Romantic Legends

by Kathryn Le Veque

  “Land straight ahead,” shouted out the jarl, and the men roared and rowed faster in anticipation of making it to the shore. The large, square, red and white striped sail fluttered in the breeze as they prepared to lower it. The elongated wooden prow with the carved head of a dragon led the way to what could be their final destination in this lifetime. The boat glided over the water in a slick, fast motion, able to sail through fjords and over shallow inlets because of the way the boat was constructed.

  The longboats finally came to a rest on the shores of Northumbria. The tide was low but still they were able to sail right up to the jetty of land. In eager anticipation, the men jumped from the boats into knee-high water as the boat came to a stop.

  Kadlin heard the cries of warriors in her head, sounding so unlike the battle cry they shouted forth right now. The air held the scent of defeat, but no one but her felt the doom and despair that awaited them on this foreign land. “Please, don’t go ashore,” she cried out to the jarl. “Listen to me – it’s not safe.”

  “Have the gods told you we shouldn’t?” asked the jarl, and it was all she could do to keep from lying. But she couldn’t pretend to have made a connection with their deities, or she might be struck down dead for her deception. She just shook her head sadly.

  “It looks safe to me,” growled Skuti, arming himself with a spear and his sword. “We can’t let the spakona keep us from our treasure.”

  Kadlin didn’t like being referred to as a spakona, even if it was the name for a seer. Still, she held her tongue.

  “Let’s go!” he shouted excitedly, raising his round wooden shield high above his head, getting a roar of response from the rest of the raiders.

  “Bring back all you can and don’t hesitate to kill anyone in your way,” shouted the jarl, jumping from the boat and holding his sword high in the air, urging his men to follow him.

  Kadlin looked up the hill to see what she guessed was a Christian monastery. She’d heard stories of these from the men of the village who’d relayed the facts of the massacre at the Lindisfarne Monastery years ago by other Viking warriors. She’d heard about the amount of gold and silver, and also all the innocent monks who were killed in the process. She wasn’t sure where they’d landed, but hoped this wasn’t the same place.

  The monastery was a wooden fortress that had a huge ornate cross fastened atop the building and a large bell tower overlooking the sea. The bell clanged in warning from the high tower, announcing their arrival. It only seemed to roil the Vikings more. They shouted and ran up the hill with shields and weapons in hand. Several men grabbed the long, heavy battering ram and others took the climbing ladders and followed.

  Kadlin jumped to her feet and grabbed Brandr’s hand to stop him from going. She looked down to the runes again, to assure herself it wasn’t her own fears clouding her judgment. It wasn’t. The message of the runes was clear. There would be many deaths today and a surprise of some sort. They weren’t safe. She had to try one last time to warn him. “Don’t go, Brandr. Something isn’t as it seems. I feel as if none of us are safe. Something very horrible is about to happen.”

  “Brandr, come,” shouted his father, and the boy looked up and nodded. His hand went to his battle axe at his side and he picked up the large wooden shield – one of his only means of protection. The men in her village were not wealthy or they would have had helms and shirts made of chain mail. Not many of them, except for the jarl and his close relatives, even had swords. They used spears instead. The same spears they used along with bows and arrows for hunting. They didn’t have many bows and arrows, and looking around, Kadlin realized they had left them behind for the women to use to gather food.

  “You stay here in the boat and wait for us, Kadlin.” Brandr removed his seax, knife, from his weapon belt and slipped it into her hand. “Protect yourself if anyone comes for you, but I promise I will be looking after you as well.”

  “Don’t make promises you might not be able to keep,” she told him, frustrated that they’d asked for her guidance yet ignored anything she had to say. They were all too anxious to pillage the monastery and bring back the wealth their village so desperately needed to survive.

  “I will keep my promise,” he assured her, reaching out and touching the flower tied into her braid. It was wilted and she couldn’t help thinking it was a bad omen. “This flower is proof of my word I’ve given you. We will be together soon and we will marry.” He ran his fingers over her cheek in one last endearing gesture and turned and headed off with the rest of the Vikings to battle.

