Viking Passion (16 page)

Lenora looked into Erik’s pain-filled eyes
and knew he would not help her.

Although still weak, she made herself help
with the preparations for the feast that evening, and she assisted
with the serving. She still believed there might be a way she could
save Edwina. She would not chance missing any opportunity by hiding
in her bed.

The men drank steadily, as though they were
deliberately trying to get drunk. There was much overloud laughter.
Coarse jokes were told and men threw bones and pieces of food at
each other like naughty boys. Thorkell’s seat was empty, but
Gunhilde sat next to it, looking smug.

“She is saving Snorri’s place,” Tola said.
“When he comes home he will surely be elected chieftain, and in any
case, he will inherit everything. I’m glad I’m Freydis’ slave and
not Thorkell’s.”

“What do you think Erik will do now?” Lenora
roused herself from her concern over Edwina to ask the question of
this woman, who had been friendly toward her.

“Who knows?” Tola shrugged. “Erik never
reveals his plans. But I don’t think this hall will be large enough
for both of them without Thorkell to keep the peace. You had better
be careful.” Tola nudged Lenora’s ribs. “Erna has been taking
advantage of your absence.”

At that very moment, Erna was sitting on
Erik’s lap, trying to feed him a morsel of meat while he shouted to
a man across the room.

Even Halfdan, who never looked at any woman
but Freydis, was fumbling at the skirts of a serving wench. He sat
with Erik on the carved and painted settle across the firepit from
Thorkell’s old seat, and as he reached after the woman, he nearly
fell out of the chair. This brought raucous laughter from all the
men.

Lenora turned away in disgust. Freydis,
coming out of the kitchen, sent her a knowing look.

“It means nothing,” Freydis said. “They are
always like this after a death. It is their way.”

“It is not my way,” Lenora answered.

Erik appeared in the house they shared only
to change his clothes. He scarcely spoke to Lenora and would not
listen to her continued entreaties for him to save Edwina.

In addition to her deep concern for her
friend, Lenora desperately needed Erik to comfort her in her grief
over the loss of their unborn child. She longed for him to put his
arms around her and tell her that he cared too. He seemed
indifferent to her pain. Lenora tried to excuse him, telling
herself he had his own grief over Thorkell to deal with, but she
could find no excuse for Erna’s frequent appearances at Erik’s
side. Lenora had trusted Erik, and now his apparent infidelity was
one more pain for her to bear.

In the three days remaining before Thorkell’s
funeral, Lenora felt she was walking through a deepening nightmare.
No one would listen to her. No one seemed even to understand what
she was saying. There seemed to be no way to save Edwina, and yet
Lenora would not give up hope.

Edwina herself was unusually cheerful. She
ate and drank heartily. Whenever Lenora tried to talk to her she
appeared to be drunk. Lenora suspected Edwina was being given
special herbs to make her so happy, but she could not discover what
they were.

Two days before the funeral, the volva who
had prophesied at Snorri’s wedding feast reappeared, now dressed in
dusty black robes.

“What is she doing here?” Lenora wondered
aloud.

“She is the Angel of Death, come for Thorkell
and Edwina,” Erna answered. “She will supervise the final
arrangements for the funeral. It is she who will dress Thorkell in
his new clothes. And,” Erna added maliciously, “it is she who will
kill Edwina.”

Lenora shivered and left the great hall. She
could not bear to look at the old woman and could hardly endure
Erna’s presence.

The day of Thorkell’s funeral dawned with a
silver-bright sun glaring down on the ice and snow left by the most
recent storm. High clouds began gathering early in the day,
presaging yet more sleet and freezing rain.

Lenora, consumed by thoughts of the horror
the next day would bring, had not slept until it was nearly
daylight. She was pulled into groggy wakefulness by a loud knocking
on her door. It was Erik, with Halfdan by his side.

“Get up,” Erik told her. “You have to
leave.”

“Leave?” she repeated stupidly, rubbing her
swollen eyes. “Where am I to go?”

“Freydis said for you to go to her chamber.
Hurry.”

Lenora did not understand what Erik was
talking about, but perhaps, she thought, still half-asleep, just
perhaps, he had found a way to save Edwina after all. She would do
as he asked without making a fuss.

“I won’t be long.”

