Viking Passion (14 page)

And then, only then, there was peace between
them at last. Erik slept in her arms, and she marveled at the
passion that had flared between them. She thought of Snorri,
holding Erik more closely, as if to protect him, and wondered where
Snorrri’s hatred of his brother would end.

Three days later Lenora found Edwina singing
happily at her loom. “Have you heard the news, Lenora?”

“I have heard nothing. I’ve been working in
Thorkell’s chambers.”

Maura is gone, Edwina announced.

“Gone?” Lenora looked for confirmation at
Freydis, who had just come into the weaving room.

“It’s true,” Freydis said.

“Sven wanted her,” Edwina reported. “So
Thorkell gave Maura to him for a gift. She departed with him early
this morning.”

“Did no one ask Maura what she wanted?”
Lenora knew such things happened, and she had not especially cared
for Maura, but the casual exchange of a human gift was cruel.

“She’s only a slave.”

“So are you, Edwina.”

“Not for long. Thorkell took me to his bed
last night. Soon he will ask me to marry him.” Edwina went back to
her weaving, a sly smile on her face.

Freydis followed Lenora out of the weaving
room.

“She’s mad,” Lenora said. “Thorkell will
never marry her, will he?”

“Edwina has always been mad,” Freydis
replied. “Since the first day she came here. Mad and weak. She is
not strong like you. No, Thorkell will never marry her. Why should
he? She is only dreaming.”

The gray, wet, cold winter continued, with
only the slightest lengthening of the days to give hope that spring
would ever come. Storms blew in off the North Sea, bringing snow
and stinging rain and sleet. Hands and feet were constantly cold,
faces chapped red from the ever-present wind.

In the cold weather Erik’s injured leg ached
badly and his limp worsened. At night Lenora wrapped hot stones in
cloths and laid them against his old wounds.

It was an unhappy time, for Freydis was often
at odds with her new sister-in-law over who would manage the
household. Snorri, quickly bored with his cold and distant wife,
was anxious to be off on another voyage. Because of the volva’s
prophecy, there was general agreement among his former crew members
that Snorri’s good luck was gone. Few wanted to sail with him
again, most fearing they would be involved in his predicted
shameful end. Snorri’s temper grew ever shorter.

“Forget the freemen. I’ll buy slaves to sail
with me,” he snarled one day, striding about Thorkell’s chamber.
His angry presence upset Lenora as she struggled with a long list
of Thorkell’s goods and a bad pen. She wished Erik were there, but
he had gone riding with Halfdan.

“You will never make good sailors of slaves,”
Thorkell observed mildly.

“I will if I promise them their freedom at
voyage’s end,” Snorri replied.

“They’ll throw you overboard before you are
out of sight of land,” Thorkell said. “No, you need free men.”

“Give me part of your hird. You support them;
they owe you their allegiance. You can order them to go with me.
They are well-trained fighters, and any true Norseman is a
sailor.”

“If I do, who will protect my lands while you
are gone?”

“Then give me half of your men, and I’ll make
up the rest of my crew from your farmers and my few loyal friends
who will still volunteer.”

“Take my farmers? Who will sow my fields when
spring comes? Besides, they are free men. I cannot order them to
go.”

“They will go if you ask them to.”

“No, Snorri.”

Snorri’s huge hands doubled into fists.
Lenora sat watching this scene, terrified of Snorri’s vicious
temper. But Thorkell stared him down, unafraid.

“Will you strike your own father?” he asked
with a smile.

“I need to go a-viking,” Snorri ground out
between clenched teeth.

“Have you gone berserk in the dark winter, as
the men of Sverige in the far north do? Or is it your cold wife you
long to leave?”

“I will return in time for the spring
planting. I give you my word.”

Thorkell’s knotted fingers stroked his long
beard.

“Perhaps it would be best for you to go. I
grow weary of stopping your constant arguments with Erik, and if
you continue to quarrel with Gunhilde, you will soon get all my
serving women with child. Very well, go find yourself some other
diversion.”

Snorri grinned happily. “You will provide the
supplies I need?”

“Don’t I always do that? But I warn you, I
want a large profit on my investment. And see to it that as many of
my men as possible return in good health.”

