Åke nodded toward their fellow warriors, who were whispering together and giving them knowing looks. Sweyn sighed heavily. This was the first evening he’d had time to drink mead in a long time and it vexed him that he couldn’t find any peace even here. But he would not abide rumors about his manhood!
“I’m tired of the selection here. I’ve enjoyed all of them far too many times,” he said loudly so that many could hear.
Sweyn emptied his cup and nodded to a blond wench who walked over with pitchers of mead in both hands. She looked faintly like Sigrid, although much plainer.
“I could go for that new one, though,” Sweyn said.
Åke laughed in relief as Sweyn waved to the blonde, who thrust out her chest for him.
“You look good, but are you expensive?” he asked her. When she grinned, he noted that she was missing one tooth.
“I’m sure we can come to some agreement,” she said.
“This one’s on me, brother,” Åke said.
Sweyn did not find the young woman very enticing, but there wasn’t a single set of eyes in the hall not trained on him. A single man was compelled to show his manhood. Without saying anything, he flung the blonde over his shoulder and carried her to an available sleeping bench on the long side of the hall. She immediately pulled up her skirt and parted her legs. Sweyn resolutely pushed the thoughts of Sigrid out of his mind as he loosened his breeches. Then he lay down on top of the mead wench. Might as well get this over with so I can be left in peace.
The wind brought a tinge of fall with it as Sigrid grimly accompanied Erik to say good-bye to her father and the Scylfings. Nausea burned in her belly as they strolled along in the late summer heat between the farms that lay on the slope by the little river. She would never have believed that you could feel this sick when you were expecting a baby.
The loaded ships waited by the river. The men were eager to get home to their families. She would be left behind and alone among strangers, waiting for the war that would be upon them soon.
Toste stood on the beach and looked Erik steadfastly in the eye, then put his hand on Erik’s shoulder.
“I’ll be back for the spring sacrifice with the best of the Scylfing warriors. You have my word on it. We’ll fight together, like brothers.”
Erik put his hand on his heart and said, “Together we’ll win.”
The two men smiled at each other.
“At the spring sacrifice you will hold your grandson,” Erik said. “You will understand then how strong the bond is between the Sköldunga family and the Scylfings.”
Sigrid swallowed and carefully hid the distaste she felt for her husband. At least he hadn’t visited her bed in the last month and a half, which was a relief.
In the beginning he had come to her bed at least once a day, often twice. Then he started questioning her about her monthly bleeding and feeling her breasts, looking for signs of a baby. Even though she said she was carrying his son, he didn’t trust it to be true. It wasn’t until there was a full moon and she hadn’t had her monthly bleeding that he believed her. Erik had given her a bracelet of the finest silverwork, and after that she had hardly seen him. The few times she had tried to talk to him, she had been quickly brushed aside. Erik preferred the company of men and advisors by day, and he warmed the beds of other women at night.
Sigrid put her hand on her belly and looked at her father. The chill between them had not broken, but rather expanded as the seasons progressed.
“I leave you with the most honorable of men,” Toste said to her.
The broodmare was pregnant, and everyone was happy. Father had offered her silver in payment for Emma’s injuries and demanded that the curse that had been put on him and the men be removed.
“I haven’t had sex in weeks. You can’t let your father suffer this way,” he’d said. “Not even the priests in the temple can break the spell she put on me.”
“Ask her yourself, and make up for your actions,” Sigrid had replied, but her father refused.
“I’m not planning to go anywhere near that abomination.”
After much hesitation, Sigrid had accepted the silver and said that she would discuss the matter with Emma. Emma had laughed and said that of course she could break the spell that had temporarily castrated her father but that it was probably mostly in his head.
Sigrid smiled stiffly to Toste and said, “May Rán carry you safely over the sea, Father.” She put her hand on Erik’s arm. “Tell them at home of my great happiness.”
Sigrid fought her nausea as Jorun and Alfhild said good-bye to their kinfolk. Somberly, Sigrid turned to her brother to say her toughest good-bye.
