by Ceri Bladen
She made her way across, being careful not to slip on the stones she stepped on. She reached forward and grabbed Brigitta’s rigid arm. “Come, we must get back to the camp. There is much work to do before the next lot of men return.” She felt Brigitta move, but she noticed Arter stayed standing in the puddle, splashing his feet. Her gaze narrowed on him. He was stubborn, so she would have to try a different tact with him. Not for the first time, it crossed Edeva’s mind that his birth parents must have been strong-willed. “Arter.” She held out her other hand. “If we go now, we will able to see the warriors come back.” He stopped splashing, his foot in mid-air. He loved the warriors, as much as they loved him. She often caught one of them letting him use their heavy shields and axes, or even placing him on top of their horses, which always made her catch her breath. She disliked horses and felt awkward around the large beasts, their hooves seemed too dangerous to get near. But, she would never be a warrior, so she stayed away from them.
When he finally grabbed her hand, Edeva navigated the children onto the harder ground and let go of their hands to inspect the damage to both their clothes and the bottom of her tunic. She sighed — another job on her list. “Come, we will find Edith. I think she has picked some apples for you.”
“Great, apples,” Arter said, grabbing for Edeva’s hand.
“Can you tell us about the Goddess, Iðunn, while we walk? Please, “
Edeva nodded. She knew how much Brigitta and Arter loved to hear tales. Arter loved the Norse tales of Gods and war, but Brigitta loved any story — even the tales she recalled from her youth when she attended church. She smiled, before putting on her story voice.
“Once, a very long time ago, the Gods Óðinn, Loki, and Hœnir set out on a journey through the wilderness and over mountains. It wasn’t long before they needed food. In one of the valleys, they saw oxen. They took one to eat, but try as they might, they couldn’t cook it. They tried everything, but nothing worked. They were confused. While they considered what to do, they heard someone talking in the oak tree above them.”
Brigitta butted in. “Who said it was he who stopped the ox cooking.”
“Ay, that’s right, Brigitta. Well, what they didn’t know was that it was the jötunn — Þjazi — sitting in the tree, disguised as a great eagle. He told them that if they let him eat, too, he would make the oven cook.”
“He was naughty!” said Arter with a large smile on his face, excited at the mischievous God.
Edeva nodded. “Ay, he was. It is naughty to trick people.” She looked down at Brigitta, who had a serious look on her face. Even at such a tender age, she knew right from wrong. “When he came down from the tree, he devoured a large portion of the ox, but he ate so much that Loki became furious. He grabbed his long staff ready to strike the eagle, but, the weapon stuck to the eagle’s feathers, and the eagle took flight.”
Arter pulled Edeva to a halt. “Carrying Loki with him!”
She nodded. “They flew and flew. Loki begged and shouted to be let down, but Þjazi would only release him on one condition – that he lured Iðunn out of Asgard with her apples of youth. Loki agreed as he wanted to stop being bashed against the treetops.”
“I don’t like Loki,” said Brigitta, her bottom lip starting to protrude.
“I do,” countered her brother, poking his tongue out at her.
Edeva continued the tale. “Later, Loki managed to lure Iðunn into a forest by telling her he had found apples that she might think worth having. While she was comparing the apple to hers, Þjazi arrived in his eagle form and grabbed her. He flew her away to his realm of Þrymheimr.”
“A place called Jötunheimr,” added Arter, barely able to pronounce it properly.
“Ay, when the Gods suddenly began to grow old and grey, they thought it was because they were being deprived of Iðunn’s apples of youth. When they found out Loki was the last one to be seen with her, they threatened him with torture and death, until he agreed to rescue her.
“Loki borrowed a magical coat from Freyja, which allowed him to take the form of a falcon. He flew until he reached the hall of Þjazi. He found Iðunn alone because Þjazi was out at sea. Loki turned her into a nut and carried her back, as fast as possible. But, when Þjazi came home and found her gone, he turned into an eagle and gave them chase.
