by Ceri Bladen
“What is it?”
“It’s a girl, m’lord.”
Bryan’s eyebrows rose. He hadn’t anticipated a girl. He shrugged. Not that it mattered to him what sex the whelp was; it wouldn’t be around for long. “Where are you going?”
Cate, eager to go, tried to sidestep him, but he moved, countering her. “I need to get some medicine for m’lady from the kitchens.”
Bryan’s eyebrows rose as he struggled to keep his face straight. “Is my dear sister unwell?”
“Ay, m’lord. I must go.”
Bryan waved his hand as he stepped to the side, his gaze narrowing on Cate’s back as she disappeared down the hallway. Within minutes, he heard footsteps. Blyth hurried along the corridor. When she neared, she hesitated.
“Is it all sorted?”
“Ay, m’lord. I’ve been to the Inn and got word to him.”
Bryan’s eyebrows knitted together. “How? Was he around?”
“Um,” she stalled, thinking of what to say. She couldn’t tell her lord she’d been sneaking off to the Inn to regularly bed the heathen man. She had a feeling he wouldn’t take kindly to her bedding them both. Especially as he had a loose tongue in ale and had told her lots of information, which might come in handy in the future if her lord turned her out for any reason. “You don’t go fretting. Once m’lady has the babe, I’m to pass it over to the men who are on their way. It’s all arranged. Bard assured me.”
Bryan’s finger touched his lip. “Shh, don’t mention his name,” whispered Bryan, glancing around the empty corridor. “I don’t want anyone to know I deal with the Heathen.” He gave Blyth a shove. “Now, go back in there and make sure it is you who gets the child to look after. No one else is to be involved in our plans.” The fewer people who knew, the more chance he had of keeping his life.
When Cate re-entered the room, she hesitated, sensing panic in the atmosphere. She made her way over to the bed and saw the pain etched on Rosfrith’s pale face. Turning around she noticed Blyth had the baby.
Cate frowned. Blyth must have come back when she was retrieving the potion. Ignoring Blyth, she swivelled back and grabbed Rosfrith’s clammy hand
“What’s wrong, Althena? Is she going to die?” she whispered, so Rosfrith couldn’t overhear. She truly feared for her mistress.
Althena shook her head. “I don’t know, she’s lost a lot of blood.” She glanced at the liquid Cate held out for her, but shook her head. “No, I don’t need that.” She bent over to push hair off Rosfrith’s face. “Your mistress is having another babe.”
Finally, through a suffocating haze, Rosfrith heard the cry of her baby. Unlike the first one, this time, she had no strength to reach out for it, her arms felt limp.
“Mistress.”
Rosfrith heard Althena’s voice, but couldn’t move or even open her eyes.
“You have a fine, strong boy.”
She smiled weakly, feeling the heat of tears behind her eyelids. Oh to be able to tell Ubba about his new daughter and son. A strange peace floated through her and she had no energy to fight the overwhelming desire to sleep.
“Don’t worry about your children. We will take care of them. You get some rest,” Cate said soothingly, holding the boy in her arm. She twisted her head towards the doorway, and watched the young Lord charge in.
He ignored the protests from the women within. He quickly glanced at his sister, motionless in bed, before searching out the child. “Why is the birthing taking so long?” He abruptly stopped. Bryan gasped, his mouth falling open. There were two babies. A frown glanced his forehead before a smile slowly spread on his lips. “Althena?” he barked.
“Ay, Lord,” Althena replied without turning away from cleaning Rosfrith, who was losing far too much blood. Hopefully, she could stem it before fever took hold and there would be little chance of her opening her eyes again.
“Has my sister born two whelps?”
She turned slowly, raising an eyebrow and cocking her head. “Babies? Yes, your sister has produced two very strong babies.”
He flicked a hand in Rosfrith’s direction. “What’s wrong with her?” His face screwed up with displeasure when he saw her blood. Those expensive sheets would have to be thrown away.
“They have taken her strength. Two babies take a lot from the mother.”
“Will she survive?” he asked. It would be better she didn’t – for many reasons.
“I don’t know. We will have to wait.”
