Viking Love Beyond Time (Time Travel Romance) (20 page)

             
She thought back on the events of the last fortnight.  After she had left Alodie she had run blindly into the woods and wandered for hours until she came upon the tumbledown hut of an outlaw who was hiding from the authorities in
Winchester
.

             
Asher, for that was his name, had not seen a woman in two years and had taken her with the frenzy of a starving man.  After the first few times, when the soreness had worn off, she had begun to enjoy it and started to imagine what this act would be like with Luke.  She became more and more obsessed with him.  She had escaped from Asher as he lay snoring and sated last night and, having taken enough food to last her for a few days, had made her way, as she had thought, to Winchester.  However, her navigation was such that she ended up near Bredond and walked straight into the arms of her hero.  The fainting was just a nice touch as he obviously liked women who fainted.

             
She smiled as an idea germinated and grew in her brain.  The facts were simple - Alodie was married to King Herger.  Emma racked her brain to try and remember what she knew of King Herger but all she could recall of him was that he was very rich and unmarried, therefore it stood to reason that he had paid a huge amount of money for the bitch.  As he was about thirty and had never married she also assumed that he had, as had every other male Alodie had met under the age of eighty, fallen madly in love with her - that was obvious as otherwise he would not have married her.  Used her, enslaved her, yes.  Married her?  Almost unheard of.  Emma chuckled to herself.  Herger would be scouring the countryside for his runaway bride, not knowing that she was safe and sound in
Winchester
.

             
She sat up suddenly - he must be made to know.  Alodie would have to disappear from Luke’s life before he would even begin to glance in Emma’s direction, therefore Herger must be told both of Alodie’s whereabouts and Luke’s vow to kill him.  Alodie must
not
be freed from this marriage.

             
She would wait until the men were asleep and then crawl under the flap of the tent - it was only half a mile to Bredond.  There she would demand an audience with King Herger and, on the proviso that he let her go back unscathed, she would tell him the whereabouts of his beloved Alodie.  Hopefully, she could be back before she was missed tomorrow morning.

             
Emma’s smile broadened and she lay back, her impatience growing as the drinking and gambling on the other side of the hide flap seemed to be dragging on all night but at last the tent fell quiet as one by one the men nodded off around the fire and soon a dark figure was flitting through the woods, heading toward the village of Bredond.

***********************

             
Herger was desolate.  Although he had never so much as spoken to her he had known in his heart that Alodie had been the woman for him, when he had first seen her standing there it had been as though a bolt of lightning had torn out his soul.  He could not countenance the fact that she had gone for good just because of a stupid jape on Guthrum’s part - he had to physically stop himself from attacking the man every time he saw him.

He filled in the empty days by putting his warriors through their weapons exercises, training them over and over again until the very sight of his black cloaked figure drew a unanimous groan.

             
Amund arrived with the fyrd snapping at his heels and it was he who managed to persuade Herger to ease up on his men, with the argument that over trained warriors made bad warriors.  To their relief Herger gave them a day of rest with the promise that, with the fyrd now surrounding them,  they would have real work to do soon enough.

             
The council of war was held ten days after the fyrd had surrounded the village and took place in the main hall at Bredond.  The room was crowded with sweating leather clad warriors, jarls in the main with a sprinkling of minor chieftains,   Amund, Guthrum and Herger sitting on the dais at the front, firelight throwing their figures into sharp relief against the wall.

             
Guthrum got to his feet and held up his hands “My jarls and good men” he cried “as you know the fyrd are surrounding us” this was greeted by cries of derision. “There are not enough men in the fyrd to surround us!” shouted a jarl from the back of the room.  Guthrum shrugged.

             
“Twenty thousand is the rough estimate given” he said “eleven thousand surrounding
Wareham
and nine thousand in the woods here.  Amund and his berserks only just managed to get through”

             
The old warrior nodded.  “I am keeping them at bay by sending out sorties and picking them off with arrows but we are not getting anywhere” he said “they  seem not to want to carry out an all out attack, they are content just to sit there, like gorged crows, watching”

             
“They are doing the same here” agreed Guthrum “typical Saxon trick, they’re trying to starve us into submission”

             
Herger was sitting with his feet against the table and his chair tipped back - turning the bracelet Alodie had given him round and round on his wrist. “Why do we not take the battle to them then?” he said at last “the
Wessex
fyrd is not a fearsome thing”

             
“Aye” said white haired King Amund, who had been a friend of Herger’s father and had a high opinion of the son “fight, we’ll slaughter them like cattle”

             
Some of the jarls began to shout agreement at this and soon the hall had dissolved into uproar, culminating with the men banging the back of their shields and shouting
“Tur Aie!”

             
Guthrum waited until the din died down and then said quietly, but in a voice which carried “Fight my arse, we’ll treat!”

             
Total silence descended upon the room.  Amund and Herger turned and stared at him in disbelief.  At last Herger laughed bitterly “Treat? Surrender you mean”

             
Guthrum turned to him “Call it what you will but bear in mind, the Saxons are a nation of cowards and they need to get back home to their harvests.  Alfred cannot keep an army in the field all year and they will use any excuse not to lose their sons, we’ll get gold and save lives to boot, pretend to leave and then, as soon as the fyrd are disbanded, we’ll come back - this time to rule!”

             
“But the dishonour” said Amund “we will have to swear!”

