Twin Passions

by Miriam Minger

  Bodvild reached out and gently smoothed an unruly copper curl on Eirik's head. "Do you wish to be alone with him?" she asked softly, her voice catching with emotion. The unshed tears in her eyes only now reflected the true depth of her grief.

  "Nay, Bodvild, please stay with me," Hakon murmured. They stood together in silence for a long moment, their shared sorrow a palpable presence in the dark hall. But suddenly a burning question came to his mind. "Did Eirik die with a sword in his hand?" he asked, turning to face her.

  "Yea, Hakon. I myself placed it in his hand before he died," she answered, her gray eyes meeting his.

  Hakon breathed a sigh of relief, the admiration he felt for his brother's wife increasing tenfold. Thor, he only hoped that one day he would find a woman who could match the fearless devotion Bodvild had shown for the man she loved! Despite the strength of her own Christian beliefs, she had not denied her pagan husband his right to immortality by refusing him his sword.

  Christian or no, Bodvild knew it was believed by the Vikings that if a warrior died with his sword in hand he would be carried on the winged steeds of Odin's daughters, the Valkyries, to the celestial home of the gods, Asgard. Once there, he would feast opulently forever on the flesh of the divine boar and drink streams of honey mead at Odin's table in Valhalla, the warrior's hall with its ceiling of golden shields.

  "Then all is as it should be," Hakon said. "When will the feast begin?" According to Viking custom a wake was held for the honored dead, during which feasting and drinking would continue for several days and nights before the burial.

  "It has been decided by the clan that there will be no feast," she stated evenly. "Eirik's burial will be this very night." At Hakon's startled expression, she continued. "The men of the clan believe that to have a feast now will leave the settlement vulnerable to attack. It is known that Rhoar has a force of many men prepared to do battle, and that he has been waiting for Eirik's death to make his move. The clan does not want the same to happen here as did in Trondheim not long ago."

  "Was there a battle for a chieftain's throne?" Hakon asked. He knew of that region, though it was far to the north. He had been there with his father several times as a boy.

  "Nay, not a battle . . . far worse," Bodvild replied softly. "A great chieftain of the region, Horik Skallgrimsson, was killed in a hunting accident. During the wake all the clan, including women and children, were gathered in the great hall for the feast. There had been drinking and song for many hours, when suddenly one of Horik's most hated enemies attacked the hall under cover of night." She paused for a moment, her eyes reflecting the horror she felt at reciting the awful tale. "The doors were barred from the outside so no one could escape. Then the hall was put to the torch and burned to the ground. All who were inside perished. 'Tis said their screams could be heard many miles down the fjord."

  She was trembling as she took Hakon's hand in her own. "The clan was prepared to protect your inheritance until you arrived, Hakon. They see you as their chieftain, as Eirik had wanted. Yet Rhoar's threat was not one to be taken lightly. Perhaps now that you are here, they would see the matter differently . . . and welcome a feast." She looked with sorrowful eyes upon her husband. "I only regret that he did not live to see your return." A single tear trailed down her pale cheek, glistening in the golden torchlight.

  Hakon nodded his head gravely. "Yea, would that I had heard his voice only once again," he said with a heavy sigh. "But 'twas not to be. The gods saw fit to delay my journey." He did not say that he thought perhaps his late arrival was a bad omen. Grasping the silver amulet of Thor's hammer hanging on a chain around his neck, he breathed a silent prayer that it was not.

  Bodvild's reply startled him, for it was as if she had read his mind. "If I were not Christian, Hakon, I would say your arrival tonight is a good omen. Eirik's power and influence were great, and the territories he ruled stretch far beyond the Sogn region. Not only the clan are gathered here tonight for his burial, but other chieftains and freemen as well. Yea, 'tis true that those who know and remember you have no doubts as to your strength and ability to rule. But there are those who must see and hear for themselves."

  She gazed once more on her husband's beloved face, strikingly handsome even in death. She sighed raggedly. Yea, there will be plenty of time to grieve later, my only love, she thought mournfully. But for now, there were other matters at hand. She tore her eyes away at last. Her voice was calm, disguising the aching torment in her heart. "Come, my brother. Now is the time for you to prove to the clan that Eirik's choice for his successor was a good one . . . the only one."

