‘I always do, Mother.’
‘Yes, but this is especially important, my dear. Whatever these men are coming for, we women are in some danger and you more than any of us. You must know what I mean. It’s taken our little community years to recover after the last time, but I refuse to run away, for then what would happen to those we care for? But if you’re right about them coming only for payment to cease their raiding, then I still believe the safest place for you and Haesel would be out there in the woods, hiding until they’ve gone. Once you show your faces in the Earl’s hall, they will want you as well as money. Stay here out of the way, I beg you.’
It was difficult for Fearn not to be moved by Mother Bridget’s concern. Such fear for her welfare was rarely shown these days, particularly not by Fearn’s husband, Barda, one of her foster father’s chosen warriors. A boastful, swaggering bully of a man, he had adopted the new Christian religion only in order to marry her, not for any other reason. Yet Fearn used his name now in the hope of persuading her blessed hostess of a better protection, knowing how he would put up a fight to protect anything that was his. Even his horse. ‘I am grateful to you, Mother. Truly I am. But I will not hide like a fugitive when there are so many of the Earl’s men to protect me. And Barda. He would not allow them to take me. Whatever else he is capable of, he would prefer not to lose me. Please stop worrying.’
Even as she said his name, all three women’s minds turned to what else he was capable of. Violence towards his wife, for one thing. Mother Bridget had seen the weals on Fearn’s body when she’d come here for treatment. Love was not something Fearn had ever felt for a man and Barda did not know the meaning of the word.
A reluctant sigh left Mother Bridget’s wrinkled lips along with a shake of her head. ‘Well,’ she said, softly, ‘I didn’t really expect you to agree, my dear. Is there nothing I could say that might persuade you?’
‘I could leave Haesel with you, being so young.’
‘Thank you, but, no!’ Haesel said, suffering two surprised stares. ‘I’m sorry, mistress, but I shall not leave you. The Reverend Mother must know that.’
‘Of course I do, child. Lady Fearn knows it, too. Let’s just hope her possessive husband is as loyal as you are. Does he know you’ve come here? Last time, you were in some trouble, I remember.’
Fearn smiled, ruefully. ‘The Earl sent him off with two others to find out what they could. They’ll be following the river up towards the coast. They may even have returned by now with some news.’
‘In which case, love, you had better drink up and head back to the hall. And think again about what I’ve said. You’ll get no better advice.’ Especially, she thought, from that obnoxious pair, Fearn’s mother-in-law and her foster mother, neither of whom had displayed any motherly traits towards Fearn, whose entry into their lives was a constant source of jealousy. ‘I’ll come with you as far as the river,’ she said, taking their empty beakers.
* * *
The River Ouse flowed deep and wide past the end of the nunnery’s orchard on its way to the Humber Estuary and the North Sea. Usually so clamorous with men’s shouts, dogs barking, the clang of hammers and children’s squealing, the river path opposite the workshops seemed eerily quiet as if the city were holding its breath. Haesel had stopped on the track and was facing in the wrong direction, towards the sun, now well risen but hazy, her body rigid with apprehension. ‘What is it?’ Fearn called. ‘You see something?’
‘Smell,’ Haesel said without turning round. ‘Can you smell it?’
Fearn and Mother Bridget lifted their heads to sniff. ‘Smoke,’ they whispered. ‘That’s not Jorvik smoke.’ Their eyes strained into the distance where lay several small villages along the banks of the river where plumes of white and dark grey smoke rose almost vertically into the sky pierced by sharp spears of flame. ‘It’s them!’ Fearn said. ‘Oh, may God have mercy on us. They are raiding. They’ll be here in no time at all. We must run. Warn Earl Thored. Quick! Run! Mother Bridget...go back! Go!’
The elderly nun balked, fearful not for herself but for the two lovely women who now seemed closer than ever to her worst predictions. ‘Fearn, please come back with me...don’t go...be one of us...hide in the woods...it’s safer...’ The two, old and young, clung together, parted and clung again.
