“Why do they harbor such ill will toward us?” she whispered to Axel, who seemed unmoved by the whole thing.
“I encountered the same wariness when I first entered your lands,” Axel said, unconcerned. “And yet I forged many bonds of friendship. Give them time. You’ll win them over with your charm and strength.”
He led her up the hill to an enormous royal hall built of dark logs, with winding dragons on the roof. A large party waited in front of the courtyard around an ornate bower decorated with leaves and flowers. Axel had explained that welcoming a wife as she stepped into her new home and presenting her with an oath ring was very serious business to the Svea. People read a lot into what happened at the threshold.
Sigrid looked at the unsmiling group awaiting her. While there had been many well-dressed young people, priests, merchants, and strangers in King Harald’s court, here in Svealand there were only warriors and chieftains. Stern and powerful, they watched her expectantly with their heads held high. They were all tattooed and wore silver oath rings on their arms.
The women were just as severe-looking. Draped with expensive jewelry that gleamed around their necks and arms, they sized her up with piercing eyes.
Sigrid gulped as one of the men stepped forward to stand under the flowery arch.
It was Erik.
Her mother’s murderer was both older and shorter than she’d expected, and he was neither handsome nor ugly. His beard was short and brown, his hair so long that it came down to his shoulders. The tunic he wore was made of rough homespun with embroidery around the edges. His leggings were the same color, and his leather boots stretched halfway up to his knees. His hand rested on the richly ornamented hilt of the sword he wore at his hip, and he was studying her attentively. For a brief moment she saw the same chill in his greenish-gray eyes that she had seen in his villagers. Reluctance was like a flock of flying birds in her chest. Sigrid clenched her teeth. She was a descendant of Vanadís, and she had Kára’s protection. She would do this for the sake of the Scylfings.
“My king, allow me to present your wife, Sigrid Tostedotter,” Axel announced ceremoniously as they held out their hands together, bound by the handfasting ribbon.
Sigrid and Erik regarded each other in silence for a long time.
“I accept her,” the king of Svealand finally said in a voice that was deeper and manlier than she had expected.
He took the ribbon off their wrists, and Axel immediately backed away. In his place, an aged temple priest wearing a gray gown with a fox head hanging over his shoulder came hobbling over to them. He held an ornate silver oath ring that was more beautiful than any Sigrid had seen.
He read an incantation over the ring before Erik took it from him and held it up to Sigrid. She cleared her throat and put her hand on the ring. It was important that she not make a mistake now. Axel had been careful to explain that. The slightest misstep would be interpreted as a bad omen.
“On this oath ring I swear my faithfulness to you, Erik of Svealand, and that I will bear you many strong sons and honor you in thought and deed,” Sigrid lied in a loud, clear voice without taking her eyes off Erik. “May Eir and Odin kill me if I break this oath.”
A spark of approval was visible in his eyes, but only for a brief instant before he grew serious again. There was a grim sternness about him, as if this were something he was being forced to do. And if that was the case, then they had something in common.
“With this ring the oath is sworn,” the priest said and fit it over her wrist.
It was heavy and so big that it didn’t sit securely until it was pushed to her upper arm.
“You will enter my hall and my kingdom as my wife,” Erik said and bowed his head.
The priest held the ax over their heads and again read an incantation. Then he pronounced, “The oath that has been sworn cannot be broken.”
An older woman with beautiful gray hair and keys hanging from her belt stepped forward with a horn made of blue glass. She was the king’s mother, who ran the estate and certainly wouldn’t be happy about giving up this status.
Sigrid accepted the horn, raised it to Erik, his mother, and then the guests before she drank the cool wine. She then passed the drink to Erik.
The priest gave them a contented look and said, “It is done.”
At that moment three flutists began playing a melody and the guests around them shouted their congratulations. The austerity they had displayed thus far was now completely gone, and they laughed and talked together. Sigrid took a deep breath. She was Erik’s wife, and soon she would be Svealand’s queen. No other woman ranked above her. Power boiled in her blood, and her cheeks flushed in the summer heat.
