Viking Passion

by Speer, Flora

  She felt his body tense beside her, and then his strong arms drew her closer.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Completely.” She laughed softly. “I think it was that night you returned from visiting Halfdan. Do you remember? We scarcely slept all night.”

  “I remember.” His lips brushed her cheek. ”A son. It must be a son.”

  “It will be whatever you wish, Erik. Are you happy?”

  “I am.”

  His mouth covered hers, and she snuggled against him in blissful peace. He had not mentioned marrying her, or even that he would set the child free. Surely he would do for his own son what Thorkell had done for him. They still had months in which to discuss it. So much time. She fell asleep with Erik’s fingers splayed across her fecund belly.

  Chapter 11

  “It’s not fair,” Edwina wept. “I can’t conceive and you are carrying a child.”

  “I thought you would be happy for me.”

  “Do you really want it? You always said you hated all the Norse. I thought you wanted revenge.”

  “I did, but I’ve changed. I want Erik’s child. I want to give him a son.”

  “Perhaps he’ll free you and marry you. Has he said he will?”

  “We haven’t talked about that, Edwina.”

  “If I were with child, I’d make Thorkell marry me. He would, you know. He really cares about me. It’s just that I can’t conceive. I try so hard. But he can’t -he won’t -” She broke off as Freydis entered the weaving room with a cup of mead.

  “Drink this.” Freydis told Lenora. “You must eat and drink well, to give strength to the child.”

  “You will grow fat.” Edwina giggled, “And Erik won’t want you any more.”

  Lenora and Freydis exchanged glances, Freydis shaking her head sadly. Lenora drained the cup.

  “I must go to Thorkell,” she said. “He has work for me to do.”

  “Keep warm,” Freydis advised. “Some of the farmers and their families are ill. Don’t get chilled or you will be sick too.”

  “I won’t.” Lenora hurried off, glad to get away from Edwina. Her friend’s unhappy condition was a constant weight on Lenora’s heart. There was nothing Lenora could do to help, but being with Edwina always made her feel guilty.

  Ten days later the illness that had first infected the farmers and their families invaded Thorkell’s immediate household. Several of the servants died of it. Women and children were the most severely afflicted. Freydis was soon short-handed in the kitchen and laundry, as slaves and serving women took to their beds. Lenora temporarily gave up her work for Thorkell to help Freydis care for the sick.

  “I don’t know why you are doing this,” Gunhilde said to Freydis. “You are working like a slave yourself. These people will recover or not, depending on each one’s own luck and strength. It is in the hands of the gods. You can add nothing to anyone’s recovery with your broths and hot ale.”

  “I know there are many who believe as you do,” Freydis replied, “but the labor of these men and women adds daily to my father’s wealth. I will not desert them when they are too ill to fetch water or food for themselves.” She filled a bowl with steaming gruel and gave it to Lenora to carry to the women’s quarters. “See that Tola eats all of this. She ate nothing yesterday. I’ll carry a full bucket down to the farmers’ houses. Gunhilde, will you help me?”

  “I refuse to make myself into a servant for slaves,” Gunhilde said coldly. “I am going to my chamber to spin in peace.”

  “Go then,” Freydis muttered under her breath. “You are no help anyway.” She wiped her damp brow with her sleeve.

  “You’re not well,” Lenora said. “Go to bed. I’ll do this.”

  “No. No, I can do it.”

  But the next day Freydis could not leave her bed, and the following day Thorkell was ill. Edwina was frantic.

  “He won’t eat, Lenora. What shall I do?”

  “Give him just a little at a time. Insist that he swallow it. Now go, Edwina. I’m busy.”

  With Gunhilde refusing to help, Lenora now supervised the household. The young woman who had once hated domestic chores managed with an efficiency and skill that surprised even herself. Erik, agreeing with Lenora’s methods, silenced Gunhilde ‘s arguments against providing care for the sick and stopped her attempt to take over the running of Thorkellshavn in Freydis’ absence. Erik and Halfdan together assisted Lenora and the few other women who were still on their feet.

  Evening meals were no longer merry and boisterous feasts. A few men and women sat somberly in the great hall, trying to keep warm and wondering who would fall ill next.