“When the Gods saw him flying behind Loki, they lit a fire. The flames burned his feathers and he fell to the ground.” Edeva stopped when Arter pulled on her hand, jumping up and down, excitedly.
“And they killed him!”
“Hmm, ay, they did. But let’s not concentrate on that part. You should remember that your actions have consequences.”
“That’s what Edith keeps telling us.” Arter’s face screwed up.
When Edeva picked up the sound of thundering hooves, she grabbed their hands and turned quickly, only relaxing marginally when she noticed the familiar flag. But, they were still in danger of getting crushed by the horses. The roads between the buildings were narrow and the riders were coming at a speed. She pulled Arter out of the way, just in time. She clutched him to her skirts, and with Brigitta’s hand firmly in hers, she took a step away from the dangerous hooves. They all watched the warriors speeding by.
“They stink!” Brigitta shouted as they passed, using her free hand to pinch her nose.
“Because they’ve been in battle, silly.” Arter eagerly watched them as they disappeared around a corner.
Edeva squeezed on his shoulder to reprimand him. “That’s not very nice, Arter. Your sister was only making an observation.” She looked down at the little girl. “They have been away from camp for a long time. Now they have returned, they will bathe in the river and then smell normal.”
Brigitta wrinkled up her nose. “They always stink.”
Edeva tried to hide the smirk on her lips because she agreed some of them did smell, but she couldn’t let Brigitta know. “Well, that might be the case, but we must never say that out loud. Come, we must return. Can I trust you two to collect the eggs for me?”
A smile appeared on Brigitta’s face. “Ay, yes. I will carry the basket and you can put your hand under the hens for the eggs, Arter.”
Arter scowled at his sister. “But they peck me.”
“I thought you were going to be a brave warrior, Arter. You can’t be afraid of a small hen peck,” Edeva said. She noticed him pull himself taller.
“I’m not afraid.”
“Good. Let’s get going.”
Once darkness had settled, Edeva tentatively walked over to the top table to serve ale. Between sorting out the children and making food, she hadn’t had time to find out what had happened today with the skirmishes, but she knew that if they were losing, it could be a problem for her. When Guthrum came back from a battle he had lost, it was best to stay clear of him — especially in the bedchamber.
“More ale.” His loud voice interrupted her tarrying.
She flicked her gaze around, in the hope someone else was near enough to serve him. She sighed when she noticed the other serving girls avert their gazes. They all knew about his temper, too. She straightened her shoulders and walked over. “Ale, Sire?” she asked quietly, lifting the heavy jug in front of her. She breathed a sigh of relief when he barely flicked a look at her. He was rubbing his beard, deep in thought. When he finally nodded his consent, she reached out for his jug but jumped when he grabbed her wrist and held it tight. She resisted the instinct to pull back and make a scene.
“Meet me in my bed-closet, later. You’re not with child or nursing a barn?”
She shook her head and flicked a glance at his main bedmate. She was staring at her, hatred in her eyes. Edeva suddenly wished she was with child — he was never interested in laying with her then.
“Good.”
She answered with a small nod, and swiftly averted her gaze, waiting for him to let go. When he did, she filled his jug and moved along the table, ignoring the looks she received from his men. They all had the s
ame look in their eyes — of battle-weary men, in need of comfort.
During the evening, she continued to busy herself, so she didn’t think about later when she would have to go to Guthrum. She didn’t want to meet him, but he seemed to choose her more often than the other servants when he was bored or irritated with his bedmate. She exhaled a frustrated breath. In reality, Guthrum could be a much worse Sire to her. His interest kept other men away from her, unlike her previous Lord, Ivar the Boneless. He certainly hadn’t minded that she was passed around his men — hadn’t even cared when she was attacked by a group of them. At least Guthrum was the only one she was made to couple with, and he seemed to care for the bastards she produced for him. She would just have to put up with it because there was nothing she could do, she was his servant — a nobody — her previous status meant nothing. The only thing that made her different from all the other women the Vikings had captured was that she’d been given the twins to look after. In some ways, it had been a blessing — she had more food, more comforts, and a way to ease the pain of losing her firstborn — but in other ways, it had been a curse because it had brought her to the attention of Guthrum, and that Viking she loathed and who made her skin crawl, Bard Klaussen, who was always watching her.
