by J. M. Hofer
Arhianna opened her mouth to protest, but Jørren’s frown let her know he would not listen.
“Wife,” he said, holding a hand up to stop her. “You’re foolish to think your people, whom we attacked and whose homes we burned, would be eager to welcome five-hundred clansmen into their village to eat their food and mate with their women.”
Arhianna was about to make her arguments, but Jørren cut her off. “We go to Hengist,” he said definitively and stood to leave.
“But we are trading one slaver for another!” Arhianna protested. She turned to Ragna in desperation, knowing she shared her hesitations about following Hengist.
Ragna had warned Jørren against being indebted to men such as Hengist and his brother, Horsa. She cautioned they were men who valued power above all things, and did not extend gifts nor favor without expecting unquestionable loyalty and obedience in return. Instead of agreeing with Arhianna, now, however, she stepped forward and put a hand on her shoulder, shooting her a look to keep quiet. She turned to her son. “When do we leave?”
“As soon as the ships are ready. We will take as much as they can bear. The rest we leave behind.”
Ragna nodded. “We must get to work, then.” She steered Arhianna from the hall. Once outside, Ragna took her aside. “The time for arguing is over. The decision is made. We must support him and make the best of it.”
Arhianna nodded. They would go where he commanded, as would the rest of the clan. She did not, however, share her husband’s optimism. She knew well the character of the warlord Vortigern, Hengist’s ally, whom she had heard her father often speak of, and never fondly. “I don’t know anything about Hengist,” Arhianna said to Ragna, “but I do know about Vortigern.”
Ragna knit her brows. “What do you know of him?”
“He once served Constantine, the last Roman ruler in our land. My father believes Vortigern had him murdered, as well as his eldest son, after he used both of them to gain what he wanted. He makes promises he cannot, or will not, keep—he bartered with the Picts, but did not honor his agreement. Now, they overrun his territory. That’s why he invited Hengist and his people to settle in the east. He gave them land, and in exchange, they must fight his wars for him. He has power, that’s certain, but it’s power won through murder and deceit, not nobly, in battle. His promises are worthless. If Hengist is offering something that Vortigern offered him, his promises are equally worthless.”
Ragna nodded. “I do not know this Vortigern, but can tell you one thing for certain—whatever power he thinks he has over Hengist, he has imagined it. When the time comes, Hengist will rise up against him.”
So they are the same, then, Arhianna concluded. She remembered something her father once said to her. “The only man more dishonorable than a snake is the man who willingly serves a snake.”
***
A week later, the clan sailed for Kent. It was summer, so the days were long and their journey not as difficult. For the most part, skies were clear and the sea as agreeable as the North Sea could deign to be. The clan gave thanks to Woden, believing he had blessed their voyage.
Arhianna kept her eyes on the horizon and prayed to Freya and the Great Mother that they might find peace in Kent.
Four days later, they came upon the most stunning snow-covered cliffs Arhianna had ever seen. “Snow? How can that be? It’s summer!”
Jørren laughed. “That is not snow. It is the color of the cliffs—and it means we have arrived.” They sailed along the vaulting white coastline, which eventually gave way to seaside villages and harbors.
Jørren pointed to the mast. “Raise the sail!” The men hoisted the sail. It snapped open in the strong wind, and the ship surged ahead. The other ships did the same, unfurling their flock of terrible black ravens. Their sigils flapped ominously as they sailed toward the harbor, as if they truly had wings.
Soon, someone came rowing out to their ships. Arhianna moved closer to her husband so she could hear what was said.
“Earl Jørren?” the man asked, glancing up at the sail.
“Yes. Have we reached Ebbsfleet?”
The man nodded. “Follow me. I will show you where to dock.”
The man led the way past the largest harbor Arhianna had ever seen. Saxon ships lined its docks, surrounded by a sprawling patchwork of fish and fruit stands. It was the sort of marketplace Arhianna imagined the Romans having. She craned her neck, straining to see everything she could, seduced by its colors and chaos. To her disappointment, the man sailed past the busy harbor to a quieter place within a fjord or river of some sort. There, he pointed to where the ships should dock.
