by Ceri Bladen
“Sire, the Seer isn’t here.”
He turned to look at the lady standing behind him. It was Bard’s wife, Brynhild. He had a sinking feeling in his stomach when he noticed how dirty and how much older she looked since Bard had left. Mayhap he should have sent her away with him, too?
“I said she has gone away, sire,” Brynhild repeated when Ubba just stared at her. She pushed her chin out, annoyed that he was obviously taking in her dishevelled hair and clothes. That would change – when her husband returned.
He shook his head. “Where?”
She shrugged, looking into the distance. “Somewhere to communicate with the gods and goddesses of Vanaheim, no doubt.”
“All right,” he started to move away before guilt had him stop. He turned his head to look at her. “Do you need any help on your farm, Brynhild?”
She bristled. “Nay.” She couldn’t say the words ‘thank you’. He’d ruined her life. She had nothing to thank her chieftain for.
He nodded and walked away, thinking of a way he could get her some extra goats and sheep without her knowing they came from him.
Not wanting to go back to the longhouse, he made his way towards the waterfront. On the way, he noticed one of the longboat’s red flags with a crow on it. It was his. He smiled, and with a spring in his stride, he made his way to the docks. If Eirik was back, Rosfrith was safe, and he could stop worrying about her.
When he arrived at the shores, he searched for Eirik. He strode over when he spotted him, eager to find out about his wife. “Eirik…” he tapped him on his shoulder. “Welcome back”.
“It’s good to be back, sire.”
“Good journey?”
Eirik snorted and shook his head. “I don’t’ think Ægir or Ran, the goddess of the sea, were happy with us. The journey back was difficult.”
Ubba nodded, the gods not interesting him at the moment. “Rosfrith?”
“Ay, sire. I did as you instructed, I took her to Dunwich myself.”
“Her brother seemed glad to see her?”
“Ay, sire. He had a welcoming party waiting for her. We stayed at Dunwich until she told us to leave.”
Ubba relaxed. From the time she’d told him about her brother’s missive, he’d had a terrible feeling about this trip. The gods seemed to be whispering to him, making him unsettled.
Eirik interrupted his thoughts. “Sire. I was handed this before we left the shores. It’s from Lady Rosfrith.”
Ubba reached out for the missive and smiled when he saw the handwriting. Neither of them could read or write, but they had created their own code, based on the futhark alphabet of the runes, before she’d left, so they could communicate. “Thank you for bringing it to me.”
“No problem, sire.”
“Any other news from overseas?”
Eirik hesitated briefly but decided against telling his sire he had supped ale with Bard. He’d bumped into him in an alehouse near Dunwich. In fact, he had a message to relay to Bard’s wife, who was still attending their small farm in Ranaricii. If he could remember it. Bard’s drunken mumblings had made little sense to him.
Chapter 6
October 872 – Dunwich Fortress
Bryan looked through his opened shutters at the sun lowering in the sky, his expression pinched. He’d have to go to Rosfrith’s chamber soon for the evening meal. It was the part of the day he hated - pretending to be interested in her tales about their father, while they ate. Didn’t the dimwit know she bored him? He slammed the shutters closed and turned away, pushing his hand through his hair. He disliked eating alone with her, but he’d been keeping her out of sight as much as possible. His plans had been set into motions and he’d just sent word to Ubba that Rosfrith had died. He was hoping the Viking would stay in Ranaricii and acknowledge him as the sole heir of Dunwich – not that his sister was entitled to much, but it was still too much. So dead she was to her husband - not that it mattered here, but he had to be careful. Tongues wagged and there were too many ships going back and forth. Someone could mention they’d seen her. He sighed heavily when a knock on the door broke the silence. It was most likely her maid, Cate, telling him that Rosfrith was ready to dine.
Rosfrith paced around the main hall, a hive of activity because it was nearly time for food. Bryan would be annoyed that she’d ventured out of her chamber, but the inactivity was killing her. He’d said he wanted to dine alone with her to catch up with the lost years, although she’d noticed he always changed the subject when she mentioned Ubba.
