Shadow of the Raven: Sons of Kings: Book One

by Millie Thom

  Ulf stared at the ring inset with a large red garnet that sat in Jorund’s small hand. A stabbing pain shot through his chest as he recalled the day Beorhtwulf had given it to Morwenna. She must somehow have managed to hold on to it for all these years.

  ‘But I had no one else to play with,’ Jorund said, tucking the ring back inside his tunic. ‘None of Father’s other children played with me. And Ubbi told me that Rorik isn’t my father, so now I don’t know who is!’ Tears coursed down his face and Ulf held him close until he calmed. ‘And I don’t know why Rorik let Mother die. He just stood there and watched the man with the axe.’

  Ulf knew that he would never forgive Rorik for what he’d done, but Jorund must be helped to live his childhood without hatred eating at his very being. He took a breath. ‘I need to tell you something that will come as a great surprise–’

  ‘If it’s to tell me that you’re my brother, I already know.’

  ‘Ah,’ Ulf replied, strangely unsurprised.

  ‘I didn’t believe Ubbi at first because Mother never told me about you. I just didn’t understand.’

  ‘You couldn’t be expected to. I imagine it was a shock to hear it.’

  Jorund stared dolefully into his buttermilk. ‘It’s definitely true, then? You’re my brother, and Yrsa’s? And our mother was your mother too?’

  ‘I’m your full brother, Jorund,’ Ulf explained, ‘which means that we have the same mother and father. And we are Yrsa’s half-brothers.’ Jorund was silent, struggling with this new idea. ‘Morwenna was mother to all three of us, you see, but Yrsa had a different father to you and me. Jarl Rorik is Yrsa’s father. No, I’ll not tell you our father’s name because it’s best not to talk about him in Aros. When you’re older I’ll tell you all about him.

  ‘When our father died seven years ago, you and Mother went to live in Aalborg, where the jarl raised you as his son,’ Ulf continued, choking on the necessary lie. ‘And I’ve lived in Aros since then, which is why we’d never met. But after our mother died, you and Yrsa had to leave Aalborg because there was no one there to look after you. In Aros there are people happy to do so – and you can be near to me, so we can get to know each other. Can you accept what I’ve told you for the time being, Jorund? This has been a hard time for us both but now we must let our new friends help us.’

  As though on cue, Ubbi charged towards them, thrusting his last piece of crust into his mouth and chewing rapidly. ‘Coming to play, Jorund?’ he asked, gesturing toward the children waiting in the doorway. ‘Is that all right, Ulf?’

  Ulf flicked his hand, dismissively. ‘Go and enjoy your day!’

  * * *

  It turned out that Leif was only partially right about their stay on Bornholm. After two weeks, Bjorn informed his crew it was time to leave. It was mid-July.

  ‘At the beginning of September I’ll return here with my family for a mid-month wedding,’ he said, his happiness evident. ‘I can’t wait to see my father’s face when he learns whose daughter I’m to wed. We leave at daybreak,’ he threw over his shoulder as he strode away, ‘so go steady on the mead tonight.’

  The men just glanced at each other and smirked.

  Two days later, they arrived back in Aros where Bjorn’s news caused the anticipated rumpus. Ragnar was overjoyed at his son’s decision to marry – Alfarin’s daughter at that! – and a beaming smile fixed on his face for days. For a week, evening meals became celebratory feasts, and a quiet place in the village became hard to find. And Aslanga flapped over the necessity of leaving Aros in Thora and Toke’s hands.

  ‘So you’re all leaving again,’ Freydis said, coming up behind Ulf as he plunged his head in and out of the horse trough by the hay barn in an attempt to cool himself. Westward the sun was sliding slowly down, spilling rays of liquid gold across the skies; the heat of the day reluctant to loosen its grip on the still evening air.

  Ulf jerked upright, shaking his head like a shaggy-haired hound emerging from a dip in the river. Water droplets flew from his long hair and beard, showering Freydis, and she giggled at his embarrassed apologies.

  ‘Don’t apologise, Ulf. That cool water feels extremely good.’ She pushed back dampened strands of hair and fanned her cheeks with her hand. ‘I’ve been in the fireroom for so long I feel well griddled myself! I’d just stepped out to get some air and noticed you in the middle of your, er, ablutions. It’s so good to have you all back.’