  “Lenora, you are worn out,” Freydis told her one day. “I’ll get up tomorrow to help you.”

  Lenora took the empty gruel bowl from Freydis and handed her a cup of ale. She wrapped her shawl more closely around her shoulders. Freydis’ chamber, a small room attached to Thorkell’s quarters, with its own separate entrance, was cold in spite of the blaze of logs in the firepit.

  “You are not well enough yet. You are still too weak.” Lenora stood up from the bed platform, stretching, her hands on her hips.

  “My back aches.” She laughed. “I spend my days bending over the cooking fires, stirring soups and gruels. Tola is helping me. She is out of bed but still weak. And Gutrid and Erna are sick now. Will spring never come?”

  “It will come soon enough. Some years are like this. Everyone is sick and many die. Other years it’s not so bad. No one knows why.”

  “I’ll come back later.” Lenora moved toward the door.

  “How is my father?”

  “Very weak, but Edwina says he is getting better. He says he wants to die in battle. Sven the Dark told him the Franks will attack in the spring, and Thorkell is planning to take his men on a march to the south to meet them.’

  Freydis chuckled, nodding. “That is his duty. When he was given these lands, he was charged by King Horik, whose jarl he was, to protect the east and the south of Denmark. Thorkell never fails in his duty, though Horik is dead for many years and there is no true king in Denmark now.”

  As she left Freydis’ room, Lenora wondered if Erik would have to ride with his father to fight the Franks. Surely his leg would be improved by then so that he could ride for long periods of time. She did not want to think of Erik in battle.

  The wind off the sea was cold and damp. There had been much flooding this stormy winter. Thorkellshavn, wisely built high on the slope above the river, had so far escaped the waters, but freezing rain had filmed tree limbs and buildings with a thin crust of ice. Lenora cried out as one of her feet broke through the brittle surface and sank into a deep puddle.

  “Oh, it’s so cold.” As she tried to get out of the puddle, her other foot slipped on an ice-glazed stone. She lost her balance and flew through the air, landing hard on her bottom and skidding across the frozen ground almost back to Freydis’ door. The bowl and cup she had been carrying went clattering away with a noise that rang loudly in Lenora’s head as blue and white stars exploded before her eyes.

  She did not know how much later it was when she wakened to bitter cold. Her clothes were soaked from the rain and caked with ice. Her head ached and her buttocks were sore where she had fallen. It took great effort to push herself to a sitting position. Wet, ice-stringed hair flapped into her face.

  She began to shiver. She took a few moments to gather her strength, then tried to stand.

  “Ah!-” she screamed in pain and sank to her knees.

  “Help,” she cried. “Freydis, can you hear me? Someone, please help me. Freydis!”

  She heard a sound from within Freydis’ chamber, and then the door opened. Freydis, weak and pale, clung to the frame, her woolen winter shift billowing in the cold wind, a shawl clutched about her upper body.

  “Lenora?”

  “I hurt my ankle. I can’t stand up.”

  Lenora crouched on the icy ground, rocking back and forth from the pain surging up her le
g and weeping because of a strange, aching malaise that was steadily creeping over her. Freydis stumbled to her and tried to help her rise.

  “It’s no use. I’m too weak. I’ll try to find one of the men.” Freydis, by now nearly as drenched as Lenora, staggered barefoot across the courtyard toward the great hall.

  Lenora collapsed into a sodden, miserable heap. Endless cold time passed before Halfdan scooped her up in his brawny arms and carried her to Erik’s house. Freydis was already there, busily feeding the fire into a high, warming blaze.

  Halfdan laid her on the bed, and he and Freydis quickly stripped off her wet clothes, rubbed her down with linen cloths, and wrapped her in blankets and furs. Tola appeared with a hot drink.

  Lenora took it gratefully, as much for the warmth of the cup against her numb fingers as for the heat that curled into her stomach as she swallowed it.

  “Let me see your ankle.” When Freydis’ fingers probed the swollen flesh Lenora cried out in pain. “I don’t think it’s broken. We’ll bind it up. Tola, fold that linen into strips.”

