by Jorvik- A thrilling tale of Viking Britain (retail) (epub)
There was no doubt in Sigurd’s mind now. How flagrantly they coupled before his eyes and he was powerless to prevent it. No, no, no, his mind roared. I love thee, Til, but I will not let this happen. She is mine.
Both furious and enthralled, he could not take his eyes off her wraithe-like figure. Finally, able to bear it no longer he clapped his hands and shouted, ‘Cease!’ When music and dance came to a rude halt he addressed Mildryth. ‘Your legs shall be dropping off, girl! Come sit here with me, I have something to say to thee – you too, Til.’
A breathless Mildryth joined the two men. Sigurd did not waste time – could not waste time. ‘You know that the Earl has no suitable heir, Mildryth, and that I shall most likely inherit the title. Wouldst it pleasure thee to be the Earl’s lady?’
Mildryth did not bat an eyelid, just gave a sideways glance at Til who was looking at his feet. ‘You have said yourself I am no lady.’
The old man was firm. ‘A mere jest – forget it. I ask you to be my wife, Mildryth.’ The way she looked at Til for advice irked her suitor. ‘I offer you a fortune – surely you do not need to think so hard. Perhaps my heir can persuade thee. Til, instruct your sister that I shall be a good loving husband. She shall want for nought.’
Nought save love, thought Mildryth. Speak up, she urged Til, tell him we adore each other.
But Til had no word of comfort. ‘You should be grateful for such an honour, sister – as I am for the one which fostri has laid upon me.’
Her violet eyes bored into his, forcing him to look away. He does not mean it, she told herself. If you can hold on long enough the old man shall die and Til will be yours. Perhaps Sigurd would die before the Earl, both were old men. She could only pray that it would be so, but until then Sigurd must be fended off and the only way to keep both him and Asketil content was to make a promise. ‘If you become Earl then I will wed you,’ she announced.
Asketil wanted to vomit.
Sigurd’s joy was tempered by the tone of her reply; it was as if she were saying only if he were Earl would she wed him. Nay, you are making difficulties where none occur, he told himself. The earldom is bound to be yours and so is Mildryth. A feeling of triumph filled his breast. ‘I am greatly honoured, my dear! You will have a wedding feast such as no woman has had before – but one thing I must make clear and you are at liberty to withdraw your consent if it does not meet with your agreement, though I pray that you will not.’ He gave a warm smile of entreaty. ‘I have sworn that Asketil shall be my heir above all others; even if you and I have sons that shall still be so.’
‘Til shall be your heir come what may,’ came the soft confirmation. And if I have ought to do with it, thought Mildryth, he shall also be my husband.
* * *
Sigurd might have chosen his heir but the English people had not; they needed to ensure that the childless Edward would not appoint a Norman as the next King of England and so the Bishop of Worcestor was sent abroad to look for survivors of Ethelred’s line who had been exiled when Cnut came to power. He found such a one and brought him back to England, but barely had his feet touched land than he died, leaving the witan in a quandary.
However, the present King was as yet hale and England was relatively peaceful at the moment, there was no urgency to find an heir. Besides, mayhap they had already found one and did not know it; Edward had become increasingly glad to leave politics to Harold Godwinsson who was proving himself to be an even greater leader than his father.
In 1055 the old warrior Siward finally died, allowing the mantle of Earl to fall on to waiting shoulders. ‘It has happened!’ a jubilant Sigurd announced to Til, though the young man had already heard. ‘My greatest ambition is achieved – the earldom is mine! And not only this, Til!’ Excited as a child he grabbed the young man’s arms and shook him with glee. ‘I have Mildryth, too!’ Unable to believe his luck he slapped a hand to his face. ‘Oh, there are so many things to plan! What should I do first?’
Asketil was subdued. ‘Perhaps it might be a kind gesture to offer your sympathies to Earl Siward’s boy.’
‘Why, naturally! I shall take the lad under my wing and treat him as if he were my own.’ Sigurd pinched his chin and tried to look sombre. ‘I must offer to arrange the funeral, too – though I would much rather be arranging a wedding! By the by, where is Mildryth? Has she heard the good news?’