‘No, Mother. They’ll not ravage the city again. Now, go quickly. I’ll send a message when they’ve gone. Hurry!’ she called, already running with Haesel towards the ferry. ‘May God protect you.’
But Mother Bridget did not run and, as Fearn looked back to see, she was standing on the path with both hands holding her head. The masts of the boats would soon be seen rounding the bend of the river—that was certain.
Expecting Gaut to be manning the ferry, as before, they were horrified to see that he had deserted it, though fortunately the boat was on their side of the river. They took an oar each, fumbling and rattling them in the rowlocks to bring them into some kind of unison which, in more normal circumstances, would have made them double up with helpless laughter. But not this time, for the current was strong enough to push the boat further down the bank than the jetty, making it impossible for them to clamber out without wading up to their knees in muddy water. Their walk along the path up to that corner of the city known as Earlsbrough, where the great Hall of the Earls was situated, was by no means as dignified as their exit had been one hour earlier. And to make matters worse, their arrival through a small opening in the enclosure was seen and intercepted by her two most critical relatives, horrified to see the two muddy young women with wet gowns clinging to their legs. Catla, her mother-in-law, and Hilda, her foster mother, wife of Earl Thored.
Having been advised more than once by the priest that a little subservience in her manner towards these two would not come amiss, on occasion, Fearn decided that now was not the time, with a Viking raid imminent. ‘Yes...yes, I know,’ she said to Catla, ‘but never mind the mess. Where is Earl Thored? There are raiders coming up the river and they’re not far away. Is he in the hall?’
‘If you mean the Danes,’ Catla said, icily, ‘your foster father has already been informed, so there was no need for you to act the heroine and be the first to tell him so. The situation is well under control.’ Her lined face registered a cold dislike of her daughter-in-law.
‘He knows?’ Fearn said. ‘Then Barda has returned?’
‘No, he has not, yet. But when he does, he’d better not see you looking like that, had he? Now I suggest you go inside and get that maid of yours to earn her keep and tend you, instead of playing silly water games. I have a mind to have her whipped.’
‘You’ll do no such thing, Catla. She probably saved me from drowning.’
With looks of deep disapproval, Catla and Hilda turned away, but not before making sure that Fearn heard Catla’s parting shot. ‘Pity,’ she muttered.
Fearn had never been under any illusions about the woman’s hostility towards her, but this undisguised malice stung, especially when women were expected to support and comfort each other in times of crisis. All the same, she could hardly subdue a leap of guilty relief at the news of Barda’s continued absence. The longer he took to do his scouting, the easier she would feel, but she refused to imagine what might be the reason, for that was a dangerous path to tread.
Waiting until the two older women were out of sight, Fearn went directly to the great hall where Earl Thored would give her the latest news. Her skirts still clung to her legs and her bootees squelched on the wooden floor as she approached, though her efforts not to attract attention to herself were rarely successful. For one thing, few women were allowed to take part in any discussion unless they had a role to play and, for another thing, so many of the Earl’s men desired her that it was asking too much of them not to be affected by her presence, dripping wet or not.
The great hall was by far the largest hall in Jorvik, eve
n larger than the wooden church of St. Peter nearby. Massive wooden pillars held up the roof beams carved with grotesque faces and interlace patterns, the walls almost entirely covered with colourful embroidered hangings, with weapons, shields and polished helmets, decorative but functional, too. Earl Thored half-sat on the edge of a trestle table surrounded by some of his personal thegns, men of property, influence and loyalty, well dressed and well-armed. Their deep voices overlapped, but Thored’s was the one they listened to, authoritative and compelling. ‘I tell you,’ he was saying as Fearn approached, ‘they’ll not raid Jorvik this time. It’s wealth they’re after, not our land or property.’
‘But, my lord,’ one of the men protested, ‘they’re burning already. Why would they do that to the villages and not here?’
‘To show us what we’ll get if we don’t pay them off,’ Thored said as if he’d already made that point. ‘Scaring tactics. They’ll be looking for provisions, too. But I shall not bargain with them like a common merchant on the wharf. They must come up here if they want payment. They can carry it down to the ships themselves. Is Arlen the Moneyer here?’
