The Northmen Series Box Set

by T S Florence

  Alfred swung first, which looked like an attempt to catch Ivar unaware, but Ivar knew, if you stood in the square, death was waiting to meet you at any moment. And just like the thousands of hours of training, simulating such moves, Ivar leaned back, watching Alfred stumble past him, having put too much weight into the swing.

  He kicked Alfred’s behind, causing him to fall over his shield and onto the ground. Ivar’s men roared with laughter at the Duke’s pathetic attempt to strike early, and subsequent fall.

  “Get up, Duke,” Ivar said.

  “Please! Please, don’t do this,” Alfred begged.

  “Ivar imprison him, don’t kill him” Isla pleaded to him, between sobs.

  Ivar, knowing his men wanted a long, drawn out, slow death, felt an attack of guilt, knowing that Isla was in such pain watching her uncle’s demise. So he made it quick. As soon as Alfred was on his feet, Ivar attacked. The shield fell from his hand on the second strike, leaving himself without protection. He put his shield arm up, something that Norse children learn from a young age to never do, as you will end up with your arm getting cut off. And that is what happened. Ivar struck down, severing Alfred’s arm at the elbow. The next strike severed his head from his shoulders.

  “Kill the rest of his men,” Ivar said, turning away.

  “I will never forgive you if you allow this,” Isla said, her voice like stone.

  Ivar turned to her. His men waiting to see what she would say before carrying out his orders.

  “Let me make them pledge to me,” Isla said.

  “For what?” Ivar asked.

  “I am now the Duchess of Newcastle, am I not, or do you intend to continue keeping me as your captive for the rest of my days?” Isla fumed, shaking free of Ivar.

  “You may do as you please, but know that I want you as my wife,” Ivar said.

  Ivar watched Isla lose her composure, her eyes widening, showing surprise, before regaining herself, “Well I would rather die than marry you after what you just did! And I will never look at you again, let alone speak to you, if you kill these unarmed men,” Isla said to him, her face red from anger.

  “How do you know they will not kill you in revenge?” Ivar asked.

  “Because they will swear on their God to be loyal to me,” Isla said.

  Ivar walked to the men. “Isla is going to ask for your fealty. If you cannot swear on your god to be loyal to her, then I will kill you. If you make your oath to hear and break that oath, my men will skin all of you alive for the actions of just one. Know this.”

  He turned to Isla. “Then ask for their fealty, princess.” Ivar said.

  16

  Isla

  All but one man swore their fealty to Isla. And, in spite of Isla’s objections, Isla watched Skald take the man’s head, under Ivar’s order. She was furious at the needless deaths. They were a day’s walk from Newcastle, and Isla intended to go and see her father’s grave, and to see if the people would accept her as their Duchess.

  “We will escort you to Newcastle,” Ivar strode alongside Isla, as she organised the formation of her men to march back to Newcastle, Ivar having taken their horses.

  “You know, now that you take the horses of my men, it is an act of war against me?” Isla asked him.

  Ivar laughed. “Yes, now we are at war, you and me. I am very scared.”

  “Well you should be scared!” She said, though she could not think of why he should be scared.

  “Those men needed to die, especially your uncle,” Ivar said, his eyes soft. Isla thought it strange, looking at him now, that just hours ago this man was a fearless killer, a man that invoked fear in an entire army, a man that commanded the respect and following of hundreds of fearless warriors.

  “That doesn’t make it right,” Isla said, looking away, not wanting to lose sight of her reason for anger due to looking into his eyes.

  “I think it would be necessary for me to sleep in the same bed, for your own safety, until we reach Newcastle,” Ivar said, looking at her seriously.

  “Over my dead body, not after today” Isla said, though the thought made her giddy and warm.

  “Do not make me keep you as a captive for one more day, because I will,” he said, looking at her angrily.

  “I dare you,” Isla said, feeling herself grow flustered with his persistence to sleep in her bed.

  After hours of arguing, Ivar relented. By the time they set up camp, Isla was learning the names of some of her men. The first man to swear allegiance was a young man, who she thought seemed to have a lot of honor.

  His name was Edward, and Isla named him the new head of her household guard. He beamed with pride, and swore he would give his life to protect her. Ivar scowled at this when he made the promise.

  “I don’t know why you need these men protecting you. I will stay and protect you,” he said, riding alongside her. That does sound nice, but no. Isla thought to herself, as they rode on.

  When setting up camp, Ivar ordered his men to set up his tent right next to Isla’s.

  “What are you doing?” Isla asked, frustrated.

  “I’m making sure I’m close by, in case anything happens to you” Ivar said.

  “You’re not going to force me to stay in your bed, this time?” Isla asked.

  “I treated you that way so your uncle would be fooled when he saw you, I have explained this already” Ivar argued.

  “I could have fooled him regardless,” Isla fumed.