  They walked back to the entrance together in silence. When they were almost at the door, she stopped suddenly and looked up at him.

  "From the moment you walk through these doors your life will be changed, Hakon," she said, her eyes bright. "You are a chieftain now. Go forward, Hakon Jarl, and greet your people!"

  With that, she knocked twice on the massive doors. As they slowly swung open, she and Hakon stepped out into the blazing light of hundreds of torches. A great clamor went up from the warriors gathered in front of the hall, their voices merging into one thunderous voice, all shouting the same name, "Hakon Jarl! Hakon Jarl!" The great horn that had welcomed them earlier was sounded again, over and over, while the men beat vigorously on their wooden shields with spears and axes.

  Gwendolyn watched from the ship. She had never heard such a din before in all her life. Even the throngs who had rushed to greet King Edgar during his coronation visit to Chester only months ago had not yelled as loud. Anora stood by her side, her small hands clapped over her ears. They had remained on the ship while all the others had disembarked, for it seemed that Lord Hakon had forgotten them . . . at least for now. Yet Gwendolyn knew Egil still watched them closely from where he stood on the dock lending his own voice to the melee. He was obviously not about to let her escape again while in his care.

  So, this was the matter of grave importance that the Viking had mentioned on the day of their capture when he told them they would not be returned to their homeland and that she and Anora would be his slaves. Gwendolyn frowned, shaking her head. It was still so confusing. He had told them little else during the journey.

  Gwendolyn could see him standing beside the same woman who had met him when the ship docked. She was very beautiful. A wife, perhaps? And why was everyone shouting the Viking's name? Could it be that he was indeed a king, returning in triumph from faraway lands? Frustrated by her questions, she shrugged her delicate shoulders, giving up. No doubt the Viking would tell them in his own good time!

  Hakon raised his hand for silence, but it was several moments before the enthusiastic shouting died away. "I stand before you this night in answer to the summons of Eirik, Jarl of Sogn, my true brother, not as your overlord, but as your equal!" he stated for all to hear. This declaration brought a great roar of approval from the gathered Vikings, for though they honored their leaders, and would fight to the death for them, they considered themselves to be equals first, followers second. If a man rose to authority among them, it was only by their choice and consent.

  Hakon drew his broadsword from its scabbard and held it high above his head. "I swear to you that my rule will be fair and just, as was Eirik's and my father's, Magnus Haardrad, before me! If any man doubts my word, let him come forward and try his sword against mine!"

  A great rumbling raced through the gathered warriors. Yea, here was a man who was fit to rule the Sogn! Greatly impressed by Hakon's fierce presence and courage, one by one the assembled Vikings kneeled in homage and offered him their sworn allegiance. Bodvild looked on in silence, her gray eyes shining as Eirik's dying wish was at last fulfilled.

  Hakon sheathed his mighty sword, his bronzed face flushed with exhilaration. "We will not allow the bastard Rhoar's threat to deny Eirik Jarl the homage that is his right. Come! Let us share a feast in honor of a fallen warrior!" he shouted. Amid the thunderous pounding of weapons against wooden shields, he strode
back into the hall with Bodvild at his side.

  Chapter 18

  Gwendolyn and Anora watched wide-eyed from the prow of the ship as the Vikings warriors surged into the hall after Hakon. That so many could all fit into one building was amazing, Gwendolyn thought, though even from this distance the hall appeared quite large. Suddenly Egil rushed along the dock to where they stood and gestured sharply for them to climb out beside him. Anora backed away in fear.

  "Where do you think he means to take us, Gwendolyn?" she asked nervously.

  "Perhaps to where we shall sleep for the night," Gwendolyn replied reassuringly, though she felt a twinge of unease. She trusted Egil no more than she believed a wild boar could be tamed for a pet! She looked around the darkened ship, then shrugged. "Anything would be better than spending another night aboard this wretched ship. Come on, I will help you." She held Anora's hand as she stepped up on a rowing bench and then sat down on the railing. Grinning broadly, Egil grabbed her sister by the waist and swung her over to the dock. Gwendolyn did the same, but before he could catch her she jumped to the dock by herself. "Keep your filthy hands to yourself, Viking!" she muttered, her eyes flashing defiantly.

