Page 101 of Viking Warriors: Vol. 1-3
He’d a cradle made, finely carved and made to rock, though it would be three more moons before we held the child.
He had no wish to wait, but I needed time to put aside my memories, and we agreed the new year would see our marriage. On that day, I’d gain my freedom, and stand beside Eldberg as his equal. I mourned still, but I wanted to believe Eldberg had changed—that he could look to what lay ahead rather than behind.
As the season of Jul began, the longhouse welcomed all. I thought back to the year now passed, of how we’d decorated Svolvaen’s hall, of Helka balanced upon Eirik’s shoulders, fastening the festive boughs under which our people had made merry. It was another lifetime.
In Skálavík, too, the men gathered mistletoe and wreaths of green, swathing the rafters, and it became a place of merriment and games, feasting and drinking. We women took our part, for the thralls couldn’t have prepared everything alone, and there was pleasure in working side by side to fill the platters every one of us would enjoy. Many were reluctant, at first, to accept me as anything other than what I’d been, but they saw the status Eldberg afforded me and thought it wise, I supposed, to show friendlier faces. I would soon be their jarl’s wife, sharing in Sigrid’s bitterness would bring them no favours.
Ivar had taken to recounting a different story of the gods each day—of Loki’s mischief, and Odin’s cunning. He was a fine skald, assembling many about him as he assumed each voice, using gesture and song to illustrate his tales. It mattered not that the stories were already familiar. The time passed quickly.
He was beginning the tale of the Wild Hunt, telling of the army of the dead riding through the night, headed in their chase by mighty Sleipnir, Odin’s eight-legged steed.
From across the room, where I helped Ragerta in seasoning joints of meat, I caught Eldberg’s eyes. He’d been talking to Rangvald but gave me his slow smile. I knew well that look—that he wished to return me to his bed and make our own entertainment.
Casting his gaze briefly about the room, he rose and entered our chamber.
Wiping my hands, I made to join him, but had taken no more than a few steps when I saw that Rangvald followed our jarl.
’Twas a strange thing, for Eldberg rarely summoned his men for private meetings. Curiosity stirred within me, and I wondered if they planned together for the coming rituals of Jólablót, when our marriage was to be celebrated.
Joining the outer edges of those who listened to Ivar’s story, I placed myself near the divide of our jarl’s chamber from the main hall. I could barely make out their words, for they spoke low. But with my finger pressed to one ear and the other directed toward the curtain, I discerned bits of their conversation.
I heard mention of Ivar’s name—that he’d been sent somewhere and recently returned, and had been travelling as a skald.
I frowned at that. It didn’t make sense. Ivar worked as a carpenter and had a family in Skálavík. He was one of Eldberg’s men. Regardless of his cleverness with words, why would he wish to roam other settlements?
Rangvald spoke: Ivar had disguised himself, hunched and cloaked. He’d stayed only one night; it had been sufficient to learn what they needed.
What was this?
The next words I heard brought an icy fist to my chest.
Svolvaen.
Ivar had been to Svolvaen?
I leaned forward. What had Ivar been doing?
“He’s there,” Rangvald hissed, “…with a purpose…ingratiate himself with lies…led them here.”
Eldberg swore. “They have allies?”
“The sister married a Bjorgen man.”
Helka!They must mean Helka.
Was she alive?
“We’ll be ready. None can approach unseen… double the guards on the river and the harbour… alert the watch on the headland.”
They thought Svolvaen would attack? Impossible! Helka would never be so foolhardy—unless she was ignorant of Skálavík’s strength.
Rangvald again. “The jarl…”
His voice dropped low. I couldn’t hear.
What of the jarl?
Eirik was dead. Some other had taken his place. Olaf perhaps? Had he survived? Or Anders?