A loud thump on a wooden table made her jump, she turned in time to see Guthrum stand. Apart from the noise from the animals who shared the building’s heat, everyone quietened, ready to listen to their Lord speak.
Guthrum grabbed his ale and held it aloft. “Tomorrow we will achieve another victory against the Anglo-Saxon King, Alfred. He doesn’t seem to like that we took Wareham from him, but he will not remove us by force!”
A cheer echoed around the room.
“It could be a hard battle to keep them at bay, but the harder the battle the sweeter the victory.” While the room erupted, he took a slurp of ale, wiping the residue from his facial hair with the back of his hand. “Tomorrow shall be another day our children will remember our Viking strength in battle!”
Edeva watched her Sire bask in the approval of his warriors until his gaze found hers. She balked and couldn’t swallow. She didn’t want to go with him now, not when he was in this frenzied mood. At the best of times, he was not a tender lover. When she saw him step down from the dais and make his way over to her, she resisted the urge to take a step back. She couldn’t publicly displease him — her thoughts would have to stay solely in her mind.
“Come with me to my bed-closet, now.”
She nodded. “Ay, Sire, as you wish.”
Edeva crept out of Guthrum’s closet before the first fingers of light illuminated the sky. She knew he wouldn’t be pleased when he realised, but she trusted his mind would be too caught up in the forthcoming battle to care about a mere servant. From the moment he’d mentioned that he was going to patrol with his men to scout out Alfred’s soldiers, it had given her peace of mind. She would have a rest from his attention. As she left the main hall, ignoring all the unpleasant side-glances she got from the other servants, already up and starting their working day, the morning chill penetrated her tunic and turned her breath white. She rubbed her arms and winced. Guthrum’s rough treatment, last night, was already resulting in painful bruising on her arms and legs. She had to ignore the pain, she still had work to do, so she headed towards the building she shared with Edith, the twins, her children, and another family since they’d occupied Wareham.
She sighed with relief when she pushed open the door of her rectangular, thatched building and was greeted by warmth and a normal morning of early risers. She forced a smile on her face. “Gōdne morgen.” In the privacy of her own home, she preferred to use the Anglo-Saxon morning greeting — but never in front of the Vikings. Edith turned and Edeva had to force herself not to fidget under her friend’s wise gaze.
Edith stepped forward, a worried expression on her face. “Did he hurt you, again?” she whispered.
Tears glazed Edeva’s eyes, but she didn’t comment.
Edith shook her head in disgust. “He is becoming worse. Each battle he wins against the Anglo-Saxons the more violent he becomes with you.”
She reached for Edith’s arm and squeezed, to try and reassure her that she was fine. “Pray, do not worry about me. I am strong, and he doesn’t hurt me that much.”
“I bet he wouldn’t treat a Viking woman the same. It’s because you’re not one of them. You are better.”
She let out a little snort — better than whom? She gave a little shake of her head. “He doesn’t know who I am, Edith. Guthrum wasn’t there when I was taken from Dunwich, and Ivar the Boneless is long gone. There’s nobody around me that really knows who I am, except you. I’ve been with the Danes so long.” She flicked a glance at the twins and her children playing with stones on the floor. “Even I’ve forgotten my previous life at East Angles. But,” — she straightened her shoulders back, letting go of Edith’s arm — “I am a mother to those children, so I must feed them before I go to work.” She ignored her friend’s huff and strode over to the children.
