said.
But her attention was turning elsewhere. The outline of men on horses began to form. They were within shouting distance, and within just a few breaths, they were on Rose’s property. The man leading the charge was immense. He sat atop his horse, huge and powerful. He rode his horse standing in his stirrups, with a sword in one hand, which was already dripping red.
“Rose,” The man bellowed, causing the men who had not yet deserted their mission to shrink back in fear.
“Ragnar,” Rose breathed a sigh of relief.
“Where are you? I cannot see” Ragnar’s voice was a blunt force to Rose’s fear, destroying it. His mere energy was a presence that brought life back to the farm.
“I’m here, Ragnar,” Rose said, though her throat was still tight with nerves, and she could not speak loudly.
He turned in her direction, leaped from his horse with the grace of a man half his size, and found her before she could steady her heart.
“Round them up,” Ragnar bellowed, before he turned to face her.
He had only arrived with six other men, all of whom were Isla’s house guard.
“What are Isla’s men doing with you?” Rose asked, knowing the banality of the question, considering the situation.
“I told them to follow me or die,” Ragnar said. “I saw that crazy woman, stirring a frenzy in the town. She was creating a mob to come and kill the heathens. Even I could see they were speaking of the viking farmers on the outskirts of Newcastle,” Ragnar said, nodding towards Elsbeth, who lay in the grass, sobbing.
“Meet Elsbeth, my mother,” Rose said.
“You’re serious?” Ragnar’s voice was coarse with disbelief.
“I believe my father’s death and my disappearance sent her mad. Now she thinks me a traitor, and wants me dead,” Rose said.
“I would never allow it,” Ragnar replied.
“Thank you, Ragnar,” Rose said.
“For what?” Ragnar asked.
“You have saved my life for a third time, now,” Rose said.
“Third?” Ragnar asked.
“First, on Fyrkat’s shores. Second, when you killed that poor man Dag, and third, right now,” Rose said, quietly.
“You can thank me when you’ve calmed down,” Ragnar said, eyeing her stomach.
“What do you mean? Rose asked.
“You’re coming to live in the city with me, again,” Ragnar said.
“Why can’t you stay here?” Rose asked, gesturing to the farm.
“It’s not safe,” Ragnar said.
“Then I should live my life in fear?” Rose asked.
“You’re coming with me,” Ragnar said.
It was in that moment that Rose thought back to Fyrkat. She thought of Elder Ragnar, of the kind people of the small village, people who were not devoted to Jesus, the god of the English. The religion was not how she remembered it, nor the people who worshipped him.
12
Ragnar
Ragnar could not sleep, unlike Rose, who fell asleep the second he lay her head down on the pillow. He had ordered several men to stay on the farm and make sure that no animals were stolen, or the farm house ransacked.
Rose still slept as Ragnar towelled himself dry after a long soak in the bath. He stood in the morning light, watching her belly rise and fall with each breath. A small bump was taking form in her stomach. He had to marry her now. He needed to protect her. Rose was not Isla. She could not marry a Viking without people turning against her. She was too unusual for these people. Her English accent, tainted by her years spent in Fyrkat, left her speaking not like a viking, but not like an English woman either.
He would claim her. Show the world she was his, whether she wanted it or not.
Rose
Rose woke to an empty room. Ragnar was awake most mornings before her, so this was nothing unusual. She looked in the corner of the room, where her two large sacks of gold sat. There was enough there for a lifetime ten times over. She was rich. Yet it felt meaningless. What did gold matter if her life, and her child’s life, was in danger? Money could buy protection, but only until that protection was outbid. Except for Ragnar. But Rose did not want Ragnar to be her protection. She did not want him serving a purpose in her life. She did not want the constant threat of danger to be an ever-present stressor on his life, on their child’s life.
She knew what she needed to do.
Ragnar
“Hurry, priest,” Ragnar said to the old man, as he fussed with the rope that held his robes together. “You priests worry so much about your looks, when you cannot lay with women anyway, I do not understand it,” Ragnar said.
“We priests are an earthly extension of our Lord. We represent our Lord with the self-respect that our position demands” the priest replied.
“That means playing with your rope?” Ragnar laughed at the implication of his question.
“The Lord does not take kindly to sexual innuendos,” the priest said, his cheeks rosy with embarrassment.
