Viking Passion (15 page)

Halfdan laid her on the bed, and he and
Freydis quickly stripped off her wet clothes, rubbed her down with
linen cloths, and wrapped her in blankets and furs. Tola appeared
with a hot drink.

Lenora took it gratefully, as much for the
warmth of the cup against her numb fingers as for the heat that
curled into her stomach as she swallowed it.

“Let me see your ankle.” When Freydis’
fingers probed the swollen flesh Lenora cried out in pain. “I don’t
think it’s broken. We’ll bind it up. Tola, fold that linen into
strips.”

“Freydis, you are wet. You should be in
bed.”

“I don’t mind the cold. You have tended me
for days, Lenora. Now it’s my turn.”

Lenora’s ankle was soon bound. The pain in it
subsided, but she lay shivering and aching.

“My back hurts,” she told Freydis. “I fell so
hard. I feel so strange.”

Freydis and Tola exchanged knowing
glances.

“Oh – Oh!” Suddenly Lenora doubled up as pain
lanced through her. “Freydis, help me.”

Freydis’ hands caught hers. Another pain
came, worse than before, and now Lenora understood.

“My baby,” she moaned. “No, not my baby.”

Through a thick mist she heard Freydis
speaking. “I am certain she will miscarry. Tola, bring me more
cloths and a basin. Halfdan, you had better tell Erik. He will be
in Thorkell’s chambers.”

The mist around Lenora’s head grew thicker.
She felt far away, separated from everyone. Halfdan’s low voice
rumbled through the small room, echoing in Lenora’s fevered brain
as another pain tore at her.

“Freydis, you are cold... cold... cold... dry
clothes... clothes... clothes.”

Only Freydis’ steady voice made any sense to
Lenora. “Hold on to me, Lenora. Very well, Halfdan, send a woman to
my room for a dry shift and my blue shawl. I’m here, Lenora. I’m
here.”

Time was divided into the short spaces
between waves of pain that were ever more severe. Erik and Halfdan
came and went, looking worried. Edwina appeared briefly, weeping,
to throw herself on Lenora’s writhing form until Freydis ordered
her out. Gunhilde’s cold voice spoke from a great distance.

“I do not understand why you are all so
upset. She is only a slave, after all.”

“Get out.” Erik’s voice was dark with pain
and fury. “Never set your foot in my house again. Go!”

“When Snorri comes home I will tell him of
this insult.”

“Do. And then make him tell you what he once
did to this woman’s family.”

The pain came again, blanking out all
else.

Only Freydis was always there, holding her
hands, encouraging her through hours of wrenching agony, finally
sponging her body with cool water and covering her with a fresh
blanket.

“Drink this.”

“I can’t.”

“You must, to regain your strength. Tola put
an egg in it, and some herbs to help stop the bleeding.”

Too weak to protest further, Lenora swallowed
the hot ale.

“It’s over,” she whispered, the tears
streaming down her face.

“Many women miscarry, Lenora. It is sad, but
you will recover and bear other children.”

“I wanted this one. For Erik.”

“Erik will give you more babies.”

“I want to see him.”

“He is with our father. Thorkell is very
ill.”

“He’s getting better. Edwina said so.”

“Go to sleep, Lenora. Go to sleep.”

The fever attacked her the next day. She lay
at the edge of death for many days and nights, delirious and
wracked with cruel nightmares about the child she had lost. When
finally she came to her senses again, she was so weak she could
scarcely move. It exhausted her to turn her head to watch Tola
enter with a cup and bowl.

Freydis’ serving woman fed her in a silence
far different from her usual gossipy chatter.

“How long have I been sick?” Lenora whispered
weakly.

“Eight days.”

“So long? What has happened while I’ve been
in bed?”

“Nothing.”

“No gossip, Tola?” Lenora managed a chuckle.
“I can’t believe that.”

Tears appeared in Tola’s eyes. Seeing them,
Lenora was filled with alarm. She struggled to sit up but could
not. She lay back, panting.

“Erik,” she gasped. “Where is Erik?”

“He is well.”

“Freydis?”

“She is well too. And Halfdan. And that bitch
Gunhilde.” The tears were now rolling down Tola’s plump cheeks.
“It’s Thorkell.”

“Is he still sick?”

“He is dead.”