‘I think perhaps she has.’ Asketil had been with her when they had heard the news. From the look on her face it had obviously been as big a shock to her as it had to him and when he had said he must go and see his foster-father she had made an excuse to rush off.
‘Good!’ Sigurd rubbed his hands. ‘Well, Til, can you summon my thegns Rorik, Thorgerd, er… Edgar and Helgi. I must waste no time in arranging the funeral.’
Asketil obeyed.
Mildryth, hiding in the stable with her horse Toki, had more important things on her mind than a funeral. The old Earl’s death-knell heralded her own wedding. ‘Oh, how could I be so stupid as to promise to be his wife, Toki?’ She rested her chin on the horse’s withers. ‘It was only an excuse to make Asketil jealous. I was sure that he would eventually give in to his feelings… but he has never wavered.’ Just the thought of him brought tears to her eyes. He was friendly, loving – as a brother – he talked with her, played music for her, worked alongside her, and remained totally loyal to Sigurd.
She sighed and raised her wan face from the horse’s shoulder. ‘Oh well, I cannot stay hidden in here forever.’ She had been here for a good hour or more. ‘I should spend what time I have left with the man I love.’ Patting the horse, she went into the sunlight.
The first thing she heard was the lyrical call of Til’s pan-pipes and, shading her eyes, she glimpsed him beneath the spread of an ancient chestnut. After doing his lord’s bidding he had excused himself from the funeral arrangements and come out here to be alone in his melancholy and to lose himself in his music. Wandering over, Mildryth perched upon one of the massive branches that swept the ground. Unacknowledged, she said nothing but watched him play. The sight of him made her want to cry again. Two years ago there had been little difference between their heights but now at seventeen Til had grown a good six inches taller, his beard was more dense and the hands that held the pipes were those of a man used to hard work. The winter-brown of his hair was highlighted by the sun and tied back with a headband that Mildryth had woven for him. She watched his bearded lips kiss the pipes, his eyes closed, oblivious to her presence. The enjoyment of hearing him play was spoilt by an acute loneliness. She had the urge to cough and interrupt his flow, which she did with great exaggeration.
Til opened his eyes and stopped playing. A shadow crossed his face when he saw it was her. ‘Hail, Mildew, I thought I was alone.’
‘So did I.’
Her response was too cryptic for him to grasp, but before he could be enlightened a group of horsemen rode through the gates. Curious, Asketil pushed himself from the tree and came out of its shade to investigate, Mildryth in tow. Strangers were always welcome for the news they brought. It transpired that the arrivals rode in advance of their master, Tostig Godwinsson – the new Earl of Northumbria.
At the proclamation, Mildryth could not help a gasp of relief and her whole deportment changed. I do not have to marry him, sang her heart! The bargain was that when he was Earl he would make me his lady – and he is not Earl! She wanted to hug Til, but the expression on his face as he spun on her was totally different.
‘God in heaven! Who will tell Lord Sigurd?’
‘Not I!’ Mildryth gave a cautious laugh and backed away, both of them envisaging the rage that the news would invoke, though nothing could mar her wonderful feeling of relief.
Til felt desperately sorry for his father. ‘Oh, Mildryth, how long he has cherished this earldom and now to have it snatched away… he shall never have another chance at his age.’
It was evident from the grim faces of those around him and their rapid departures that no
ne of them was keen to be the harbinger. Til stood resolute and took a deep breath. ‘He will accept the news better from me.’ Then Mildryth leapt forward in such a manner that made him shy away, demanding crossly, ‘What foolery is this?’
The reprieval caused Mildryth to be playful. ‘I merely wished to touch your head whilst it is still on those shoulders.’
‘Poor jest!’ scolded Til and, presenting his back to her, walked towards the house.
Mildryth did not care how rudely he behaved. The news had brought her hope, her only worry being Sigurd’s violent reaction towards her loved one.
Sigurd glanced up from the table at which he sat as Asketil crunched his way across the layer of mussel shells and litter that had accumulated from recent meals, smiled welcome, but was soon back to discussing the funeral arrangements with his thegns. ‘My Lord.’ Asketil brought himself nearer the table. ‘There is a herald arrived.’
