The Unbroken Line of the Moon

by Hildebrandt, Johanne

  Sigrid shut the door and leaned against it while Emma regarded her weakness with concern. This was no time to curl up in misery, not yet, not now, when she needed to fight for her honor and the life of her child.

  They had to find out what had happened. Someone had put a curse on Sigrid, and she had been so weak from poison that she’d almost died. Emma needed to find out everything she could about the night when Toste raped her. Sigrid would have to talk to Haldis and Solveig herself. Without them on her side, she couldn’t weave the web that would be needed to catch Jorun.

  “We have a lot to do,” Sigrid said sternly.

  This time that bitch would get what she had coming to her.

  Sweyn stared into the fire, still moved by the news Valdemar had brought to Jómsborg. King Harald had murdered Henning, Valdemar’s only remaining son. One night Henning was helping a very drunk Harald into bed and, for no reason, Harald pulled his knife and stabbed Henning to death. The act was so shameful no one had heard its like. Sweyn swallowed his hatred for his birth father as desire for power surged through his veins. Harald’s shamefulness would turn out to be his own lucky break.

  “If you fight against the king, I will stand with you,” Valdemar told him.

  “Why don’t you fight him yourself?” Sweyn asked. “Doesn’t the throne of the Danes entice you, leader of the Jellings?”

  Valdemar smiled joylessly at the insubordinate question.

  “I’ve laid four sons on funeral pyres, and now Harald has heinously extinguished the hopes I had for Henning. All that remains for me before I drink with my sons in Valhalla is revenge.”

  Sweyn eyed his birth uncle with respect. Valdemar was an honorable man, the leader of the Jellings, sent by the gods. With Valdemar’s support, Sweyn’s claim to the throne would be taken seriously, because Valdemar had both the men and the money to back up the campaign.

  “I am so grateful that you choose to fight with me,” Sweyn said.

  “Everything my brother built in his youth will be gone soon. Emperor Otto has conquered Danevirke. The ancient earthwork fortifications no longer protect the Danes’ and Jutes’ lands. Of the five ring castles, once filled with dreaded warriors who guaranteed peace and free passage, only Jómsborg remains strong. Harald, foolish and filled with the incompetence of insanity, can’t hold together the kingdom he took from our father, Gorm the Old. Danish and Jutish lands are being torn apart as people fight for pieces of what Harald once built but can no longer hold on to. Petty chieftains are fighting each other, brothers against brothers, believers against cross worshippers.”

  Valdemar stared into the flames. Light and shadow danced over the old man’s face as he remembered days gone by.

  “I know that the gods fed your anger in Lejre’s royal hall, where you demanded your birthright, unafraid and without weakness,” Valdemar said, studying Sweyn closely. “From that moment, word of your strength has spread. Of all Harald’s sons, you are the only one who was raised to be strong in the face of iron, ice, and death. Only a young warrior, so full of hunger for power and victory that he is not afraid, has the strength to take and to hold the throne of the Jellings.”

  Sweyn bowed his head, carefully concealing how much the old man’s words pleased him.

  “If you back me up,” Sweyn said, “I will kill Harald in the name of your son Henning.”

  Relief flooded Valdemar’s face, lined with age and grief, and he said, “Let’s have a seat and discuss how this can best be accomplished.”

  Jorun smiled arrogantly as the housecarls led her into the women’s room. Wearing a clean dress, her back straight, and her dark hair braided in a wreath on her head, she clearly had no idea what was going to happen, but she was going to face it with dignity.

  Alfhild was not so calm. She was wringing her hands and looking around anxiously as she sat down on the bench that had been placed in the middle of the room.

  Sigrid sat on the throne that had been placed before the bench. Solveig and Haldis stood by her side and a double row of noblewomen crowded around the perimeter of the room. They had come from near and far to attend the midwinter sacrifice and when Sigrid summoned them, they joined in willingly. Three of the temple’s foremost priestesses also stood among them, and they bent their heads graciously before their queen. Because of the crowd it was already hot and stuffy in the room, but it was important that a lot of people witness and discuss what was about to happen.

  Sigrid looked at the kinswomen she had known and trusted since she was a child. She had been blinded by the blood ties and by her affection for them, but now her eyes were wide open.