  Gesturing for them to walk in front of him, Egil nudged them along the dock and out onto the path that led to the great hall. So that was it, Gwendolyn thought irritably, bridling at his rough pushing as they made their way up the steep hill. He was taking them to the hall so as not to miss out on whatever festivities were taking place there. She grimly recalled the frenzied revelry she had seen in Einar's hall, and hoped for Anora's sake it would not be the same in this one.

  Suddenly Anora tripped on the edge of her torn skirt and fell to her knees. Her startled cry caught the attention of three bearded Vikings standing near the entrance to the hall. They blocked the path, their leering faces illuminated by the light of the torch one of them held aloft.

  "Thor! Will you look at that beauty!" the tallest one exclaimed. "How about sharing some of that with us, man," he said menacingly to Egil. He walked toward them with his companions not far behind. "Surely you don't mean to have her all to yourself?"

  Egil quickly drew his sword from his belt and pushed Gwendolyn and Anora behind him. "Stay back, man, else I will be forced to blacken this night with the spilling of your blood!" he stated grimly. "The wench belongs to Hakon Jarl." At those words the three men instantly fell back, their mouths gaping in surprise. Egil helped Anora to her feet, his eyes not straying once from the men as they stepped away from the path to let them pass. On such a night as this, when emotions were running high, he knew that anything could happen, kinsmen or not. Keeping his two charges close at his side, Egil walked cautiously by the men, his sword poised and at the ready.

  Gwendolyn cursed under her breath. Were all Vikings barbarians such as these? She could see the unshed tears in Anora's eyes, and her heart went out to her. This episode had only served to frighten her sister further. Damn them all to hell's fire! she thought fiercely.

  Finally reaching the entrance to the hall, Gwendolyn looked up at the massive log structure. She had seen a building as large as this only once before, when she had traveled to London with her father. The blazing glow of the torchlight eerily illuminated the gable above the entrance, and she gasped at the intricately carved dragon heads that seemed to leer down at her. The massive wooden doors were also richly carved, the stylized animal designs strangely twisted and contorted.

  Egil sheathed his sword and pushed his two charges through the open doors. All three blinked, their eyes slowly growing accustomed to the bright light thrown off by the many torches set in sconces upon the roughhewn log walls.

  Gwendolyn peered about her. She was astounded by the length and breadth of the hall. A row of stout, elaborately carved pillars supported the roof on both sides, while down the middle ran several fireplaces, a warming blaze burning in each one. The timbered walls were hung with painted shields, brightly polished weapons, and fine woven tapestries, while the dirt floor was strewn with fresh rushes and dried herbs that lent a pungent scent to the air.

  But what really drew her attention was the raised bier set in the very center of the hall. The dead man looked strikingly similar to Hakon, except for the copper color of his hair. "Look over there, Anora," Gwendolyn whispered to her sister.

  But her words were rewarded by a sharp cuff on the ear from Egil. He pushed Anora along in front of him, then grabbed Gwendolyn roughly by the shoulder, dragging her alongside him.

  They walked hurriedly across the hall, their presence causing quite a stir among the Vikings sitting at the long tables lining the walls. Several of them reached out to touch Anora's silky hair as she passed by their benches, their eyes hungrily following her lithe form. Fearful for her safety, Egil did not stop until he had reached the middle of the hall, where Lord Hakon sat upon the high seat. Engrossed in whispered conversation with Bodvild, who was seated at his right, he had obviously not seen them enter the hall.

  Bodvild laid her hand on Hakon's arm, interrupting his words. "I believe this man has a matter of import to discuss with you, brother," she murmured gently, nodding toward Egil, who stood nervously before them.

  Turning his head, Hakon looked startled for a moment. He had forgotten all about Anora and Garric, still aboard the ship. "Thor's hammer, Egil! Why have you brought them here?" he thundered, a scowl darkening his features as he noticed the lust-filled glances of several of his kinsmen raking Anora's slender figure.