  Freydis’s blue gaze fixed on Ulf’s face, a small frown replacing the smile. ‘But you’re sailing again in two days and you’ve only been back for a week. Life’s so dull here when Bjorn goes away, and takes you with him.’

  Not trusting his own voice Ulf watched the swallows circling and swooping overhead as they foraged for insect prey.

  ‘Bjorn tells me you’re going to Ribe.’

  ‘He lowered his eyes to meet hers. ‘He wants to take the wedding invitation to Hastein himself. I don’t know how long we’ll be there. We could be straight back, but I’m more inclined to think we’ll stay for longer.’

  ‘Those two have always been close,’ Freydis said, smiling again. ‘I remember Hastein’s many summers here when I was a child. He’s good for Bjorn: they’re of a similar age and like the same things. And Hastein makes me laugh. It will be good to see him again.’

  ‘It will,’ Ulf agreed. ‘And I hope to see an old friend of my own in Ribe.’

  ‘Oh . . .?’

  ‘Aethelnoth and I were childhood friends,’ he said, unable to stop a grim laugh emerging from his throat, ‘until we were both captured by Rorik’s men.’

  Freydis gently laid a hand on his arm, causing that involuntary frisson he’d felt before to surge through his body. He covered her hand with his and their eyes locked.

  ‘Then I’m happy for you, she whispered, pulling her hand away, the moment broken. ‘I hope you find him in good health and that your friendship can be easily renewed. People can change much over the years.’

  ‘Hastein’s told me all about Aethelnoth,’ Ulf said, watching Ubbi and Jorund haring towards them. ‘He’s apparently a giant of a man, well regarded by Hastein’s father.’ A shadow of doubt crossed his mind as he contemplated Freydis’s words. Aethelnoth may not want to renew a boyish friendship from seven years ago.

  ‘Are you two ever coming in to eat?’ Ubbi blurted as he and Jorund screeched to a halt beside the water trough and commenced to soak each other.

  ‘Lady Aslanga’s calling for you everywhere, Freydis,’ Jorund added. ‘She’s ready to serve the soup.’

  Their errand accomplished, the boys bolted back to the hall.

  ‘I’m amazed at how close those two have become during your Baltic trip,’ Freydis said as they followed behind. ‘They’re almost inseparable. But they’ll be disappointed to learn they’re not going to Ribe. Aslanga won’t let Ubbi miss any more lessons.’

  Ulf shrugged. ‘They’ll soon get over it; summer sunshine can work wonders.’ Turning to face her, he said, ‘I want to thank you for taking such good care of Yrsa, Freydis. She thinks the world of you, almost as though you were her mother.’

  ‘Not really surprising when she spends most of her days with me and has her cot in my bed-chamber. No, I’m not complaining, Ulf, so don’t frown. Your sister’s a delight, and I do think of her as my own now. Of course we all know Yrsa is your sister, and I can never take your mother’s place,’ she added quickly, ‘but you can’t blame me for loving her.’

  ‘I’m just grateful that you do care for her!’ Ulf exclaimed, aghast that such a thought should cross her mind.

  Freydis smiled in relief. ‘Now, don’t let Yrsa spoil your meal. If you allow her to climb onto your lap she’ll be splashing soup all over your clothes.’

  ‘You’ve been teaching her excellent manners, then?’

  Her playful shove almost landed Ulf in the water trough.

 
Thirty Three

  Ribe: late July 858

  ‘My lord Hastein! Many men are coming!’

  The red-faced youth slumped against the door frame of Jarl Giermund’s hall to catch his breath, shoving greasy brown hair behind his ears. He stretched his skinny arms out wide. ‘From a huge dragonship.’

  His breathing steadied and he stepped towards a table where Hastein sat playing Tabula with one of his men. ‘It came up the river, Master, and pulled ashore near our water meadows.’ The spotty brow puckered as he pondered on the scene, his gaze flicking over Hastein’s bemused features. ‘It had a big bird on its flag – with a fish in its mouth! I was checking the cattle,’ he added, lest Hastein should think he was shirking his duties, ‘and I saw the men. Two of them with bright red hair.’

  Hastein’s frown was replaced by a grin as he turned to his mother and sister at their looms. ‘It seems my cousin has chosen to visit us, he said.’