             
“Aye” said Guthrum “but on what?  The bones of some mewling Christian saint who means nothing to us?  Forswearing a nation of cowards is no great crime”

             
Herger stroked his chin thoughtfully. “I like it not, what say you Amund?”

             
The old warrior rubbed the hilt of his sword and was silent for a moment then looked up. “Guthrum has a point, I am not for treating but we came here for loot as much as land and I like the idea of getting it without losing men, however I will be swayed by the majority - how say the jarls?”

             
Guthrum got to his feet and banged his drinking horn on the table in front of him “Men!” he shouted “we are outnumbered and surrounded - do we ‘give in’ and fight another day, collect gold and return later or do we fight now, lose men and gain nothing - what say you?”

             
There was silence for a moment then the jarls shouted as one man “TREAT!”

             
Amund turned to Guthrum “you have my support” he said, then silence fell again as all eyes turned to Herger - his animosity toward their leader was well known by all.  He stared at Guthrum as if trying to see inside him, plumb his innermost thoughts, then he looked round at the men and nodded.

             
“You have my support, Guthrum” he said at last. “the men here know of the blood price between us but whilst we are at war we must not fight amongst ourselves.  I would like it to be known, however, that I do not like this underhand way.  In Seinshaven my father taught me to fight for what I want, to deal fairly with all men and, giving my word, to keep it” with that he held out his hand.  Guthrum laughed in relief and, clasping his forearm, slapped him on the back.

             
“Well said Raven, that was always the way with Norwegians, they do not see further than the end of their noble noses!” there was snigger or two of laughter in the hall at this riposte.  “Now lads” he continued “‘tis decided - leave the details to us and prepare to receive the gold!”

             
The men cheered at this and, within a few moments, had returned to their usual pastimes of drinking, eating, dicing, arm wrestling, knife throwing and terrorising the female villagers forced to wait on them.

             
Guthrum put his arm round Herger’s shoulders and walked with him to the door, the cool evening air greeted them. “This stupid feud Herger, over a wench, we’re above it”

             
The big Viking shrugged himself free then turned to the smaller man “I will kill you Guthrum, nothing will change that, you as good as slaughtered the only woman I could ever love”

             
Guthrum made a gesture of impatience.  “Love! Love? You’re a Norse warrior Herger.  Warriors don’t fall in love for Thor’s sake.  You didn’t even speak to the wench - how in Middle Earth can you feel so strongly for her that you are willing to kill me,  the rightful king of
Denmark
, in cold blood, over a jest?”

             
Herger looked up at the stars. “I have no quarrel with the king of
Denmark
- Halfdan is safe from me - my quarrel is with you Guthrum - but you are right, it would be wrong to kill you in cold blood over Alodie, we will have a
weregild
on the matter - knives, swords or axes - your choice”

             
Guthrum’s face paled.  Herger terrified him, but he decided to brazen it out.  “You are ridiculous, do you know that?” he snapped “Aye, I will meet you after the campaign, do not fret” and spinning on his heel he walked back into the hall, slamming the door.

             
Herger looked up into the sky, the moon was full and the stars twinkled like jewels, somewhere in the woods an owl hooted and a faint burst of laughter came from the direction of the
Wessex
camp.  “Ah Alodie” he sighed “we would have been so happy, why did you have to die?”

             
“She is not dead” said a voice next to his ear.  Herger spun round and came face to face with Thorkil, who was holding a cloaked and hooded woman by the upper arm.

             
“What do you mean?” hissed Herger, his heart beginning to pound very fast, and reaching out he pulled the hood from the girl’s head.  Emma’s pale frightened face looked up at him “This woman isn’t Alodie!” he snorted.  Thorkil laughed, grimly.

             
“No, my Lord, this is Emma, the stepdaughter of Thegn Oswy.  She came marching through the gates not more than ten minutes ago as bold as brass.  The sentry brought her to me as I speak a bit of Saxon.  She demanded to speak to you, said she had some news of your wife”

             
Herger looked at her then flinched, he had never before taken such a dislike to someone on sight as he had to this woman, she had an air of malevolence about her, hatred and malice seemed almost to ooze from every pore.  “Bring her to my quarters, immediately” he snapped and throwing open the door to the hall marched through and up to Emma’s room.  Taking off his cloak, he folded it neatly on the bed.

             
Could Alodie be alive?  No, it was impossible.  She was dead, broken at the bottom of a cliff and this whore was like all women, after something for nothing.  But the coastline had been combed, the bodies had not been found.

             
There was a sharp rap on the door and Thorkil came in with the girl.  “Will you be wantin’ her after lord?” he asked, almost sheepishly, “only I’ve taken a bit of a fancy, like”

             
Herger sniffed “If her story holds no water she will not be alive to warm any man’s bed but I question your taste - you may go”

             
Thorkil nodded and left the room.  Herger stared at Emma for a few seconds, she was screwing the end of her headrail round and round in her hands “Well?” he said in Saxon.

             
Emma coughed, her voice coming out in a croak “I - I am the Lady Emma,  stepdaughter of Thegn Oswy.  My stepfather’s nephew was - is betrothed to the Lady Alodie”

             
“Is he so?” Herger whispered.  She nodded.

             
“When you arrived I fled into the forest and was captured by an outlaw”

             
“Lucky you, was he good?” quipped Herger.  Emma’s long upper lip quivered and a bead of perspiration ran down her face.

             
As he looked at her a feeling of revulsion again swept over him.  He got up and walking to the table poured himself a goblet of mead and turning, sipped it as he watched her.