Mercenaries and Maidens: A Medieval Romance bundle

by Kathryn Le Veque

  When she found her father later that day, he had miraculously survived the siege. She had quite a tale to tell him.

  Of a benevolent Northman from across the sea.

  PART SEVEN

  ~ Sepulchre There By The Sea ~

  One year later

  They came from the sea again. This time, it was in peace.

  Rhonan had sent a messenger ahead, a man in a longship without an armed escort, but rather dressed in fine silks and bearing a message for King Eathesfed and Princess Annynlea. Rhonan’s fleet had sailed on a mild day in June, thirteen months after the raid on Hendocia, and while the fleet anchored well off the coast of Havetrike, or the sea kingdom as his people often called Hendocia, the messenger was sent to the king along with nearly everything that had been stolen from Hendocia on that night Rhonan’s men had raided it.

  This time, the Northmen had returned not to take, but to give back.

  Nordjul the Fierce had died the previous winter of a malady brought on by what had been one of the worst winters in memory. Rhonan had taken his father’s place as the king of his people, now known as Rhonan the Wise, and the people rejoiced. Rhonan had progressive thoughts and ideas, opening wider trade routes and mending relationships with enemies who had once been allies.

  The new young king had done much to make his people prosperous in the short time he had ruled and now, he was returning to Hendocia to mend the relationship with them as well, although some said there was more to it than that. Much more. Having confessed to his mother about the red-haired Hendocian princess he intended to marry, Rhonan’s mother, a terrible gossip, had told her women about it.

  After that, rumors of Rhonan’s true motivation behind the Hendocian alliance ran rampant and most approved of it. One of those who did not was Odintide, who had lost his mind in recent months. He sat, alone and bitter, in a hut at the outskirts of the settlement, lamenting the great days of Nordjul who would rather fight than make peace.

  But that time was over with the reign of the new king. So on this day in June, a little over a year after having raided Hendocia, Rhonan once again came upon the shores of gray-green grass and of the tombs that were built near the sea. He sent the messenger to the House of the King along with a caravan of men carrying many returned Hendocian possessions. He also sent gifts for Annynlea, including a giant basket full of bluebells that he had picked himself from a field that grew wild near his home. Of course, the flowers were not fresh by the time they reached Hendocia, but it was the thought that counted. Rhonan wanted to make a statement and he knew that the bluebells would do that for him.

  He had returned for her.

  Eager to see his little sentinel, Rhonan waited an entire day after sending the messenger on ahead before moving his fleet forward within sight of the sea kingdom. He was the only one who brought his ship close to the shore, however, and he made his men wait on the ship while he disembarked and walked through thigh-deep water to the sandy shore. This time, however, the shore wasn’t empty. The people of Hendocia had turned out to greet him.

  It was a line of dark figures upon the shore, grouped up among the sea grass. Dozens of villagers were watching and, as Rhonan leapt over the side of the ship and made his way ashore, he could see his messenger standing with a gray-bearded man in fine robes. Sea breezes swirled the sands and seagulls cried overhead as Rhonan came out of the sea and onto the sand, making his way towards his messenger and the elderly man.

  “Great Lord,” the messenger said, bowing to Rhonan when he came near. “I present to you Eathesfed the Great, ruler of Hendocia from the great House of Skyl.”

  Rhonan’s gaze fell on the old man, well-fed and broad, with eyes of a color Rhonan recognized. Bluebells, he thought. Just like hers. He nodded in the elderly man’s direction as a sign of respect.

  “It is an honor, Great Lord,” he greeted in the traditional greeting of his people when one met a man of equal rank. “I am Rhonan Gray Sword. I assume my messenger has given you the reason for my arrival. We come in peace, I assure you. Your people need not fear.”

  Eathesfed was studying Rhonan intently. “He has told me,” he said. “He has also brought that which you stole last year. A remarkable occurrence, I must say. I have not known any Northman to return that which he has taken.”