Erik and Halfdan waited outside until Lenora
stepped through the door, fully dressed. Half-blinded by the
brilliant, low-slanting winter sun in her face, she did not see
Edwina and her two companions until her friend stood next to her on
the path.

“Edwina!” Lenora threw her arms around the
slender girl, hope changing to near-certainty. “Is it all right?
Are you safe now? Can we go away together? Can we escape? Is Erik
going to help us after all?”

Edwina’s cool little smile stopped the rush
of questions. On this day Edwina was perfectly sober and quite
calm. She spoke and moved with great dignity.

“All is well, Lenora. I am going away, but
you must stay behind. Go with Halfdan.”

“Why with Halfdan?” Lenora asked, still not
willing to understand. “What about Erik?”

“Do as I bid you. Farewell, Lenora. Always
remember that I love you.” After a quick embrace, Edwina turned to
Erik. She said quietly, “I am ready. I will follow all of your
instructions.”

Erik nodded. “Take Lenora away, Halfdan.”

There was no resisting the gentle but
determined pressure of Halfdan’s large hand on her arm. Lenora was
propelled down the path toward Freydis’ chamber.

“No,” Lenora said, trying to twist her arm
free. “I’m going with Edwina.”

“That’s impossible,” Halfdan told her. “You
were not one of Thorkell’s slaves.”

“But -” She stared at his stern face, the
morning’s brief hope draining away. “Isn’t Erik going to save
Edwina? Isn’t that why he told me to hurry, so I could go with
her?”

Halfdan shook his head, and Lenora knew the
terrible thing was really going to happen. She was wide awake now,
and she wished with all her heart that she were not. Even knowing
Edwina’s fate was certain, Lenora made one last attempt, for the
sake of the close friendship she and Edwina had once known, and for
the love she still had for Edwina.

“I’ll prevent it somehow. We’ll run away.”
She started back toward the little group still standing in front of
Erik’s house. She had moved only a single step when Halfdan stopped
her.

“You can walk to Freydis’ chamber,” he said,
“or I will carry you. But you are going right now.”

Halfdan’s hand on her upper arm tightened,
and he pulled her in the direction he wanted her to go. He was too
strong for her to fight him with any hope of winning. Defeated and
unable to find words to protest any more, Lenora let Halfdan lead
her to Freydis’ room. As they went along the path, she saw, drawn
up onto the sandy beach at the river’s edge, a longship, with logs
and brush piled around it. A shimmering silken tent had been
erected on its deck. Halfdan saw her looking.

“That is the place,” he said gently, and
Lenora’s knees buckled.

“I can’t, I can’t bear it,” she moaned. “Oh,
Halfdan, help her. Please, why won’t someone help?” She knew her
plea would make no difference, but she uttered it all the same.

“Lenora, you don’t understand. We
are
helping her. This is what she wants.” Halfdan put his arm around
her waist and half-carried her into Freydis’ room.

“There is food and mead for you,” he said.
“Freydis told me to bolt the door on the outside to prevent you
from attempting anything foolish. We will open it again after the
pyre is lit.”

“No! No!” Lenora made for the door, but
Halfdan’s bulk stopped her.

“Let me go,” she demanded hysterically,
beating at his chest with clenched fists. “I have to stop this
madness. Let me go, Halfdan.”

“I’m sorry, Lenora, I cannot. It would be
better for you if you could simply accept our ways in this, as
Edwina has.” Halfdan went out, and Lenora heard him fasten the door
and walk away.

“Let me out!” she shrieked, tearing at the
door, pounding, scratching until her nails broke and her hands were
bloody. She beat and kicked until she was worn out, but the strong
wooden door held.

“Edwina, Edwina,” she sobbed as she slid
along the door frame and lay weeping on the floor. “Edwina!”

The long day passed. She heard movement along
the path, voices and occasional laughter. Once she heard Edwina’s
voice. There was no fear in it. Then all was quiet for a while,
until she heard singing coming from the direction of the river.

Half-mad with fear for her friend, Lenora
picked up the food bowl and flung it across the room. A pitcher
followed. She gave one of Freydis’ clothes chests a wild push. As
it grated across the hard earth floor her eyes fell on a knife
lying half-hidden beneath it. Lenora pounced on it and ran to the
door.