“Thorkell? No, it can’t be. He was getting
better.”

“He was, but something happened to him. He
could not breathe. Erik made him sit up and fed him hot soups and
ale, but his breath came harder and harder, and then five days ago
he died. I do not weep for his death,” Tola explained, wiping away
her tears, “but for the manner of it. He should have died in
battle. He was a good chieftain and he deserved an honorable death.
Now he must journey to the underworld• of Niflheim to live with
Hel. It is sad. A brave man like Thorkell should have been welcomed
into Valhalla by Odin himself.”

“I don’t understand what you are saying.
Where is Thorkell now? Isn’t he buried?”

“Of course not. He will not be buried until
he is burned. But that is not for five days yet.”

Lenora gave up, unable to comprehend Tola’s
rambling explanations.

“I want to see Erik. Please send him to
me.”

“I don’t know if he will come. He’s busy with
the funeral arrangements.”

“That’s the first thing you’ve said that I
can understand. Tell him I want to see him, Tola.”

Erik did not come until evening. Lenora had
drifted in and out of sleep all day, and she had eaten again. She
felt stronger by the time he arrived.

“I cannot stay long,” he said. ”I must return
to the feast.”

“I am sorry to hear of Thorkell’s death.”

“He was a good and just chieftain. He was
well named the Fair-speaker.”

“Aren’t you sad that your father is
dead?”

“It is not good to weep for the dead.”

Lenora did not answer. She knew Erik had
loved his father, and she was certain that beneath the apparent
indifference to Thorkell’s death, Erik was deeply grieved. Perhaps
he was afraid if he began to speak of his sorrow it would overcome
him. She decided to change the subject.

“How is Edwina? May I see her? She must be
heartbroken.”

“Edwina is cheerful enough. She is at the
feast.”

“I want to see her. I must speak with her.”
Lenora could not believe Edwina was cheerful. Surely she was
distraught and would need her best friend. Their recent differences
were forgotten in Lenora’s concern for Edwina. “I wish I could get
up to go to her, but I’m so weak.”

“You must remain in bed until – for a few
days more. I will ask Edwina’s companions to bring her to you
tomorrow.”

“What companions?”

But Erik had gone.

Edwina entered the house the next afternoon,
accompanied by two serving women.

“I want to speak to my friend alone,” Lenora
told them.

“We dare not leave her,” they responded. They
sat impassively on the earthen floor by the door.

“I am sorry you miscarried your babe,” Edwina
said. She walked unsteadily to the bed platform and sat down hard.
She giggled, and a whiff of mead fumes reached Lenora’s nose.

“My poor Edwina. I know you cared for
Thorkell. You must miss him terribly.”

Exerting all her strength, Lenora sat up and
tried to put her arms around Edwina, but the girl pushed her
away.

“This is not a sad time.” Edwina giggled. “It
is a happy time. I do miss Thorkell, but I will be with him again
soon.”

“Edwina, Thorkell is dead.”

“I know.” A crafty smile spread across
Edwina’s thin features. “But they said I could join him.”

Lenora was now convinced that Edwina was
totally mad with grief and further confused by strong drink.

“They asked us all,” Edwina told her with
mock sobriety. “They said, ‘Who will journey to Niflheim with
Thorkell and live with him there?’ And I said, ‘I will,’ and then
they were all so happy. I will go with Thorkell and he will set me
free and marry me and I will bear his child.”

Cold terror gripped Lenora’s heart at these
words. “Edwina, what have you done?”

“It’s true,” one of the serving women said.
“She is the sacrifice. When Thorkell is burnt Edwina will go with
him.”

“
NO
!” Lenora clutched at Edwina’s thin
shoulders. “You can’t do this!”

“She volunteered,” the serving woman said.
“She is doing it freely.”

“Volunteered? Can’t you see she’s mad? She
has never been herself since the day my brother Wilfred was killed.
Where is Erik? I must speak to him. He will stop this idiocy.”

“Erik was pleased with Edwina’s decision. In
any case, once a woman agrees to die with her lord, she cannot
change her mind.”

“Freydis. Freydis will help me.”

“Freydis is busy planning the funeral feasts.
You should be working, too, Lenora. You should be helping to sew
Thorkell’s funeral clothes.”

Lenora stared at the serving woman, unable to
believe her ears.