So much was familiar to her, but she now understood her heart didn’t belong here anymore. Her fingers trailed along the wooden trunk her mother had once loved. Her chest ached - her mother was a mere distant memory. She glanced around the hall at the servants she no longer knew. This is where her childhood memories came from, but they had faded. She didn’t want to be here. She belonged with Ubba in Ranaricii. She was more Norse than she thought. Ubba had been right. She had been a fool to return here.
“My lady, food is ready in your chamber. The lord is on his way,” Cate said.
Rosfrith sighed before turning. “Thank you. I will come now.” The isolation chafed. She was used to eating with others in the longhouse, not shut away. Quietly, she followed Cate along the darkened corridor, not the least bit excited about either the food, because it made her nauseous, or trying to make conversation with Bryan. Suddenly, she faltered, as a frown crossed her forehead. It wasn’t right to feel so melancholy. She was here to help her father, not thinking of her own comforts. He wouldn’t recover, but her presence was helping him. Or so she thought. Mayhap she would use this time in East Angles to get to know her brother better, too. Determined, she pushed her shoulders back and carried on.
When she arrived at her chamber, her brother was already there, seated at a small wooden table erected especially for their food. When he heard her, she watched him stand and turn, a smile on his face. She noticed his smile never reached his eyes.
“Dear sister, come.” He motioned to the food. “Before it cools.”
Without a word, Rosfrith crossed the room and sat, forcing a smile on her face. She didn’t want him to know the fare in front of her turned her stomach.
She played with her food for a while, before tuning in to Bryan’s mutterings. She stiffened at the tone of his voice. “Why do you dislike my husband, so?”
Bryan tensed. He’d obviously not been as good at acting as he thought. He placed his knife down. “Now, why do you say that, dear sister?”
Unsure how to put her gut feeling into words, she shrugged.
A smile played on Bryan’s lips when he realised she had no evidence of his hatred for her barbarian - he would never let the word husband pass his lips.
“I don’t dislike Ubba.” He shrugged one shoulder and leaned over to engulf one of her hands. “Apart from the fact he took my precious sister away from me.” Outwardly he laughed, inside he felt sick that he had to use such loving words. “I’m just glad he graciously let you come back for Papa.” He pulled her hand up to kiss. “It’s so lovely to spend this time with you.”
Rosfrith hesitated briefly before smiling. Although she didn’t trust him completely, she was glad she was making the effort to get to know her brother again. So far, he seemed changed from the spoiled, bullying boy she remembered, and the youth who had walked out on her while she was with the Vikings in the tent on the outskirts of Jórvík, Northumbria.
“It is wonderful.” She pulled her hand up, and her brow wrinkled. “Apart from the circumstances. But once Papa recovers or…” She stopped suddenly before shaking her head. She didn’t want to think of the alternative. “I would love it if you both would visit us in Ranaricii. I would love to show you our longhouses, the mountains, the people…”
Bryan blanked out the rest of her words, not interested in anything to do with her other life. Letting her witter on, he nodded periodically so his silly sister thought he was listening. It was only when he heard his name that h
e realised she’d stopped.
“Bryan?”
“Um, ay?” He thought of what he could say to mask his look of boredom. “Sorry, dear sister. I am tired,” he said, as he took her hand. “I’m afraid I’m awake too often thinking of Papa.”
Her face softened into a warming smile. “I understand.”
He doubted she did.
“I feel it, too.”
Bryan pulled his hand away, no longer wanting to be in her company. She made him feel sick. He stood.
“I’m sorry. I’ve just remembered I have a meeting. You stay here and rest. You’ve been looking a little peaky. When Papa is awake, I’ll get one of the servants to fetch you.” He ignored the disappointment that flittered over her face.
“Fine,” she murmured looking from him back to her uneaten food. “Please, could you send me one of the young lads?”
Bryan’s gaze narrowed for the briefest of moments. “Of course. Are you sending word to Ranaricii?”