‘Here, my lord,’ said Arlen from the back of the group.
‘Good. Start filling sacks with coin, then have it brought here.’
‘How many...how much?’
‘In Thor’s name, man!’ Thored shouted. ‘How do I know? Just prepare for the worst. These devils won’t go away without fleecing us for every last penny—that much I do know. Get that young lad of yours to help. He’ll have to learn the new way of fighting, though I’m ashamed to see them off in this fashion. I’d rather do it with a sword in my hand, but we don’t have their numbers and that son-in-law of mine hasn’t yet made up his mind how to deal with the problem.’ There were murmurs of agreement and dissatisfaction, too, but no open criticism of King Ethelred’s wavering policies, apart from that of his father-in-law. Then Thored caught sight of Fearn standing beside one of the oak pillars. ‘Ah, Lady Fearn, you’ll be wanting to hear news of your man. I’m as puzzled as you are. It doesn’t usually take three men two days to glean some news of the enemy. Well, we don’t need them now when we can see for ourselves where they are and what they’re doing. He’ll be back. Don’t worry.’
‘Thank you, my lord. I shall stay well out of sight until then,’ she said, turning to go.
‘No, I want you here. You can add some colour to the discussions, eh? Ye gods, woman! Where have you been?’ he bellowed, catching sight of her lower half as the group parted.
‘The ferry, my lord. Gaut was not there to row us. My maid and I—’ She got no further with her explanation before her voice was drowned by politely sympathetic laughter tinged with a masculine superiority in matters of river craft.
Pushing a fist beneath his moustache to stifle his laughter, Thored’s blue eyes creased into the weathered wrinkles of his skin. ‘Then you’d better go and change into something more worthy of a noblewoman, my lady. The Danes will not have anything as good to show us, I’ll swear. Go by the kitchens and tell them to prepare mead, beor and ale for us and our guests. The least we can do is to drink them legless.’ Unconsciously, his large hand stole upwards to grasp the solid-silver Thor’s-hammer pendant that hung from a leather thong around his neck. ‘Now, I need three of you to go down to the wharf and wait, then escort their leaders up here. And where’s the harpist? And the scribe? Let’s show the ruffians some culture while we’re about it.’
* * *
Passing the kitchen building, Fearn relayed the Earl’s orders, knowing that on her next entry into the hall, an army of servants would have attended to every detail, relying on his word that the Danes would be there to bargain, not to wreck. Inside the confines of her own thatched dwelling, she found that Haesel had anticipated her needs, laying out an indigo-dyed woollen kirtle to be worn over a fine linen shift that showed at the neckline, wrists and hem. Fearn had worked gold thread embroidery along all the edges that glittered discreetly as she moved, picking up the deeper solid gold and amethyst of the circular pin that held the neckline together. Her circlet of patterned gold and garnets was one of several she owned, but when she asked Haesel to pass her jewel casket, she discovered that it had been packed, along with extra clothes and shoes in a lined leather bag, the kind used for travelling. ‘What’s this about?’ she asked her maid.
Haesel sat down on the fur-covered bed and looked pensively at her mistress, obviously finding it difficult to give a convincing explanation.
‘Haesel? Have you been seeing things again?’ Fearn said. ‘Tell me.’
‘It’s not easy to know what I see and what I think I see, lady. I don’t know what it means, but we were travelling, and there was a strong wind...blowing...you needed your cloak, but you were wearing the one you made for your husband. So I packed...well...everything I thought you’d need...and...’
‘Wait a moment! You say I’m wearing Barda’s new cloak? But he’s taken it with him.’
‘Yes, lady. That’s what I don’t understand. Unless he allows you to wear it.’
