The spring thawed the ice and snow, and they all waited for the return of Bork and his sons, praying to Thor that their boats would find safe harbor. The spring seeds were sewn, and the stalks of the plants were well above ground when a runner came from the shore, shouting and waving his arms. Guthrum and Ragnar walked up to the highest point of the hill to see the Norse ships approaching.
"Is it them?" Ragnar wondered aloud.
Guthrum pointed to the shining helms that the men wore. "It is."
They went down the hill and stood quietly together on the beach while they watched them dock. The rest of the house emptied onto the beach as well, and Halfdene and his heavily pregnant wife came to stand with Guthrum and Ragnar.
"It is so exciting," Ethilda smiled at the assemblage, and turned her face back to the wind. She held her rounded belly with her hands, taking some of the weight off her back, but still shifted from one swollen foot to the other.
Guthrum glared at the back of her head, then looked to the boats. Two of the dragon-headed ships anchored in the shallows, but the rest were carried onto the land, and Bork and his sons walked through the surf to face them once again.
"Ragnar," Bork bowed his head. "We thank you for the hospitality of your family."
"Aye. You can put up your tent over there, and I will send you all the guards you want to watch over your women."
"With my thanks." Bork said.
"Did the gods bless your voyage?" Ragnar asked.
"It was smoother than I have ever seen the whale's road before. The worst of it was the heat of the sun, with no clouds to shade us. So, we are grateful."
"We will make a sacrifice to the gods in thanks for your easy return, which is surely a sign that this match is well made," Ragnar promised.
"The women's boats will be brought in after nightfall," Bork looked over his shoulder at the two boats that remained on the waves. "And on the morrow, my wife, nieces, and daughter will be brought to your hall for introductions."
"In the meantime," Ragnar said, "let us men go inside and fill our bellies with mead. We have some fine dancers to entertain us before the respectable women arrive."
Bork smiled and clapped his host on the shoulder. He turned and laid a hand on Guthrum's shoulder by way of greeting, and Guthrum reciprocated. Guthrum then turned to Asbjorn and Asgrim.
"Brothers." Guthrum motioned them toward the hall.
They walked together and took places on benches by the fire. The men who had just arrived from the sea put their hands toward the heat of the flames and breathed in the smell and comfort of the lodge.
"Bring mead," Ragnar barked. "And send whatever Lord Bork needs for his tents; food, guards, wood for his fire. Make sure that he has it."
Halfdene hurried to attend to Ragnar's command. The young Norseman had always enjoyed favor in the eye of the chief, and his duties had increased since his marriage, which proved him a man even more than the scraggly wisps of mustache at the corners of his mouth. Halfdene ably delegated the jobs that needed doing and came back to sit down with the other important men.
The servants worked at a frantic pace, cooking food and serving mead. They had spent the day polishing the silver, hanging tapestries, weaving rugs, and cleaning walls, floors and tables. They placed the most ornate of drinking horns and dishes on display, except for the one that they brought to Ragnar, and placed in his hand.
"This horn …" Ragnar lifted the drinking vessel. "It is called the Eye-of-Odin. See that red jewel in the center. In the right light it looks like a serpent's eye. It is very special; I have never seen another jewel like it. I drank from it when I wed your mother, and we had many sons." The old man clenched his jaw when he thought of the sons he had lost over the years, and the sons already grown from his first wife. Older than Guthrum, they were grown and gone.
Guthrum reached out and took the horn from his hand, turning it in the light until he saw a slit of gold in the red stone, which looked like the eye of a serpent. "I will drink from it also," Guthrum said. "And I will also have many sons."
Ragnar laughed and clapped him on the back. Guthrum noticed Ivar's dejected expression, but no one spoke of the fact that Ragnar's youngest son would never be able to marry. The party began and music and song rang through the halls while mead flowed and the precious metals and jewels that the Saxon island had yielded up to them through countless raids were displayed. Dancers, Saxon slave girls, were brought out to be used as entertainment by the visitors. Guthrum sat back and drank, watching them without participating. He could not very well take a slave in front of the faces of his new in-laws, but instead he sat as Ivar always did, above the celebration but not part of it.