  “Freydis, you are wet. You should be in bed.”

  “I don’t mind the cold. You have tended me for days, Lenora. Now it’s my turn.”

  Lenora’s ankle was soon bound. The pain in it subsided, but she lay shivering and aching.

  “My back hurts,” she told Freydis. “I fell so hard. I feel so strange.”

  Freydis and Tola exchanged knowing glances.

  “Oh – Oh!” Suddenly Lenora doubled up as pain lanced through her. “Freydis, help me.”

  Freydis’ hands caught hers. Another pain came, worse than before, and now Lenora understood.

  “My baby,” she moaned. “No, not my baby.”

  Through a thick mist she heard Freydis speaking. “I am certain she will miscarry. Tola, bring me more cloths and a basin. Halfdan, you had better tell Erik. He will be in Thorkell’s chambers.”

  The mist around Lenora’s head grew thicker. She felt far away, separated from everyone. Halfdan’s low voice rumbled through the small room, echoing in Lenora’s fevered brain as another pain tore at her.

  “Freydis, you are cold... cold... cold... dry clothes... clothes... clothes.”

  Only Freydis’ steady voice made any sense to Lenora. “Hold on to me, Lenora. Very well, Halfdan, send a woman to my room for a dry shift and my blue shawl. I’m here, Lenora. I’m here.”

  Time was divided into the short spaces between waves of pain that were ever more severe. Erik and Halfdan came and went, looking worried. Edwina appeared briefly, weeping, to throw herself on Lenora’s writhing form until Freydis ordered her out. Gunhilde’s cold voice spoke from a great distance.

  “I do not understand why you are all so upset. She is only a slave, after all.”

  “Get out.” Erik’s voice was dark with pain and fury. “Never set your foot in my house again. Go!”

  “When Snorri comes home I will tell him of this insult.”

  “Do. And then make him tell you what he once did to this woman’s family.”

  The pain came again, blanking out all else.

  Only Freydis was always there, holding her hands, encouraging her through hours of wrenching agony, finally sponging her body with cool water and covering her with a fresh blanket.

  “Drink this.”

  “I can’t.”

  “You must, to regain your strength. Tola put an egg in it, and some herbs to help stop the bleeding.”

  Too weak to protest further, Lenora swallowed the hot ale.

  “It’s over,” she whispered, the tears streaming down her face.

  “Many women miscarry, Lenora. It is sad, but you will recover and bear other children.”

  “I wanted this one. For Erik.”

  “Erik will give you more babies.”

  “I want to see him.”

  “He is with our father. Thorkell is very ill.”

  “He’s getting better. Edwina said so.”

  “Go to sleep, Lenora. Go to sleep.”

  The fever attacked her the next day. She lay at the edge of death for many days and nights, delirious and wracked with cruel nightmares about the child she had lost. When finally she came to her senses again, she was so weak she could scarcely move. It exhausted her to turn her head to watch Tola enter with a cup and bowl.

  Freydis’ serving woman fed her in a silence far different from her usual gossipy chatter.

  “How long have I been sick?” Lenora whispered weakly.

  “Eight days.”

  “So long? What has happened while I’ve been in bed?”

  “Nothing.”

  “No gossip, Tola?” Lenora managed a chuckle. “I can’t believe that.”

  Tears appeared in Tola’s eyes. Seeing them, Lenora was filled with alarm. She struggled to sit up but could not. She lay back, panting.

  “Erik,” she gasped. “Where is Erik?”

  “He is well.”

  “Freydis?”

  “She is well too. And Halfdan. And that bitch Gunhilde.” The tears were now rolling down Tola’s plump cheeks. “It’s Thorkell.”

  “Is he still sick?”

  “He is dead.”

  “Thorkell? No, it can’t be. He was getting better.”

  “He was, but something happened to him. He could not breathe. Erik made him sit up and fed him hot soups and ale, but his breath came harder and harder, and then five days ago he died. I do not weep for his death,” Tola explained, wiping away her tears, “but for the manner of it. He should have died in battle. He was a good chieftain and he deserved an honorable death. Now he must journey to the underworld• of Niflheim to live with Hel. It is sad. A brave man like Thorkell should have been welcomed into Valhalla by Odin himself.”