“They weren’t lying when they said you were beautiful,” Erik said quietly. “That’s a relief.”
Sigrid forced herself to smile. Axel and Orm had described Erik as the most handsome of men, and that certainly was not the case. She leaned toward him.
“I’m delighted that I please you,” she whispered.
She was immediately rewarded with a lustful look. This seduction was going to go well, after all.
“This is my mother, Haldis,” Erik said.
“A warm welcome to you, Sigrid Tostedotter,” the queen mother said. “I’ve been looking forward to your arrival.”
Anyone could hear that her voice was dripping with duplicity. All the same she smiled and held out a beautifully embroidered head covering, the symbol that Sigrid was now a married woman.
Women and men came forward and greeted her. The names and faces melted together, and she had no idea how she was going to remember them all. Two beautiful young women with blond hair stared at her so spitefully before greeting her that Sigrid realized they must be Erik’s mistresses. She greeted them indifferently, eager not to show the slightest weakness.
“Allow me to show you around your new home,” Haldis said.
Sigrid looked questioningly at Erik, who stood engrossed in a profoundly serious conversation with her father.
“You’ll meet your husband at the feast tonight,” Haldis continued.
Sigrid took a deep breath and went with the king’s mother. Emma, Jorun, and Alfhild joined them. Emma’s presence was reassuring.
The hall was large, and every bit of wood was decorated with twisting patterns that had been painted in bright colors. Amazed, Sigrid stopped in the middle of the hall and looked around at the brilliantly colored splendor. The long table in the middle was so big that a hundred men could sit at its benches. The throne was as big as King Harald’s in Lejre and so ornate it made Toste’s throne back home seem like a simple stool by comparison.
At the two short ends of the vast, rectangular room there were stairs leading up to landings where the highest-ranking residents had their rooms, just like back home.
But Haldis did not go up either of those staircases. Instead she led Sigrid toward a door in the wall next to the stairs. Sigrid followed her into a small room with benches and weaving looms. There were several doors around them and Haldis opened one of them. Sigrid saw a plain room without tapestries on the walls. It was furnished with a simple bed, without posts, and two chairs.
“I hope you’ll be comfortable here,” Haldis said.
This was a downright insult, and Sigrid absolutely would not tolerate it.
“The mistresses back home live in nicer quarters than this!” Alfhild exclaimed in surprise from behind Sigrid’s back. “Why would you give the queen of Svealand such a plain room?”
“It’s what we have to offer,” said Haldis, blushing.
“Who lives in the rooms upstairs?” Sigrid asked.
“The king and his companions live there.”
“In all the rooms?” Sigrid asked, incredulous.
Haldis cleared her throat and said, “They’re all taken. This is the king’s will.”
Sigrid carefully studied the woman as the silence in the room grew awkward. She had to teach them now, right from the beginning, who was going
to be in charge.
“I will make the decisions about who stays where in my own home. Let us see the other rooms that are available. Then after that I’ll decide where my chamber will be,” Sigrid announced, turned on her heel, and left.
The servants did a double take, startled when she quickly strode back out into the hall, eyeing the two sets of stairs that led up to the landings where the rooms under the ridge of the roof were located.
“Where’s the king’s room?” she asked an older servant, who pointed to the stairs next to the throne.
Sigrid thanked him and walked toward the opposite staircase, with Haldis hurrying along behind her.
“Those rooms are occupied,” Haldis said, panting.
Sigrid didn’t respond but just climbed the stairs. She didn’t stop until she reached the two doors.
“Open them,” she ordered Jorun, who without hesitating opened the doors wide.
It was just as Sigrid had thought. Both of the rooms were big and airy and furnished with beautifully decorated beds and comfortable pelt rugs on the floor. Two dresses lay on a chest, and on a table there were several pieces of jewelry. There was a doll and a wooden top lying on the floor in one of the rooms.