  “I accuse you, Jorun of the Scylfings, of spreading false lies about the identity of my child’s father,” Sigrid said. “With malevolence, you dripped poison into the ear of my beloved husband, the honorable king Erik, to sow dissention and ruin my honor.”

  Jorun’s lips curled in scorn.

  “The honor you speak of has never existed,” Jorun retorted. “You went off into the woods in Lejre to sleep with that Jómsvíking, Sweyn. You spoke together tenderly and exchanged lustful looks. I saw it happen. I saw it with my own eyes. By Freya and all the goddesses, I swear I am telling the truth.”

  The noble-born but gossip-hungry Svea ladies whispered excitedly among themselves, gobbling up these words. No accusation could be worse than that their queen was expecting another man’s baby.

  You foolish bitch. Sigrid clenched her hands in contemptuous rage. Bitterness and envy must have rotted Jorun’s mind if she thought Sigrid was going to sit by and let her spread her poison over Svealand.

  She nodded to Emma, who was waiting, eager to stick the first dagger into Jorun’s back.

  “Everything you say is a lie,” Emma said. “Sigrid and the Jómsvíking were never alone in Lejre. The seeress Beyla and I were with them. The four of us went to the oak grove to make a sacrifice in secret, to avoid Harald’s ban on the old religion.” Emma, her face contorted, pointed at Jorun. “Shame on you for insulting the honor of your queen and kinswoman with filthy lies when she was honoring Valhalla on the most sacred day of the year.”

  For a brief instant, Jorun’s eyes flashed uncertainly. Then she turned to the noblewomen present and said, “You can’t believe what a stranger with no family says. This woman is Sigrid’s lapdog and lies willingly for her mistress.”

  “Emma is a dís sent by Freya herself,” said Haldis in a voice cold as a winter storm. “One of the leaders can vouch for her honor.”

  The queen mother nodded to the housecarls, who opened the door. A murmur ran though the room as Hyndla stepped in, awe inspiring with her staff, the magnificent blue cloak trimmed with embroidery, and catskin gloves at her belt. Without looking at either those gathered or the accused, she stepped forward to Sigrid and knelt down before her.

  “I venerate you, my hallowed queen,” Hyndla said. Her voice was loud, so everyone in the room could hear her words.

  Sigrid watched contentedly as Jorun paled. Helping Aedis and her children with gifts and silver had paid off. Erik’s consort stood by her, owing a debt of gratitude, and so she had been willing to arrange a clandestine meeting between Sigrid and her mother. After that, making a deal had been a simple matter. Hyndla had been driven out of the temple when Kára saved Emma’s life from the bonfire and had suffered gravely from the loss in reputation it had earned her. She had willingly gone along with Sigrid’s request in order to restore her good name.

  “I greet you, mighty seeress,” Sigrid said. “You are esteemed by the goddesses. You are honored by your queen.”

  Hyndla put her hand on her heart, stood up, and walked over to Emma, who was still standing in front of Jorun. To Emma, Hyndla said, “Esteemed Kára, leader of the valkyries, I humbly bow down to you. My life is yours. Let me serve you.”

  She knelt before Emma and bowed her head.

  Emma’s eyes glittered silver, and her face looked like it had been carved in stone.

  Sigrid was clenching her fist s
o hard that her fingernails were digging into her palm. Now if only Emma would forgive the seeress. There was complete silence in the room. The temple’s priestesses had stepped forward, tensely watching what was happening. Sigrid hoped and believed that her sister, Emma, would do what she had to, but she could never be completely certain.

  “You have my respect,” Emma finally said.

  Sigrid slowly exhaled, and the temple’s priestesses nodded to one another in contentment. Then Hyndla got back up onto her feet. She raised her staff at Jorun and said, “I curse you, who have denied Kára threefold. May your lies cause your tongue to wither away. May your loins never bear fruit, and may your heart quit beating.”

  Jorun stood as if frozen solid, her mouth half-open. Sigrid contentedly wiped away a drop of sweat as it ran down her forehead. Now finally Jorun was beginning to see what Sigrid could do.