  “Don’t forget me,” she called after him, but he was already gone.

  Kadlin hurried back and collected her runes, pushing them back into the pouch at her waist. She was scared and didn’t like this dreadful feeling at all. She’d been raised to be strong like her parents, even if she wasn’t a warrior.

  The wind picked up and a strong gust unraveled the end of her braid. The flower Brandr had put there blew away on the breeze, landing on the shore just beyond the water off the bow of the ship.

  “Nei!” she cried out, her hand grasping for it, but only closing on air. She saw the flower tumbling over and over in the breeze, and just watched as their promise of love got further and further away.

  “I need to get it back.” Focused on naught more than the Forget-me-not, she raised a leg over the side of the longboat and slipped down into the water. Holding up the wet ends of her skirt, she hurried to shore. She bent down to pick up the flower just as it blew further away from her and she had to run halfway up the hill before she was actually able to catch it.

  She picked it up and brushed it off, putting it back into her braid. She could hear the sound of the Vikings shouting as they attacked the monastery, and also the bell in the tower still clanging loudly, sounding an alarm that could be heard across the land and far out to sea.

  She turned to go back to the longboat but stopped dead in her tracks when she heard a new sound – the rumbling of hoofbeats upon the well-trodden path leading into the woods. None of the Norsemen had horses with them and she sincerely doubted the holy monks would have any either. Horses were expensive and these monks were said to have taken the vow of poverty with their pious ways of living.

  Her head snapped upward and she gasped as a small army of armored men on horseback burst forth from behind the cover of the trees. They were donned in metal-plated chest pieces or chain mail, and wore helms upon their heads for protection as well. They shouted and rode furiously up the hill with long swords raised in the air. The Vikings were scaling the walls of the monastery using their wooden ladders now and also swinging the battering ram against the closed and locked gate.

  “Nei!” she cried out, knowing the Norse warriors’ furs and sealskins instead of armor would be of little protection. They had their wooden shields to use as a barrier, but it was still no match to the soldiers on horseback with protective armor and long swords.

  The vision flashed through her head again, and she saw the ground run red with Viking blood, trailing to the sea where the water turned red as well. She closed her eyes, willing the vision to leave her. But hearing the screams of the men and the sound of clashing swords, her fear worsened.

  Her eyes popped open and she stood frozen to the spot as she watched the Vikings go down one after another, never even reaching the inner bailey of the monastery. Then she saw a mounted warrior looking in her direction, and it took all her strength and courage to reach for the seax that Brandr had given her to protect herself.

  “Odin, Thor, and Freyja, if you can really hear me, then save me and my beloved from death at this time.” She gripped the knife tightly and raised the weapon in the air, awaiting her doomed fate.

  Brandr fought like a bear against the mounted warriors, using all the skills he’d been taught. The Vikings were now at a disadvantage, outnumbered by the soldiers that appeared, coming to the monks’ rescue. He managed to take down several of the attackers, but these men were on horseback, and the
Vikings were only on foot. They had the advantage from so high up, not to mention the protection of armor.

  “King Eardwulf sends his greetings,” snarled a soldier. “Where is your leader?”

  Brandr’s eyes darted over to his father, though he didn’t say a word. Too late. The man noticed and headed in Gunnar’s direction.

  Shouts went out from the other Vikings as they lunged forward, plunging their axes and swords into the attackers’ armor, but doing little damage. Bodies fell to the ground and the sound of metal hitting flesh and the cracks of the splintering wood of their shields echoed in his ears. It was obvious now that they should have listened to Kadlin.

  The field around him became slippery with blood and the dead bodies from both sides, but mostly the men of his village. He looked up to see his father being attacked by three men at once. He raised his sword and shield and ran toward him with a shout that echoed through the darkening sky. But he never made it to his father. The sound of a female scream from the beach in the opposite direction had him stopping in his tracks.