Eventually, Ragnar became impatient and dragged the priest from his home. “Go and get your church ready, priest,” Ragnar started a quick pace back to his roman palace.
But what he found when he arrived back in his home was the last thing he expected. “Uh, Ragnar, I’m sorry old friend,” Jack said, as he scratched the back of his head.
“What’s are you doing you traitorous English turd?” Ragnar grabbed Jack by the scruff of his shirt, pulling him close to his face.
“I’m helping protect my sister,” Jack pushed against Ragnar, to afford himself some degree of space.
“Protect her from what?” Ragnar growled.
“More like, from who,” Jack said.
“I took care of that,” Ragnar snapped.
“You know as well as I do that the problem will never be solved,” Jack stepped back, as Ragnar loosened his grip.
“Where are you taking her?” Ragnar asked.
“To your home,” Jack said.
“This is my home,” Ragnar growled, yet more softly than before, for the pain of rejection was beginning to overcome his anger.
He looked at the sacks that were already loaded into the horse’s cart. He recognised them from last night. All of Rose’s gold. There was enough to fund a small army for a lifetime, he thought.
“And what of her livestock?” Ragnar asked.
“It is taken care of,” Jack said.
“Tell me,” Ragnar stepped forwards.
“I have bought it from her. I had a substantial savings from my work as a smith over the years. If she ever decides to come back, it will be hers to take,” Jack said.
“Traitorous bastard,” Ragnar said.
“You’ve said that one already,” Jack said.
“It’s true,” Ragnar said.
“Why don’t you come with us? I know Rose would like it,” Jack said.
“She doesn’t want me, she never has. She took her freedom as soon as it was in
front of her, and she cut me loose instantly. She can have my home, and I’ll have hers,” Ragnar strode to his horse, which was already saddled - a part of his plan to take Rose into a secret part of the woods after their marriage. What a fool, he thought.
“Ragnar,” Rose called, running out of the front gates.
“What,” Ragnar called, rounding his horse.
“Jack told you?” She asked.
“I should have left you in Fyrkat the second time, it would have saved us both this trouble,” Ragnar did not wait for a reply. He grabbed the reigns of his horse and kicked hard, with no end destination in his mind.
[TIME STAMP HERE]
Rose
Her heart felt more numb than her blue fingertips, as she clung to the rope that held the main sail in its place. She did not feel pain, or hope, or fear. She did not feel. Ragnar had proven to him that he did not care for her. He did not love her like she loved him. It was about control, and when he could sense that she would not bend to his will, he left.
Not even the silhouette of Fyrkat brought joy to Rose’s heart. She prayed that Elder Ragnar was still there. If he was not, this would all have been for nothing, for she would have nobody to turn too.
Isla had begged her to stay. Rose asked how she had found out so quickly, the princess has ears in every corner of her kingdom, she’d said. A tiny smile curled at the edges of Rose’s lips as she thought of Isla. The only small consolation was having Brenna and Torsten on board with her. It was a small comfort, in an otherwise uncomfortable situation, and Rose had come to realise that comfort was a pleasure of the mind, and not the heart.
“He will come for you,” Brenna took Rose’s cold hand and held it between her own, which were warm despite the frigid winds that blew off Fyrkat’s shores.
“Your hands are warm,” Rose said, not taking her eyes off Fyrkat’s shores.
“Torsten has been keeping them warm… Are you sure that this is what you want? Coming back here?” Brenna asked.
“I am. I want to raise the child without a fear for its life,” Rose said.
“Ragnar could have-” Brenna began, but Rose cut her off.
“Ragnar should not bear the responsibility of not only my own life, but also a child, in a land where people want to kill both,” Rose said.
“He wanted that responsibility,” Brenna said.
“My child will be raised here, in Fyrkat, as I was.” Rose felt a kick in her stomach at that comment, as if her unborn child was understanding the conversation.
The wooden boat’s creaking quieted to a whisper in the wind, as the waves slowly lulled to a dull rock. They had reached Fyrkat’s sheltered bay.
Rose had not yet seen Ragnar. Usually the whole town gathered at the sight of newcomers. Torsten helped Brenna climb off the boat onto the small jetty that jutted out from Fyrkat’s stony shore. Small waves rocked the boat gently against the jetty, making the step off a precarious one. Once Brenna was safely on the jetty, Torsten held out his hand for Rose. Torsten’s hand was warm, and brought Rose’s attention to the icy weather.