“Keep an eye on those two,” Ulf said and nodded at Sigrid’s maidservants. “I’ve heard some things.”
He’d asked Sigrid to send the two women back, and now he looked so worried that Sigrid almost wanted to cry.
“They’re all I have left from home.”
Sigrid couldn’t send them away and no longer had any reason to. She had given them a stern talking-to and they hadn’t defied her again since. Now they feared Emma instead and fawned all over both Emma and Sigrid to gain their approval.
“Promise me, then, that you’ll be on your guard when they’re around,” Ulf urged.
She nodded and smiled at him. When they had left home, he had been annoying, a kid she’d grown up with but hardly knew. Now he stood before her as a full-grown man and the only person who seemed genuinely to care about her.
“You’ve really changed during this trip,” she said and patted his cheek.
“You used to be a kid,” Ulf replied with a smile, “who was hard to put up with and used to getting your way in everything. Now I see a young queen who will soon be a mother. I’m proud of you, sister, and I envy your deep faith. You may need it in the face of the storm that will descend upon us soon.”
He said the last few words with such a miserable face that Sigrid could hardly bear it.
“Will you be back in the spring?”
He nodded and said, “Yes, with news from home.”
Then he was gone, and Sigrid was left standing by herself, surrounded by cheerful good-byes and congratulations.
Her heart was torn to pieces when the Scylfing ships set out, rowing down the Fyris River to the sea.
She wanted to run after them, to yell to her father to take her away from here so that she could live with Sweyn for the rest of her life. Instead she forced herself to smile as Erik took her hand and led her back to the hall. He did not speak a single word of comfort to her or even deign to look at her. But the villagers they encountered greeted them kindly and with deep respect.
“Bless us with peace and fertility, beautiful Queen,” a young woman with a round blemished face cried out.
Everyone knew that she’d been blessed with a dís by Freya and also had the blessing of the Norns. Ever since what happened in the grove, women thought that Sigrid could imbue them with the goddess’s fertility.
“You are truly blessed,” Sigrid said with a smile.
An old woman bowed deeply and put her hand on her heart.
“The rain in the grove was fortunate,” Erik said with a contented grin. “Now they see you as Freya and me as Frey. Songs about us, the sacred couple, are being sung throughout Svealand, as is the song about my future prince being sent from the gods. It will help me win the chieftains over to my side for the battle against Styrbjörn. You serve me well and strengthen my position.”
Sigrid walked slowly up the hill, her feet swollen and aching in the summer heat. Sweat trickled down her back and nausea heaved within her. She had never felt so far from Valhalla.
“Surely you have something to do with the fact that they’re singing songs about us,” she replied.
Sigrid forced herself to smile at a woman who proudly displayed her own pregnant belly. Erik’s soft chuckle confirmed her suspicions.
“It would be dumb of me not to avail myself of this opportunity,” he said and then
picked up the pace, paying no consideration to her condition.
“I’m leaving early tomorrow,” Erik told her. “Mother and her warriors will watch over you and the baby.”
It wouldn’t make much difference, given how rarely Sigrid saw Erik these days.
“When will you be back?”
“Each of the Svea chieftains must be persuaded to mobilize Svealand for war so that we can defeat Styrbjörn.”
“You can use the songs about the sacred couple when you talk to Sacrifice-Sven, and—”
“I can handle Sacrifice-Sven. You don’t need to trouble your head about the affairs of men.” Erik’s voice was so sharp she thought he might hit her. “While I’m away, you will sacrifice at the temple every seven days. Appease the priests! I need you to turn those old goats’ minds so they are filled with goodwill toward me. Visit the farms and bless the young women and children. Talk to the old people, farmers, and noblemen. Wear your most beautiful clothes, put up your hair, and hang jewelry around your neck. You are Svealand’s Freya and must spread your radiance and fecundity to all the farms. Will you obey me in this?”
Sigrid nodded.