  He quickly scanned the shore and saw Kadlin – outside the longboat. Then to his horror, a soldier swiped at her with his sword and she fell to the ground in a heap at his feet.

  “Nei!” he cried out, running fast over the hard ground, making his way to his beloved. He fought mercilessly, throwing down his shield and using both his sword and axe simultaneously to take the lives of two men before he even got to the man who’d hurt Kadlin.

  “Brandr, nei.” Kadlin looked up from the ground with haunting eyes and all Brandr could see was the blood covering her entire body.

  “I’m coming, Kadlin. Please, don’t die.” He flung his axe through the air, managing to take down the soldier who had hurt Kadlin. But then he was unarmed of his sword and had to dive for his shield to defend himself. He knew the attacker was already upon him and he wouldn’t be able to pick up his shield in time.

  Then his father stepped in between them and killed the man, hence saving Brandr’s life. Before he could even thank his father, a barrage of arrows shot through the air and embedded into the jarl’s chest. The man’s eyes bugged out and blood dripped from his mouth. He reached out toward Brandr, but fell dead to the ground at Brandr’s feet.

  Brandr stood frozen as he watched his father die, cursing the fact they didn’t have the protective armor of King Eardwulf’s men. It was all he could do to look back at Kadlin as well. He had to help her. He took one step forward, but was yanked back by his uncle.

  “Get to the boat, now.” The man dragged him toward the longboat, but he tried to pull away. He had to get back to Kadlin.

  “I won’t leave Kadlin,” he told Skuti.

  “Your father is dead and you are jarl now, you fool,” his uncle reminded him. “I’m not going to let all our blood be spilled here today. You need to get back to Skathwaite and lead the people.” He shouted for the rest of the men, and the Vikings retreated to the longboats. Brandr didn’t think he’d ever see a Viking retreat. This was an unfortunate, horrific event.

  His uncle gripped him tightly, and when he fought once again, he received a blow to the head with the hilt of the man’s sword. It was so hard it made his eyes spin. He was grabbed on the other side by another of the Vikings, and found himself being dragged back to the ship.

  He looked over his shoulder to see his father lying there with a half dozen arrows in his chest, his mouth and eyes opened wide. Then, further down the hill, was Kadlin covered in blood, reaching out her hand and crying out for him. The flower was still in her hair reminding him of his promise. Brandr knew he had to do something to help her, or die trying.

  “Nei!” He pulled away from the men, standing his ground. “Kadlin is injured. I’ll not leave her behind.”

  “She’s worthless,” said his uncle. “This is all her fault. She was supposed to talk to the gods and help protect us. Leave her be.”

  “She warned us not to step onto the shore, but no one would listen.” Brandr wished now he had heeded Kadlin’s warning and tried to change his father’s mind. If so, his father would still be alive right now. No one had listened to her. He, out of everyone, should have known she was telling the truth about the vision she’d had. But he’d been so excited to go on his first raid, that he’d only wanted Kadlin to see him as a mighty warrior. So he didn’t listen. Now he knew his pride had only gotten in the way.

  He was about to go back for Kadlin when an arrow whizzed through the air and embedded into his leg. He grimaced, and bent over to remove it, when another arrow embedded into his shoulder and then one more into his back.

  “Where’s your shield, you fool?” called out his uncle. “Never mind, let’s go!”

  “Nei!” he said once more. “I gave my promise to protect Kadlin and that is what I need to do.”

  “The spakona is dead,” he ground out. “So now you’re released of your promise.”

  “She can’t be dead,” he protested, looking back, but not able to see her as his vision was now blurred.

  “I saw her attacker’s killing blow,” said Skuti.

  “Nei! I killed her attacker with my battle axe and she might still be alive.”