  Hyndla walked over to the priestesses, who greeted her warmly and smiled gratefully at Sigrid. Sigrid put her hand over her heart as a gesture of respect to them before turning back to address Jorun.

  “Your blasphemy against Emma is not your only shameful action.”

  Sigrid nodded to the housecarls, who opened the door and let in the slave girl Soot, who had found Emma on the beach. Emaciated and dirty, she stood in the middle of the room and looked around uncertainly as the stench of filth and pee spread through the room.

  “Tell everyone what you said to Emma,” Sigrid said kindly, leaning forward as far as her pregnant belly would allow.

  Soot brushed a lock of hair aside and cleared her throat.

  “That woman there”—she pointed to Jorun—“showed the warriors the way and said that Emma had asked them to come and have sex with her. But Emma didn’t want to have sex, so they beat her up and did it anyway. That one was standing in the trees, watching and sneering.”

  Jorun stared down at the floor. She realized she’d been beaten.

  “What happened then?” asked Sigrid, not letting on from her voice how furious she was.

  Soot cleared her throat.

  “They beat Emma unconscious, and when they left I went over and helped her.”

  “Why did you do that?” Haldis asked coldly.

  “Because I was afraid she was dead,” Soot said, hanging her head.

  “You managed this well,” Sigrid said with a nod of approval. “Go to the cookhouse and eat your fill. Ask Ägdis to wash you and give you new clothes. As of today, I own you.”

  Soot opened her mouth but couldn’t think of anything to say. Instead she bowed her head so deeply she almost tipped over. Sigrid sent her out with a wave of her hand and then leaned back and looked at Jorun again.

  “Well?” She did not conceal the disgust in her voice.

  “Surely you don’t believe what she says? A slave’s word isn’t worth anything. We’re kinswomen, relatives. Why would I want to harm your servant?”

  “Confess and keep what’s left of your honor,” Sigrid advised. She felt only revulsion for Jorun’s fawning.

  Jorun flung up her hands and looked beseechingly at the women present.

  “Never will I admit to something I didn’t do. Sigrid is just jealous because the king prefers me to her.”

  “Shut up and know your place. You are speaking to the queen of Svealand, consecrated by Freya,” Solveig said angrily.

  Sigrid almost started laughing. She could hardly believe what she was hearing. Jorun was a lowborn kinswoman, and yet she seriously believed that having sex with the king gave her power to defy the queen? Only now did Sigrid begin to understand that Jorun’s perception of her own status was built on feeble dreams.

  Sigrid trained her eyes on Alfhild, who hadn’t said a word. She sat huddled on the bench, her face white and her hands trembling. She had never had a weak mind, so it was hard to understand why she had thrown her fortunes in with Jorun.

  “I never would have expected you to betray me,” Sigrid said.

  Alfhild’s lower lip quivered, and a tear ran down her cheek.

  “I didn’t mean to. I wanted to tell you, but I didn’t dare because of Jorun.”

  “That’s not true,” Jorun said quickly. “You were just as angry as I was that she turned her back on us.”

  “Forgive me, Sigrid. I didn’t intend to harm you. Forgive me.” Alfhild held out her hand to Sigrid, who looked away. The pathetic weakness of her kinswomen was shameful to behold.

  Haldis sniffed scornfully beside her and said, “This is what happens when simple farm girls try to serve in the king’s court.” She stepped forward, honorable with her gray hair and strict face. “Your repulsive actions don’t end there. We found poison in Jorun’s chest. The same poison you gave Queen Sigrid to take her life and the life of the unborn king of Svealand.”

  The words reverberated between the walls and instantly elicited the anger of the watching women.

  “Traitor!” cried Orm’s wife, Virun.

  “Kill those curs!” said Aedis, and the noblewomen nodded to each other.

  “Burn her!”

  Jorun started quaking with fear. This was the most serious of the accusations. It wasn’t true that they’d found poison, but Sigrid and Haldis had decided together that Jorun should be punished for the deed so that the matter could be put to rest.

  “It’s all lies,” Jorun whispered while Alfhild cried and cowered on the bench.

  “Are you accusing the queen mother of lying?” Solveig bellowed. She stepped forward, staring at Jorun. They had decided that Solveig, who came from the oldest and most powerful of the Svea families, would sentence Jorun. That way, no one would doubt the sentence, and Sigrid would be forever exonerated.

