Mastered By the Viking King by Lily Harlem

Chapter 12

The morn after the feast Wanda helped Tove dress in a red gown with a golden-laced bodice. It nipped in her waist and pushed her small breasts up. Already, though, she felt like she was getting fuller; she was, as Wanda would say, “finally getting some meat on her bones.” She was glad; it would keep her warmer and give her more energy.

Knud and Frode were in the dwelling quarters eating a small meal of bread and dried fish. They had a new toy each—a small longboat whittled from oak. Njal had told them he’d take them to the shore when the sunlight was at its brightest so they could play in the shallow waves.

“You are looking very fine,” Wanda said, completing the finishing touches to a complex braid that stacked Tove’s hair on top of her head.

“Because of you,” Tove said, reaching for a silver brooch in the shape of Valkyrie wings. She pinned it on.

A sudden loud bellow rang out. The horn. It seemed louder than usual and held more urgency.

Tove looked at Wanda.

Her eyes were wide. “Someone is approaching Halsgrof.”

“Who?”

“We should go and see.” She rushed to scoop up Tove’s cape and held it wide. “Here, my queen, wear this.”

“Can we come?” Knud was on his feet.

“Can we? Can we?” Frode asked.

Tove secured her cloak. “Aye, but you must hold my hand, both of you.”

They each slotted their small hands into Tove’s, and she led them through the curtain into the Great Hall.

The horn continued as they arrived outside, the air frigid, icy. Townsfolk were rushing through the village, keen to see who was arriving. Was it friend or foe?

Tove and Wanda joined in the rush, the two boys jogging along. When she reached the pier, the small crowd parted so she could join Njal who stood at the end. “Who is it?” she asked breathlessly.

He turned, a light she hadn’t seen before filling his face. “It is Leif. It is Leif’s longboat.”

“Leif?” Her heart soared. In the distance, a longboat bobbed on the waves, the oars battling the choppy water, the sail billowing. “He is here.”

“His boat is here.” Njal held his fist to the sky. “I ask the gods that my brother be on it.”

“It is Uncle Leif?” Knud asked.

Njal scooped him up, holding him high and wrapped in the fur of his cloak. “I believe it is. Tell me when you see him, Knud. You have good eyes. You will see him first.”

“I will tell you! I will tell you!”

Tove reached for Frode and held him on her hip. He nestled into her cloak, and she kissed the top of his little head. His hair smelled of chestnut soap.

Wanda stood at her side.

Tove looked at her. She managed a small smile.

Wanda nodded.

They each feared King Njal going to sea in such bad weather. They both hoped this really was Leif, because that would put an end to Njal’s crazy plan. If Leif was safely in Halsgrof, there was no need for Njal to go to Wessex in search of him.

* * *

Njal stared at the longboat approaching. He hardly dared hope what he thought he could see.

His brother.

If it really was Leif, he’d throw another great feast. He’d make sacrifices to the gods, and he’d give every man and woman in town a silver coin.

“It is him! It is him!” Knud shouted, bobbing up and down in his arms. “I can see Uncle Leif!”

“I do believe,” Njal said, ruffling his son’s hair, “you are right.”

At the mast of the longboat stood a tall, broad man, his shaved inked head gleaming in the daylight. He wore a huge black bear fur.

Leif.

The horn blasted, long mewing calls into the winter sky.

“It is your brother?” Tove asked, standing close.

“Aye, I believe it is.” Njal grinned at his wife. “This is a good day. A very good day.”

She smiled. “I am glad. And I will be pleased to meet him.”

Njal kissed the top of her head, and gently nipped Frode’s cheek. He turned back to the longboat.

It was approaching rapidly now. The fjord was calmer closer to land.

But Njal’s joy was tinged by a shard of fear. There was something in Leif’s stance that told him all was not well.

He snatched in a breath, the exhale huffing out a plume of white air. Perhaps they’d experienced an especially bad crossing?

Finally, the longboat pulled up against the pier. There was great excitement in the crowd as the weary Vikings were helped to secure the vessel with ropes, and pass barrels and wicker cages to shore.

Leif jumped onto the pier, his expression grim.