  * * *

  Bjorn’s crew secured the Sea Eagle along the banks of the Ribea, a mile upstream of Ribe, and traipsed across the water meadows towards Jarl Giermund’s village. Swatting at huge flies that swarmed around the lumbering beasts and avoiding cowpats, Ulf grinned. Bjorn bounced along like a child about to open a longed-for gift, impatient to see Hastein and his family again and relay his happy news.

  But it seemed their arrival had been spotted. Hastein was waiting for them as they reached the village, conspicuous in a blue tunic against the greys and browns of his men. His welcome was a hearty one and Ulf stood aside with the rest of the men as the familiar slapping embrace ensued.

  ‘Drink deeply, men. Refresh yourselves and rest.’ Hastein beamed as they seated themselves in the hall. ‘You won’t believe how glad I am to see you here. We’ve not ventured far from the village this year and, by Frey’s prick, am I bored!’

  Bjorn’s eyebrows rose. ‘I’d have thought you’d be keen to set sail, cousin, even if only to trade. There can’t be many years Giermund’s stayed put. Where is my uncle, by the way?’

  Hastein’s reply was halted when a serving girl thrust an earthen jug beneath his nose. ‘More ale, lord jarl?’

  ‘Jarl!’ Bjorn spluttered on his mouthful of ale. ‘You’re the jarl now?’

  Hastein chuckled as Bjorn swept his sleeve across his wet beard. ‘My father died a month ago, his long illness the reason we chose not to sail in the spring.’ He glanced at his mother and lowered his voice. ‘He’d been ill all winter; his racking cough almost tore him in two, and towards the end he’d been coughing up great clots of blood. By the time he died he’d been bed-ridden for some weeks, weak as a kitten and feverish. We rarely left his bedside, my mother, sister and me. Each breath rattled through his body. Then one morning the breaths just stopped.’

  Bjorn squeezed Hastein’s shoulder but it was Leif who said, ‘Then it was for the best, my lord. No man wants his last days to be a burden on his family.’

  ‘Truly spoken, Leif,’ Bjorn said, finding his voice. ‘And once the burial’s over, the family can mourn him and get on with their lives. The funeral ceremony . . . ?’

  ‘Giermund went to the next life in his ship, Raven’s Claw,’ Hastein replied. ‘Not a sea burial; nor a burning at all. The funeral ship was buried on land, as is our custom here.’ He smiled wistfully. ‘My father had everything he could need for his future life – his sword and shield, knives and daggers, heaps of jewellery and silver. He even had spare clothes, fur rugs for his bed, enough food and ale to feed an army, with plates and bowls to eat it from. His two favourite horses, and Hopp, his shaggy hunting hound, were laid close beside him – and of course, a thrall to take care of his everyday needs. I just hope I do as well when I go. It was a joyous day for him, and will be long remembered by our people.’ Hastein motioned in the direction of the open lands behind the village. ‘His grave is in our cemetery.’

  Conversation mellowed as serving women refilled their ale pots. Ulf downed the strong brew, its silky smoothness sliding down his throat, refreshing and enlivening him. Anxious for Aethelnoth to appear, he watched a skinny youth laying logs on the fire ready for cooking the meal. Aethelnoth was likely still about his work, but he’d undoubtedly appear to eat . . .

  Hastein’s voice snapped Ulf from his thoughts. ‘I rejoice in your happy news, Bjorn, and you have my heartiest congratulations, though you make me quite envious: it’s time I took a wife myself. Alfarin’s daughter, you say. I haven’t set foot in Bornholm for years. Kata must be quite something to snare you in her net.’

  The new jarl glanced again at his mother. ‘A wedding would be a welcome distraction for us all. This year’s been hard for Bera, and Giermund’s death has left a big void in her life. He threw back his head and chortled. ‘And I can’t think of a better diversion than the marriage of my cousin.’

  Women were becoming eager to start the cooking and the men gradually moved back, allowing them space. Some headed outside and as Ulf rose to follow, Bjorn’s voice stayed him. ‘Ulf, I’ve news for you. Aethelnoth will be at the burial site about now. It seems he visits it every evening, out of loyalty to his master. But I believe there’s also another reason,’ Bjorn added with a glance at Hastein. ‘Go find your friend, Ulf. You’ve time to do some catching up before we eat.’

