by Millie Thom
‘In Odin’s name, cousin, get to the point!’ Bjorn rolled his eyes in exasperation. ‘You’re not even making sense to me and I know what this is about.’
‘Very well,’ Hastein said with a smirk. ‘Since Aethelnoth and Jorund are a part of my household and thus answerable to me in all things, I wish to offer them their freedom. If everyone is agreeable, our two faithful thralls will remain here, where they belong, Aethelnoth in the land of his birth and Jorund with his brother.’
A moment of stunned silence was followed by a confused babble as opinions were simultaneously voiced. Eadwulf could scarce believe what he’d heard. To have Jorund and Aethelnoth in Mercia was more than he could ever have hoped for. But the Elston hall was not Eadwulf’s, and Wigstan may object to two strangers living beneath his roof.
The ealdorman raised his hands for quiet. ‘I think you may have underestimated a little when you anticipated our being surprised, Hastein. Astounded, or staggered, would have perhaps been a more accurate prediction. Nevertheless, before any decisions are made by those who really matter in all of this,’ he added, motioning towards Aethelnoth and Jorund, ‘I wish to make clear that as far as I’m concerned, I’d be pleased to welcome these two young men into my home.’
Eadwulf sent silent thanks to the kindly, round-faced ealdorman. All that remained was for Aethelnoth and Jorund to want to stay in Mercia. To his brother, Mercia may seem as alien as the very depths of Africa, though his face revealed nothing but bewilderment. And Aethelnoth simply stared down at his feet, deep in thought.
‘You have your reasons for making this proposal of extreme kindness,’ Wigstan addressed the jarls, ‘which, in my opinion, puts many Christians to shame. But even an outsider could see that, in part at least, your decision stems from your regard for Eadwulf – Ulf, as you endearingly call him.’ He ran a hand across his near-bald crown and stifled a yawn. ‘Tomorrow you leave, and decisions have to be made before then. Perhaps Aethelnoth and Jorund need to sleep on Hastein’s proposal before they decide. But, from what I know of Eadwulf, to have both his brother and his friend restored to him would bring him immeasurable joy . . .
‘It has been evident these past five years that Eadwulf left much that he loved in Danish lands,’ he continued. ‘His distress at the barbaric execution of Ragnar revealed how much he revered the man. And today it has been a pleasure to witness the close bond he shares with you all. Your friendship has transcended the barriers of kingdoms and faiths, and I believe that, no matter what transpires from the landing of this vast army, such friendship will endure. Whatever decisions are made now will be tinged with sadness for what will be lost.
‘Now I shall take my leave. I hope your rest is comfortable and that whatever decision is made, it is the right one for all of you.’
*****
‘You’ll walk with us to the river?’
Eadwulf nodded. ‘It would be discourteous to do otherwise, Bjorn. And Aethelnoth and Jorund will wish to say their last farewells to you.’
‘Then we’ll take our leave of your gracious family and be on our way.’
The rising sun spread rose-tinted light across the inky, pre-dawn skies, bringing colour to the meadows over which they trudged; copses of woodland became splashes of vermilion and gold. Eadwulf walked in silence beside Bjorn and Leif, whilst a short distance ahead Jorund and Aethelnoth shared light-hearted banter with Hastein.
‘Freydis sends you her love,’ Bjorn said quietly, his eyes fixed on the backs of the three ahead. ‘She wishes you to know she still misses you – made me promise to tell you that.’ He smiled wanly at Eadwulf’s startled expression. ‘Interpret her message however you wish, as long as you remember that Freydis remains Hastein’s dutiful wife. She’s made my cousin an extremely happy man.’
Bjorn’s smile broadened into a grin. ‘Like you and I, Hastein is thoroughly enjoying the joys of parenthood. As, indeed, is my sister. Freydis has made a good life for herself in Ribe. She runs the household proficiently and is admired and respected by Hastein’s karls. And she continues to practise herblore, especially since Thora joined her, and intends Yrsa to be trained in the art. Speaking of whom, Yrsa delights in being the older sister to Freydis’s offspring, so much so that she refused outright to leave Ribe to come here, threatened a tantrum if we tried. And Freydis would have been heartbroken to part with her anyway. Of course we could also argue that Yrsa is as much Dane as Saxon, so we should let her choose where she makes her home when she is old enough.’