Rosfrith smiled. “Ay, I noticed a new ship arrive. I want to send word to Ubba about...” she stopped suddenly when she realised she might tell him about what she suspected. “About how well Papa is doing.”
Bryan turned towards the door, so she didn’t see the rolling of his eyes. “I’ll send someone.”
Rosfrith looked at the young lad and hesitated. “You’re not the lad I gave my last message to.”
The lad shrugged.
She gripped it tighter for a second, then realised she was being silly. The whole experience was taking more of a toll on her more than she’d thought. She was certainly more tired than usual. “All right, you will give this to the boatswain of the merchant ship going to Ranaricii?”
“Ay, m’lady,” he said, stretching out his hand.
She reluctantly gave him her missive. “If there is no ship going directly to Ranaricii, please bring it back to me, and find out when the next boat is leaving. I also need you to relay this message for me.”
Once she’d finished the lad bowed. “Understood, m’lady.”
She watched him go with a longing gaze. She wished it was her going back to Ranaricii, not only her messages.
The lad hurried along the corridor, eager to get the missive and message to the right person. He had been given a job to do, and if he did it correctly, he would earn enough coin to be able to purchase some bread for his family. Mayhap, it might stop the battering his father regularly gave him for not turning up at the end of the day with enough money. If he did this right, he might be used for a job again. Eager to please, when he reached the door he wanted, he knocked and waited patiently.
“Enter.”
The boy walked into the darkened room. Only the fire highlighted the man who sat in a wooden chair. He bowed like he’d seen others do. “I’ve done your bidding, m’ lord. I have Mistress Rosfrith’s missive.”
“Good,” Bryan said, waving the boy forward. “Speak.” He listened carefully to the message, his fingertips tapping the small table. He glanced at the fire, his lip curling. He looked up when he caught the boy’s arm extend towards him, holding what looked like a missive.
“The mistress gave me this, too. She wanted it to be given to Ubba Ragnarsson. Only him.”
Bryan nodded at the lad. “You go.” He flicked a coin at the boy, who took it eagerly. “Make sure you run to the ships, just in case Lady Rosfrith is looking out for you.”
“Ay, m’lord.” A large smile appeared on the boy’s face. He liked being part of this deceit. It made him feel older than his two and ten years.
When he had gone, Bryan ripped open the missive, eager to find out what other drivel she needed to tell Ubba. It didn’t concern him that it was private. She hadn’t asked for a scribe, and he very much doubted her husband could read, so he was interested what it contained. His eyes narrowed as he tried to decipher the poor writing and symbols. Gosh, her writing is like a child’s, he though. He was glad he had been schooled by his father. At least he had the ability to read and write, unlike his sister.
When he finished, he gripped the top of his nose with his fingers and breathed in deeply. He hadn’t been able to make much of it out, due to Rosfrith’s use of many Norse words and symbols, but he’d made enough out to know she was pregnant. He’d never expected that. For goodness sake, they’ve barely married! His lip curled in disgust. She was truly a barbarian.
It was now more imperative for his plans to work - the plans he, with the help of others, had put into motion months ago. They had been progressing like a dream, better in fact than he could have imagined. Now, this little surprise could scupper them all. He would have to meet up with his partner to discuss this turn of events. But before he did, he would have to get a wench he trusted to be by her side. Cate, Rosfrith’s preferred maid, wouldn’t do his bidding, but he knew one who would: Blyth.
Chapter 7
October 872 - Ranaricii
Astrid threw back her hood, tilting her head up to check the clouds. She took a minute to catch her breath. Her walk up the hillside was not easy with a barn in her stomach. Happy it wasn’t going to rain, she kneeled on the ground as best she could with a large lump hindering her. She rubbed her hand over the mound, glad she only had to endure it for another two months. Pregnancy wasn’t what she’d been expecting. She loathed feeling so uncomfortable and unattractive.
