by T S Florence
Isla
It did not take long for Isla to realize the horrible mistake that had been made with Prince Tomlin. He was hard on his people, and not much kinder to Isla. He was not averse to handling her rough, physically, nor did he care to use any kind words. Fury had boiled up inside her on the first night, when he went up to a small family camping on the side of the main road, cooking a small pheasant. Tomlin pierced it with his sword, taking it away to eat for himself.
It took all of Isla’s fortitude not to go and speak out against Tomlin, but she suspected his temper would be one not to tempt. Instead, she gathered some cheese and bread from her own carriage, wrapped it into a linen bundle, and took it to the small group of travellers. A small girl was crying as she approached, clearly upset at the prospect of going to sleep with an empty stomach. The mother and father looked up at her with nervous eyes, her clothing giving her high social standing away.
“I’m so sorry for what that young man just did. I know that this is not the same as fresh cooked meat, but I have brought you some cheese and bread,” Isla was too embarrassed to tell the family that Tomlin was her husband, instead she simply held out the bundle of food, in offer to the young family. Wide eyed, the woman put her hand out to take the food, thanking her profusely and asking for her name, so she knew to thank god for this woman in their nightly prayers.
That night, Tomlin got drunk in their tent, as he did every night. He sat back, spilling red wine over expensive animal furs that he had imported from other countries. It was when he got drunk that truly scared Isla, for he became nastier, scarier, crueller. Particularly without others to bear witness to his belligerent comments and actions.
“You really think you’re a real princess, don’t you, you sour little bitch” Tomlin said, his lips stained purple from wine, his breath sour.
“I don’t think of myself much at all, my prince. I find it to be a vain trait” Isla sat near Tomlin with a pot of water, trying her best to scrub the dirt from her skin after the day’s riding.
“Like hell you don’t think about yourself. I see the way you look at me with distaste. When you see the way people fear me in my kingdom you will grow to love me and my power,” he poured the rest of the wine down his throat, with half spilling out onto his clothing and furs.
Perspiration began to break out on Isla’s forehead, the anxiety of not knowing the extent of Tomlin’s temper causing her to choose every word carefully. “You must be a strong man to have your people fear you,” she said, turning to empty the rest of the water out of the pot and onto the grass by the main entrance of the tent.
“Do you think I’m stupid, I can hear the sarcasm in your voice” Isla heard Tomlin walking towards her, but she still did not see his hand coming before it was too late. The surprise of the slap made her fall backwards onto her backside, causing her to yelp out in pain and shock. A guard entered the tent to inspect on the noise, causing Tomlin to step backwards, barking at the guard not to interrupt, however it appeared to calm his anger as he turned to lie down on his furs. He was snoring before the welts outlining his hand had begun to take form on her red cheek.
The next morning, Tomlin made a point of not mentioning the outburst from the night before. Instead, he laughed a fake jolly laugh and made light talk of the hunting he would be doing once they arrived back at the castle.
“You see, men like me do not get tired from all this travel. If anything, it makes us more ready to go out and hunt some wild boar. There’s a thrill in making a kill that you women would not understand” he took long swigs of his ale in between large bites of cold meat.
The only good part of this travel, as far as Isla could see, was the gorgeous countryside. The well-worn tracks from horses and carts and people gave a beautiful contrast to the rich fields full of wheat, lavender, flowers and grass. Yet, this was little consolation for Isla’s company.
Isla looked at his face, her initial impression of his handsomeness now a distant memory. Her heart beat a little harder in her chest, thinking of how the rest of her life will now be, married to this ugly man. His insecurities became more obvious the more time she spent listening to him talk. She would wager that he was not as good a swordsman as he said he was, in fact, her friend Jack Ashborn would likely be a better swordsman. She could see his insecurity of not being liked in the way he treated others. He treated others badly and took a false sense of pride in it, for fear of people not liking him if he were a good person. He was weak, and it was obvious to everyone but himself.
The final day of the journey was hard. Isla’s muscles were seizing up from the days of stress, and her mental state was fatigued from Tomlin. A dull throb in her head was a constant reminder of the slap he had felt necessary to give her the night before. She thought about her father, and what he would think of the way she was now being treated. She felt a sob rising in her chest, never had she felt more homesick in her life, and it was all her own fault, allowing her father to marry her to Prince Tomlin.
A commotion up ahead took Isla’s mind off her own troubles and brought her back to reality. A calf injured its hind leg, being cut from a stray piece of metal that was sticking out of a cart. Isla dismounted her horse to inspect the injury. Luckily, Tomlin was already ahead and could not order the babe to be needlessly slaughtered ahead of its time.
“I think we’ll have to kill it here, my lady” the man said, looking from the calf to Isla.
“Please, call me Isla” she said to the man, while touching the calf’s leg. I believe I can patch this wound up and take away some of the pain. I have some herbs in my bag that allow relief from such wounds.
“My lad-Isla that is too much, I couldn’t possibly ask you to do such a thing for me” the man said.