Guthrum looked over at his little brother, who laughed and cheered, and sang the songs as lustily as the other men in the hall, and Guthrum smiled to himself. He took a deep swig of his mead as Rothgar stood up to tell them all a tale about the strength of Thor. Guthrum cheered. He liked to hear stories about the redheaded god, who was like himself, kissed by the flames of the sun. Guthrum had likened himself to the thunder god when he was a child, and it was easier for him to sit back without taking part in the wenching going on around him when he could listen to one of his favorite tales.
They sang and drank into the night, and in the morning the slaves brought a tub of steaming water, filled with flower petals, and placed it on the table next to Guthrum. He was bleary-eyed, and foggy headed as he leaned his face over the steam and combed the hot water and light floral scent through his dirty hair and soft, immature beard. Guthrum wore his finest armor, and all new-woven clothing, padded with animal fur. When the hour came, the servants stood back and watched the door, and Guthrum paced in front of his table while Halfdene stood vigil. Finally, there was a commotion at the door, and everyone strained to see her.
The first of the procession was Bork, who entered with his sons, then came Bork's wife, who was fair, with Nordic-white hair, blue eyes and pale skin. She was tall and angular and had an ethereal beauty like a goddess or a ghost. Two guards followed the wife and two female attendants followed them, dropping flower petals on the ground to cushion the steps of their mistress.
Bork's wife and her servants stepped aside and behind them stood a timid girl with flowers woven into her hair. Guthrum raised his eyebrows in a show of surprise that he could not hide. He had never seen anyone so stunning. Bork took Guthrum by the shoulder and turned him to the beginning of the receiving line.
"This is my wife, Thorgunna," he said. "And my nieces, Ogn and Dalla."
Guthrum nodded politely to each of the women in turn, then Bork stepped to the final lady in line.
"And this," Bork said, "is my daughter, Freygerd."
The young girl blushed, and her cheeks and lips were the color of roses. She was pale and blue-eyed like her mother, but her hair was golden instead of white, and it shined in the candlelight, and flowed freely around her shoulders.
Guthrum nodded respectfully and turned away, because he knew that he was staring. "My father," Guthrum said. "Ragnar, Chief of Danelaw."
Guthrum motioned toward his father.
"I have heard tales of you, Chief Ragnar." Thorgunna stepped forward, settling her icy-blue eyes on the elder Norseman. "You are famous in the northern lands."
Ragnar nodded his head in acknowledgement but remained mute.
"My brother, Ivar," Guthrum introduced.
Throgunna had to look down to see him. Ivar balanced his weight on a cane, and his withered legs were visible as he stood next to his father, glaring up at them as if he dared them to make a remark.
"It is well to see you again," Bork said, looking down.
"My cousin, Halfdene, you also remember."
Halfdene nodded gravely to the men who inspected him.
"And now, I invite you into my father's hall to break our fasts."
"And we accept your hospitality," Bork said, looking to Ragnar.
Thorgunna led her daughter away from the men and to the table, seating her where the servants indicated, which was next to Guthrum's chair. Freygerd trembled. She looked around the room and her golden tresses floated under her kransen; the gold circlet on her head which signified her maidenhood. Guthrum noticed that the gold of the crown matched the shade of her hair almost perfectly. She stared at everything with large blue eyes, watching most closely her mother, who sat next to her.
Ivar waddled to the table as well, and the visitors stopped what they were doing to watch him. He had to climb into his chair, where the servants had placed a small set of steps so that he could accomplish the feat with some dignity. Once seated, he looked like everyone else, and the music and conversation began to swell and fill the room.
Guthrum tried not to gaze at her, but she was like a blinding light that continued to attract his attention. She was very young, and thick, like a healthy Norse girl should be; shapely, despite her age, which he thought might be very young. His attention was diverted from her when the sound of a sword leaving its scabbard scraped through the air, and the music and talking stopped. Everyone turned to see Asgrim with his blade glinting in the weak light of the hall.
"What did you say?" Asgrim demanded. "What did you say about my sister?"
Guthrum squinted in the dim light to discover the opponent. His heart sank when he recognized his own cousin, Halfdene, pinned against the wall. Guthrum crossed the room in four long strides and pushed Asgrim and his blade out of the way. As Halfdene opened his mouth to thank him, Guthrum took him by the front of his shirt and punched him in the stomach hard enough to force all the air from his body. Halfdene doubled over and fell on the ground, and the men of both families laughed and cheered.
Guthrum motioned for the servants. "Give Asgrim more wine."
He took Halfdene by the arms and pushed him to a quiet corner of the room.
"You dog fucker," Halfdene grunted as his breath returned to him. "Why did you do that?"