  “I don’t know that for sure, and I was not willing to bet your life on it,” Ivar said.

  “And now you would keep the gold from my kingdom,” Isla said.

  “Technically, I stole it before you regained your position, so it’s mine. You can try steal it back if you so wish,” Ivar said, clearly enjoying her frustration.

  “I’m going to sleep,” Isla said, even though she hadn’t eaten since breakfast.

  Ivar followed her in, Isla’s men had not been given their arms back, it was decided that they would be re-armed upon return to Newcastle, after Ivar’s men had left.

  “Forgive me,” Ivar demanded, as they went back in the tent.

  “Never!” Isla said, though her heart screamed in protest at her.

  Ivar stormed out of the tent, not speaking to her for the rest of the night.

  Ivar

  I give her life and freedom, and this is how she repays me, Ivar thought bitterly to himself. She did not love me, she had no choice but to be close to me while she was my captive. How could a girl so beautiful as Isla choose a man like me? Disfigured from battle, scarred and mean. I am known as Ivar the Cruel, after all. I should have listened to my father’s caution. I am a fool for falling for this girl. She will go back to Newcastle and marry a handsome Englishman, and forget I exist. Damn the gods.

  The next morning, Ivar woke his men early, eager to get to Newcastle. By his scouts, word, they would be there within the next few hours. Dark clouds hung in his head as they waited for Isla to rise. After an hour, he grew impatient, walking into her tent, finding her naked, changing her clothes.

  She had not yet noticed him, and he stood there, his anger floating away. Her body was perfect, so pale, so delicate.

  “Princess,” She jumped, reaching to cover her breasts, before realising it was Ivar, and dropping her hands, comfortable at his seeing her naked. Well, that’s something.

  “Yes, Viking?” her face flushed a little.

  “We are waiting,” he said.

  “Very well, shall I walk out there now?” She asked, marching towards the door with no clothes on, before continuing, “Shall I rise my horse in the nude, in front of all your men and my men to see?” She asked, getting closer to him, as he stood at the door.

  He grabbed her by the shoulders, his mind raging at the idea of his men seeing her naked.

  “Your body is for my eyes only,” he said with a silent rage.

  A small smile played across her lips, before she turned around again, and put on a linen skirt. �
��Shall we go, then?” Isla asked.

  And so they rode, reaching Newcastle by the time the sun was in the middle of the sky.

  The people of Isla had not forgotten Isla in the years that she was gone. They immediately knew, when they saw her ride in upon a splendid horse, that Alfred had been unsuccessful, and Isla was now their Duchess.

  People streamed into the streets, despite the Vikings, and cheered and shouted her name Isla…Isla…Isla…

  She was born to lead, Isla thought to herself, as he watched the reception she received. His heart began to turn black knowing that she no longer cared nor wanted him. She had her people now, and they had her.

  They spent the night in rooms of the castle, Ivar felt strange and unwelcome, not used to sleeping in cold stone rooms. And once more, Ivar built back up the walls around his heart, for he would never let another woman in again.

  Isla

  Isla was still furious with Ivar. She wanted to kiss him and slap him all the same, she wanted to fight him and fuck him. She wanted to never see his face but she never wanted him to leave her side again. She sat at the breakfast table in the main room the next morning, chewing on an apple, unaccustomed to her new role as Duchess. She now answered only to the people, there was no longer any man who could tell her what to do. Then why wasn’t she happy? Why didn’t her heart leap for joy at her freedom?

  Ivar stormed into the room, his face dark, causing Isla’s heart to beat a little faster. “We are leaving to Scotland,” Ivar told her, not looking at her.

  “So soon?” Isla asked, surprised. Tell him you love him, ask him to stay!

  “My men do now want to spend any more time in your filthy English towns and castles. Goodbye princess.”

  “Excuse me, filthy?” Isla asked, fuming at the unnecessary insult.

  “Enjoy your life, princess. You have everything you want now,” he said, not turning back to look at her.

  “Enjoy killing innocent people,” Isla snapped, holding back tears as she watched him go.

  * * *

  Isla had not been surrounded by so many people that spoke her native tongue in weeks, yet she had never felt more alone in her life. The people were nice, and they loved her, yet she felt isolated. Her heart yearned for only one. Never had she wanted his watching eyes on her so much. Never had a bed felt so cold, without his warm body to heat her at night. She found it harder to wake in the mornings, yet struggled to sleep at night.

  Ivar

  Ivar sent a group of his men back to their village with the gold. And with the more eager and fight hungry men, they marched hard through the countryside, getting close to Scotland. For the first time in his life, Ivar had only one thing on his mind. Kill. Slaughter. Maim. Ivar wanted others to feel the pain he felt, and what better way to do that than with Scots. People who welcomed death like Vikings; without fear.