  Egil stepped closer to the high seat. "Forgive me, Lord Hakon, but I fear that a safer place than the ship must be found for the wench to sleep this night. She fires the blood of all who see her," he muttered softly, loud enough for only Hakon to hear. "I have already drawn my sword once to protect her."

  "So you bring her here, man? Surely you can see that this place is no better!" Hakon gritted angrily.

  "Perhaps I can find a suitable place for her to sleep," Bodvild interjected calmly, rising from her seat. She had already noted the paleness of the young woman's delicate features and the dark smudges under her eyes. "The lass looks ready to drop from sheer exhaustion." Her gray eyes caught the expression of concern on Hakon's face. "Do not fear, brother. I am sure a good night's rest will bring the glow back to her fair cheeks."

  Hakon flashed her a warm look of gratitude. "Anora, go with Bodvild," he said, though not too gently. It would not do for the clan to think him weak when it came to women, no matter how beautiful. "She will show you to a place where you can sleep." Too tired to protest, Anora merely nodded.

  "But what of the lad, Hakon?" Bodvild asked. "If you wish, I could find a place for him, also."

  Hakon's eyes flitted over Gwendolyn, and he chuckled to himself. It was obvious the lad was exhausted, though he was trying to mask it with his defiant stance. "Egil, escort Garric to the slave house and see that a guard is posted outside the door. Then you may return here for the feast."

  "Yea, my lord." Egil nodded, gripping Gwendolyn's shoulder once again.

  Taking Anora by the hand, Bodvild felt a rush of pity for the girl as she led her from the hall. Was she a slave to Hakon . . . or concubine? As a Christian, she abhorred the cruel treatment of slaves, and had done everything in her power to improve their lot at the settlement. She had also dope much over the years to influence her husband in his dealings with them, despite the deep-seated belief held by the Vikings that slaves were merely a commodity to be bought and sold.

  Bodvild glanced over her shoulder to see if Egil and the lad were following her. 'Tis strange how much the girl and her brother resemble each other, she thought, marveling at the similarity of their features. Why, if she had not known better, she would surely swear that the lad was nearly as feminine in appearance as his sister, except for his short, unruly hair and clothing. Nay, it couldn't be. She shrugged, dismissing the odd thought. With Hakon's keen eye for beautiful women, surely he would be the last person to be deceived by such trickery, even if it were possible.

  The
women's sleeping house was not far from the great hall, and it wasn't long before Anora was settled into a narrow bed in a private room. Her head had scarcely touched the eiderdown pillow when she was fast asleep. Bodvild clucked her tongue sympathetically. Such a sea voyage was hard enough on a man, let alone a delicate creature such as this girl. She brought the soft fur coverlet up to Anora's chin, then quietly left the room.

  "The slave house is just a ways up the hill," she said softly to Egil, who was waiting at the door with his charge. She frowned, her forehead creasing in thought. "This lad hardly looks so dangerous that he would need a guard."

  "He has already tried to escape once, my lady, and he makes no secret of his hate for his captors," Egil replied, his large hand gripping Gwendolyn's shoulder. She winced painfully, a fierce debate raging in her mind over whether she would elbow him in the stomach or stomp on his big foot with her booted heel.

  Bodvild shook her head. "There is no place for the lad to escape to, Egil. Besides, there are so many people in the settlement tonight that any attempt the lad might make would surely be thwarted." She pointed out the slave house to him. "I must return to the hall to be with my husband," she murmured softly. "If you think 'tis truly necessary, you will find a trusted slave there, Ansgar, who would be more than happy to watch the lad for you." Ignoring his startled look, she turned and walked quickly down the hill toward the great hall, her fur-trimmed cloak flowing out behind her.

  Egil nodded in assent, though inwardly he could not have disagreed more. Slaves watching slaves! He had never heard of such a thing. Shaking his shaggy head with disapproval, he pushed Gwendolyn along in front of him until they came to the slave house. Several older men were sitting on benches along the outside wall.