  “Not without her head, she won’t. I assure you, she’s dead. Now come!” Skuti yanked him harder and pulled him back to the longboat. Brandr went numb from his uncle’s words and he didn’t want to believe that Kadlin had been beheaded. He stumbled over the ground trying to decide what to do. With searing pain coursing through his body and three arrows embedded into his flesh, he could barely walk let alone think straight, he was losing so much blood. He went with his uncle as he didn’t have the strength to object.

  Once in the boat, he was shoved onto the bench and his uncle stuck an oar in his hand and told him to row. He gave the men the word to disembark, and Skuti himself unfurled the single square sail atop the high mast. Pain burned through Brandr and his head spun, blood pooling out around him on the wooden seat, and arrows still embedded in his flesh. His vision blurred and he felt as if he were going to retch.

  The ships set out to sea and it was all he could do to look back to the shore, trying to see Kadlin’s dead body. He hadn’t liked leaving her body behind, but he’d had no choice. He couldn’t see her anymore since there were so many dead bodies and so much blood spilled on the shores. Nightfall had closed in and, with it, came a blanket of sadness to have lost so many of their clan that day.

  Why hadn’t he convinced his father to heed her warning and turn around and not continue on this raid? Why hadn’t he listened? He’d made a promise to her and now it, as well as his heart, was broken.

  He’d lost his father today, most of their men, and now his love. He was so wounded he wasn’t sure he was even going to be alive by the time they got back to Skathwaite. And what bothered him most was the haunting look in Kadlin’s eyes from the ground as his uncle had pulled him away. He’d made the girl a promise and now he hadn’t kept it. He hadn’t been able to protect her nor bring her back alive with him to marry. Now because of him, she had perished, his word was broken, and he was disgraced. There was nothing worse in a Viking’s life. “Take me!” he cried out loud to the gods in anger, looking up to the sky with his eyes afire and his jaw clenched. He no longer cared about raids or fate. All he wanted right now was to die.

  Kadlin watched through tear-filled eyes as Brandr and the Viking boats left the shores of Northumbria without her. All around her were the dead, and she was soon to join the numbers. The ground was covered with blood that matched her own blood-soaked clothes. Pain shot through her from the stab she’d taken to the side from the enemy’s sword. Thankfully, her instincts had served her right and she’d swerved at the last minute or the blade would have gone right through her heart. She’d fallen to the ground and pretended to be dead. That was probably what saved her life. The attacker hadn’t bothered to stab her again since he thought his first blow had killed her. She was only too glad that Brandr’s axe had killed him in return.

/>   But Brandr knew she wasn’t dead! He’d looked right at her. And he’d promised to protect her. If only he had. If only she hadn’t been so foolish as to leave the longboat, things might be different right now.

  She dragged her body along the ground, managing to make her way to where she’d seen the jarl hit the ground. His eyes were open wide. A half dozen arrows were embedded in his chest. She reached out to feel his neck for a pulse anyway. One of her skills, besides having visions, was that she was a proficient healer. In the past, she’d tended to the wounded and provided ministrations to the warriors every time they came back from a raid. She had been very successful in saving many of their lives, including that of her own father. However, today she would not be so lucky.

  She looked at the jarl and just shook her head. He had no pulse and had already left this world to go to Valhalla.

  “He’s dead,” she said aloud, gritting her teeth, holding back her own pain. She reached out and used her hand to close the man’s eyes. “Rest in peace, Jarl Gunnar. I guess it was your day to die.”

  “Kadlin,” came a small voice and she turned her head and cocked an ear upward to try to decipher from where the voice came. She wasn’t sure if it were the gods talking to her, or just her own voice in her head. The soldiers had left now and she saw monks from the monastery hurrying down the hill to look for survivors. The sky overhead was dark and the wind picked up, blowing with it the stench of death all around her. She was about to think she’d imagined the voice when she heard it once again. “Kadlin.”

  She pushed up off the ground and used all her might to stumble across the bloodied field. A trail of her own blood dripped on the ground behind her. Then she saw him. Her father lay on the ground, missing several fingers off his sword hand. She ran to him and threw herself down at his feet.