by A. E. Rayne
Eadmund, having just swallowed the last of his meal, dropped his head onto the table. ‘Nooo! Perhaps I should do what Eydis suggested and kill myself before then...’
‘What?’ Thorgils frowned, staring at Eydis in horror. ‘You said he should do that?’
Eydis, who was barely halfway through her own meal, looked up crossly, her mouth full. She shook her head fiercely.
‘No, but she may as well have,’ Eadmund mumbled, his head still on the table. ‘It’s either Jael or death apparently.’
‘Hmmm, hard choice, my friend, very hard,’ Thorgils said in mock seriousness. ‘But then, as heir to the king, you will have to get used to making such hard decisions one day.’
Eadmund put his hands over his ears, closed his eyes and focused on that first cup of ale tumbling coolly down his eager throat, dulling his senses, giving him reason to smile.
‘Evaine,’ he heard Thorgils murmur. ‘How pleasant to see you. We were just leaving, weren’t we, Eydis?’
If he could have, Eadmund would have banged his head repeatedly on the table then; he couldn’t face her now. Sighing in defeat, he looked up, just in time to see Thorgils dragging his annoyed sister away, her mouth still full.
Thorgils smiled sarcastically over his shoulder at Eadmund, well out of Evaine’s sight, or so he thought until she turned and gave him a look to stop his heart. Turning around hastily, he hurried Eydis across the square and up the steps of the hall.
Having seen off Thorgils, Evaine turned her gaze onto Eadmund. She smiled sweetly down at him, as innocently as she could manage but it was not a smile that reached much past her small, pink lips. She fingered her long hair behind her ears and pulled the collar of her white, fur cloak closer to her neck. Her unhappiness and anger mingled together in a nervous fashion as she waited for Eadmund to speak, but when he finally looked up at her, he didn’t say a thing.
Evaine rushed to fill the empty silence. ‘I heard about your father’s plans, to marry you to that woman, well, if you can call her a woman...’ She did her very best to look suitably upset, masking her barely contained anger beneath lowered eyelashes.
Eadmund sighed, wondering how to navigate the sensitive waters ahead and not sure that he possessed enough clarity to do so. ‘Ahhh yes, Eirik and his grand plan. He has finally grown tired of waiting for grandsons, it seems. I suppose I can’t blame him. It has been seven years.’
Reluctantly getting up from the table, he took Evaine’s hand and started to walk off; where to, he didn’t know, nor care.
‘But why her? Surely he would rather marry you to someone more suitable? Someone you loved? Could love?’ Evaine said almost shyly, glancing up at Eadmund, who was looking anywhere but at her. Despite her confident display, she was still not certain how Eadmund honestly felt about her. He had never revealed his feelings, not once since they had become lovers a year ago.
‘Well, no,’ Eadmund smiled awkwardly. ‘No, it’s not that simple to a king. Kings make alliances to gain land and riches, trade agreements, support in war. I don’t think many kings make marriages for love.’
‘Well, I don’t suppose that marriage to me offers any of those things,’ Evaine said simply. ‘I can’t blame your father for preferring a princess to the daughter of a slave. But what about you? Do you want to marry her?’ She stopped, turning her rapidly blinking eyes up towards Eadmund, hopefully, her small, mittened hand firm on his arm.
Eadmund sighed, overcome with the need to be alone; he was still reeling from his father’s news himself. Old, long-buried emotions were stirring, and he felt aggravated and uncomfortable. He cared for Evaine, he supposed, and he wanted to sympathise with her distress, but at the same time, he wished she would go away so that he could find some ale.
‘No, no, of course I don’t want to marry her,’ he muttered distractedly. ‘But there are just some things you have to do as the son of a king. And I understand that. Eirik’s mind will not be changed. He has chosen this, made his alliance with Lothar, so I have to make the best of it. We will make the best of it.’ The words tumbled out of his mouth freely, but he wasn’t sure if he was saying them solely for her benefit, or whether he actually believed them himself. He gave Evaine a small smile of reassurance. It was all he could manage, and he hoped it was enough to settle her, for now.
Evaine stared up at him quietly for a moment, the frosty clouds of her breath drifting around her face, then she smiled, sweetly and generously. ‘We will make the best of it, then.’