"Do you want your blood spilled today? Do not look at the girl!"
"Because she is only for you?" Halfdene grimaced as he sat back against the wall, holding his stomach. "Because I am married only to a whore?"
"Yes, she is only for me. I PAID for her! And I told you NOT to marry the whore," Guthrum glared at him. "Do not blame me for your problems."
"Yes, go and kiss your new father's arse a little more."
Guthrum balled his fist but resisted the urge to punch Halfdene in the face.
"The girl is not even old enough to bear children," Halfdene grunted. "She will be miserable with you. You will not be able to please her, and she will kill you in your sleep."
Guthrum punched Halfdene hard enough to rock his jaw to one side. He fell back, but still maintained eye contact, glaring at his attacker.
"So that is it? That is why you have been strange for months. Ever since I struck my marriage contract and you married a whore."
"She is NOT a whore."
"No, but she WAS."
"I will kill you if you say it again." Halfdene pulled a dagger from his belt.
Guthrum shook his head and turned away, giving Halfdene a chance to stab him in the back, showing that he was not afraid. His heart trembled for a moment as he worried that Halfdene might do it, but he walked away, and his cousin remained in the dark corner.
Music and celebration continued, food was served, and ale was poured while Rothgar told stories. Guthrum made his way to his chair and sat down next to the pretty young virgin who was to be his wife.
She glanced at him through her eyelashes and he found that his hand shook when he reached for the Eye-of-Odin. The evening was awkward, but there were no fatalities, and Guthrum considered that to be a success. The women went back to the tent-fortress on the shore, and the men continued to drink until they passed out.
Guthrum slept alone that night as he considered the girl, wondering if Halfdene was right about her age. The following morning Bork woke early and found Guthrum beside the fire, holding his head in his hands.
"My boy." Bork settled a hand on his shoulder and sat down on a stool next to him. "Shall we assemble the handsel? Her mother tells me that Freygerd finds the union acceptable, and I saw the way that you looked at her, as if Thor had hit you with his hammer. She is as beautiful as her mother."
Guthrum nodded. "I would be honored to marry your daughter."
They waited until the rest of the hall was awake, then Guthrum called his father, Ivar, and Halfdene, and Bork called his sons and one of his nephews. With a proper handsel, the eight men clasped hands, standing in a circle with Guthrum and Bork opposite one another, looking each other in the eyes.
Guthrum cleared his throat. "Bork of Roskilde, all of these men are witnesses to this lawful betrothal, and with the taking of hands, you promise me, Guthrum of Danelaw, the dowry, and full legal rights to the maiden, Freygerd. This contract must be observed and is notified by the hearing of these witnesses without cunning, as a real and authorized contract."
Bork smiled. "Let the wedding be held this Friday."
All the snow in Danelaw had melted, and only a slight chill blew around on the breeze that Friday morning. Freygurd had gone with her mother and cousins to the bathhouse, where they beat their naked bodies gently with birch twigs, inducing sweating and clearing of the pores. When they were each whipped from head to toe, they took turns submerging in the frosty water, then hurrying out to dry and dress.
Freygurd did not replace her kransen after the bath. It would be packed away as a gift for her own daughter when that future child reached maturity. She let the other women guide her back to the tent, and her mother sat her on a stool so that the three of them could start putting intricate braids in her hair. Freygurd was scared. She had been excited, she had been smitten by Guthrum, she had been happy to please her parents, but in the past twenty-four hours the overriding emotion she felt was fear.
"The bridal crown." Freygurd looked at her mother, who bent over a trunk and carefully lifted the crown with both hands. It was more than three feet tall, forged of silver it was a crisscross of delicate thin lines in the shapes of leaves and spirals. Thorgunna smiled at her daughter and carried the crown to her with ceremony. "Your grandmother wore this at her wedding, and I wore it when I married your father. You are my only daughter, Freygurd. After this day you will pack it away and it will wait for your own eldest daughter to wed. A fine tradition."
She placed the enormously tall, slender tiara on Freygurd's head and Ogn and Dalla helped her secure it, wrapping little braids around the base. She was going to need help removing the crown later. Thorgunna wove silken cords of various bright colors through the silver lines of the crown and let them drape in the middle. Danling crystals shimmered when she moved.
"It is time to have the talk with her," Dalla stated.
"Tsk," Thorgunna shook her head.
