North Sea Dawn Page 11

  “Tell it all. From the beginning.” Julia’s voice held a note that Eric had not heard before. She sounded wooden and cold. Until that moment, he did not realize that he had truly come to care for the woman. Her sadness and shock over the probable death of her brother made him ache to do something for her. He would bring her Aelfric’s body for burial, he would find the man that had taken Cruthine’s life and bring his bleeding head to her for satisfaction. He would drive William out of England if it would ease her pain. In that moment he felt helpless over his inability to do anything but listen to Paul’s account.

  The boy related how he and Brother Caemon had landed at Skegness and made their way south and west behind the English army. They had been hoping to catch up to Aelfric once they made camp, but Harold’s forces marched as though hell hounds were on their heels. Caemon questioned nearly every village they passed, finally receiving confirmation that the Normans had landed on English soil and Harold’s army was going to meet them. The two arrived at Hastings before noon on October 16, where they were met with the overwhelming stench of death.

  Caemon offered to give last rites to the dead on the battlefield, with Paul posing as his acolyte. They said prayers and questioned the living for almost two days before finding Brother Martin and learning news of Aelfric and his contingent.

  “Martin was at the King’s right hand during the battle. When it was clear that the Normans would take the field, Cruithne asked for volunteers from his own men to drive a wedge in the line of horsemen and create an opportunity for retreat. Then he ordered Harold to turn his horse and save the crown.” Paul paused, his voice shaking again, and took another drink of water. “He didn’t wait for a reply - as though it was a foregone matter that a King of England would obey him.”

  “And he did,” Simon said quietly. His head was bowed, so he did not see the look of puzzlement on Paul’s face.

  “Yes, I almost didn’t believe it. But so many men told us the same thing. Harold turned his horse to leave the field, and Cruithne led the islanders in a charge right into the Normans. The line broke. It seemed for a moment that the battle had turned - Harold halted his retreat, ordering the men to return to the fight and follow the Lord of Aurelius in his charge.”

  “Stupid fool!” Ulrich cursed. Eric had to agree. The man had thrown away his one chance, a chance to retreat and to regroup and make an attack on a field of his choosing. He threw away the sacrifice of Aelfric and his men.

  “God bless his soul.” Eric wasn’t sure if the Abbot was referring to Aelfric, or Harold. “Did any survive?”

  “Some. Those of value were taken prisoner, the rest were left on the field. Caemon was trying to collect Aelfric’s body and stayed behind with our men. He bought a cart and mule and will make his way here with the survivors,” Paul paused again before whispering, “There were eleven.”

  “Eleven?” Simon’s voice was full of horror and disbelief. “Aelfric left with nearly 100 men!”

  “Eighteen knights. Twenty-three well-trained men. Sixty-five islanders who were skilled with a weapon. One hundred and six men in total.” They were the first words Julia had spoken since Paul began his recounting. Her voice remained cool and emotionless.

  “My Lady,” Ulrich began. She interrupted him,

  “What of the Duke’s army? Where are they headed?”

  “They were marching on London. The English have named another King-”

  “Edgar.” Simon gestured with the papers still in his hands. “Caemon writes that the Witenagemot was called by Edwin, Morcar, and Ealdred the Archbishop.”

  “The Archbishop of York will not accept a conqueror,” the Abbot frowned, “regardless of how much more blood will be shed.”

  “Edgar the AEtheling will not be able to hold London.” Ulrich turned to Julia. “The City is too large, the walls too crowded with houses and shops to be defended against such a force. And they haven’t the supplies to stand a siege.”

  “Will the English not rebel?” Eric asked Ulrich, but kept his gaze on Julia. She, in turn, stared at nothing in particular. Her eyes only halted when they reached the papers in her brother’s hand.

  “Aye. But the winter will give William time to regroup within the safety of the walled city of his choosing. He will spend at least one summer, more likely three or four, putting down revolts.”

  “But you believe he will succeed?”