Relief coursed through Eadmund’s tense limbs. ‘Yes, we will,’ he sighed. ‘And marriage to her does not mean an end to us. I doubt she will want to cuddle with me every night!’ he laughed, cringing at the thought.
‘No,’ Evaine joined in. ‘I hope not!’
‘So, there will be plenty of opportunities for us to be together,’ Eadmund insisted. ‘I promise.’ He regretted that instantly, of course, but Evaine was being so understanding. Besides, he thought pragmatically, why should he put her shapely, eager body to one side? She made a good bed-companion, and when he felt lonely, it was comforting to feel the warmth of her wrapped around him. He didn’t imagine his new wife would be so eager to please, so why not keep Evaine happy? For now, at least.
Evaine’s face shone with pleasure. She had wanted more, of course; to be a wife, rather than just a lover, but knowing that Eadmund still wanted her gave her hope and somewhere to begin. Now she would just need to find a solution for dealing with that bitch, but that shouldn’t be too difficult, and certainly nothing harder than what she had dealt with before.
She reached up and threw her arms around Eadmund’s neck, pressing her body into his. He was hers. He would always be hers; no one would take him from her. Standing on her toes, she reached up to kiss him, softly at first and then deeply, her tongue curling around his, temptingly, teasing him.
Eadmund, who told himself that he was far too tired and weary to be seduced by Evaine, quickly found himself forgetting all but those beautifully demanding lips of hers. His desperate need for solitude and ale dissipated as she wound him slowly and passionately around her little finger. Before he knew it, he found himself being led off to his cottage for whatever she had in mind.
4
Aleksander hadn’t come back.
Jael knew he must be trying to find a way to cope with the situation and she couldn’t blame him for that – she would have done the same if she could have – but his absence had left a hole inside her that kept growing. She desperately hoped he would return before she left for Oss. It was only a matter of days until their departure now. How could it be happening so quickly?
It was mid-morning, and Jael had just returned Tig back to the stables after another long ride. They had been riding for hours each day, hoping to stumble across Aleksander at one of his favourite hunting grounds, but without any luck; he was not looking to be found, that much was obvious. She sighed as she wandered slowly back towards their cottage, miserable at the thought of spending another night without him.
‘Jael! Come, come!’ Gisila gestured impatiently from the doorway of the tailor’s house.
Jael rolled her eyes. She knew what this would be about – the damn wedding dress. She had allowed herself to be measured a few days ago and now it was no doubt time to be pinned and squeezed into the stupid thing. Her head and shoulders sagged in resignation as she trudged through the mud towards her mother; her boots sodden, and her mood much the same.
Jael blinked in shock as she entered the modest little house. Arnna, the tailor, was renowned for her rare skill with a needle but the years and the intricate nature of her work had almost robbed her of her eyesight, so she required more light than most to see by. Lamps and candles dripped fishy smelling wax over every surface, creating an intense glow brighter than anything Jael was used to.
Arnna had sewn many outfits for Jael since she was a girl. Most had been beautifully crafted tunics and cloaks, for ceremony and battle, but it had been 17 years since Jael had worn
an actual dress. She remembered the day, as a 10-year-old, when, to her mother’s horror, she had built a pyre with Aleksander and thrown every one of her dresses onto it. They had danced around the high flames, banishing ‘Princess Jael’ into the past, invoking Furia, Goddess of War, to bless the birth of ‘Jael the Warrior’. Dressed in her dead brother’s tunic and trousers, Jael had walked away, hand in hand with Aleksander as the flames died down, leaving behind all that had gone before in a pile of dying ash. And now, here she was, about to be reluctantly reunited with her long-abandoned femininity and all of its restrictions.
‘Hello, Arnna,’ she called half-heartedly to the stooped claw of a woman shuffling towards her, carrying what would have to be the cursed dress. Surprisingly, it was black, and that brought a wry smile to Jael’s sullen face. She was pleased to see that Arnna still possessed a sense of humour.
‘I thought that would make you happy,’ Arnna cackled slyly, handing the dress to Gisila, who didn’t share in the joke.