  The landscape became more rugged, and the winds grew cold with early winter taking over the lands. The Skies darkened to a permanent grey, and the trees were now leafless, looking their branches looking like ancient hands, reaching out to them as they rode through forests, as if trying to stop them from going any further.

  They pressed on, Finally reaching the great cliffs that signalled they were in Scottish territory. And then he saw them. Scottish highlanders that numbered into the hundreds, encamped to the east, near the ocean. It’s too late to run, if we can see them, then they have known we were coming for at least a day, now. Ivar was correct, within an hour of spotting the camp, he heard their infamous bagpipes, the instrument they played as they headed to battle. He heart the yelling and whooping of soldiers heading to a battle that they knew they could win, simply due to he greater number of men.

  Ivar counted the Highlanders, and he saw that he was outnumbered at least 3 to 1. Well, our deaths will be quick. Ivar ordered men into battle formation, and as the moved to formation, they sang. They sang their ancient songs, bargaining with their gods to be received into Valhalla.

  Isla

  “My lady, as we are quite close to the Scottish border, your father, and your uncle always required updates on any goings on in the region,” one of Isla’s advisors told her in their daily meeting.

  “Go on,” Isla encouraged

  “There are high numbers of Highland warriors in the region close to the border, as if preparing for an attack,” her advisor told her.

  Ivar. He was heading that way, and he didn’t have many men due to sending some back to his village. He needs to be warned.

  “How long does it take to reach the Scottish border from here?” Isla asked.

  “It’s a two-day ride, my lady.”

  “We must leave at once, and rescue the Vikings led by Ivar the Clever,” Isla said, with urgency.

  “Ivar the Clever?” One of her advisors questioned, not familiar with his name.

  “He is no longer referred to as Ivar the Cruel. It is Ivar the Clever. And he saved my life, so I owe him that much in return. We will leave immediately. How many men can I have gathered by Midday? She asked”

  “We can have 500 men ready by midday,” he replied.

  “Then prepare them. We leave immediately.” She stood, ending the meeting, and prepared herself, for she would be going with them.

  500? Good lord, Isla did not know she had so many men at her disposal. If I find you in time, please forgive me. Forgive my anger, and take me back.

  17

  Ivar

  “It looks like this is it, brothers” Ivar boomed to his men, seeing preparing for his final battle. There was no way they could retreat.

  “What better way for the gods to take us to Valhalla?” Ragnar boomed, standing by his side, ready singing the ancient war songs.

  “I just wish I got to root Freya, at least once,” Skald said, looking bitterly at the Scots, causing Ivar and Ragnar to look at him sideways.

  “She killed our friend?” Ivar said, forgetting they were about to go to battle.

  “You would have too if the big bastard was running at you like that,” he said, his eyes cold.

  As the Scots drew closer, Ivar thought of Isla. I got you home safe princess. The rest is up to you. I will look over you from the heavens, and do my best to guide you. I wish I could have met you in the afterlife.

  Ivar thought of how he handled the situation, maybe I could have done things differently. She was smart. Smarter than I gave her credit. She was brave, too. But the past was past. This was his fate. Whatever happened now was decided by the gods, and he would accept their judgment.

  “Shield Wall” Ivar boomed, as they stood, trapped by the cliff and the approaching Scots. If they did not get killed by sword and axe, they would fall to their deaths, Ivar thought, which gave him a sudden desire to live.

  “Our backs are to the cliff, men. And so, we fight for our right to die by the blade. Show the gods we are worthy of Valhalla,” Ivar began to hit his blade against his shield, beginning the beat of their final war band, joining on their Great War songs.

  The first wave of Scots came upon them like men possessed, screeching, howling, leaping over their wall, some leaping so far they fell behind them and off the cliff, screaming all the way to their deaths, at the bottom.

  They marched their shield wall forward, giving them space from the cliff. So far, they did not lose any men, yet killed at least 30 Scots. The next wave of Scots was bigger. At least 60 men came forward, propelling themselves into the wall of wood and metal and blood and defiance, challenging the Northmen to leave their wall and fight in open battle, but that is not why Ivar was called Ivar the Clever. He did not bend to other men’s wishes so easily.

  Ivar began to grow tired, as did his men. They were continually facing new, fresh, fearless young highland warriors, willing to devote their lives to their laird’s cause that day, sacrificing for the greater good of their people.

  Scotland never did a damn good thing for me, Ivar thought, thinking back to his father, to Magnus, both men dying in Scotland. At least I will
get to see you men today, and we shall all drink in Valhalla together, fight together, and celebrate our lives. But can I leave Isla? She needs me, and I need her, now, more than ever.

  Slowly, their shield wall began to falter. Their arms became heavy from battle, their shields and weapons becoming less effective. Ivar looked to his left, Skald’s expression the same as always. Icy. A cold fury behind his dead eyes, like that of the great ocean monsters they had seen on their journeys to England.