“I will. I must find Hrolf and Bjarni. They
will want to go with me.” Snorri, his good humor restored, slapped
his palm against Thorkell’s to seal their bargain, then hurried
from the room. He sailed six days later, and most of Thorkell’s
household was glad to see him go.

“I hope he brings no more slaves home,”
Edwina said. “Thorkell is happy with me now.”

Privately, Lenora thought Thorkell looked
more tired than happy, but she was too involved in her own life
just then to give much thought to others. On a cold night, as they
lay snug under layers of furs, warm and content after their
love-making, she told Erik her secret.

“I am carrying your child,” she said.

She felt his body tense beside her, and then
his strong arms drew her closer.

“Are you sure?”

“Completely.” She laughed softly. “I think it
was that night you returned from visiting Halfdan. Do you remember?
We scarcely slept all night.”

“I remember.” His lips brushed her cheek. ”A
son. It must be a son.”

“It will be whatever you wish, Erik. Are you
happy?”

“I am.”

His mouth covered hers, and she snuggled
against him in blissful peace. He had not mentioned marrying her,
or even that he would set the child free. Surely he would do for
his own son what Thorkell had done for him. They still had months
in which to discuss it. So much time. She fell asleep with Erik’s
fingers splayed across her fecund belly.

“It’s not fair,” Edwina wept. “I can’t
conceive and you are carrying a child.”

“I thought you would be happy for me.”

“Do you really want it? You always said you
hated all the Norse. I thought you wanted revenge.”

“I did, but I’ve changed. I want Erik’s
child. I want to give him a son.”

“Perhaps he’ll free you and marry you. Has he
said he will?”

“We haven’t talked about that, Edwina.”

“If I were with child, I’d make Thorkell
marry me. He would, you know. He really cares about me. It’s just
that I can’t conceive. I try so hard. But he can’t -he won’t -” She
broke off as Freydis entered the weaving room with a cup of
mead.

“Drink this.” Freydis told Lenora. “You must
eat and drink well, to give strength to the child.”

“You will grow fat.” Edwina giggled, “And
Erik won’t want you any more.”

Lenora and Freydis exchanged glances, Freydis
shaking her head sadly. Lenora drained the cup.

“I must go to Thorkell,” she said. “He has
work for me to do.”

“Keep warm,” Freydis advised. “Some of the
farmers and their families are ill. Don’t get chilled or you will
be sick too.”

“I won’t.” Lenora hurried off, glad to get
away from Edwina. Her friend’s unhappy condition was a constant
weight on Lenora’s heart. There was nothing Lenora could do to
help, but being with Edwina always made her feel guilty.

Ten days later the illness that had first
infected the farmers and their families invaded Thorkell’s
immediate household. Several of the servants died of it. Women and
children were the most severely afflicted. Freydis was soon
short-handed in the kitchen and laundry, as slaves and serving
women took to their beds. Lenora temporarily gave up her work for
Thorkell to help Freydis care for the sick.

“I don’t know why you are doing this,”
Gunhilde said to Freydis. “You are working like a slave yourself.
These people will recover or not, depending on each one’s own luck
and strength. It is in the hands of the gods. You can add nothing
to anyone’s recovery with your broths and hot ale.”

“I know there are many who believe as you
do,” Freydis replied, “but the labor of these men and women adds
daily to my father’s wealth. I will not desert them when they are
too ill to fetch water or food for themselves.” She filled a bowl
with steaming gruel and gave it to Lenora to carry to the women’s
quarters. “See that Tola eats all of this. She ate nothing
yesterday. I’ll carry a full bucket down to the farmers’ houses.
Gunhilde, will you help me?”

“I refuse to make myself into a servant for
slaves,” Gunhilde said coldly. “I am going to my chamber to spin in
peace.”

“Go then,” Freydis muttered under her breath.
“You are no help anyway.” She wiped her damp brow with her
sleeve.

“You’re not well,” Lenora said. “Go to bed.
I’ll do this.”

“No. No, I can do it.”

But the next day Freydis could not leave her
bed, and the following day Thorkell was ill. Edwina was
frantic.

“He won’t eat, Lenora. What shall I do?”

“Give him just a little at a time. Insist
that he swallow it. Now go, Edwina. I’m busy.”