"You have to tell her!" Ogn was horrified that her cousin might be going to her wedding night without being prepared.
Thorgunna picked up a sprig of bluebells and wove them into Freygurd's bradis.
"Tell me what?" Freygurd's fear was validated. "What is it?"
"It is nothing," Thorgunna shushed.
"I hope that it's SOMETHING," Ogn grinned. "Or she will be a disappointed woman when she does find out!"
Thorgunna slapped her niece, and Ogn and Dalla laughed.
"Mother!" Freygurd could not look up at her mother because of the awkward balance of the crown on her head. "What are they talking about?"
"It's better that you don't know," Thorgunna promised. "The more innocent you are, the greater your morning gift will be."
"Now, Auntie," Dalla grinned mischievously. "He will know that she is a virgin."
"Her morning gift will be great, Auntie," Ogn encouraged. "He is going to be a very happy groom." She pinched Freygurd's cheek.
Freygurd was annoyed. She had been prepared about the ceremony and what was expected of a wife. She would make sure that her husband got his favorite meals, she would bear his children, and she would obey him. He would protect her, provide for her and any children she might have, and he would respect her, or she would leave him and return to her mother. But now there was some big secret that no one was going to tell her?
Dalla gave Freygurd a little wink, and the young bride felt a little better. Dalla would tell her when her mother was not around. But Thorgunna was fussing; rearranging Freygurd's hair and the silk cords that hung throughout the crown.
"Is it time yet?" Thorgunna asked.
Ogn looked outside the tent. "It looks like they're all there, on the hill."
"Oh, my darling," Thorgunna took Freygurd's hands and helped her stand up, slowly because of the crown. "You look beautiful."
They walked out of the tent together. Freygurd put a hand to the back of the crown so that she could look up the hill. Everyone from the hall was gathered, and there stood a priest under an archway at the crowning point of the hill; a symbol of a doorway into a new life. She had to look straight forward as they climbed, her cousins on either side and her mother behind her, holding the crown in place. It was not until they got to the peak that she could take a good look at her groom.
Guthrum was freshly washed, his hair and youthful beard still wet from the bathhouse. He smiled at her and her heart fluttered. He was so large and burly that she had been afraid of him at first, but every time he looked at her or spoke to her, it was with tenderness. She was determined that he was going to be a great husband and she was going to be the best wife. She smiled back at him and they took their place in front of the priest.
Ragnar and Bork stepped forward, each grinning with pride and joy as they traded the dowry and the bride price in the forms of gold, silk, timber, and sailcloth. The assembled crowd cheered, then Rothgar led a fat pig to the archway. Thorgunna placed a gold dish under the pig's neck, and the priest sliced the sow's throat while calling out to the Goddes Freyja to attend and bless the union.
The beast fell and some of the blood dashed on Thorgunna's dress as she pulled the dish back and handed it over to the priest. With a handful of reeds, the priest dipped some blood and splattered it over the fronts and the faces of the young couple, blessing them with fertility as he chanted.
Freygurd gasped a little when the splatter of warm liquid hit her face, and she flinched back, but Guthrum did not move. He was like a stone statue, so confident and assured. Her heart beat faster for him. He seemed to have no doubts that he wanted her for his wife. She felt bad about her previous feelings of fear. Everything was going to be grand.
Guthrum turned to her, and she to him, gazing into his ice blue eyes. He pulled the sword from its scabbard on his hip and placed the tip in the ground between them. "This is the sword of my father, the first of my line to rule this land. It is a gift to you for the first born son of our union."
Freygurd's eldest brother stepped forward, trading the sword for the one that he was carrying which he placed tip in the dirt and put the handle in his sister's open palm. "This is the sword of my father," she said. She knew she was too quiet, the audience strained to hear, but she was too choked to speak louder. "May it complete the union of our families."
Guthrum put his hand over hers, holding the sword steady and upright. His strange brother hobbled from the crowd and handed him a ring, and Guthrum placed it on the pommel of the hilt. Freygurd was staring at Ivar. She had seen him, but he was usually seated. The only time she had seen him walk was the very first day that she met him. She blinked at him, suddenly entertaining the thought that she might have children with such an ailment.
Guthrum cleared his throat and she looked from Ivar back to her groom. She realized how rude she had been, and how much of a spectacle she had caused as she picked up the ring from the pommel, and her own brother took the sword from them so that Guthrum could place the ring on her finger. Holding hands, the couple stood still while the priest wrapped a silk cord around their hands. She could tell that something had changed. Guthrum was not looking her in the eye. She had offended him. She gulped.