  Eric’s question was met with a tense silence and knowing looks. It was not Ulrich, but Julia, who replied, “He will. Those knights and nobles who fought but were not killed or captured at Hastings have had their forces decimated. Those that survived because they made excuses to leave their King’s side are either cowards, traitors, or too poor to support a war.” Her voice was unchanged, but her knuckles whitened on the arms of her chair. “The wait for Aelfric and the invasion is over. We must make preparations. Ulrich, I would speak with you privately. Simon, please wait outside. Abbot, thank you for your company and your blessing. Someone will escort you home. Paul, you may take your rest in the barracks. Do not speak of this to anyone.”

  “I’ll see to it, Julia.” Simon nodded to Ulrich and Eric, and escorted Paul and the Abbot out. Eric was stopped in the doorway by her voice.

  “Please wait in the Hall, Sir Vandalsson. I would speak with you as well.” Eric nodded, and closed the door softly behind him.

  Ulrich began pacing as soon as they were alone. “Even if all eleven survive the journey, even if they are all knights, we could not fight off an armed force intent on taking the island. We can divide the people between the keep and the monastery, but even with our stores we cannot hold out against a siege for more than a few months .”

  “Is there no way to defend the island?”

  “Perhaps if I had more men...but even then, if I had the choice I would rather choose a different battlefield than the island. If I could...if I were Aelfric...”

  “How many men to defend?”

  “At least forty, more if they were not trained to our defenses.”

  “And how much would such a force cost?” Ulrich named a costly sum, but not beyond the treasury of the island.

  “That would be if there were men to be hired. Between Tostig and Harold, every man in England is already fighting. The Normans are not a possibility, and the Norwegians have been decimated by Stamford Bridge. We have a trading alliance with several Danes, we could. . . ”

  “I think we can look closer than Denmark.” Ulrich stopped his pacing and looked at her, stunned at first, but swiftly becoming thoughtful.

  “If they will stay, we could make a defense.” He sat in the chair that the Abbot had vacated. “Vandalsson would not take orders. It would be difficult.”

  “But not impossible.”

  “No, not impossible. He is a skilled warrior, and a better leader.” He nodded to himself. “Shall I speak with him?”

  “I will.” She spoke again when he would have risen. “Aelfric would take the battle to another field.”

  “What other field can there be in this situation, Lady?”

  “Politics.”

  Eric watched the Abbot and his escort leave for the monastery. He found a spot to lean against the wall and kept one eye on the door to the study and the other on the movements in the Hall. Simon led the exhausted Paul to find a place in the barracks alongside the Norsemen. The monk returned just as Ulrich exited the study. He waved Simon in behind him. Eric met the knight’s eyes, and they shared a brief look of respect before Ulrich continued into the Hall. He ordered the braziers banked and the ale and wine stopped for the evening. Ulrich followed the merchants and workers outside, and Eric was left alone with a single torch before Simon had left the study.

  He had to leave the island. He knew it, had always known it, but Harold's defeat had made it imperative. Some part of him had hoped that winter would remove the decision from him and force him to stay until spring, allowing him a full winter to convince Julia of his worth. He no longer had the time. The men th
at had escaped Stamford with him had to be returned to Norway. Those of his men that wanted to make a home on the island, if the Lady would accept it, had to bring their lives across the sea. They had wealth from long campaigns, hired by kings and lords across Europe. Some even had families that they would bring, if they had land to bring them to. If he was going to protect the island he would also need his dolgildi. He would need it to finance a defense, and to court a noble wife.

  He would protect the island and her people. He would protect her. . He needed to, even if she wouldn’t ask him. Even if she didn’t want it. That thought gave him pause. He did care for her, more than he imagined he would. He cared enough that he would have stayed even if her brother returned and Eric was granted no lands of his own. He pushed those feelings aside, more pressing matters needed attending. He would sail to Norway and leave as many men as he could spare behind to guard the island. Winter would be upon them before he could leave the fjords of his former king, but he would return to Aurelius, even if he had to swim back.