  Rhonan smiled weakly. “I have returned your possessions with a purpose in mind,” he said, scanning the groups of people to see if he spied Annynlea’s deep red head. “Did my messenger tell you that as well?”

  Eathesfed eyed Rhonan, seeing that the man was distracted and suspected what he might be looking for. In truth, he had been dreading this moment, ever since his daughter had told him the story of the Northman who, rather than kill her as she stood guard at the threshold to the Kongen’s Gull, seemed to want to talk and tell stories. In the midst of the terrible battle, this Northman had charmed his daughter to the point of convincing the young woman he wanted to marry her.

  Marriage!

  The mere thought was shocking. Annynlea was many things but a foolish and giddy young maiden was not one of them. His only child, she had been raised as a warrior, the only person who could ascend the throne of Hendocia at Eathesfed’s passing. She had been strong and true and brave, as evidenced by her preventing the Northmen to enter the forbidden chamber, which was why her father had been so surprised when she had spoken of the Northman who had no interest in the treasure chamber and only in her.

  Eathesfed thought his daughter had gone mad.

  But madness had been far from it. As the months passed, Annynlea continued to speak on Rhonan, the prince from across the sea, and how he planned to return for her. Eathesfed could see a longing in her eyes that he had never seen before, something that frightened him. His strong, level-headed daughter had somehow been bewitched by a man who had come to raid their home. Eathesfed was sure she would forget about such a man but more time passed and she never seemed to forget. She would stand on the shore near the great tombs of her ancestors, watching the sea, waiting for this Northman to return.

  Even now, she was still on the edge of the sea, waiting and watching.

  It would be an eternal quest.

  Therefore, Eathesfed thought it simply best to immediately discuss the situation with the Northman who had introduced himself as Rhonan Gray Sword. Annynlea’s Rhonan. A young king that was tall and proud and true – Eathesfed could see it in his eyes. He could also see what had his daughter so enamored; moreover, he could see the same look in Rhonan’s eyes that he had seen in his daughter’s.

  Longing, anticipation… and love.

  Eathesfed had no idea how it was possible for two people to fall in love in the midst of a battle, but his daughter and the young king had evidently done so. Gazing into the young man’s anxious eyes, he motioned to him.

  “Walk with me,” he said quietly.

  Rhonan gladly followed the man as he began to head south along the shoreline. He had expected resistance from Annynlea’s father and was prepared with any and all answers to ease the old man’s mind. He recalled, clearly, that Annynlea had told him she would not be able to leave Hendocia because she would rule at her father’s death, and Rhonan had an answer for that as well.

  We shall live six months in my land and six months in Hendocia….

  “My daughter told me the story of the night of the great raid,” Eathesfed said, cutting into Rhonan’s thoughts. “She said you did not try to kill her in order that you should enter the forbidden chamber.”

  Rhonan shook his head. “I did not wish to kill her,” he said honestly. “And my not entering the chamber was not for lack of trying. Your daughter is a fearsome sentinel. She did her job well.”

  Eathesfed nodded. “She was gifted that way,” he said. “She was the best warrior in the kingdom.”

  Was. Rhonan immediately picked up on the past tense of the word as Eathesfed spoke of his daughter and a hint of warning filled his heart.

  “She is a great warrior,” he corrected. “Tha
t is why I will marry her. I know it seems inappropriate, even odd, to make such demands, but I assure you that in all of these months, my feelings for your daughter have never changed. I have come to seek your permission to marry her, Great Lord. I swear to you that I will make her a fine husband and I shall be true to her unto my death. She will want for nothing and she will be treated with the utmost respect.”

  Eathesfed grunted softly. “Great Lord, you must….”

  Rhonan cut him off. “What I am offering is an allegiance between Hendocia and my people,” he said earnestly. “Your daughter will be the queen over two lands. If I did not believe she was worthy of ruling over my people, I would not have asked for her hand. She is clever and kind, and she is fierce in a fight. I know because I have battled her. Will you please give us your blessing, Great Lord?”