Eadwulf just nodded, too emotionally charged for words. Freydis’s message wrenched at his gut and confusion ensnared him in its web. Leif walked as though he’d heard nothing, casting his gaze around as one enjoying the early morning. Bjorn was now doing the same, allowing Eadwulf time to compose his thoughts.
Freydis still missed him . . . Odin give him strength to live with that knowledge; far better to have believed she’d forgotten all about him. His own longing for her would never abate, despite his love for Leoflaed. Was it possible for a man to love two women with such intensity? For that was how he felt. Yet whilst Freydis was so far away there was no possibility of his betrayal of Leoflaed. As for Freydis, surely it would be better if she believed that Eadwulf no longer thought of her; no longer cared?
‘I’m pleased Freydis has found happiness,’ he said eventually, striving to keep his voice on an even keel. ‘Would you give her my regards and sincere thanks for the care she’s shown to Yrsa over the past years – and for consenting to continue doing so?’ He swallowed hard. ‘Let her know I am well and happy, with one son, and another babe due next spring. But Bjorn,’ he pleaded, facing his former master, ‘whatever you say, I beg you not to tell her how much I miss her and think of her. She must focus all her affections on Hastein. He deserves no less from a wife.’
‘I understand,’ Bjorn said, laying a hand on Eadwulf’s arm as Leif surveyed an interesting-looking bush. ‘The pain still stabs at your heart when you think of Freydis; I see it in your eyes. But you’re right, it’s best she knows nothing of that. I’ll tell her of your joy at being in Mercia and your delight in your marriage and child. Though I must warn you,’ he added with a broad grin, ‘Freydis always knows when I’m lying. She knows me too well – or perhaps it’s something to do with herblore and seeing things, like Thora. I just hope she doesn’t teach Kata the skill!’
Nothing further was said about Freydis as they walked. Bjorn again expressed his own sorrow at Sigehelm’s death, whilst Eadwulf silently added his tutor’s death to the list of reasons why he’d kill Ivar one day. The three spoke of past times, places they had seen. Bjorn spoke of Hastein’s pain at parting with Aethelnoth and his hope that he and Jorund would be happy in their rightful homeland.
And then the meandering Trent came into view, the sleek longship moored along the bank. The eventual farewells were too emotional to be prolonged.
*****
The Sea Eagle pushed away from the bank, crewmen lifting their oars as the current moved her downstream. The favourable south-westerly filled the sail and the dragonship set her sights on the open sea beyond the Humber estuary, nearly fifty miles away.
Squinting into the early morning sun, Eadwulf stood motionless until the ship rounded a bend and disappeared from view. Sadness and renewed loss washed over him; he may never see Bjorn, Hastein and Leif again. At his sides, Jorund and Aethelnoth were silent, and as the three turned to return to the hall, tears streamed down Jorund’s cheeks. He swept them away with his sleeve and attempted a smile.
‘Mercia seems very much like the Danish lands,’ he said, glancing about him. ‘It’s quite flat, with meadows stretching along either side of the river.’
‘Not all areas of Britain are flat,’ Aethelnoth told him as they walked. ‘In some parts there are green hills that roll into the distance. There are even higher and more rugged hills – some folk would call them mountains – in some of the Saxon lands. But the highest mountains lie in the lands of the Welsh to the west and th
ose of the Picts, far to the north. Those mountains are really bleak; not somewhere you’d like to be in winter. But even in Mercia we’ve some impressive sights.’
Aethelnoth suddenly grinned. ‘I can’t believe I’m actually here, Eadwulf. After you’d gone, I resigned myself to spending the rest of my life in Ribe. Can’t help feeling a bit daunted though. I mean, what will my role in Elston actually be?’
‘You’ll be treated with the respect due to the son of a royal reeve, Aethelnoth. You’ll probably become Wigstan’s right hand man.’ Eadwulf slapped his friend on the back. ‘Who’d not want you at their side? And our swords will soon be needed, if this Great Army sets to raiding Mercian lands.
‘We must defend our homeland, Jorund,’ he said, catching the expression of alarm on his brother’s face. ‘We are Mercian, and proud to be so.’
‘But I’m just a thrall! The boys in Ribe yelled that at me often enough. I know naught of swordsmanship. Besides, you can’t expect me to fight against people I’ve lived with all my life . . .’