‘Black?’ Gisila looked horrified as she held up the long, silken garment, her nostrils flaring with distaste. There had not been time for much needlework, but Arnna had managed to embroider a series of gold, knotted patterns around the neck and sleeves, with a pair of fighting wolves on either side of the neckline. It looked elegant, but Gisila was not impressed. ‘Black for a wedding? Lothar will be furious!’
‘Why furious?’ Jael snorted. ‘What does he care?’
Gisila gave the dress to Jael with a look of disdain; she was not impressed by Arnna’s sense of humour, nor Jael’s delight in it. ‘Try it on to see if it fits you at least. I don’t believe there is time to come up with something else, is there?’ She directed this hopefully towards Arnna, who shook her almost hairless head. ‘No, so this will have to do, black or not.’
Jael grinned for the first time in days as she unpinned her long, damp cloak. She couldn’t think of anything she would rather do less than this, but at least there was pleasure to be found in irritating her mother, and hopefully, Lothar too. Gisila prided herself on her highborn ways, and despite Jael being far more highborn, she looked down on her daughter’s choice to be a warrior, to dress as men did, to fight like a man.
Jael undid her belt, carefully wrapping it around her weapons and placed it on the table, then squeezed out of her blue, woollen tunic. The chill of the room raised the hairs on her arms immediately. Shivering in just her linen undertunic and trousers, she reached out to grab the dress.
‘You’ll need to take it all off to fit into this,’ Gisila grumbled.
Jael bent down, sighing, and removed her filthy boots and trousers.
‘I am not taking my undertunic off, Mother,’ she insisted firmly. ‘I’ll freeze on that fucking island if I can’t wear something underneath that dress!’
Gisila allowed herself a small smirk, amused that her otherwise impenetrable daughter had such a weakness when it came to the cold. ‘I’m sure Arnna can make you a shift to wear under it, but for now, that baggy old thing will not fit, so take it off!’
For once, Jael did as she was told; what was the point in arguing? She stood there, naked in the harsh brightness of the room, glowing white, apart from her dark hair which fell damply over her broad shoulders, and a tiny pair of bronze axes, which hung between her small breasts. Her exposed flesh was a mass of bruises, cuts and scars, scattered across lean, white muscle. Gisila gasped. She had not seen her daughter naked since she was a girl, but this was no longer the body of a girl, nor was it the body of a woman; this was the body of a warrior.
Arnna wasn’t bothered; she had watched Jael collect her scars and battle wounds over the years. She took the dress from the stunned Gisila and helped Jael navigate its perfectly measured seams. It was surprisingly similar to her tunic, though slightly more snug-fitting. It flared out from her waist to sit near the ground in a feminine way. Jael supposed that it was an attractive enough dress, and it appeared to fit her well, but she felt imprisoned by its clinging fabric. Arnna creaked and fussed around her, smoothing, adjusting, and turning her reluctant model with a deep, rasping hum as Jael wriggled about, unable to stand still, desperate to return to the warmth and comfort of her crumpled pile of clothes.
‘It is good, I think,’ Arnna declared, at last, straightening her bony frame with a loud crack. ‘I shall make a matching cloak of course, and with a few brooches and arm rings... perfect.’ She smiled at Jael, showing off an almost-toothless set of gums.
‘It may fit,’ Gisila muttered, ‘but it is no dress for a wedding. It would be better worn to a funeral.’
‘Well, it sounds perfect then!’ Jael laughed as she hurried to yank the dress up and over her head.
Gisila looked unimpressed and made to leave, wrapping her thick, grey cloak around her shoulders. ‘I suggest you hide that dress away, so Lothar doesn’t catch a glimpse of it before we leave. He’s likely to rip it up and make you wear a sheet!’ Grumbling away to herself, she left quickly, without looking back.
‘Your mother is scared,’ Arnna whispered, laying the dress across the large table that took up most of her main room.
‘Scared of what?’ Jael wondered, wrapping her leather belt around her waist.
‘Of what will happen when you are gone. Of Lothar. Of what he will do.’
‘Well, if everyone behaves themselves he won’t do anything, will he? Besides, Axl will be here to take care of her.’ That didn’t sound convincing, though, even to her own ears.