The wail of one of the babies made Bryan turn towards it. His eyebrows gathered together as his finger tapped his lips. He swirled back around. “Althena, you need to concentrate on Rosfrith. Blyth will take care of the… babies.”
“I can come, too,” Cate said. She stepped forward with the baby boy.
“No,” Bryan said, much too quickly. He smiled at Cate’s frown and tempered his attitude, not wanting to arouse suspicion. Cate was too wise for his liking. “No, Cate. Rosfrith trusts and values you. You must be the one who tends her. Blyth can care for the babies and I will arrange for a wet nurse.”
“But m’lord, Rosfrith wanted to nurse them herself.”
“Well, she can’t!”
Cate took a step back, protecting the baby, pulling it closer to her.
Bryan took in a breath, attempting to curb his irritation. He had people waiting downstairs for the babies. He couldn’t keep them hanging around too long; they were obviously barbarians. If they were seen, it would gather suspicion. “I’m sorry. I’m just so distressed about my sister. This should be a celebration, but there won’t be one while poor, dear Rosfrith is at death’s door.” He stepped towards Cate, holding out his arms. “Please, tend to Rosfrith and let the baby’s Uncle have a chance to get to know him.” He smiled when, even though she seemed reluctant, Cate passed him the baby.
“When the mistress feels better, we will send for them.”
Bryan nodded at her, before indicating to Blyth to leave the chamber.
Reeling from weakness, Rosfrith pushed herself up onto her elbows.
“Cate?” she whispered, her mouth too dry to shout. “Cate?” she tried again when panic gripped her. She had no idea how long she had slept for, only that she felt completely disorientated.
“Ay, mistress.” Cate came running from the other end of the room when she heard Rosfrith stir, relieved that, after two weeks of delirium, her mistress was awake. “I’m here, mistress.”
Collapsing back onto the bed, Rosfrith relaxed. “My babies?” Luckily, her senses were too dulled to detect Cate’s distress.
“Um, they are fine, mistress.” She felt her tears fall. They had been falling since the young Lord had informed her of their passing. “You rest for now. You will see them in the future.” She was glad when Rosfrith fell back asleep. She was dreading the day she would have to tell her that her babies had died while she’d been unconscious.
Chapter 12
March 873 – Torksey, West Lindsey – Viking camp
“Sire, Bard Klaussen is here to see you.”
Guthrum’s gaze narrowed on the lad standing before him. He wondered what Bard wanted now. Ignoring the lad’s request while he thought, he sat and glanced around at the many people warming themselves by the large fire. He debated whether to fob Bard off. He didn’t want any trouble in camp, and where Bard Klaussen was, trouble usually followed.
“Sire.” The lad stepped forward impatiently, so only Guthrum could hear. “He said he wants to see you in private. It’s about a problem you’d talked about before.”
Guthrum grunted, knowing if he didn’t speak with the scoundrel, there was a chance he would not go away. “All right, I’ll meet him. Behind the screen, at the end of the room.” He nodded to the darkened area before the lad left. He didn’t rise straight away, using the time to think about their previous meeting, fuelled by ale. He sat back and tapped his fingers together before he rubbed his beard. This was to do with Ubba Ragnarsson’s child. Under the influence of alcohol, Bard had per
suaded him to take the barn when it was born. The child was to be used as a guarantee – a bargaining chip if Ubba’s brother, Halfdan, went against his promise to let him lead half of the Great Heathen army.
As it happened, in the time that had passed since Bard had come up with the plan, Halfdan Ragnarsson had been true to his word. Preparations were indeed being made to split the army into two, for Halfdan to go North and Guthrum to go back East. At this moment, he didn’t need this complication. He stared into the fire, contemplating what to do. He didn’t want to get on the wrong side of Ubba. He was a fine warrior, and being in Ranaricii wouldn’t stop him coming for him - even though Bard assured him that Ubba knew nothing about the child until the time came to inform him otherwise. He fingered the end of his braided beard. Protecting himself could be a wise move. He wasn’t one of Ragnar Lothbrok’s sons, after all - and Halfdan’s alliance and intentions could change in an instant. He made a decision, based on that fact that once the Great Heathen army spit, he was going to attack Wessex and become King. But, if Halfdan didn’t want him to defeat King Alfred, keeping a niece or nephew of Halfdan Ragnarsson could be worth Ubba’s wrath.