‘Listen to me, Jorund. You’re a Mercian, and no longer any man’s thrall. You were born to lead armies, as much as Aethelnoth and me. You and I are the sons of a king – an honourable king who was betrayed to the Danes by a man not fit to be called our uncle. This is the truth,’ he stressed at Jorund’s incredulous stare. ‘Our father, King Beorhtwulf of Mercia, was killed along with Aethelnoth’s father when the Danes raided London the year before you were born. Our mother was already carrying you in her womb when she was taken by Jarl Rorik.’
‘Then why did no one ever tell me all this?’ Jorund challenged.
‘Morwenna couldn’t tell you because she needed Rorik to believe he was your father, or your life in Aalborg would have been misery. I didn’t tell you simply because you were too young to understand seven years ago. The others said nothing because I asked them not to until you became a man.’
‘But I still can’t fight against the Danes: Ubbi’s with them, and he’s my friend!’
Eadwulf sighed, lacking the will to pursue that thought.
It was Aethelnoth who said, ‘Let’s not get upset about situations we may never need to face, Jorund.’ His steady brown gaze drifted to Eadwulf. ‘Of more importance right now is the small matter of how soon we can kill that traitorous dog, Burgred.’
Ten
Ribe, western Denmark: late April, 866
Woken by the sensation of someone tugging at the sleeve of her nightgown, Freydis pulled herself up in her bed, the tears from a dream still wet on her cheeks. She brushed them away impatiently, annoyed that the disturbing images recurred so often whilst she slept. No daylight yet streamed through the shutters and the first songbirds were not yet singing, but Freydis did not need daylight to know that the hand tugging at her sleeve belonged to her youngest son.
This was the fourth consecutive night that Aguti had, somehow, managed to find his way from his own bedchamber to hers in the darkness. She leaned over and hauled the stout little two-year-old onto her bed, where he instantly wormed his way under the furs and clung tightly to her.
‘Did something waken you again, Aguti?’ she whispered, not wanting to rouse the household. Dawn was still a long way off and people needed their sleep. ‘It’s still too dark to be up and about, so perhaps we should just take you back to your own bed and–’
‘Stay here,’ the toddler said firmly. ‘Mama’s bed.’
Freydis sighed. So far, Aguti had given no reason for this unusual behaviour. He’d been sleeping happily in his own room for almost a year now, rarely waking before daylight crept through the shutters to cause his eyelids to flutter.
‘Don’t you like your own room?’ she asked, cuddling him close and trying to get to the bottom of this. ‘I thought you liked being a big boy and having your own bed.’ She smiled to herself, wondering what Hastein would have to say about this if he were home. Her husband had barely been gone a week and she needed to break Aguti’s developing routine before he returned in three weeks’ time.
The child said nothing, but Freydis sensed he was on the verge of tears.
‘Whatever is it, little one? Have you had a bad dream?’
She could feel him shaking his head inside her encircling arms and he emitted a strange little whine of unhappiness, or perhaps distress. Aguti was so young, little more than two; still so much a baby.
‘Is it the dark you don’t like?’ she persisted. ‘Your big brother didn’t like the dark either, when he was–’
‘Dainn’s gone,’ Aguti said between sniffles.
So that was it. Dainn wasn’t in the bedchamber with him. Freydis was annoyed with herself for not having noticed the effects of her older son’s absence on the little boy – doubtless because Aguti generally had Yrsa’s full attention during the daytime. But in his dark room at night, he was simply alone and scared.
‘Dainn has gone with your papa to buy some nice things for us in Kaupang,’ she tried to explain. ‘And they won’t be away for very long . . .’
Freydis thought of a possible solution to Aguti’s problem, one that would eliminate his loneliness in his bedchamber, and allow her to get a peaceful night’s sleep. ‘Would you like Yrsa to sleep in Dainn’s bed until he gets home, so she’ll be there for you if you wake?’
Against her breast, Freydis felt the little head nodding. She said nothing for a while, just held him close and rocked him back and forth until he was asleep. Gently, she laid him down, knowing he’d sleep now for the rest of the night. Lying down next to him she closed her eyes, praying to Freya not to let the dream about Eadwulf return to upset her again.