  The creaking of the door signaled that Simon had finished his counsel. The monk was far more serious than usual. It had taken the news of his brother’s death, the fall of England, and a pending invasion to rob his good humor. Eric did not like how a frown sat on the younger man.

  “It is your turn, Vandalsson.” A ghost of a smile flitted across his face. “That is to say, the Lady is ready for you, sir. I hope you are eager for her company.” His voice faded out on the last taunt, unable to keep up a facade of good humor. Eric clapped one hand on his shoulder as he passed. The monk stopped, his lanky frame covered in plain brown cloth of the church. Neither spoke, but Simon bowed his head. Eric gave a single squeeze to his shoulder, and Simon let out a shaky sigh.

  “Tomorrow, perhaps,” Eric said. They both continued on their way, one outside to a long, chilly walk to the monastery, the other forward into the warmly lit study and the waiting woman.

  He found her standing at the reading table. Her back was turned, her spine straight.

  “Close the door, please.” Once it was shut she spoke again. “You were promised things by Hardrada. A hall, lands...a woman. He promised much to bring you to fight in England.”

  “I have been promised and denied those things many times over.”

  “Not just by Hardrada. You fight for hire; you have fought for the Rus and others.”

  “Yes,” he answered, even though she hadn’t asked a question. She still hadn’t faced him and her voice remained cool,

  “You heard tonight of the wealth of my island. I would offer you payment for as long as you would stay to defend my people. You and your men.”

  “They were offered more than gold.”

  “I can only offer what is mine to give. I have coin and land.” He could hear a faint smile in her voice. “The women they will have to convince on their own.”

  “I would need to leave immediately. Tomorrow, if supplies can be ready.”

  “Leave? But you-” She cut herself off with a choked cry. “There is no one else,” she whispered, “I cannot…” He turned her, gently. Her face was pale, tears streaming down her cheeks. Her steady voice began to waver. “I need you.”

  Eric pulled her against himself, cradling her gently despite his desire to crush her against the twisting he felt in his chest at her tears. “I will return. I will leave as many men as I can and return before winter with all I need to defend your island. I will return.” She nodded against his chest, but her tears still dampened his tunic.

  “He was a father to me,” she said simply. He held her for long minutes while she cried. When she finally pulled back, her eyes were red and her skin puffy.

  “I was promised a woman as well you know.” He tilted his lips in a small smile to let her know he was teasing.

  “Do you think you could not convince her on your own?” Her voice was watery and she had to wipe her face on her sleeve, but her small smile was genuine.

  “We shall see,” he responded. He flexed his hand at the small of her back and moved the other to cup the back of her head. Her eyes widened, but he felt a fierce satisfaction that she did not move away as he lowered his mouth to hers. Her lips were swollen from crying, and tasted of salt. He pressed them gently, patiently waiting for her. She stood still for one frozen moment. Then she moved. Her head slanted slightly and she pressed back against him. He smiled against her mouth, and traced the seam of her lips with his tongue. She parted them, and he let out a quiet growl of satisfaction as he tasted her. Where her lips had been sadness, her mouth was pleasure. He knew the heavy spice of mulled wine and the faint strawberry of the paste the islanders used to clean their teeth.

  He pulled back before he lost himself. Seeing how he had made her face flushed, how his hand on her head had loosed some of her hair to fall around her face, how her eyes had closed to lay dark lashes against smooth skin - he could not resist giving her mouth a gentle nip. Her gasp of surprise was swallowed by a second, briefer, kiss. And then he allowed space between them, although he kept his hand at the back of her neck.

  “I will be back, soon. I have a great deal of convincing to do.”

  Leave Taking

  Julia called her household together the next morning to give them the news. Aelfric had been respected by everyone, and loved by the workers who had known him all their lives. She left Galen with instructions to prepare a feast. The entire island would be invited to the keep for mass and prayer offerings for Aelfric’s soul. When – if - his body was returned, he would have a proper funeral and burial. The gathering in the Great Hall was too stunned to ask questions about their future, or that of the island, but Julia knew they would come, with time. The merchants, with their better grasp of politics and travel, would be the first who would want to know the plans for their future. Julia left as they began the morning meal to avoid those questions.