“Helping? Do you imagine for one moment that
I’m going to participate in this heathen ritual? Edwina, for God’s
sake, you are a Christian! Don’t do this.”

“Now, Lenora,” Edwina said in a soothing
tone, “You are much too upset, and you have been ill. You must know
that this is the wisest thing for me to do.”

“Wise? Never!”

“Don’t you see? Snorri is the oldest child.
He will inherit all of Thorkell’s goods, including his slaves. I do
not want to belong to Snorri. I am Thorkell’s woman. I want to be
with him. This is my only hope.”

“Erik could buy you. We could be
together.”

“Do you really think Snorri would sell me to
Erik? He’s too vicious to do such a kind thing. You know what he
will do to me, out of spite.”

“No, no.” Lenora leaned her head on Edwina’s
shoulder and wept.

“It’s all right,” Edwina said. “I’m perfectly
happy. I don’t mind at all.” When she stood up, Lenora noticed how
pathetically thin she was.

“Edwina—”

“I must return to the feast. We must eat and
drink every night from now until the funeral.” Edwina went out
without a backward glance, her two companions trailing after her
protectively.

“She’s mad. I know she’s mad. They can’t hold
her to a promise she made out of grief. Freydis. Freydis will help
me.” Shaking with weakness, caught in the grip of a terrible
nightmare, Lenora dragged herself out of bed. “Freydis will be in
the kitchen, or perhaps the great hall if the feast has begun. I
have to find her.”

With desperate determination, Lenora made her
way through the cold dusk toward the kitchen. She could barely
stand and had to stop frequently to rest against the buildings
along the way. At last, her meager strength nearly dissipated by
her efforts, she clutched at the kitchen door and, pulled by its
weight as it swung inward, she lurched into the warm room.

Freydis, in her best gown, with all her
jewelry on display, was giving orders to the slave who turned a
spit on which hung the carcass of a sheep. She whirled at the draft
of cold air.

“Lenora, what are you doing here?”

“Freydis, you have to stop it. She’s mad; you
know she is. You said so yourself. Don’t let them burn her. Please,
please.”

“If you mean Edwina, she has given her word
to go with Thorkell and that is the end of it. If it is a comfort
to you, know that she will be dead before she is burnt.”

“She has lost her wits. She didn’t mean it.
You can’t let them do it.” Lenora swayed, holding herself upright
by clinging to the edge of the door. “Please, Freydis,” she begged
again.

“I can do nothing. Go back to your bed.”

“Erik will help me. Where is he?”

“Erik is at the feast, and I will not let you
disturb him. Here, Erna, help Lenora to bed, and then come right
back here. I’ll need you to carry in the mutton.”

Crying uncontrollably, Lenora retraced her
steps on Erna’s arm.

“Poor Lenora,” Erna hissed in her ear. “It
was foolish of you to miscarry just when Erik needs a woman to sit
with him every night for the funeral feasts. But Erik and I
celebrate life without you.”

“Leave me alone,” Lenora screamed. With her
last bit of strength she slammed the cabin door in Erna’s face and
bolted it shut.

The next morning Lenora forced herself out of
bed again and went along the path to Thorkell’s chambers. She found
Erik in the room where they had so often worked with his father. It
seemed strange not to see Thorkell’s tall, white-bearded figure
seated at the trestle table. She wondered briefly where Thorkell’s
body was. She was afraid to ask.

“What do you want here?” Erik showed no sign
of affection toward her. “There is no work for you here any
more.”

Lenora sank onto a bench, feeling
lightheaded.

“Please don’t let Edwina die,” she begged.
“She is my friend. She is all that is left of my home and my
family. Help her, please.”

“The choice was Edwina’s and it was freely
made. There is nothing I can do.”

“She didn’t know what she was doing when she
decided.”

“I cannot change anything. ‘Odin made it a
law that all dead men should be burnt,’ ” Erik recited, “and one of
the dead man’s people must go with him. It is an honor for
Edwina.”

“How can you allow this? You told me you were
a Christian.”

“I am only a provisional Christian so I can
trade with the Greeks.”

“I don’t understand that.”

“It doesn’t matter what you understand. Nor
does it matter what I believe. Thorkell was a Danish chieftain, a
king’s jarl, and he will have a worthy funeral. It will be done as
he would have wished it.”