After the ships were moored, Jørren disembarked and spoke to the man who had guided them there. After some discussion, he gave the man a nod and turned toward her. “Stay here with the clan until I return.”
He never gave her much information about where he was going or what he was doing. Sometimes, like now, he gave her none at all, which was at odds with her insatiable desire to know what was going on at all times. She watched him as he went to each of the other ships in turn, selected a few of the men to join him, and then followed their host into the land they had come to. She and the rest of the clan were left to disembark and wait on a nearby shore for them to return. The women built driftwood fires while the men fished, all of them eager for a hot meal.
Hours passed, filled with nothing but salty breezes and the cries of gulls. Arhianna grew anxious. What’s happening? Why didn’t he take me with him? Am I not his queen? She loved Jørren, but he rarely included her in matters of war or politics, like her father did with her mother. Jørren had made it clear her place was to follow him, not to ask questions. She had learned that well over the past two years. If she questioned him, he saw it not as a matter of curiosity, but rather that she did not trust him—and that, he found intolerable. They fought often over it.
Ragna came and sat next to her. “Here, eat something.” She offered her some roasted fish. “Staring will not make them come back any sooner.”
Arhianna took the fish and murmured her thanks.
“You do not like being left behind, do you?”
Arhianna took her eyes off the horizon for the first time and looked at her. “No, I despise it.”
Ragna smiled and chuckled. “You are a woman of fire, to be certain—it is your nature to consume everything around you. Fire serves one well in times of conflict, but it thrashes like a caged beast when asked to wait. Patience is a challenge for all those born of fire.”
Ragna’s lesson, though apt, was lost on her now. It only served to annoy her. She thought it best to go for a walk lest she snap and say something she would regret. “I’ll be back,” she said, mustering a smile. She stood up and walked down the beach, greeting everyone as she went. She had grown fond of her new clan, and they of her. Some had been afraid of her at first, but this had passed with the moons. Now, the children begged her to perform tiny delights for them, like making the flames of the candles dance within the longhouse. She had been hesitant at first, concerned she might offend the gods by using her power in a frivolous way, but she learned Freya was a playful mistress and did not mind.
It was yet another hour before Jørren and his men returned. Arhianna relaxed the moment she saw the smiles on their faces. He strode down to the beach like a stallion, his long hair flying in the breeze. He came straight for her and offered her his hand. “Come. Let me show you your new home.”
Her irritation with him vanished. She took his hand, eager to leave the beach behind. He motioned to the clan, beckoning them to follow. “Everyone! Come and see!”
They walked for a half hour or so, until Jørren stopped and pointed to a wide stretch of land. “There. That is the land I have chosen for us.”
He had chosen well. The land was green and promising. There was no doubt it would yield good crops. Arhianna wanted to be excited about their new land, but she could not help worrying about the price they would be made to pay for it. What
will Hengist ask of us in return for such good land?
“Are you not pleased?” Jørren frowned. “It is not Vanaheim, but it could be far worse.”
Arhianna could nearly see her husband’s heart wilting at her lack of enthusiasm, and felt a wave of remorse. She forced herself to smile, resolving to keep her reservations to herself. “This is good land. You’ve done well.”
Her remark put a spark in his eye. He grabbed her up in his huge arms, squeezed the breath out of her, and then kissed her deeply, melting her worries for the moment.
“Here I can put sons in your belly,” he whispered in her ear, “and I have a mind to,” he growled, “right now.” He grabbed a handful of her bottom and gave it a good squeeze, causing her to yelp. She relaxed into his chest and gave him a long, leisurely kiss. They had not made love in five days, and she hungered for him. She longed, more than anything, to give her husband the sons he wanted. She had prayed every day to both Freya and the Great Mother for a child, but, for some reason, Jørren’s seed had never taken root inside her. Every moon, when her blood came, she felt like a failure. Still, she refused to give up hope. “Then find us a hidden field and leave your men to unload the ships.”