  Eathesfed had led them down the coast to the City of the Dead, where the tombs of the ancestors sat among the sea grass. The wind kicked the salt up off the sea, filling their nostrils, as Eathesfed came to a halt and faced Rhonan.

  “I do not doubt your sincerity,” he said. “The mere fact that you have returned and brought back all of the possessions your men stole on that night tells me that you are a man of honor. But it is a fact that my daughter cannot marry you.”

  Rhonan wouldn’t let his denial discourage him or disappoint him. “I understand your concern,” he said patiently. “Your daughter, in fact, had the same concerns. But I assure you that I will make a fine husband. I… I have never forgotten your daughter, Great Lord. I love her, if that makes any difference to you.”

  Eathesfed looked at the man, pain rippling through his expression that was just as quickly gone. He started to walk again. “Come with me.”

  Puzzled, and trying not to feel disheartened, Rhonan resumed his walk beside the man. He noticed that they were amongst the dead of Hendocia, the tombs along the sea, but it did not concern him, not until Eathesfed came to a rather large and new tomb, made from stone with some growth of sea grass about it. It was square, and bulky, and Eathesfed came to a halt beside it. When he turned to Rhonan, his eyes were moist with emotion.

  “And my daughter loved you,” he said hoarsely. “She cannot marry you because she now rests among her ancestors, here in her tomb by the sea. You see, this past winter was quite terrible. Annynlea would stand here on the shores, watching for your return, and she soon caught a great cough from the cold winds that blew off the sea. As the weeks passed, she could not shake it. The physics attempted to treat her with herbs and other things, but she grew weaker. She spoke of you, Rhonan, and I believe it is why she held on so long. She spoke of your return and she was determined to live long enough to see you come for her, but it was not to be. With her dying breath, she asked that I bury her near the sea so she could still watch for you and she asked that I have this flower, these bluebells, carved into her tomb so that you would know she was here. She wanted you to know that she is waiting for you, still. Would that I could give her to you, for I would. It was what she wanted. But all I can give you is my sorrow and this sepulchre by the sounding sea.”

  Rhonan was looking at the burial mound by the time Eathesfed finished, seeing the bluebells carved into the stone. Bluebell. Oh, my dear Bluebell….

  Tears sprang to his eyes as he looked at the tomb. Sweet Odin, was it possible that she made herself ill waiting for his return, exposing herself to the cold winds of the winter sea so that they eventually killed her? Rhonan could hardly believe it. His heart was crushed by the news, laid to waste by what he was seeing, and he reached out to touch the stone with the flowers carved upon it, knowing that his love lay inside the cold and unfeeling walls.

  It cannot be possible!

  A sob escaped his lips as he touched the stone with both hands now as if attempting to reach through and touch Annynlea inside. His voice, when he spoke, was tight and faint.

  “How…,” he started, swallowed, and spoke again. “How long ago?”

  Eathesfed could feel the sorrow from the man, so powerful that it swept out its hand to slap him across the face with it. These were not the tears of an insincere man and Eathesfed knew, in that moment, that Rhonan had not lied.

  He had, indeed, loved her.

  “I have counted the days,” Eathesfed said softly. “It has been sixty days and two.”

  Tears spilled down Rhonan’s face, down his cheeks and onto his neck. He ran his hands over the stone, over the flowers carved within, and his grief knew no bounds. He ended up on his knees beside the mound, his cheek against the stone.

  “She waited for me,” he whispered. “I made her promise to wait for me. It was the waiting that killed her.”

  Eathesfed shook his head. “It was not the waiting,” he said. “It was the cold. She would not come out of the cold as she watched the sea for the longships.”

  Rhonan was swept with guilt, with agony, knowing that she put herself in such a position to wait for his return that it would put her in harm’s way. The cold wind blew off of the sea, chilling her, killing her. He was beside himself with grief.

  “The winds killed her, then,” he said. “Winds sent by the gods. Surely they were jealous of what I felt for her.”

  Eathesfed watched the man grieve. “They would not do such a thing,” he said. “What happened was the will of God. Even Annynlea would tell you that.”