Arnna murmured to herself. ‘Axl... hmmm... no, I don’t think he will be able to save your mother from what Lothar has in mind, do you?’
Jael was thrown by that. She had not realised Lothar’s interest in Gisila was widely known, nor that serious.
‘It is no easy thing to refuse a king, as you have found out yourself,’ Arnna said as she took Jael’s hands between her old, gnarled ones. ‘Your mother can only do what is possible, and the rest...’ she waved one hand away into the bright glow of the room. ‘Well, that is for the gods to decide.’
Picking up Jael’s cloak, she pushed it towards her. ‘Now begone, so that I may think on your new cloak. There is not much left in these old eyes today, especially when I must be working with black wool. I shall be blind by the time you leave for Oss, that is certain!’ She shooed Jael out through the door, shutting it quickly behind her.
Jael couldn’t help but smile as she stood on the porch, pinning her cloak onto her shoulder. She felt almost at ease again, in spite of the dress and her mother’s mood, but then frowned, wondering if her husband would insist upon her wearing dresses, or, more to the point, her father-in-law. That would be a fight, but she was determined to cling to her trousers with every bit of strength she possessed.
‘Jael!’ Axl ambled towards her, looking cheerful. He was a tall, boy-man, with a thick brush of dark brown hair on his head, none on his youthful face, and the look of an unstable foal about him. He skittered towards her with a rush, his cheeks pink with morning chill. ‘Where have you been?’
Jael, who thought the question typically stupid of him, motioned exaggeratedly with her hand towards Arnna’s door.
‘Oh.’
‘What do you want?’ she asked, suddenly irritable as she headed off towards her cottage again. She didn’t know why she was cross with Axl, but it always seemed to be the way, he being her annoying little brother who was always doing and saying the wrong thing.
‘Edela’s looking for you,’ he replied evenly, ignoring her sullen face.
‘Is she?’ Edela lived in the southern corner of town, so Jael changed course, Axl trotting alongside her. ‘Did she want to see you too?’ she wondered, looking at him sideways.
‘No.’
‘So, why are you following me then?’
‘I’m not following you. I’m keeping you company.’
‘Company? Why do I need your company?’ she wondered, sidestepping a large goose, who honked angrily after her.
‘Well, I thought with Aleksander mi
ssing...’
‘He is not missing!’ Jael snapped. ‘He’s gone off hunting, that’s all. That’s not missing. He’s coming back.’ She stopped and glared at her brother, whose face was suddenly serious. ‘He will come back in time. I know him.’
‘Alright, alright.’ Axl bravely reached out and put a hand on her arm.
Jael stilled uncomfortably beneath it but took a deep breath and released some tension. ‘He’ll come back,’ she sighed, staring intensely at her brother, and Axl had no choice but to believe her; nobody knew Aleksander like Jael.
She noticed a few people gawking in their direction. It broke her out of her trance, and, grabbing Axl’s arm, they started walking again. ‘So, what does Edela want with me?’ she asked, slightly calmer now.
‘I don’t know, she wouldn’t say, but she didn’t look herself,’ he said with concern. ‘She seemed strange, as though she had just woken up. Messy and ill, with her hair all...’ he waved his hands wildly about his head. ‘She told me to bring you urgently.’
Edela creaked open her door before Jael had even walked through the gate. Axl was right, she thought, their grandmother looked awful and out of sorts.
Edela hurried Jael inside and closed the door quickly behind her. The cottage felt even dimmer than normal. There were only scant light beams straining down the smoke hole today, and although a lamp was burning, Jael found herself squinting around the room.
‘Sit down. Please.’ Edela wasn’t wasting any time.
‘What’s happened?’ Jael wondered, finding her familiar stool waiting by the fire.
‘I’ve had a dream, many dreams these last few nights,’ Edela murmured distractedly, coming to sit in front of her granddaughter. ‘Long, dark, endlessly confusing dreams.’ She stopped and stared blankly into the flames of her small fire, desperately seeking the clarity which had so far eluded her. ‘When I talked to you about Eadmund, when I saw you together, it always gave me a feeling of light and happiness.’ She stopped, considering things. ‘I still see that, but there is... something new now.’