“Good. Farewell, my queen. Don’t worry. I’ll be back before the midwinter sacrifice.” He kissed her cheek and left her standing there in the courtyard.
Sigrid clenched her teeth. Erik seemed to think she was his hired hand. It was a disgrace how he talked about the temple’s sacred workers as if they were a necessary evil that he dealt with only reluctantly.
All the same, she had no choice. The broodmare had to be dressed in a golden harness and trotted around to all the farms with its mane and tail braided. Sigrid sighed heavily.
“Don’t look so glum. You don’t need to fear for Erik’s life right now,” Solveig said and took Sigrid’s arm as they walked toward the hall. “And you’re carrying his son, sent from Valhalla.”
They could see Erik, out by the pasture, having a serious talk with Axel and several of his other men.
“It won’t be easy for Erik to persuade the chieftains to come and bring their warriors,” Solveig continued. “Several of the powerful ones secretly support Styrbjörn. You’re the weight that will tip the balance over to our side and bring us victory.”
Sigrid put her hand on her belly. Erik had to win so that her son would become king and the temple would remain untouched in all its strength.
It is your will.
Then she remembered Sweyn’s words, that he would defeat Erik and make her his own. Some days when she woke up just before dawn, she felt like he was lying beside her, so close she could feel his breath on her cheek, and her heart burst with longing. Then she prayed that he would keep his word and come take her away from here, no matter what happened. This was her desire, even though her beloved would have to fight her father, her brother, and her husband. It was treason to want Sweyn to win, and it filled her with shame. Still, she couldn’t extinguish the flame of hope, and she wanted nothing else but to be with him, even if only for a short while.
Other days she wished she’d never met the Jómsvíking, so she could better go along with the bitter lie that she and Erik were a sacred couple. Then she wouldn’t be ripped apart by these wishes and doubts.
Give me a sign.
But Freya was silent, and Emma had no answers to give.
Sigrid sighed heavily.
“I don’t know what I’m going to do,” she said half to herself.
“Give him a sign of your affection,” Solveig said kindly. “Give him a piece of jewelry or needlework that he can take on his journey to remember you by.”
Sigrid almost started laughing. Solveig had so little insight into her thoughts.
“That’s good advice, which I will follow,” she replied.
Haldis was waiting for her in the hall with her court of ladies. It took Sigrid a little while to make her way over there. The pregnancy left her so tired sometimes that she worried about keeping up her strength. Her body ached all the time.
“Come and eat with me and we’ll talk,” Haldis said. The queen mother had been more than kind since it became clear that Sigrid was expecting.
Sigrid followed her from the hall out to the herb garden, where they sat down on a bench. The meal was already laid out. She helped herself to a piece of cheese and hoped she would be able to keep it down.
“It’s auspicious that you’re carrying the king’s son and that the Norns and Freya have blessed you,” the queen mother said and looked out at the river, which wound its way through the greenery like a shimmering snake.
Sigrid watched the older woman carefully, wondering where this was leading.
“In the way your son speaks, he does not appear truly to respect the temple,” she said cautiously.
“He has his reasons,” Haldis said, giving her a pointed look. “You should know that the Thor worshippers control the temple. Odin used to be held in highest regard, and his hall was the most beautiful that had been seen. But Thor’s priests fought with Odin’s and eventually they burned down the hall. A lot of people are still angry about that.”
Sigrid had never heard of fighting between Valhalla’s priests. That was a blasphemy that couldn’t be allowed.
“But Erik is consecrated to Frey,” Sigrid said, struggling to understand.
Haldis laughed quietly and bitterly and said, “Yes, I suppose it’s for the best that Frey chose my son. Otherwise none of us would be alive today. None of us is immune to a drop of poison or a noose around the neck. Nobleman or not, whoever comes into the priests’ sight seldom lives long.”
Sigrid faltered as the terrible weakness returned. It was as if it took over and filled her body with sickness. She hoped it would be better when the baby got bigger.