A couple of weeks later, Edeva entered the main hall with Hilde by her side, ready to feed the warriors who had returned from their patrol. It was a light fare — left-over porridge and rye bread with plums — but enough to satisfy their empty stomachs. When she spotted her Sire at the main table talking to a messenger, she faltered. She hadn’t seen Guthrum for weeks — not since she’d left his bed-closet without his consent. She tried to ignore the tightening in her chest and her quivering insides. She’d have to face him sooner or later — she had no choice. It was just a shame it was right after she realised her monthly courses were late.
“Are you going to be all right?” Edith whispered into her ear.
She turned to her and gave a false smile, resisting the urge to place her hand on her small belly. She hadn’t had time to discuss her worries with Edith yet and now wasn’t the time. “Ay, my friend. There will be no problem,” she added, hoping there wouldn’t be.
“We’d better not tarry.” They both walked over to one side of the room to ladle ale into jugs. The men always wanted ale before their food.
Edeva took in a deep breath before she made her way over to the top table. She started to fill the beakers from the furthest end, gaining courage before she served Guthrum.
Used to servants around them, the men continued talking and while she served, she couldn’t help but overhear the conversation Guthrum was having with the messenger, who stood in front of the large table.
“King Alfred has sent a missive through one of our warriors, today, Sire.”
Guthrum’s gaze narrowed on the messenger before he flicked a glance at the men around him. They had stopped drinking and eating, their attention on the man, too. He waved his hand and leaned forward, eager to find out what the king wanted. “Tell.”
“He is willing to pay us a tribute if we leave Dorset without any more skirmishes, Sire.”
Guthrum nodded slowly and sat back. While he quietly contemplating his options, he fingered his beard. They were in a strong tactical position — Alfred didn’t have the manpower to defeat them while they occupied the fortified town. The most he could do was cause small skirmishes when the scouts went out to find food. But, if he was honest, he wanted more strife — he was jaded with normal life. He liked the thrill of a battle because it put fire in his veins, which is why he’d volunteered to be out fighting for the last few weeks. To be honest, even the game of King Alfred and his small army following him like a flea-bitten dog, then paying him to move on had become tedious and predictable. In fact, the only thing sending passion and fire through his veins at the moment was that serving wench, Edeva. With his mind on her, he sought her out. He didn’t have to look far. His eyes narrowed with interest when he noticed her jump when his gaze pinned her. He stared for a while, confused at her behaviour before he grunted and raised his hand to wave her forward. He didn’t have time at the moment — he would deal with her later. “Fill my ale, wench, and then bri
ng us all some more bread and cheese.”
Edeva’s stomach churned. Guthrum didn’t look pleased with her. She lowered her eyes and nodded, stepping forward to fill the vessels of the men at the top table. She dragged it out so she could continue to listen.
“How much Danegeld is he willing to pay, this time?”
The messenger shrugged. “That he did not specify, but he said that he would send some of his men as our hostages until it was paid. You must also swear an oath on the holy ring of Thór that we will leave.”
“Did he now?” Guthrum sat back, suddenly looking pleased with the message. “He must be intent on getting his nuns back.”
A couple of men around him, laughed. They had been surprised to find a convent when they’d invaded Wareham.
Guthrum sat forward and clasped his hands together on top of the wooden table. “Tell King Alfred that if the sum of coin is agreeable, we will agree to his terms.”
The messenger bowed. “I will get the message to him right away.”
Guthrum watched the messenger leave the hall. He felt his stomach rumble. Where’s the food? He sought out Edeva and noticed she was still serving ale. “You, food, now,” he demanded, his hunger overriding his previous good mood.
“Yes, Sire.” Edeva scuttled off, disappointed that she was not able to hear the rest of the conversation.
Two days later…
Edeva tried to ignore the whispers of the other servants while she carried on with her work. The place was abuzz with rumours to why six of King Alfred’s soldiers sat guarded by Bard and another Dane at one of the tables. She wanted to know too, but as she’d overheard Guthrum’s conversation with the messenger, the other day, she assumed they were the hostages sent by King Alfred.