  The air was crisp and cool, almost to the point of being cold. The exercise and fresh breeze helped her to stay focused. She had not intended to break down in front of Eric. She blushed thinking his given name. He was invited to the council so that she could demonstrate her wealth. She had wanted to ascertain if he was interested at all in staying. It wasn’t about the woman. It was about the hall, the lands, Aurelius. She had planned to give him time to think over what he could be offered if he stayed. First, he would come to the council. Next, she would point out how many of his men seemed to have found a place for themselves on the island. She would casually mention that Torvald seemed quite taken with Cassandra. Even Abjorn had grown fond of, or at least less irritable, towards Mary Ellery. Then she would manage to speak with him alone, perhaps arrange to be in the village at dusk and have him escort her to dine at the keep. She would discuss the ample room in the village; that even if all of the men returned they would have space for many newcomers. She would promote the recruitment policy that Aelfric had begun.

  If he seemed receptive, she would wait until he set a date to sail to Norway, then she would invite him to return in the Spring. He would no doubt inquire about Aelfric, and Julia would have a response - sure of herself without sounding haughty - that she would write her brother, if Aelfric had not returned by mid-winter, of her intention to invite Eric and his men to remain on the island.

  She no longer had the luxury of such a delicate plan. The Normans would come. They would try to take the island by force if she did not hand it and herself over when they arrived. She could not resist if she did not have a trained guard. Entering the convent was not an option. The people, they were her people. The island was hers. With Aelfric’s death, it was all she had left. It was her family.

  Julia had to stop and take a few deep breaths to hold her tears back. When Eric had arrived and told her of Stamford, she knew she should prepare for the worst. She told herself that it was unlikely that her brother would return. She reread all of his letters and considered many options, finally settling on the plan of incorporating the Norse men into her own people. She had not real
ized, until she heard Paul confirm Aelfreic’s death, that she had held some hope. Somewhere deep inside her had been a gentle flame that burned with the knowledge that Aelfric could not be dead. The man who had held her when she cried, who insisted on her schooling, who whipped her for attempting to run away could not be dead. He always had a kind smile and a little gift from his travels, and took her side against her mother even when it was undeserved. He mediated fights between she and Simon, he taught her to ride, he assigned the boy who broke her heart at the tender age of twelve to clean latrines for a week. That man could not be dead. He simply could not die.

  And then Paul said the words, “he is dead”, and her flame was snuffed out.

  She had felt so empty. She heard the discussion, Paul’s continued report, but it was as though she were far away. Simon’s gasp had brought her back to herself, and she realized what Paul was saying; nearly one hundred men had died. That was the worst moment. She spoke, she numbered those who had been lost and pictured their faces. She knew those men, every man who had fought and died. The longer Paul talked, the heavier her grief became, tugging at her heart and lungs. It made breath harder to come by and her heart beat painfully. She spoke with Ulrich, she made plans with Simon. When her brother was finished, he reached out to hold her. She backed away and turned from him, “I can’t,” she said. “If I do, I’ll fall apart. I can’t do that yet.” Simon had nodded stiffly. She knew he was hurting too, that he needed her comfort as much as she needed his, but she couldn’t take it. She was afraid if she gave even a small fraction of herself over to grief that she would drown in it.

  Eric came into the study too soon. She was still struggling to get a hold of herself, to forget the pained sorrow on Simon’s face. She tried to revive her plan. She pointed out that her island could provide everything, or nearly everything, that he and his men had been promised. “...leave immediately,” he said. Her heart stopped beating for a painful minute and when it restarted, the heavy thump broke the little emotional control she still had. He was it. He was the only hope she had of holding onto the island and everything her family had defended for hundreds of years. She was the last of her line, the only woman who could bear an heir for the island, and if he did not stay, she would be alone with all of the monumental decisions before her.