“But the priests follow the will of the Æsir,” Sigrid said, managing to keep her voice steady.
“I fear that they mostly follow their own will,” the queen mother said somberly, shaking her head.
What should she say to that? Such a blasphemous statement, and from Erik’s own mother! The priests had willingly tied Emma to the bonfire. Could they not sense Kára’s presence in her? And yet the priests had knelt fearfully before the Norns, so presumably they were able to perceive their true nature. Sigrid didn’t know what to make of it.
She swallowed the cheese with difficulty and drank a little water.
“Is Freya not worshipped in the temple?” she asked. She hadn’t seen any trace of the most important of the goddesses.
“At one time she had her own hall, filled with seeresses and dressed in the purest gold. But now she is honored only in the groves. The all-knowing Norns also rule there.”
Rage seething inside her, Sigrid inhaled slowly and then said, “Our Lady is the most important.” Those bloodthirsty priests ought to learn that.
“I know that your faith is profound, and I also honor her each day,” Haldis said, putting her hand on Sigrid’s mark. “Do you fully grasp the significance of what I’ve just told you?”
Sigrid swallowed. Fighting between the priests about which of the Æsir was most powerful was a bad sign. It portended Ragnarök, when Valhalla would be shaken to its core.
“Was Styrbjörn sworn to Thor before he allowed himself to be baptized?” Sigrid asked.
Haldis nodded briefly.
“That’s why you have to give birth to a son, to show that Frey is strong in Erik,” Haldis said, and Sigrid saw the desperation in her eyes.
She nodded. The new life had already taken root in her. Her son was living and growing stronger with every breath she took.
“No one will be disappointed on this point,” Sigrid affirmed.
“Then you also have my support and assistance, both as queen and Freya priestess,” Haldis said.
The women looked at each other in silent agreement. Sigrid realized to her astonishment that she had formed an alliance with the queen mother.
The formation of soldiers started slowly walking across the muddy field toward the row o
f warriors waiting with swords and raised shields. The soldiers advanced rhythmically, holding their shields out like a protective wall.
When they were a stone’s throw from the waiting warriors, Ax-Wolf barked, “Spearhead!”
The men in the center of the formation increased their pace while those on the sides slowed so the formation took on a wedge shape that could drive into the row of warriors awaiting them. But the ones in front went too fast and the lines of men following stretched too thin. One of them tripped, and when the others tried to avoid stepping on him, the whole formation broke up.
Sweyn shook his head, clearly distressed.
“Stop! Right now!” shouted Ax-Wolf, bright red in the face. “I’ve never seen a worse group of ball-licking good-for-nothings! A slave is better than any of you!”
Sweyn pulled his hand over his face and swore softly. They had been practicing these maneuvers for weeks and still couldn’t achieve the wedge. The warriors took up their positions again, weary and muddy, shivering in the north wind.
Some of the Jómsvíkings who were gathered by the field watching the training, doubled over laughing at Sweyn’s men.
“Your warriors seem a little heavy on their feet,” cried Urban from Eyvind’s phalanx. “Walking and fighting at the same time seems like it might be too much for them.”
Sweyn laughed softly without showing his anger, but retorted, “You, the man who fell down drunk right in front of Gunnar, ought to know.”
Urban remained indignantly quiet while the other men laughed more and more. No one would ever forget the night when an incredibly drunk Urban had tripped, landing facedown in front of Palna’s brother.
“He’s still right that half of them are useless,” Sweyn told Åke.
The Jómsvíkings who served on the two ships Palna had given him were good at everything. But the warriors he’d gotten from Harald and the others he had hired in Lejre weren’t suitable to take into battle.
“Ax-Wolf is likely to get them into shape,” Åke said. “There’s still time before we sail for Svealand.”
“Nowhere near enough time,” Sweyn said glumly. How patient were the Jómsvíkings? That was the question. Some of the men from Lejre had already been beaten up, one so badly he still couldn’t stand.
The Unbroken Line of the Moon Page 27