  “I don’t understand what you are saying. Where is Thorkell now? Isn’t he buried?”

  “Of course not. He will not be buried until he is burned. But that is not for five days yet.”

  Lenora gave up, unable to comprehend Tola’s rambling explanations.

  “I want to see Erik. Please send him to me.”

  “I don’t know if he will come. He’s busy with the funeral arrangements.”

  “That’s the first thing you’ve said that I can understand. Tell him I want to see him, Tola.”

  Erik did not come until evening. Lenora had drifted in and out of sleep all day, and she had eaten again. She felt stronger by the time he arrived.

  “I cannot stay long,” he said. ”I must return to the feast.”

  “I am sorry to hear of Thorkell’s death.”

  “He was a good and just chieftain. He was well named the Fair-speaker.”

  “Aren’t you sad that your father is dead?”

  “It is not good to weep for the dead.”

  Lenora did not answer. She knew Erik had loved his father, and she was certain that beneath the apparent indifference to Thorkell’s death, Erik was deeply grieved. Perhaps he was afraid if he began to speak of his sorrow it would overcome him. She decided to change the subject.

  “How is Edwina? May I see her? She must be heartbroken.”

  “Edwina is cheerful enough. She is at the feast.”

  “I want to see her. I must speak with her.” Lenora could not believe Edwina was cheerful. Surely she was distraught and would need her best friend. Their recent differences were forgotten in Lenora’s concern for Edwina. “I wish I could get up to go to her, but I’m so weak.”

  “You must remain in bed until – for a few days more. I will ask Edwina’s companions to bring her to you tomorrow.”

  “What companions?”

  But Erik had gone.

  Edwina entered the house the next afternoon, accompanied by two serving women.

  “I want to speak to my friend alone,” Lenora told them.

  “We dare not leave her,” they responded. They sat impassively on the earthen floor by the door.

  “I am sorry you miscarried your babe,” Edwina said. She walked unsteadily to the bed
platform and sat down hard. She giggled, and a whiff of mead fumes reached Lenora’s nose.

  “My poor Edwina. I know you cared for Thorkell. You must miss him terribly.”

  Exerting all her strength, Lenora sat up and tried to put her arms around Edwina, but the girl pushed her away.

  “This is not a sad time.” Edwina giggled. “It is a happy time. I do miss Thorkell, but I will be with him again soon.”

  “Edwina, Thorkell is dead.”

  “I know.” A crafty smile spread across Edwina’s thin features. “But they said I could join him.”

  Lenora was now convinced that Edwina was totally mad with grief and further confused by strong drink.

  “They asked us all,” Edwina told her with mock sobriety. “They said, ‘Who will journey to Niflheim with Thorkell and live with him there?’ And I said, ‘I will,’ and then they were all so happy. I will go with Thorkell and he will set me free and marry me and I will bear his child.”

  Cold terror gripped Lenora’s heart at these words. “Edwina, what have you done?”

  “It’s true,” one of the serving women said. “She is the sacrifice. When Thorkell is burnt Edwina will go with him.”

  “NO!” Lenora clutched at Edwina’s thin shoulders. “You can’t do this!”

  “She volunteered,” the serving woman said. “She is doing it freely.”

  “Volunteered? Can’t you see she’s mad? She has never been herself since the day my brother Wilfred was killed. Where is Erik? I must speak to him. He will stop this idiocy.”

  “Erik was pleased with Edwina’s decision. In any case, once a woman agrees to die with her lord, she cannot change her mind.”

  “Freydis. Freydis will help me.”

  “Freydis is busy planning the funeral feasts. You should be working, too, Lenora. You should be helping to sew Thorkell’s funeral clothes.”

  Lenora stared at the serving woman, unable to believe her ears.

  “Helping? Do you imagine for one moment that I’m going to participate in this heathen ritual? Edwina, for God’s sake, you are a Christian! Don’t do this.”

  “Now, Lenora,” Edwina said in a soothing tone, “You are much too upset, and you have been ill. You must know that this is the wisest thing for me to do.”