  “She who harms the queen of Svealand must pay with her life,” Solveig announced. “Such is the law. At dawn you will be hanged until dead.”

  The women around the room nodded contentedly and cried out their approval.

  “May it so happen,” said Sigrid, nodding to the housecarls, who pulled Jorun onto her feet.

  Only now did Jorun realize what was going to happen. Gray in the face, she looked pleadingly at Sigrid.

  “Don’t let them kill me, I beg of you, my kinswoman. Don’t kill your own flesh and blood.”

  “I neither want to nor am able to defy the law of the Svea,” Sigrid said simply. She couldn’t dredge up the least bit of compassion for her kinswoman.

  “Toste will punish you for this,” Jorun said.

  Sigrid shook her head. Even now, Jorun didn’t understand the damage she had wrought. She who had been raised in the same family ought to know that if you showed weakness, you would be killed. Jorun had to be sacrificed so that Sigrid could uphold her own and the baby’s honor. Besides, it was her own doing. If Jorun hadn’t gotten caught up in her own bitterness, scheming, and spreading poison, this would never have happened.

  “You’ve brought shame to the family and betrayed your own kin. If your father were here, he would have put the rope around your neck himself. Go, and die with dignity.” Sigrid gestured with her hand, and Jorun was dragged screaming out of the room.

  “Please, don’t kill me. I’ll never fail you again. Let me make it up to you,” Alfhild said, sobbing and quaking in fear.

  “What trust you had with me has been destroyed and can never be made whole,” Sigrid scoffed, her chin up. “You serve me no longer and have no place on this estate.”

  Alfhild looked at her in horror. “Where will I go?” she whispered.

  “That’s up to you. You must leave this house immediately. You may not take anything with you.”

  The housecarls dragged Alfhild to her feet. They had to hold her up so she didn’t collapse.

  “Isn’t there anything I can do to appease you?” Alfhild pleaded in a whisper.

  “If you want to show loyalty to your queen, you can go to the grove and beseech the gods to choose you,” replied Solveig.

  Alfhild’s eyes widened when she realized what that would mean.

  The housecarls led her out
, and Sigrid watched as the door closed on the last remnant from home. If Alfhild chose to live, she would have to find someone to serve, otherwise she would soon freeze or starve to death. But no one would want her. The respect and prosperity she had had as Sigrid’s maidservant were gone forever. Sigrid could have had Alfhild killed, but it was better to show magnanimity.

  “I honor you, my queen,” Haldis said, getting up, her expression one of pure respect. “May peace now reign in your hall.”

  “Justice has been done,” Solveig said, nodding with dignity.

  Sigrid straightened up, stretched her aching back, and looked around the room at the leading women in Svealand.

  “I’m ready to sacrifice everything, even my own blood, to protect my husband, his son, and Svealand. Know this: in these times of misfortune—when Styrbjörn longs to kill your sons and husbands and wants to force you to kneel to his false god—I am ready to die for you, daughters of Svealand. Bear this in your hearts when misfortune comes to your farms.”

  Everyone in the room bowed her head to Sigrid with a respect she had never encountered before. Only now did they fully accept her as their queen. Surely that was worth sacrificing her kinswomen for.

  “Svea, chieftains, relatives,” cried Erik, looking out over the large band of men and women who stood gathered in the grove. “Thor has promised us victory in the battle. Thor sent a sign that I should crown my unborn son king at this sacrifice. Should I perish, his mother, the queen, will reign until he is of age!”

  A cheer ran through the crowd. Erik placed his hand on Sigrid’s swelling belly and looked out over the sea of Svea dressed in furs and thick cloaks, surrounding him as far as he could see.

  Most of them held up their weapons and hands to show their approval while a few turned to look at each other with skepticism. These were the chieftains Erik had to placate. Sigrid forced herself to smile at her husband. The veins in his forehead swelled, and beads of sweat appeared even though it was a cold day. No one had ever crowned an unborn child before and if he didn’t win the Sveas’ approval, he was sunk. Still, he had no choice. Sigrid had seen to that.