“Don’t worry, mi kone. Soon enough.” He put her down and strode off toward the ships, leaving her to rejoin the women. They were collecting wood. Arhianna did the same, surveying the land as she went. She discovered some well-built structures that appeared to have been deserted. The most impressive was a sturdy longhouse, nearly as nice as the one they had left behind. It was so nice, in fact, that she wondered why the people who had built it had left. They probably had no choice, she reasoned, growing wary again. Why else would they leave?
It was not long before the rest of the women discovered the longhouse and came to investigate. None of them shared her reservations. They praised Jørren and the land, nodding with approval as they inspected the hall. Soon, it was flooded with chatter. The younger ones talked about the marketplace they had seen and all of the goods they would now have access to, and the older ones fussed about what to put where.
Arhianna left them to it. Outside, wagons began arriving with the goods from their ships. The men swarmed around them like a colony of ants, unloaded them, and then sent them back for more. Not wishing to be seen idle, Arhianna rolled up her sleeves and carried the wood she and the women had gathered into the hall, filling the long fire trench with enough of it to last through the night. The air was wet and cold. Once night fell, they would need a warm fire.
There were a few abandoned houses not far from the longhouse.
Arhianna tugged on Jørren’s arm and pointed. “What shall we do with those?”
“We will make storehouses of them or use them for animals. Every man must build his own home for his family, including me. Until then, we sleep in the longhouse.”
Dusk began to fall. Arhianna felt it was important to speak to the women, so asked Ragna to gather them in the hall. She requested that they bring their cooking pots and enough food for each of their families. Once the women arrived, Arhianna stood upon the dais at the end of the fire trench and raised her hands. “Sisters, tonight we will cook and eat together as one family. Join me in thanking Freya and asking her to bless our new home.” The women joined hands and whispered prayers of thanks, and when they had all looked up again, Arhianna caused the trench to ignite with a fiery roar. The women whooped and hollered, thrilled by the display of their queen’s power. They set to work preparing the evening meal, chattering again as they had before.
Arhianna felt better. There was enough cheer in the hall that she forgot her worries and was soon laughing and joking with the rest of them. She found Ragna chopping vegetables and sat down beside her to help.
“I would not make any further displays of your power here,” she cautioned under her breath, her eyes darting toward the door. “We may not have been the only ones who witnessed it.”
Arhianna felt a jolt of fear. “What do you mean? Who saw me?”
“Hopefully, no one. But the man who met us at the docks is not the only stranger among us. More of Hengist’s men have come to speak to Jørren today. He has invited them to eat with us tonight. If they know you possess such power, I fear you may be carted off to Hengist to be used in battle.”
Arhianna dumped a handful of turnip cubes into her pot, the thought turning her stomach.
“You and I will sit near these men tonight. Listen carefully to everything they have to say.”
Within a few hours, the women had made several pots of fish stew and baked some bread. The clan gathered to eat. The guests Ragna mentioned earlier had brought barrels of ale to share, to the glee of the entire clan. The food was simple, but good and hot. For some time, not much was said at the dais or anywhere else in the hall. Everyone felt famished after the long day, and enjoyed their hot food in silence. Once appetites were sated, the ale flowed much faster. The hall soon became a drunken cacophony of conversation and laughter.
When the last of the food had been eaten, Jørren stood to speak. “Let us give thanks to the man who so generously granted us this land.” He raised his horn of ale. “To Earl Hengist!”
“To Earl Hengist!” the hall resounded. Hundreds of horns were raised.
With the meal finished, the conversation grew more interesting. Arhianna sipped her ale slowly, not wanting to miss any detail of importance.
“You may have heard, Vortigern’s traitorous sons tried raising an army against us,” one of their guests said. “They attacked us four times, trying to rid themselves of us.”
“Four times!” Arhianna said, aghast. She could not help it.
The man glanced at her. “The first was here, on Thanet. The second time, on the river Derwent, the third, at Aylesford. There, we suffered our worst losses. Hengist’s brother, Horsa, fell that day, Woden bless his soul.”