  * * *

  The dark shape huddled next to the long, boat-shaped grave was motionless. If not for the straggling hair Ulf would have guessed it not to be human at all, just a pile of old clothes. The shape didn’t flinch as Ulf approached, making his footfalls deliberately loud and kicking at stones. He stood for a few moments, waiting for some form of response, but to no avail. He reached out and laid a hand on the nearest shoulder and the straw-coloured head slowly lifted. Sorrowful brown eyes met Ulf’s questioning stare, but no spark of recognition flashed.

  ‘Aethelnoth . . .?’ Ulf said, uncertainly. The face before him was not instantly recognisable as that of the boy he’d once known. Thick blond whiskers obscured parts of his lower face that the unkempt hair didn’t cover, and other visible skin was deeply bronzed by the sun. Yet Ulf felt certain that this was Aethelnoth.

  ‘What do you want?’ the brooding shape murmured.

  ‘Don’t you know me, Aethelnoth?’

  ‘Should I?’

  Ulf crouched down beside his old friend. ‘You would have done, once. But I’ve grown a bit in seven years – though not as much as you, it seems.’

  The big man blinked and stared at Ulf. ‘Seven years is a long time. I was only a lad back then. And I’ve been in Ribe for seven years. Before that . . .’ He stared even harder. ‘You can’t be–’

  ‘I’m a Mercian, Aethelnoth, the same as you. We knew each other as lads, before–’

  Aethelnoth lurched to his feet, pulling Ulf up with him, his eyes narrowed, his stance threatening. He was as tall and thickset as Hastein had said. ‘Tell me your name – and the name of your father!’

  ‘I am Eadwulf, Aethelnoth. Surely you recognise my hair? My father was Beorhtwulf, my mother was called Morwenna and your father was Thrydw–’

  Aethelnoth threw his thick arms around Ulf and hugged him until he gasped for breath. ‘I hardly dare believe it,’ he said, pushing Ulf to arm’s length and looking him up and down. ‘I’d given you up for dead years ago, yet there you stand, handsome and well fed. You found a good master at Hedeby then? How did you find me? Where in these lands do you live . . .?’

  Ulf held up his hand to halt the onslaught of questions. ‘I’ll tell you all in due course, but right now I’m just overwhelmed at finding you again.’ He glanced at the stone-edged grave. ‘It seems your master was a good one.’

  ‘He was that. Treated me well and gave me much freedom. I’ve sailed with him on many a raid, and I know he valued my strength and weapon skills. Yes, I’ll miss Giermund – but I’ll miss Hilde more.’

  Aethelnoth stared down at the grave, a haunted look
in his eyes, and Ulf suddenly realised who Hilde must have been.

  ‘I’d loved her for years, Eadwulf, since she was captured on a raid in Frisia. We’d planned to be married, if we were permitted. And I think Giermund would have been agreeable. If only he hadn’t died.’

  Aethelnoth sank to his knees. ‘She was buried alive in the ship with the master.’ He squeezed his eyes shut and groaned. ‘I can’t get her screams out of my head. A month now and still I hear them.’

  Ulf stared, appalled. He’d never witnessed such a ceremony, but knew the custom was prevalent in Norse lands. In some cases – if the slaves were fortunate – they were killed before burial. He knelt beside his distraught friend. ‘We’ll probably never understand some of their ways, Aethelnoth, but whilst we serve them there’s naught we can do about it.’

  Aethelnoth composed himself sufficiently to speak. ‘I’ve a new master now.’

  Ulf nodded. ‘Hastein’s a fair man, like his father.’

  ‘You know him then?’

  ‘He’s the cousin of Bjorn, my own master. But even Bjorn didn’t know about you until we met up with Hastein for the raids in Francia last year.’

  ‘Well, I’ll be damned. To think I’d’ve been on that voyage if Giermund hadn’t needed me here. Hastein wanted me along, but we get scores of ships berthing at Ribe, it being a market town. Some of the foreigners like to take their chances on a few raids inland, so Giermund kept a contingent of warriors on the ready. The Norwegians are the worst: paying us back for our raids along their coasts, I suppose.’

  Aethelnoth stared at the grave, his face fraught with grief. ‘I know I can’t bring Hilde back, but I feel close to her here. Never thought I’d love a woman that much.’

  ‘We’ve both had our losses,’ Ulf said gently. ‘But I’ve one piece of news that may hearten you: Sigehelm is alive and well. He’s been with me in Aros since Hedeby, and become invaluable to Jarl Ragnar and his family. He enthrals them all with his tales.’