Over the years Freydis had prayed so often to her goddess, beseeching her to scourge all memories of Eadwulf from her mind. As long as Freydis remembered him, she loved him; loved him so much that her chest felt crushed by the fierceness of it and she could scarcely breathe. The pain in Eadwulf’s eyes on the day she was leaving Aros for Ribe burned through to her very core, seeking out and connecting with the wretchedness that mirrored his own . . .
Freydis had found contentment married to Hastein. He was such a good man, a kind and loving husband and father to their two young sons, and was greatly respected by his karls and fellow jarls. She hated herself for being incapable of loving him as much as he deserved, and hoped she’d hidden it well over the years. She would never, willingly, hurt Hastein . . .
But nor would she ever stop loving Eadwulf. Wherever he was, he carried her heart with him.
Last autumn, Bjorn had returned from Mercia, brimming with news of Eadwulf’s happiness with a young wife and family he loved. Freydis was truly glad that Eadwulf was in his rightful home, leading the life he deserved. Yet she could not accept that he’d forgotten her so readily, especially since Bjorn’s assertions did not quite ring true. Perhaps it was just the way he couldn’t hold her gaze as he spoke . . . Freydis felt certain he was hiding something from her.
The kind of love she and Eadwulf had shared could surely not die so easily? In her dream, his love for her burned bright in his eyes. And she knew with certainty that the love and longing would still be there, even now.
*****
‘I knew he’d be in here again, the little rascal! What’s wrong with his own bed? That’s four times he’s come into yours this week!’
Yrsa stood beside Freydis’s bed, looking down at the small blond head of the slumbering child. Freydis had already risen and was pottering about her chamber before going through to the hall. It was still early, the sun had barely risen and she was in no rush to start her daily routines. She touched a finger to her lips to urge Yrsa to speak quietly, then yawned widely. Yrsa tutted and shook her head.
Freydis smiled. The pretty nine-year-old was so like a grandmother with her admonishments. ‘Well, Yrsa,’ she whispered, ‘you’ll be pleased to know I’ve discovered what’s been bothering Aguti all week.’
‘Good,’ Yrsa replied softy, raising her eyebrows in anticipation of explanation. Freydis motioned for
her to move through to the hall, where they could speak without rousing Aguti. He’d be grouchy all day if he didn’t get enough sleep.
Thralls had already lit the hearthfire and others were busy at their chores. Thora was engrossed in organising them all into the daily tasks, and did not notice Freydis and Yrsa’s arrival.
‘Well, what’s the matter with him?’ Yrsa shook her dark curls. ‘I bet he just wants to be in your bed now that his papa’s not taking up all the room.’
‘You’re partly right,’ Freydis said, laughing at the thought and thinking what a treasure the child was. She’d been so relieved when Yrsa had refused to travel to Mercia with Jorund last year, even though she’d had no idea of the possible permanency of the visit. But now, Freydis suspected that Yrsa missed her brother a great deal. ‘Aguti isn’t happy sleeping in the room by himself,’ she continued. ‘He’s probably afraid of the dark, too, although he hasn’t said as much. I was wondering–’
‘Well, I could sleep in Dainn’s bed until he gets back, if you like. Then, if Aguti wakes, he’ll remember I’m there and go back to sleep.’
‘What an excellent suggestion,’ Freydis replied as though the idea were new to her. She gave the girl a hug, from which she wriggled free and tutted again. ‘No one’s ever too old for cuddles, you know,’ Freydis assured, grinning at Yrsa’s reddening cheeks. ‘It’s always good to feel loved, or to know that someone is pleased with you.’
By now, Yrsa’s face was crimson and Freydis said no more to embarrass her. She loved the girl as much as any daughter, and in return, Yrsa had become like an older sister to her two sons. Freydis had always insisted that Yrsa address her simply by her name – no ‘my lady’ or other term of respect. She knew that Eadwulf would be happy with that.
‘I hope you haven’t been up half the night with the little one again Freydis?’ Freydis turned to watch her mother hobbling towards them, and frowned in concern. Thora’s knees and hips had gradually deteriorated over the passing years and walking had become a painful ordeal. Even Freydis’s herbs and remedies couldn’t ease the pain for long. Thora was well past her fiftieth year, and not a wisp of her once lovely fair hair could now be seen amongst the grey. Freydis worried constantly about her, knowing that each winter could be her last. ‘Aguti will have to get used to staying in his own bed when Hastein gets back.’