By wedging the knife blade between the frame
and the door she could just make contact with the wooden outer bolt
that held the door shut. She worked frantically, carefully, trying
to be quiet lest someone hear her, until finally she lifted the
bolt and the door swung open.

It was dark with the heavy blackness of night
and an impending storm. The only light was by the river, where
torches cast a lurid glow into the night. Lenora hurried toward the
light. There was a crowd around the longship on the beach. All the
folk of Thorkellshavn were arrayed around an open space immediately
in front of the ship.

Erik stood at the edge of the open space,
completely naked and holding a torch in his hand. As Lenora
watched, he ran backward toward the ship and flung the torch over
his head into the brush piled against it. The flames exploded
upward, enveloping the ship and its contents, as family and friends
came forward and added their torches to the pyre.

With a shriek wrung from her very soul,
Lenora ran for the ship. “Edwina! Edwina!”

The first person she met was the old volva.
She was wearing the gold neck-ring Thorkell had given Edwina.

“Witch!” screamed Lenora. “You hideous old
witch!”

Next she saw Freydis, her mouth open in
astonishment, and Erik, still naked.

“Murderers,” she screeched. “You are all
murderers. Filthy, murdering Norse—”

Erik’s hand swung out and struck her. She
crashed to the ground and lay there, weeping inconsolably, as the
flames leaped higher and higher into the winter sky and then slowly
died.

The great, final funeral feast took place
that night and lasted until the following morning. Lenora heard the
noise and the laughter coming from Thorkell’s hall as she crept
past it. There was no reason for her to remain weeping by the
longship. It was only smoldering embers now, and ship, Thorkell,
and Edwina were one.

It was raining again, a heavy, ice-laden
downpour that quickly soaked everything, but Lenora felt as though
she were on fire. She staggered to the trees that surrounded the
little bathing pool, broke the film of ice on the surface, and
sluiced her burning face and arms with the frigid water. She was no
longer hot. Now she was cold and numb. The temptation to slide into
the pool and remain there forever was almost overwhelming. Lenora
fought the part of herself that wanted to give up and join Edwina
and the rest of her family in death.

“No,” she said through chattering teeth. “I
won’t do it. I’m the only one left. I won’t let my family end
here.”

She returned to Erik’s house, threw off her
wet clothing, and covered herself with a shawl. She added logs to
the fire with reckless abandon.

“Tonight I must be warm,” she muttered, “or
I’ll die too.”

She collected all the furs and winter cloaks
and blankets she could find and piled them onto the bed on the
shelf along the wall, then got into it and pulled the coverings
over herself. She lay there a long time, staring into the fire and
thinking of Edwina, before she fell asleep.

Erik stumbled in sometime during the icy-gray
morning that followed. He was very drunk and looked as though he
had not slept for days. Dark circles underlined his eyes, and his
mouth was set in a bitter line.

“Get me water to wash with,” he ordered.

Lenora sat up among the furs, pulling the
woolen shawl around her shoulders. When she tried to get out of
bed, her legs trembled and gave way. She sank back, sitting on the
edge of the bed platform.

“I can’t stand,” she whispered, stating the
obvious.

“Are you still sick?” He reached out a hand
toward her, moving nearer.

“Don’t touch me,” she cried, evading his
hand. “Stay away from me, you disgusting murderer.”

“I am no murderer.”

“You killed Edwina.”

“The volva killed Edwina. Edwina wanted to
die,” he said wearily. He staggered, landing next to her on the
bed. His arms wound around her. He did not seem to notice her
shrinking away from his unwelcome embrace. “I need you, Lenora. My
father is dead and I need you. Let me hold you.”

As his mouth sought hers, Lenora smelled mead
and wine. She pushed at his shoulders.

“Leave me alone, you pig.”

“If I am a pig, then let us wallow together
and make little piglets,” he chuckled drunkenly. He reached for her
again, pushing her down on the bed and falling on top of her. His
hands groped clumsily along her body in a grotesque imitation of
his usual lovemaking.

Lenora fought him, struggling with sudden,
panic-stricken strength. She was appalled to find that in spite of
his drunken condition and her deep anger she still wanted him. His
familiar touch set her body tingling with desire. Valiantly, she
fought against her own awakening need.