“Not at all, just give me a moment” she said.
“Isla-my lady- if the Prince sees-” the man began to say.
“Prince Tomlin is ahead, talking about hunting, he won’t care to look back. The more you distract me the longer this will take” Isla said, trying to give an air of authority that she neither felt nor wanted.
“Yes my lady- Isla- thank you” the man said.
Isla understood that the cost of losing a young calf could cause a family to go hungry in the winter months, as she had learned from speaking with the children of farmers when playing on the streets with Jack. She already felt the anxieties of her own situation fading as she patched up the calf’s hind leg. Shortly after, Isla came to the crest of a hill, to see the castle in the distance.
3
2 years later - present day
Ivar
“Magnus, tie us off” Ivar shouted from the bow of the boat, as they pulled into Newcastle’s docks. Magnus, already on the wharf, heaved on a thick rope, bringing the boat snug against the wharf.
“You took your damn time getting here” Magnus shouted from the wharf.
Ivar leaped from the boat to the wharf. It probably felt a lot bloody longer being out on that cold damn ocean.
“We’re here now. Do you have any news for us” Ivar surveyed the boat from the wharf.
“Aye, I do. Henry the Duke of Newcastle passed away in his sleep. His brother Alfred is now the Duke of Newcastle.” Magnus said, while scratching his balls nonchalantly, as if this wasn’t a huge change of power.
“This could have significant implications on our deal with the Englishmen” Ivar said, more to himself. And that bastard, Alfred, is less trustworthy than a Scotsman in a game of dice.
“We must call for a meeting with the Duke to see where we stand” Ivar turned to head to the inn, where he would get a room and have a hot bath drawn by one of the pretty maids.
“Aye and we would be celebrating afterwards,” called Ragnar the Bold, from the boat.
“And what bloody need to we have to celebrate” Ivar turned back to the boat.
“It’s your twenty second year on this earth, Ivar Bjornson, that is reason enough” Ragnar called from the boat.
Gods crying, two years a
lready since Bjorn’s death. “First things first we have the meeting. Then we celebrate.” Ivar turned to head to the Inn, taking care of those around him, who was watching. Now that there was a change in power, it would not be a surprise if there were men ordered to attack any Norsemen inside the castle walls.
As Ivar expected, the Duke accepted their request for an audience. Alfred was always more predictable of the two brothers. Maybe the death of old Henry could play to my benefit.
“I would like to keep our current engagement ongoing” Alfred said, waving his hand to the maid standing by the wall, signalling for his cup to be refilled, before continuing, “and there is a task I would like to see carried out” Alfred said, his voice giving away the significance of what he was about to request.
“All work requires payment” Ivar left his wine untouched, not liking his negotiations to be clouded by drink. Drink makes men weak, and weak men die. The words of Bjorn echoed in his mind.
“I want my Niece, Princess Isla, severed from her marriage with King Tomlin, and brought back to me,” Alfred took a long swig from his wine, pausing for emphasis, “I care about her deeply, and would have her marry a young merchant closer by. Of course, he doesn’t have title, but he has immense wealth.”
“Princess Isla is Henry’s daughter, the blond one?” Ivar focused on keeping his expression from changing at this piece of information.
“Yes, his sole child” Alfred said, a smirk taking over his face.
Ivar could see through his words, translated by his smile. You give away too much. You are a weak man and you will die. “This will require us to take King Tomlin’s life. I expect the payment to reflect the taking of a King’s life. When did his father pass?” Ivar asked slowly.
Alfred laughed at Ivar’s question “Oh I suspect Tomlin poisoned his father, who was a useless old bastard anyway. Twenty pounds of gold and twenty pounds of silver. Enough for you and all of your barbarians to live out your days with more wealth than you could possibly spend,” he said.
More than I could possibly spend? You underestimate my ambition. “One hundred pounds of gold and one hundred pounds of silver and we will leave tomorrow morning” Ivar said, standing.
“You expect me to accept without negotiating?” Alfred said, reproachfully.
“As far as I can see, you have no other people that are willing to kill a king. We are your only choice” Ivar said, fighting the urge to laugh at such a pathetic man in a high place.
“You damned savages have no honor” Alfred spat, throwing his cup at his servant’s head, causing her to cry out in pain.
Ivar stopped himself from back handing the Duke, for there were bigger causes that needed to be accomplished than the saving of one girl. Ivar stepped towards Alfred, “forgive me for not wanting to take lessons on honor from a man who wants a fellow countryman, a king no less, killed. Tell me we have a deal and I will take my leave” Ivar’s fists curled, his body threatening, his eyes the eyes of a warlord. A warlord who killed a great white bear to become a man. A warlord who watched his father die on the battlefield, a warlord who buried his father at 20 years old. A warlord who led his army to victories over the most notorious warriors in all the lands.
Alfred took a step backwards, breaking his gaze and looking down “We have a deal. I expect my niece back by winter. I will send a party out to ensure you have captured here before we meet for the exchange.”