Bard waited for Guthrum to make his way over. He’d been back and forth to the camp too many times for anyone to give him a second glance, but the babies pulled some looks. He waved the girls, who were holding them, to stand behind him. He needed to tell Guthrum the change of plans before he saw them himself.
“Greetings, Guthrum.”
Guthrum grunted an acknowledgment. His gaze took in Bard briefly before searching out the girls he’d seen come with him on a cart. A frown marred his forehead. His gaze narrowed on Bard. “What am I to do with those barns?” Guthrum said looking at the squirming babes. “I thought there was only one.”
Bard shrugged. “So did we all, sire. But,” a smile appeared on his lips. “Think about it, this is even better. If one doesn’t survive, you have another.”
“How am I supposed to look after them?” He inspected the two women. “Are these wenches feeding them?”
Bard tensed. This was the bit he was dreading. The younger thrall had been acting as their wet nurse, but on their journey up, he’d taken quite a fancy to her. He didn’t intend on leaving her with Guthrum. Once he left the camp, he was more concerned with his fun rather than the survival of Ubba’s barns. “Nay, she…” he gave the women a sideward glance of warning – even though they knew not to contradict him. “Had enough milk for the journey. But, alas, we have no more. She has dried,” he lied.
Guthrum grunted. After a moment of silence, he stepped around the screen and scanned the room, observing his serving thralls. “You, come here,” he boomed, making most jump. His fat finger pointed at one of the older servants. When the silver-haired woman stood in front of him, his eyes narrowed on her. “Where’s that young wench who is usually by your side?”
“In the other building, m’lord.”
“What other building?” He noticed the woman become uncomfortable. She was hiding something. “Go and fetch her.” When she didn’t reply, he leaned forward. “What’s your name?”
“Edith, m’lord.”
“You’re new here in Torksey?”
“Ay, m’lord. A couple of us were sent here from Repton.”
His eyes narrowed. “And was that because you didn’t obey your sire?”
Fire flashed in Edith’s eyes. Unfortunately, poor Edeva had obeyed her sire too well. “No, that is incorrect, m’lord. Our sire and about two hundred warriors and fifty women were struck down with illness and died.”
“Who was your sire?”
Edith looked at the floor, suddenly realising her new sire would know of him. “Ivar Ragnarsson.”
“Ivar the Boneless?” Guthrum looked at Bard. “Do his brothers know?”
Bard shrugged, not wanting to tell Guthrum he had been banished from Ranaricii.
Edith continued. “After they were laid to rest in a burial mound, we were sent here.”
“He was buried?”
“Ay, sire. Before he succumbed, Ivar ordered he be buried in a place which was exposed to attack. He then prophesied that, if it was, enemies coming to the land would meet with ill-success.”
Bard smiled. “That sounds like the warrior I knew.”
“Hmmm.” Guthrum rubbed his beard. “Enough of Ivar. Where is the thrall you were with? The mousy looking one who is carrying a barn. Don’t think I didn’t notice.” His gaze focused on her when she paled. “Have you something to say?”
“Carried a babe,” she whispered sadly.
“What did you say?”
Edith lowered her eyes.
He grunted when she didn’t answer. “Go and fetch her. What’s her name?”
“Edeva, m’lord.” She didn’t dare tell him she was Edeva Guader, one of the rightful heirs to Dunwich fortress, in East Angles.
“Go and fetch Edeva.”
“I can’t m’lord. With due respect, she lost her babe and is recovering.”
A frown marred his forehead but was quickly replaced by a smile. He glanced back at Bard. “Mayhap our problem has been solved.” He glared at Edith. “Follow,” he said and stormed out of the hall.
Edith trotted behind as quickly as she could. For a large man, Guthrum could move swiftly. “M’lord, please, let her be.”
Guthrum stopped and spun around. “That is the last time you try to tell me what to do, wench. You might deserve some respect due to your age, but don’t forget you are my thrall. I will not tolerate listening to your tongue again. If I do” - he fingered his dagger. “I might have to do something about it.” When she took a step back, he laughed deeply.