The audience cheered, and Guthrum lifted their hands as high as Freygurd could reach so that everyone could witness the ceremonial binding.
"Bride race!" shouted someone from the crowd. The others took up the call and cheered, but Freygurd had to wait for the cord to be unbound, and then she had to kneal while her mother and cousins went through the laborious process of removing the bridal crown. She was on the verge of tears by the time her braids fell free and the heavy weight was lifted. She was worried that Guthrum was disappointed, but when she stood up and looked at him again, he was smiling at her.
"Bride race! Bride race!" the people called out.
"Are you ready?" Guthrum crouched down as if he was going to sprint down the hill.
Freygurd laughed. She had never seen him being silly before. She felt better, but that moment of doubt had made her sick to her stomach.
"Come on, Freyja!" Her brothers shouted and each one grabbed her hand and started pulling her as fast as they could run. She laughed so hard she could barely keep her feet, and Guthrum could easily have outrun them, but he jogged at an easy pace, only a step ahead, and at one point ran backwards so that he could grin at her.
They reached the hall, him one step ahead. She was running so fast that she had to hit the wall with her hands to stop. She laughed and leaned against the wall. Guthrum waited for her by the door as the crowd caught up to them and witnessed him lift her off her feet and carry her over the threshold.
The crowd cheered, and Freygurd's family got to work pouring the mead for the evening, such was their price after the bride lost the race. Freygurd sat with her husband for a moment, then got up to help pour, eager to show the entire hall what a good and dedicated wife she was going to be. She smiled at Guthrum, who sat with his father, his brother, and some of the other men who were his family.
"Sit, Freygurd!" Called Guthrum's Aunt Rayna. "It is time for you to be drinking!"
As part of the marriage contract, Guthrum and Freygurd sat together and shared a cup of honey mead, which was refilled several times. She was dizzy and leaning on her husband when Guthrum stood up and helped her stand as well. The room cheered and Freygurd groggily looked around at them. Her mother and cousins hurried to her and took her from Guthrum's arms. She was sorry for that; he was so strong and nice lean against.
"Come dearest," Thorgunna whispered.
They took her to a separate room where a large bed was fixed in the center. Dalla started unbraiding her hair and Ogn looked nervously at Thorgunna, but they respected the elder woman's wish to keep everything a secret. The men stomped their feet loudly as they made their way to the bed chamber.
Freygurd woke a little from her drunken stupor and looked confused. The priest entered the room, carrying her father's sword before him, point down. Guthrum followed as did his father, brother, and cousin, each carrying a lamp ahead of himself. Behind Guthrum's family was Freygurd's father and two brothers, also carrying lamps.
The priest chanted and slid the sword under the bed. "May no man break the bonds of this sacred union," the priest said. "Or if he does, may he die by the edge of this sword." The priest blessed Guthrum, then he turned to Freygurd and made a few gestures before he left the room.
Ragnar put his lamp in front of Guthrum's face, illuminating his featured for the room. "I swear that this is my son, Guthrum," Ragnar announced.
Guthrum knelt on one knee as Ivar walked over and held up his lamp. "I swear that this man is my brother, Guthrum."
Ivar hobbled back and Halfdene stepped up. "I swear that this man is my cousin, Guthrum."
Bork held his lamp up in front of Freygurd and she squinted at the blinding light. "I swear this woman is my daughter, Freygurd," he announced.
Her brothers identified her as well, and then the parents left the room, leaving Freygurd's cousins to help her undress and slip into the bed in only her underdress. Guthrum's brother could not help him, but his cousin did, and Guthrum too, slipped under the covers. The other attendants left, and the only remaining light was from Guthrum's lamp.
He turned to her in the bed, and when he spoke his voice was low and rumbling. "You must not stare so at Ivar. He is your brother now."
Freygurd blushed, remembering the moment in the ceremony when she forgot herself. "I will not do so in the future," she promised.
"I know that it is strange at first." He tenderly touched her shoulder, and she felt forgiven. "Everything for you is going to be a little strange. But we shall make this hall as much like home as you wish."
He scooted closer to her and put his mouth over hers. His beard tickled, and it smelled like mead. Freygurd closed her eyes and surrendered to him, and that night she learned the secret.