“Is it the custom in Svealand for the king’s mistresses to live better than his queen?” Sigrid asked.
Haldis looked down without responding.
“Alfhild,” Sigrid said, “ask the men to bring up my chests. Jorun, you can empty these things out of here.” She sat down on a chair, and Emma stood behind her. “Send a servant with some water so I can wash off the travel dust,” she said while Jorun tossed all the items in the room into a chest, which she then dragged out.
The king’s mother looked like she wanted to scratch Sigrid’s eyes out.
“Was there anything else?” Sigrid asked her kindly.
“The king is not going to allow you to be domineering,” Haldis finally said.
Sigrid got up.
“Maybe I should go back home and tell everyone that you value mistresses above the daughter of the chieftain of the Scylfings. That is an insult the Geats will not tolerate.”
Haldis sternly sized her up, but Sigrid did not back down. This Svea matron was nothing compared to the harshness of her own grandmother or the spitefulness of her stepmother, Gunlög, which she had been fighting against all her life.
“You can be as impudent as you like and buck and rear, but other customs prevail here than among the Geats. You will soon see, once my son reins you in.”
“I will have the respect my family and position merit,” she said with a calm smile.
Sigrid held out her hand, and Emma gave her the leather pouch she carried for her. When she opened it, she saw the Sleipnir brooch that Sweyn had given her, although that wasn’t the gift she took out now but rather a silver brooch inlaid with red stones.
“If I receive what my lineage entitles me to, I look forward to becoming friends with my husband’s highly esteemed mother. Take this gift as a sign of my hope that you will look after me and teach me the ways of the Svea, like you would your own daughter.”
Haldis’s eyes gleamed as she accepted the brooch.
“I thank you, and it is also my hope that you will become like a daughter to me,” she said in a softer voice.
Sigrid smiled kindly as Haldis pinned her new piece of jewelry to her dress. Haldis smiled with delight and ran her hand over the finery.
“We both want the best for your son, your highness,” Sigrid said.
Haldis nodded to herself, as if she had made the decision at that very moment to stand beside Sigrid.
“From what I’ve heard and what I’ve seen today, you may be worthy of Erik,” Haldis said. “Rest for a while. I’ll send a girl up to fetch you for the feast.”
When the door closed, Sigrid flopped down onto the chair.
“It’s like stepping on a snake’s nest. They all hate me. Did you see that?”
Emma smiled and said, “As long as they fear you, it doesn’t matter.”
“I can’t stand the Svea,” Sigrid said and pursed her lips.
Emma shrugged and said, “All the same, it is woven that you will save them.”
Sigrid got up when she heard heavy footsteps on the stairs. She watched the door expectantly. Soon there were two knocks, and without waiting for Sigrid to answer, the door opened and Erik entered.
Again they regarded each other in silence.
“Have you settled in?” he finally asked.
“Once I kicked out your mistresses, the rooms became sufficient,” she responded.
Erik sniggered and looked down at the floorboards, like a little boy who’d been caught being naughty.
“I was not aware that better preparations had not been made for your arrival,” he said. Either he was just blaming his mother or perhaps Haldis was actually the one responsible for the whole thing. Sigrid looked out the window at the farms and fields.
“Where are your mistresses now?” she asked.
Erik cleared his throat and said, “I sent them away.”
Sigrid nodded, even though she didn’t believe a word of it. He would keep them somewhere nearby so he could visit them, but to her that didn’t matter.
Erik sat down on the chest by her bed.
“It pains me that you weren’t welcomed better after your long trip, and that you were forced to flee from Lejre.”
Sigrid managed to keep her irritability in check. Erik was Svealand’s king, the one the Svea chieftains had chosen to lead them. He had married her to create an alliance with the Scylfings, and what she thought or felt didn’t matter in this game.