  Rhonan was not comforted. He was in a swamp of misery, sinking further and further into the quagmire of anguish. He ended up on his arse, sitting by the tomb, leaning against it, his left cheek pressed against the stone. He was trying to be close to her, as close as he could get without physically climbing inside of the tomb with her.

  “Mayhap I spoke too much of her and did not pray enough to Odin,” he said. “Mayhap I am being punished for my lack of piety and for my pride. Surely this must have everything to do with me. It could not be her or anything that she did. She suffered punishment for my sins.”

  Eathesfed felt a great deal of pity for the young king. Impulsively, he reached out and put a hand on the man’s shoulder.

  “She knew you would return,” he said. “She told me to tell you, when I saw you, that she will seek you in the next life. The teachings of Christ tell us that death is not the end and that we ascend to heaven to be with our Lord, but the old ways tell us that life is cyclical. What is old is born new again. I believe that my daughter wished to place hope in those teachings, that she would be born again someday and that she would look for you. Surely… surely true love will never die, Rhonan. Mayhap you should have faith in that.”

  Rhonan simply nodded, seated by the tomb, his body pressed against it. Eathesfed knew there was nothing more he could say to ease the man’s pain so he simply left him there, returning to his great house and awaiting Rhonan’s arrival when the man had reconciled himself to Annynlea’s death. It was a sad situation, indeed.

  But Rhonan never returned.

  Days passed and reports would come from Eathesfed’s men that Rhonan was still by Annynlea’s tomb, never moving, and that his men had come to camp on the shore near him to bring him food, which he would not take. It went on for days and days turned into weeks, and even Eathesfed would emerge from his longhouse and make his way down to the City of the Dead only to watch, from a distance, as Rhonan continued his tragic vigil by his daughter’s tomb. Sometimes the man was sleeping against it but sometimes he was talking to it. Whatever he did, it was clear that he would not leave Annynlea. It was truly a pathetic sight.

  But then one morning, the longships that had been anchored offshore suddenly vanished. Surprised, Eathesfed and his men rushed down to the City of the Dead, positive that they would find Annynlea’s tomb violated and her body missing, taken away by her distraught lover. But instead, they found the tomb still sealed as it had been the day Annynlea was put in it. Next to the tomb, however, now appeared a tall pile of rock.

  At first, everyone thought it was a monument of some kind, left behind by the grieving Northman. But upon
closer inspection, it wasn’t just any rock, at least not any rock that Eathesfed had ever seen. It was tall, seemingly in one piece, and porous, as if salt had been taken from the sea and molded into a great pillar. There weren’t any distinguishing characteristics, like words carved upon it, or much of a shape for that matter. It was simply a tall salt pillar, next to Annynlea’s tomb. But then Eathesfed peered very closely at it and he swore he saw something beneath the top layer of this porous, pale stone. Something was in there and he strained to catch a glimpse.

  He swore he saw the hint of a square jawline.

  Puzzled, and perhaps a bit frightened, he didn’t say what he thought he saw. He simply told his men that the pillar must have been a tribute to his daughter’s memory left by her Northman lover when, in truth, Eathesfed was fairly certain the pillar was her lover. As Eathesfed’s men cleared out and headed back to the settlement, the king of Hendocia lingered behind, wondering if what he saw was real. Wondering if, in fact, the Northman’s gods had taken pity on his broken heart and had encased him, in salt, to be forever next to his love.

  It was a shocking thought, one that went against his Christian beliefs, but there was no other way he could explain the pillar of rock and salt. A man encased. Eathesfed was bewildered but in a strange way, he was also greatly comforted. Annynlea had waited for her Northman to return, every single day until the day she passed away, and now her Northman had come, perhaps he was never meant to leave her again.

  “The sea brought him and the sea shall keep him here,” Eathesfed murmured to himself as he envisioned the pillar. “Stand guard, Northman, over my daughter’s tomb. It is where you are meant to be, in death as in life – with her.”