‘From whom?’ The query showed only mild interest.
‘He rides in advance… to announce the coming of the new Earl of Northumbria.’
The atmosphere underwent drastic change. Those who dared quickly removed themselves, on a crackle of shell and a whisper of cloak, from the vicinity of impending wrath.
The room fell silent. Sigurd’s only word as he stared at Til was, ‘Whom?’
Asketil projected commiseration. ‘It is Lord Tostig.’
‘Tostig!’ It was expectorated like an oath. ‘For thirty years his father grabbed the King’s favours from my hand and now his whelp does likewise!’ Sigurd closed his eyes and leaned on the table. It was obvious why Edward had sent his favourite Godwinsson: so that he would have more control over his hitherto remote northern lands and at the same time take revenge on Sigurd whom he had always resented.
After a tense moment he stood abruptly, making all jump aside, including Asketil. The rage was evident to all and yet it was not unleashed. Sigurd left the room without a word. Asketil gathered his courage and trailed his foster-father to the bathhouse, hesitated a moment, then undressed and joined him in the nebulous interior. Sigurd made no murmur, just perched on the wooden boards looking at his feet, occasionally throwing a ladle of water upon the hot stones that hissed and bubbled like his own constrained fury.
‘Tostig,’ he uttered at length. ‘The one I flattered as a youth to gain his father’s alliance. It is most amusing really…’ But he did not laugh. ‘When does he come to take what is mine?’
‘I am told he is yet at Tathaceaster, my lord. He will be here on the morrow.’ Asketil wrung his hands. Did Sigurd have a violent reception in mind?
Whether he did or no, Asketil was not to hear it. Without lifting his eyes from the floor Sigurd told him bluntly, ‘Go now.’
When Asketil was tardy in obeying the order, his father responded with forced patience. ‘Go! I have much to think on and your presence distracts me.’
Til went to the door, hesitated and looked back.
‘She will not wed me now.’ The old man’s delivery was so poignant that a lump came to Til’s throat. He left the steam-filled room, towelled his body and dressed, his mind in conflict.
An anxious Mildryth was waiting nearby to learn the outcome. ‘I heard no anger and feared that he had struck you dead.’
‘I worry for him.’ Til let his eyes linger on the hands that were clasped to her bosom. ‘He just sits there.’
‘There will be many would find that a relief,’ said his partner, who felt as if she were walking on air.
‘I’ll wager you are one of them!’ Til was peeved that she chose not to share his distress. ‘Well, let me tell you that his sadness is not just because his title has been snatched away but that he fears you will refuse to wed him without his earldom.’
Always Lord Sigurd! raged Mildryth, and this drew the urge to hurt. It was the little sting of the wasp which lands, jabs and is off again. ‘Why should he think I was only interested in his earldom? He has enough riches already for me.’
Til stared at her. ‘You mean, you would wed him without the earldom if he asked?’
‘Why should you care one way or another?’ Fool! Mildryth damned herself. See what you are getting into.
Til made swift examination of his feelings. No, he warned himself, do not say it. If there is a chance yet for Sigurd you must not spoil it for him because of your own selfish needs. He tried to be convincing and his face took on what he hoped was a beam of pleasure, though it quavered at the edges. ‘Of course I care! It will be just the tonic to ease the pain of losing his earldom.’
Mildryth could have screamed at his fanaticism – almost did so. Asketil could not fail to read her contempt and was again tetchy. ‘You have me for a fool! You do not mean to wed him at all.’
‘A fool? Yea, by God I have never known such a gurt one if thou think for a moment I would wed that old ram even if he were King!’ She ran away to cry in private. When her hot tears dried she made a pact with herself. Tonight I will have one last try. If he does not see sense then tomorrow I will go. I will. I will.
When Sigurd finally emerged from the bathhouse he spoke few words to anyone for the rest of the day. What a fool the King had made of him by making Tostig Earl – and what a fool he had made of himself! Luckily everyone was keeping out of his way, including Mildryth. Only Asketil his loyal son was there to keep him company that evening. The hall was silent and Sigurd’s whisper came like an echo. ‘How can I face her, Til?’