“It’s cold,” Rose said, as she took Torsten’s hand.
“My hand?” Torsten asked, confused.
“Your hand is warm. I meant the weather,” Rose laughed.
“Ah. Yes, not like England. She’s a warm, fertile country, at least for half of the year” Torsten said.
“And dangerous,” Rose muttered to herself.
Rose thought back to her mother. Many of the men that had come to the farm that night were killed, despite Rose’s protests. Egbert was one of those men. One of the few people that were saved was Elsbeth. Despite Rose’s kindness after the whole event, she was still blinded by her own piety and madness. She was not the same woman that Rose had left all those years ago. Yes, she was religious, but she was not hateful. Something had died in her during the years Rose had been gone. Maybe it was the death of her father, maybe it was her disappearance, maybe it was both. Maybe it was just life that had made her like that.
“Where is Earl Ragnar?” Rose asked the closest child on the wharf.
“Probably drunk, in the great hall like usual,” the child said, laughing.
“Drunk? Earl Ragnar never got drunk?” Covered her mouth, shocked at the information.
“He is these days,” another child quipped.
Rose noticed that the men eyed each other warily, as if they were embarrassed at what the children were saying.
“Where is Earl Ragnar?” Rose asked one man.
“In the great hall,” he said softly.
Rose did not wait for further information. She trudged through the muddy streets until she reached the great hall. The sound of drunk men singing good songs badly made its way through the open door. The smell of ale and unwashed bodies meat hit Rose as she entered the hall.
Some men were asleep, face down on their tables, some were singing badly, with women sitting in their laps, and a few men stood in a distant corner, talking seriously. Ragnar sat in the large, high-backed chair, his head resting sideways on his shoulder, as he slept.
Rose turned around, walked out into the street, where she found a bucket that was catching water runoff from a nearby shelter, and carried it back inside. This time, men turned to watch as she stormed towards Ragnar.
“Isn’t that his slave girl, the one that Young Ragnar left with?” whispers started to take the place of badly sung songs, and the serious men in the corner turned and frowned as she stood on the raised platform that was said to denote superiority. Ragnar’s belly, bigger than it was when she had last seen him, rose and fell with his breath.
“Ragnar,” Rose said loudly.
He did not rouse.
“Ragnar,” Rose repeated, more loudly.
Again, he did not move.
Rose leaned forwards, and turned the bucket upside down, the icy water splashing down his face and onto his round belly. A rage-filled scream erupted from Elder Ragnar as he reached for his sword.
“Who’s dying?” He screamed, as he stood to his feet and swayed on the spot.
“I suppose that would be me,” Rose said.
“Hilly?” Ragnar croaked, his voice hoarse from dehydration and sleep.
“Well, if you’re going to kill me then get on with it,” Rose clipped.
Ragnar slowly slid his sword back into its sheath. “What are you doing here?” He wiped the water from his face.
“I decided to come back,” Rose said.
“You’re pregnant,” his eyes widened as he looked down at her growing belly.
“So are you, by the looks,” Rose quipped.
hush fell around the hall, as men waited to see what punishment Earl Ragnar’s slave girl would receive for such an insult. He looked down, and put his hand on his stomach, as if considering its size. “Twins, I think,” He said mildly.
Rose could not help but laugh. Quietly, at first, but then Ragnar began to laugh, too. Soon, they were both laughing uncontrollably. She rushed forwards as she laughed, falling against his immense frame, hugging him tight.
“You’re back, Hilly,” he said.
Relieved murmurs began to fill the hall, as men sighed with relief that there was not going to be any punishment for the newly arrived golden haired pregnant girl.
“I’m back, and you’re going to be a grandfather,” Rose stepped back.
“You are having Ragnar’s child?” He gasped.
“I am. You need to sober up,” Rose said.
“I knew it,” Ragnar balled his hand into a fist, as if experiencing some kind of victory.
A horn sounded from outside. The sound of a war horn. Jack had been on the second boat, following Rose’s. “We’ve been followed,” he said.
The men who had been standing in the corner of the great hall in a serious discussion only moments ago drew knives from their belts and advanced towards Elder Ragnar.
13
The day after Rose left Newcastle
Ragnar
“I
need ships,” Ragnar was again standing in front of Ivar, asking for one of the most precious commodities known to man. Fighting ships.