“Brother.” Njal flung his arms around him and slapped him on the shoulders. “We feared for you.”

“I am here now.” Leif hugged him in return. “And happy to be on dry land. The winter sea is rough.” He pulled back. “We lost two men overboard.”

Njal frowned. “They will be in Valhalla feasting with the gods.”

“Aye, they will be.” He turned his attention to Knud. “Greetings, my little warrior.”

“Uncle Leif.” Knud held out his arms and was swiftly passed to Leif. “I have missed you.”

“I have missed you.”

“When can I come raiding with you?”

“When you are as big as me.” Leif chuckled and directed his attention to Frode. “Still sucking that thumb, huh?”

Frode nodded, his eyes wide.

“And this”—Njal wrapped his arm around Tove, a rush of pride filling his chest—“is the new queen. My new wife, Tove of Cativad.”

“It is a pleasure.” Leif’s eyes sparkled as he took her free hand and kissed her knuckles. “I can already see that you have made my brother happy.”

Tove smiled. “I am thankful to the gods for your safe return. Would you like to come and eat with us?”

“Aye—all the men need food.” He turned to Njal. “But there is something I cannot delay telling you, brother.”

Njal’s stomach twisted. He’d sensed there was something more than the stormy voyage.

“Your village in Wessex.”

“Aye.” He released Tove and balled his hands into fists.

“There was…”

“A problem with the harvest?” Njal scowled. Irritation nipped at his nerves.

“There was a harvest, but I am sorry to tell you it was a harvest of blood.”

“What?” He clenched his teeth.

“The village was raided. It is not clear who attacked it, but our people—the new settlers—were murdered in cold blood in the light of day. Many had been killed with their own tools.”

“This is…” A burning rage flooded his veins. “I made a deal with King Egbert.”

“I know. I have no way of knowing if he was behind this, or if it was rebel Wessex farmers who objected to us being there.”

“We have to find out. I have to find out.”

“I agree.” Leif looked over the fjord. “We cannot let this crime go unpunished.”

“I will slaughter everyone responsible, and feed their livers to the ravens, and their eyeballs to rats.” Njal stomped to the end of the pier, facing west. “The women and children, too?”

“Aye, my king.”

Njal closed his eyes. The sense of responsibility was almost too much to bear, even upon his broad shoulders. He’d encouraged his people to set up a new life in Wessex as farmers. The land was rich and full of goodness, the weather mild. And the king had promised no harm would come to them. Njal had dreamed of them flourishing, of more Vikings following.

“I paid handsomely for their protection,” he said, his teeth gritted. “The king will have to be brought to account.” He spun to Leif. “Soon. Restock the longboat—we will leave day after ‘morrow. This cannot wait until spring. I have blood to shed.”

“Njal, my king.” Tove worried on her bottom lip. “It is too dangerous. You heard what Leif said. He lost two men overboard.”

“I do not care about danger.” He spun and banged his fist on his chest. “I care about my people and they are your people, too, Queen Tove. They have been slaughtered in cold blood. A promise between kings has been broken, the gods will expect war.”

She swallowed and held Frode tighter. He hated to see his wife so worried, but she would have to live with that. Because he, King Njal of Halsgrof, could not live with himself until he doled out vengeance. And vengeance he would have. He would return the bloodbath; he would wield his sword on anyone who was within a day’s ride of the village on the day it was destroyed. On the day his Vikings were murdered in cold blood.

“We will consult the seer,” Leif said, gripping Njal’s shoulder. “His wisdom will guide us.”

“Aye, good idea. Perhaps he will give us insight into the gods’ will.”

“And if the gods’ will is that you don’t go?” Tove asked.

“We will go. Mark my words, my queen, we will set sail west, and our swords will be bloodstained the very day we touch land.” He cupped her chin and pressed a quick, hard kiss to her lips. “You shouldn’t fear. I am a very powerful warrior, and I am not afraid of death.”

“I am afraid of your death,” she whispered. “I do not wish to be alone.”

“If that happens, you will rule Halsgrof with dignity and wisdom.” He looked deep into her eyes. “I know you can do that, Tove.”