Edeva awoke with a start when the door of the shared bedchamber opened. When she saw her new sire, followed by what seemed like most of the camp, she scrambled to sit up, drawing her thin covering to hide herself. She only relaxed when she saw Edith.
“You, Edeva,” Guthrum’s voice filled the large room. “You are to look after these two barns. One’s a lad and one’s a girl.”
Horror filled Edeva as she recoiled from his words. She couldn’t look after someone else’s babies, she’d just lost hers. “I…I…can’t.”
Guthrum grunted. “Stand,” he ordered, giving her little option. When she shakily stood by the pallet, he stepped forward. To Edeva’s dismay, he reached out and squeezed one of her breasts. He turned back towards the others. “There’s milk there. Feed these two.” He waved the two thralls, who carried the twins, forward. “It’s not a request, it’s an order.” He turned to go, but stopped and glanced over his shoulder. “Oh, and another thing. If either of these barns dies, then so do you.”
Unable to support herself, Edeva’s legs buckled. She sat heavily on the pallet, watching her new sire and his entourage exit the room. How am I to look after them when I buried my own baby this morning? Why are you testing me so, Lord God? She hadn’t given up on Him, despite living with the heathens. Wasn’t it enough punishment to be used and discarded by Ivar, then Halfdan, and a number of their men? She felt the tears welling. If only she was stronger, she would take her life to end her misery. Like her mother had.
Sensing her distress, Edith decided to take over. She’d looked after Edeva since they had left Dunwich estate, and she’d look after her now. She’d promised Rosfrith. She stepped forward and took one of the babies out of the thrall’s arms. “Edeva. I know this will be difficult, but it could be the Lord’s way of helping you.”
“How?” she whispered
Edith looked down on the baby, who was wriggling and starting to nuzzle for food. “Because it needs a mother,” she glanced behind her. “They both do.” She noticed milk stains appear on the front of Edeva’s tunic. “And your body needs to feed. Please, try.” She moved towards the pallet, holding out the baby.
After hesitating for a moment, Edeva reached out and took it. She closed her eyes and put it to her breast, emotions battling within her. Once it latched on, she forced her eyes open t
o inspect it. It didn’t have the fine splattering of hair of the one she’d just lost, but as it suckled a familiar warmth spread through her. She glanced up at Edith and gave a small smile, even as tears flowed from her eyes. “They will be fine, I will be their wet nurse. Although, I’m not sure if I will have enough food to feed two.”
Edith stepped forward. “Now, don’t you go worrying about that. These babies, whoever they are, are important to the sire. You will be well looked after.”
Edeva touched the dark hair on the babe’s head and smiled sadly. “Is this the girl or the lad?”
“I’m not sure.”
She fingered its fine hair. “It's hair reminds me of Rosfrith’s. As dark as midnight.” She exhaled sadly. Her lost baby hadn’t given her any clues to which man who’d used her had fathered it.
Edith turned away toward the other baby before Edeva saw the tears in her eyes. She still missed Rosfrith. It didn’t matter she hadn’t born her herself, she’d been like her daughter and her pain at losing her had been as so. Just like these babies would eventually be to Edeva.
Chapter 13
April 873 -Ranaricii
Ubba knew he was being unkind, but he rolled his shoulder in an attempt to dislodge Astrid’s hand. When she refused to remove it, he stood to break the contact and dragged on his clothes.
“What’s wrong, Ubba? Don’t you want to come back to bed?”
He sat back on the side of the bed, far away from her. He smoothed his hand through his hair before binding it at the nape. “Thór’s teeth. I have things to attend to Astrid. I am still the chieftain here,” he snapped, mentally ordering himself to calm down.
She recoiled at the harshness in his voice. “I didn’t mean anything by it.” She heard his unsteady inward breath and decided to use actions rather than words - he seemed to respond to those more readily. She wrapped her arms around him, kissing the back of his neck.
He flinched at her touch. He needed to get out of the room, before his body betrayed him. Swiftly, he stood up, and studied her for a moment. He tore his gaze away. “I have things to attend to. I will see you, later.