With Gunhilde refusing to help, Lenora now
supervised the household. The young woman who had once hated
domestic chores managed with an efficiency and skill that surprised
even herself. Erik, agreeing with Lenora’s methods, silenced
Gunhilde ‘s arguments against providing care for the sick and
stopped her attempt to take over the running of Thorkellshavn in
Freydis’ absence. Erik and Halfdan together assisted Lenora and the
few other women who were still on their feet.

Evening meals were no longer merry and
boisterous feasts. A few men and women sat somberly in the great
hall, trying to keep warm and wondering who would fall ill
next.

“Lenora, you are worn out,” Freydis told her
one day. “I’ll get up tomorrow to help you.”

Lenora took the empty gruel bowl from Freydis
and handed her a cup of ale. She wrapped her shawl more closely
around her shoulders. Freydis’ chamber, a small room attached to
Thorkell’s quarters, with its own separate entrance, was cold in
spite of the blaze of logs in the firepit.

“You are not well enough yet. You are still
too weak.” Lenora stood up from the bed platform, stretching, her
hands on her hips.

“My back aches.” She laughed. “I spend my
days bending over the cooking fires, stirring soups and gruels.
Tola is helping me. She is out of bed but still weak. And Gutrid
and Erna are sick now. Will spring never come?”

“It will come soon enough. Some years are
like this. Everyone is sick and many die. Other years it’s not so
bad. No one knows why.”

“I’ll come back later.” Lenora moved toward
the door.

“How is my father?”

“Very weak, but Edwina says he is getting
better. He says he wants to die in battle. Sven the Dark told him
the Franks will attack in the spring, and Thorkell is planning to
take his men on a march to the south to meet them.’

Freydis chuckled, nodding. “That is his duty.
When he was given these lands, he was charged by King Horik, whose
jarl he was, to protect the east and the south of Denmark. Thorkell
never fails in his duty, though Horik is dead for many years and
there is no true king in Denmark now.”

As she left Freydis’ room, Lenora wondered if
Erik would have to ride with his father to fight the Franks. Surely
his leg would be improved by then so that he could ride for long
periods of time. She did not want to think of Erik in battle.

The wind off the sea was cold and damp. There
had been much flooding this stormy winter. Thorkellshavn, wisely
built high on the slope above the river, had so far escaped the
waters, but freezing rain had filmed tree limbs and buildings with
a thin crust of ice. Lenora cried out as one of her feet broke
through the brittle surface and sank into a deep puddle.

“Oh, it’s so cold.” As she tried to get out
of the puddle, her other foot slipped on an ice-glazed stone. She
lost her balance and flew through the air, landing hard on her
bottom and skidding across the frozen ground almost back to
Freydis’ door. The bowl and cup she had been carrying went
clattering away with a noise that rang loudly in Lenora’s head as
blue and white stars exploded before her eyes.

She did not know how much later it was when
she wakened to bitter cold. Her clothes were soaked from the rain
and caked with ice. Her head ached and her buttocks were sore where
she had fallen. It took great effort to push herself to a sitting
position. Wet, ice-stringed hair flapped into her face.

She began to shiver. She took a few moments
to gather her strength, then tried to stand.

“Ah!-” she screamed in pain and sank to her
knees.

“Help,” she cried. “Freydis, can you hear me?
Someone, please help me. Freydis!”

She heard a sound from within Freydis’
chamber, and then the door opened. Freydis, weak and pale, clung to
the frame, her woolen winter shift billowing in the cold wind, a
shawl clutched about her upper body.

“Lenora?”

“I hurt my ankle. I can’t stand up.”

Lenora crouched on the icy ground, rocking
back and forth from the pain surging up her leg and weeping because
of a strange, aching malaise that was steadily creeping over her.
Freydis stumbled to her and tried to help her rise.

“It’s no use. I’m too weak. I’ll try to find
one of the men.” Freydis, by now nearly as drenched as Lenora,
staggered barefoot across the courtyard toward the great hall.

Lenora collapsed into a sodden, miserable
heap. Endless cold time passed before Halfdan scooped her up in his
brawny arms and carried her to Erik’s house. Freydis was already
there, busily feeding the fire into a high, warming blaze.