Naively, she’d hoped once she’d told Ubba about being pregnant, he would have got rid of her rival, Rosfrith. But that never happened. He’d gone ahead and married her. And, to rub salt into the wound, since she’d come back from Skåne, he’d practically ignored her, only asking how the barn was when he happened to come face to face with her.
The only thing that had made her happy was, about a month ago, Rosfrith had gone to East Angles to care for her father. She smirked, she had caught back up with Brynhild just this morning and she’d been told that finally, the plans that had been hatched on Ubba’s wedding day, had been put into action. Rosfrith was out of the picture, and if it all went to schedule, it wouldn’t be long before Ubba was back in her arms.
She allowed herself to dream for a while before she put Rosfrith out of her mind when she felt her knees become uncomfortable. She was here for a reason. Regardless of whether she wanted this babe or not, it had to be born healthy if she had any chance of getting Ubba back. She’d use any method to make sure it was.
She leaned forward and opened the sack she had brought. Reaching in, she took out a needle and pricked her finger, drawing blood. She flinched but ignored the pain. The hurt she felt inside from Ubba’s indifference was a hundred times worse. Squeezing her finger, she used her blood to draw protective runes on a piece of wood she had found earlier.
Placing it to the side, she took out some thread, dyes, salt, water and a bowl. Making a small fire, she boiled the water and salt. Already tired, but still unfinished with her task, she spun a length of linen thread before dying one white, one red, and the third black.
Once they had soaked in the boiling salt water, she would have to leave them to dry on a branch for three days. On the day of the birth, the black threads, which represented death and bad luck, were burned. The white cord would be used to tie the babe’s cord at the birth, and the red one would have a bead strung on it and placed around the baby’s arm for protection. To be totally honest, Astrid didn’t care if the barn survived or not, but if she was going to have a chance with Ubba, she needed it to.
Turning back, she placed the wooden rune into the fire and burned it. Once it cooled, she scooped up the ashes and added them to the jug of mead at her side. She would now store everything until her time was ready.
Chapter 8
Early November 872 – Ranaricii
Ubba held his hands out in front of the fire, warming them before he rubbed them together. He’d felt a strange foreboding all day, and even working hadn’t eased the tension in his neck. He sat back heavily and stared into the fire, glad the day was coming to an end, and he could retire to his bed-closet
. Although, without Rosfrith lying at his side, he doubted sleep would come easily.
He glanced around at the folk gathered around the fire, some chatting, some laughing. He let out a deep breath. Mayhap his melancholy mood was because Rosfrith had been gone far too long. He’d hoped she would have been back by now, especially as Astrid’s time for the birth was nearing. He’d wanted his wife by his side when he accepted his baby, not in some overseas land.
She was obviously needed by her sick father, otherwise, he trusted her to return. Frustrated, he pushed his hand roughly through his hair and returned to stare at the fire. It didn’t help that her messages had stopped arriving. Each time he went to meet a new longboat coming in, he was disappointed not to receive word from her. It was starting to worry him. If Astrid wasn’t nearing her time, and he had to stay near, he would make the journey to Dunwich fortress himself.
He let out a harsh snort. Sometimes the responsibility of being chieftain was a disadvantage. He took the last sip of his ale, ready to go to bed, and noticed Eirik talking to Gunnar. He rubbed his beard. He smiled when he thought of a solution - he couldn’t go, but he could send Eirik back to East Angles to bring his wife back to him. He would talk to him, later, after food.
Ubba watched the thralls take away the remains of the food, dogs eagerly following them for the scraps. He laughed for the first time in a long time. He felt in a more jovial mood now that he had some control back. He’d let Eirik eat in peace, although he had to squash the temptation to tell him about his impending travels. There was a merchant boat arriving today and returning to East Angles next week. She would soon be home. The thought of seeing Rosfrith again put a large grin on his face.
He stood to go over to Eirik to tell him what he wanted him to do. A young lad run through the entrance, obviously in a hurry. He stayed put and placed his hands on his hips, waiting to see if there was anyone following the lad; mayhap he’d been caught stealing?