Fearn looked at her maid in silence. As a mere sixteen-year-old, she had served Fearn for the last four years when her family’s house caught fire. Her father had been a potter on Coppergate, but the kiln had exploded and Haesel had been the only one to survive, albeit with severe burns to one arm and the side of her throat. Her mass of fair curls had now grown back and the sweet prettiness of her features more than compensated for the wrinkled red skin that she usually managed to hide under the white veil swathed around her neck. Fearn had soon discovered that Haesel possessed a strange talent for seeing into the future, though it was often rather difficult to make out how the information related to events, as it did now when Barda’s cloak was not in Fearn’s possession. By now, however, Fearn had learnt to take the predictions seriously, although they were both enigmatic and quite rare. ‘So what have you packed, and where shall we be going?’ she said.
‘Your jewels, clothes, shoes, your recipe book of cures. I couldn’t get your harp in. I know nothing about where we’ll be going, lady. Just the wind blowing.’
‘Then we shall just have to see what happens. Was my husband there?’
Haesel shook her head. ‘No, lady. He was not with you.’ It happened occasionally that she withheld information she thought either too unreliable or not in her mistress’s best interests to know in advance. There had been many men there in her sighting, but Barda had not been amongst them.
* * *
The Dane known as Aric the Ruthless had hardly expected that the four longships in his command would be able to slip into Jorvik unseen, even so early in the morning with the sun obscured by clouds of smoke rising up from the riverside villages. His men had needed to take provisions on board after rowing against the current all the way from the river estuary, and since it took too long to ask politely for foodstuffs, they had taken it without asking. Coming to the last navigable bend of the Ouse, Aric noticed that the trading wharves and jetties were devoid of merchant ships and the stacks of produce that usually littered the area. The only sign of life was a small group of armed men waiting, grim-faced, to meet them. So, the Earl of Northumbria had come with his elite corps to conduct him, personally, to the place known as Earlsbrough.
Their greeting was civil, though hardly warm. One warrior drew his sword from his scabbard, catching the light on its menacing blade. But as Aric stepped off the gangplank, he called to him to put it away. ‘We have come here to talk,’ he called. ‘Which of you is the Earl?’
‘The Earl of Northumbria awaits you in his hall,’ the leader said. ‘He prefers not to trade with you for Jorvik’s safety here on the wharf like a merchant. Be pleased to come with us.’
‘What, and be surrounded by Englishmen?’ Aric said.
‘Bring as many men as you wish, Jarl.’
* * *
The walk took a lit
tle time, though they soon discovered that their Danish words so much resembled the Anglo-Danish spoken in Jorvik that there were very few misunderstandings. Adjusting the beaver-skin cloak on his broad shoulders, Aric walked with his hosts and a group of his own chosen men through the deserted dirty streets of Jorvik to the mournful cry of seagulls and the yapping of dogs chasing an escaped pig. The air was tense with uncertainty, for the rank odour of smoke still clung to the invaders’ clothes. None of them were under any illusions that the show of politeness would last, for at the nod of a head or the click of a finger, they could all slaughter one another without a qualm.
Earl Thored stood waiting outside the stout wooden doors of the great hall, unmistakable to Jarl Aric by his imposing figure, tall, broad-shouldered, with a shock of thick white hair echoed in the luxurious drooping moustache, an exceptionally handsome man of some fifty years, and experienced. He greeted Aric with a brief nod, noting the Dane’s appreciative look at the fine carvings on the doors and crossed gables. ‘Not so different in Denmark, I don’t suppose,’ he said, leading them into the hall.
‘The same in most respects, my Lord Thored. Our requirements are the same as yours.’
‘Our requirements, Jarl, are for peace above anything.’
‘Then we have that in common,’ said Aric, determined not to be wrong-footed by the older statesman. ‘I see no reason why we cannot agree on that. Eventually.’
Thored’s look held an element of scepticism for the Dane who had just led a series of raiding parties along the East Anglian coast. The ‘eventually’ was something that would demand hard bargaining, with no guarantee that the Danes would not return for more next year, as soon as the days lengthened. But his look was also laced with an unwilling admiration, not only for this man’s youth compared with his own, but for his undeniable good looks, which Thored was sure would have the women enthralled. More used to looking down upon his men, Thored found that their heads were level and that the Dane’s keen grey eyes had already swept the hall in one observant stare, as if to assess the wealth contained there.
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