Isla
“Valorie, I’m a Princess, you cannot do such things” Isla said, laughter in her heart, as she wiped the sea water that was splashed onto her face.
“Oh, please. You’re a princess in name only. You dislike being a princess more than my mother liked being married to my bastard father” Valorie laughed. Isla’s only good thing –her only happiness– to come from the move to Chester was her handmaid Valorie, and now closest friend, who took quick liking to Isla.
They walked along the water’s edge, the cold water lapping at their feet. The smell of the salty spray gave Isla a cleansing feeling. The long walks down the beach allowed her to escape from the routine life of being a princess and also Tomlin and his abuse. It didn’t take long for him to settle into a routine of mistreating Isla. Luckily, he was not interested in taking her in bed. He seemed to have a problem with taking any girl he had a relationship with. Isla would lie awake at night, listening to him sleeping with a different girl for every day of the week. But she wasn’t upset by this. The only thing that pained her was the knowledge that these poor girls would be raising his children, and having to find ways to pay for these children.
“You’re 20 years old Isla, do you think you’ll ever have child?” Valorie, turned to face Isla, with a serious expression.
Isla laughed at the thought “No. I will not be responsible for bearing a child under Tomlin, god forbid it was like him.” Isla had become used to the idea that she would never find love. She no longer wanted nor expected love. She was to spend her days with a heart only for her friends and the people.
A group of small boys playing with fishing nets ran up to the two Valorie and Isla.
“You’re the princess, aint ya?” One of the boys asked.
“I am, and you look like a little prince” Isla poked at the boy’s shoulder gently.
“My mom and dad both love ya and they say you’re the best thing that’s happened in this stinkin’ castle in years, but why aint you a Queen?” Another boy asked.
Isla felt flattered that there were people who could distinguish between herself and her horrible husband. “It was up to King Tomlin to choose my title after his father passed, and he chose for me to remain princess in title, which I am perfectly happy with” Isla said back, thinking to the final days of Tomlin’s father’s death. He was a kind man, and before he fell ill, the pair of them would often go on long walks with Isla in the castle gardens, talking castle politics, love, particularly the love he felt for his dead wife, and about the people. How such a kind man could create such a horrible person.
The boys started running around the Isla and Valorie, playing games, teasing one another. On the edge of the beach, Valorie saw a dozen horsemen gallop onto the sand. As they drew closer, Isla recognised the colors of Tomlin’s house guard. The boys grew excited as the horses came close.
“It’s your King, Princess Isla” one of the boys said, running ahead of them. The boy tripped and fell on the sand in the path of the men on the horses. Isla watched the approaching horse, grey with black spots, not moving from it’s line to her. Tomlin’s horse. The boy got to his knees, seeing the horse fast approaching, and tried to move. The horse’s hooves connected with the boy’s chest, stamping him down into the sand, crushing him under its weight.
The boy’s friend screamed running to his friend’s lifeless body. “That stupid little bastard didn’t move out of my way.” Tomlin circled the two women, unaffected by the dead boy.
“You bastard, you just needlessly killed an innocent child” Isla screamed, trying to make her way to the boy’s body, without success. Tomlin’s guards used their horses to make a blockade, stopping the two women from moving. “Don’t you fucking lecture me you sour bitch,” Tomlin dismounted his horse, grabbing Isla by the back of her hair. Valorie stood motionless.
“I will no longer fear you, you’re a disgusting man, and you don’t deserve to be alive, let alone a king” Isla spat in his face. Tomlin wiped the spit off with his hand and rubbed it in Isla’s face, before dragging her into the water. Salt water filled Isla’s mouth and went down her throat, causing her to gag, while Tomlin’s fat hands, from the years of drinking and eating, held her under the waves.
Isla clawed at his face, feeling his flesh under her nails, clawing down with all her might. As her world started to go dark, she was suddenly breathing air again. She felt Tomlin throw her body onto the sand, and a hard kick in the stomach caused her to vomit the seawater back up.
“One of you take the bitch and her handmaid back to the castle. We can’t have them gettin
g out with these Vikings coming” Tomlin said calmly, rubbing the fresh cuts on his cheek, before continuing, “and Fredrik, kill the other two boys and get rid of the bodies, I don’t need their families screaming bloody murder at me in the streets.”
* * *
It was a week since Tomlin had taken Isla from the beach and the famous Ivar the Cruel had come to raid with a band of warriors so fierce that men were banned from telling the stories of what they witnessed out in the woods. Part of Isla believed that it would take a warrior as cruel as Ivar to match King Tomlin. Maybe this was the Lord punishing Tomlin for his deeds. Tomlin was yet to go and meet the Vikings.
Isla had heard the rumours of Ivar. He was a child killer, like Tomlin. He took unwilling women. He slaughtered innocent people. He hunted animals not for food but for pleasure. He sacrificed his horses to his pagan gods. He was evil. There were new stories every week. Every Sunday the priests would pray for the heathens to leave the lands and never return, but so far, their prayers had not been answered.