Asketil tried to be kind. ‘Just because you have been robbed of the earldom does not mean she will refuse to wed you. Why do you not ask her?’
‘If I could find her,’ came the ironic snort. ‘She is avoiding me. Nay, she has already made her mind up.’ He drank deeply from his goblet. ‘God, I feel so tired and old and stupid!’
‘Then go to bed.’ Asketil reached out to pat him.
‘Nay, I will not be able to sleep with all this on my mind,’ grumbled Sigurd. ‘And if that is not enough my belly plagues me too.’
Til rose. ‘I will fetch you a sleeping draught.’ Prone to a legacy of discomfort from Murtagh’s knife, this was a remedy Sigurd often employed. ‘You will feel much better in the morn.’ God grant that I will, came the young man’s dismal prayer.
* * *
Asketil was dreaming. A hundred snakes writhed about his body. One of them came slithering up his chest, its evil eyes fixed on his, its darting tongue heading straight for his own mouth. He yelled and tried to push it away but his arms were encased in coils. The snake raised its head and entered his screaming mouth. He woke, panting, and stared at the moon-dappled roof of Sigurd’s chamber where he slept in a bed near to that of his fostri.
Something was wrong. For a moment there was befuddlement… then he looked down at his body where the cover had been removed. Mildryth’s hair tickled his thigh. Startled, he sat up, knocking her head away and covering his body. ‘In God’s name, what of my lord!’ Terrified that his exclamation had woken Sigurd he craned his neck to peep between the elaborate bed-curtains, but his mentor, courtesy of the herbal draught, slept as if dead. The moon shone so brightly through the window that the room appeared as if candlelit.
Mildryth rested her chin on his belly and deliberately put lewd interpretation on the remark. ‘If he would have this he must go elsewhere.’
Asketil tried to wriggle up his bed. ‘Have you no shame?’
‘Shame?’ She wriggled after him, breasts squashing into his ribs. ‘To give the man I love what he desires?’
‘I have never asked for this!’ Once again Asketil’s eyes darted at Sigurd’s bed.
‘Only because you are too prim. Let me show you how it would be if we two were wed.’
The more he squirmed against her the harder he became. ‘You will not bring these vile tricks learned from other men and practise them on me! I shall not let you.’ Oh do, please do, cried his body!
She released him and kneeled up, her voice stricken. ‘I have been with no other man but thee. That whic
h you term vile trick I do for love of Asketil – I have learned it from no one. How could you think it of me?’
‘What am I to think?’ He laid a protective but insufficient hand over his groin. ‘No other lass acts the way you do. From now on I forbid you to sleep near us. Whatever fostri says you must give him some excuse, for if he knew you were such a slut he would not wish to wed thee.’
She thumped him, but kept her voice to an angry whisper. ‘Slut indeed I would be if I let that old pezzle within an inch of these lips – fie, I would sooner bite it off!’ She tried to dislodge his hand. ‘But thy sweet flesh…’
‘Mildryth!’ He put up a half-hearted attempt to stop her, wishing that his body could be as resolute as his mind, but when the struggle ended it was Mildryth who was victor. He let her do as she willed, using the despicable excuse that further objection might wake Sigurd. Never had he felt such ecstasy. Though he bit on his knuckle it was impossible in the end not to cry out. The old man snored on.
Mildryth’s self-congratulation was not to last. She may have won the moment but when her flushed and joyous face raised itself to his, he turned his own away, his voice a cold hiss. ‘You are the most debased creature on God’s earth! To do such a thing when my father is in the room… my father who adores you. Well, tonight you have killed any fondness I had for you. I hate you, Mildryth. If you were the most beautiful woman in creation – which you are not – I would still refuse to wed you. You are contemptible.’
As his words had emerged so Mildryth’s joy had frozen into an agonized grimace. Without a word from either of them, she rose and left the room. Asketil turned and pressed his belly into the mattress, listening to the pad of her bare feet as she fled down the stairs, his mind screaming for her to come back.
Chapter Twenty
In the morning she was gone. Sigurd was the first to miss her, for in his waking hours he had decided not to accept defeat; he would ask her to wed him even without the earldom. ‘Why does our little lass not break her fast with us?’