Jørren exchanged shocked looks with his mother. “I am sorry to hear of this. He surely feasts in Valhalla.”
The man nodded. “Surely, he does. His death was a great blow to Hengist. He and his brother were partners in all things—as close as brothers can be. But Aylesford was not a complete loss. We managed to slay one of Vortigern’s foul sons as well—that cowardly dog, Catigern.” The man spit on the floor.
“And the fourth attack?”
“The fourth was on the shores of the Gallic sea. Vortigern’s other son, Vortimer, and his forces drove our ships back into the sea, but Hengist had his daughter poison him.”
“Lady Renwein?”
“Yes. Hengist married her to Vortigern. She has him wrapped around her finger. He suspects nothing.”
Arhianna’s heart sank. She had been right. It was too good to be true. That’s why he’s made us such a generous offer. He means to send our men into battle against Vortigern. Her stomach lurched. We’ve sailed into a viper’s den.
The man seemed wholly unaffected by the treachery he was recounting, and went on talking. “I think perhaps Hengist would have been content to let the alliance bear fruit, if Vortigern had not inspired his sons to turn against us. Now, he will pay for their betrayal. The coward claims he had nothing to do with his son’s attacks, but none of us believe him. The man is a fool. Worse, he is a coward and a fool. I can at least respect a fool with courage.”
Jørren smiled.
“With both his sons dead, Vortigern will be brought to heel. And with earls like you by our side, he will never again attempt to lay claim to our settlements.”
Arhianna felt undone. Things were worse than she had imagined. It’s just as I feared. We’ve traded one slaver for another. How can Jørren be so blind?
CHAPTER FIVE
Hengist
It had been two moons since they had arrived in Kent. Despite Arhianna’s reservations about their new home, she worked as hard as everyone else organizing their new village. She felt compelled to ensure the women were ready for an attack if one came. She had learned much from her mother on this count, and trained
her women to be deadly archers. It was a tradition she planned to pass along to her own daughter if she and Jørren ever had one. Jørren had given every family a plot of land to build their house upon. Those houses were now finished, and, for the most part, everyone had assumed their former roles within the community.
There had been no trouble from Vortigern since the battle at Aylesford. The men in the clan, including Jørren, seemed confident Vortigern would trouble them no more, but Arhianna did not have faith things would remain peaceful. She kept her ears open for any news of what was happening in the surrounding countryside between Hengist and his ever-increasing enemies. She asked the women of the clan to do the same and to let her know if they overheard anything suspicious in the marketplace.
One morning, a man she was not familiar with came to their village with a message for Jørren. Her stomach sank as she led him to her husband.
“Earl Jørren,” the man began formally, “Earl Hengist has requested that you visit his hall in Thanceastre three nights hence, and there, publicly declare your fealty to him.”
Jørren nodded. “Tell my cousin it pleases me to do so. I will be there with my council of eoldermen, my queen, and my mother.”
The messenger bowed, and Arhianna offered him food and drink before he departed. This is it, she thought, growing anxious. This day is upon us already. Though it filled her with dread, a part of her looked forward to having it over with. She would finally know, one way or another, what Hengist intended for them.
They set out the next morning, for it would take them a few days to make the journey to Thanceastre, Hengist’s hall and fortress. Arhianna and Ragna were the only women invited to go. Wagons were loaded with what gifts they could gather from the families of their clan, which, sadly, were mostly personal treasures. There had not been room in the ships to take anything more, and they had only been in their new home a few moons—not enough time to make anything fine. Arhianna grew bitter looking at the wagon, knowing many of the women had given up their sole treasure to fill it—a wedding ring, an amber necklace, the one fine piece of pottery the family owned—things that a warlord like Hengist would surely not even glance at. She was grateful the Brisingamen was with Taliesin. She had paid a high price with her husband for its disappearance, but it had been worth it. If she had kept it, he surely would have insisted it go to Hengist.