She didn’t answer, and he wasn’t sure if it was because she disagreed, or if her emotions were rising so fast they’d captured her tongue.

“Brother,” Leif gestured. “Let us go.”

“Aye, then we will feast.” Njal turned to Halfdan. “Prepare the Great Hall. By the time the sun sets we will have mead flowing and bread breaking. I wish my weary warriors to be well fed and rested before we take to the seas again.”

“Aye, King Njal.” Halfdan nodded, then rushed off, barking orders at Wanda as he went. She quickly followed.

Njal tried to beat down his bitter disappointment that the Wessex farm had been destroyed. But he would not give up. This setback would be avenged, then he’d try again, with warriors working alongside the farmers for their protection. And if he had to kill King Egbert to make that happen, he would.

He stomped along the pier with Leif, feet banging on the planks. The seer would calm his mind even if he couldn’t repair the tears in his heart for his murdered kinsmen. And he needed a calm mind, so he could think.

* * *

Tove watched her husband pound the pier as he and Leif stormed through the crowd. Njal’s cloak swung and his shoulders were hunched.

He was deeply pained by the news his brother had brought; she’d seen it in his eyes and heard it in his voice.

“Mama, can I have a drink?” Frode asked.

“Of course.” She pulled him closer into her cloak. “Let’s go indoors, the snow is coming again.”

“And we are feasting tonight?” Knud said, slipping his hand into her free one.

“Are you excited?”

“Aye, I like to feast. I like the music and the sagas.”

“Can we have a saga now?” Frode asked.

“Let’s get you a drink first.” She paused. “Maybe later. I have much to do if there is to be a feast. Halfdan and Wanda cannot do it all.”

Knud frowned. “But you are the queen.”

“A queen who likes to be busy. Come on.”

The wind was bitter, biting at her cheeks as she faced the village. A roll of thunder sounded in the distance, and above her slate-gray clouds loomed. Thor was making his presence felt. Maybe he too was angry about the slaughter.

Back on dry land, hail fell from the sky, sharp little pebbles of ice pelting the ground. Townsfolk rushed around, gathering their wares and trade stands, ushering their livestock, and heading for cover.

Tove broke into a run, Frode’s face buried against her neck. She wished she could carry Knud, too, but she wasn’t as strong as their father. “Hurry.” She ducked her head. “Hurry, Knud!”

They rushed past the smithy’s furnace, the place now cold and quiet, then Wanda’s home, the red flag flapping so violently it was a wonder it hadn’t been ripped from the pole. A shed of goats fussed and called out, the sound of the hail on the roof alarming them.

The Great Hall came into view. Tove rushed forward. Just as she was about to pull the door open, a lone figure huddled against the wall, black hood pulled up, old hands shaking.

“Who are you?” Tove asked, pausing.

He turned, heavy lidded eyes examining her.

“I am Queen Tove. Who are you?” She squinted as the wind whipped strands of hair free of the braid and they caught on her lashes.

“I am Gorm.”

“Gorm of?”

“Yonder.” He gestured to Frode and Knud. “You have fine sons. They will be strong and brave warriors.”

“Aye,” she said. “You shouldn’t be out in this weather. Thor is angry.”

“If you could have mercy,” he said, nodding at the door to the Great Hall. “Let me shelter awhile. I fear I will not be long of this earth, and a walk to shelter elsewhere will hasten the journey to the afterlife.”

She hesitated.

“I can tell your sons a saga or two.” He grinned at Knud, revealing missing teeth.

“Please, Mama,” Knud said. “Can we have a saga from Gorm?”

“I’m not sure.” Did she recognize this man? It was hard to know, she hadn’t been in the town long, and certainly hadn’t met everyone.

“You will be so busy with the feast, Mama,” Knud said, dragging on her hand. “And we can’t play with our longboats in the fjord now.”

“As many sagas as they want,” Gorm said. “In return for shelter and a little food.”

Frode stroked her cheek with his small finger. “Please, Mama.”

“Oh, okay, aye. Come on, let us get out of this weather.” She pulled open the door. “Everyone inside.”