Sigrid sighed heavily. Her longing for Sweyn burned in her loins.
“This isn’t easy for any of us,” she said.
“No,” Erik responded. “And yet it must be done.”
They looked at each other, not with pleasure but with understanding.
“What do you want me to be, husband?” Her decisiveness made him smile.
“You must be beautiful and charming. You must also get along with the womenfolk, otherwise your life among the Svea will be hard.”
Sigrid straightened her back and said, “Aren’t they the ones who should get along with me, the queen of Svealand, descendant of Vanadís? Without my family’s support, Svealand will be weak when Styrbjörn stands at the fence with the Jómsvíkings on his side.”
Erik pulled his hand over his beard and gave her an amused look.
“Respect isn’t something that just comes automatically. It must be earned. We Svea are a proud people, and anything unfamiliar is regarded with skepticism, even if it be a divinely beautiful Scylfing maiden.”
“To insult me is to insult my husband,” Sigrid responded so fast that Erik started laughing.
“Axel warned me of your sharp tongue and your quick mind.” He got up from the chest and stood close to her. “He also said that you were beautiful like a summer morning, but that you needed to be broken. He spoke the truth on every count.”
Sigrid swallowed her irritation and looked up at the man whose heart and support she had to win.
“Perhaps,” Sigrid said. “So tell me what else you wish of me, my husband and king.”
Erik looked more than content as he ran his finger over her cheek and then let his hand continue down to her dress and the outline of her breast.
“I would like you to be heavy with child when the Svea chieftains gather for the midwinter sacrifice. Everyone will see your fertility and know that I am expecting a son and heir. Can you do this for me?”
Sigrid reluctantly realized she was blushing.
“I would not wish it any other way,” she lied quietly and looked down modestly. “Whenever my husband wishes, I am ready.”
Erik did not need much urging. He undid her dress and let it drop to the floor. Sigrid shivered, standing naked before him, allowing him to fondle her with his eyes and hands.
“A body made for birthing babies,” Erik said content
edly, sliding his hand down her belly and on down between her legs.
Sigrid reluctantly flinched with pleasure as his gentle stroking caused her to open.
“I am sworn to Frey,” he told her, laying her gently back on the bed and starting to take off his breeches. “Do you understand what that means?”
She nodded, knowing full well that Frey was the defender, the fertility god, and Freya’s twin brother. It meant that he had sex with as many women as he could. That was a relief.
Erik was already hard as he came down over Sigrid and pushed deep inside her. She whimpered with pain and stifled her reluctance. No one should accuse her of not having been a virgin. Sigrid wrapped her arms around him and caressed him as he groaned in pleasure. If she bore a child, it would be Erik’s. They were safe, and that was all that mattered.
All this I do for you, Vanadís.
It felt like an eternity since Sweyn had left Jómsborg. During all the days he’d worked to get the ships into seaworthy shape, there had been moments when he doubted he would see home again. Nevertheless he had succeeded in putting together a relatively decent crew and readying the ships.
He had returned to Jómsborg in triumph and received cheers, but there was one person missing from his homecoming. Now Sweyn followed the footpath through the meager patches of arable land outside of town. He stopped in front of the fence, concern burning in his chest.
The cabin looked more tumbledown than it had when Sweyn had left it. Several of the fence posts were broken, and the smoke hole in the sod roof looked like it had caved in. The little garden, on the other hand, was meticulously tended and seemed to be growing well.
Sweyn squatted down and petted Gray who came running to meet him, tail wagging, barking so enthusiastically that the chickens flew up into the trees. The door to the cabin was ajar, and he pushed it open.
“Mother, I’m home,” he called, his heart filled with pride.
She was sitting on the sleeping bench. She pulled her hand over her gray hair as if he’d bothered her.
“My boy, I didn’t think you’d be here so soon.”
The Unbroken Line of the Moon Page 22
