The sun was rising quickly after Lhyrie was torn from the tent, yelling for him to help her. He could see the midnight sky turn to a pale haze as the flap of the tent crashed closed behind them. But he couldn't move; the swords were still placed under his and Hvitserk's chins and he could hardly breathe through the pressure on his nose, which was definitely broken, and the pain from his busted lip. However much he struggled against the blade, he would be no use to Lhyrie if he was dead. But, despite the so-called bishop leaving the tent with Lhyrie and the prince, the guards remained. Were they going to kill them now? He prayed they would just do it.
Someone called outside the tent, and the guards moved from their post, grabbing him by the neck and forcing him up. Stars blurred in his vision and he had to will himself not to pass out as the guard shoved him and Hvitserk out of the tent. Blinking away the darkness encroaching his view, he searched the camp for Lhyrie, but only found Saxon guards laughing at them, blocking his sight. The guards jostled them to a spot before the bishop and Ubbe had to cling onto Hvitserk to keep from toppling over. The bishop looked like he was about to begin preaching.
He started speaking, but Ubbe couldn't understand him. Glimpses of English filtered through his primitive understanding of the language, but most was nonsense to him. He wasn't sure if it was his injuries or the bishop's sermon that he couldn't grasp his meaning. In full effect, he couldn't care less at what the man before them was spewing. It didn't matter now. His wife was nowhere to be seen and possibly pregnant and now all he could do was grip Hvitserk so much so he thought he would break his brother under his weight.
The bishop appeared to be done speaking and the guards began laughing again. Something sharp bounced off top of his head, adding more stars to his vision. More things began pelleting them, and Hvitserk forced him forward. He began to half-run to dodge the array of items the soldiers were throwing, and Ubbe was forced to keep up with his crutch.
They hobbled back to the main entrance of camp but found it empty. Their horses were gone. Their men were gone. In the early morning sounds of birds calling and critters scurrying, the faint sound of crying was heard coming from behind a tree. Limping around, they found Berglijot sobbing quietly against the base of a large oak. Her dress and cloak were torn, and her hair frayed from her braids. She startled at the sight of them and hid her head in her hands once more.
"Where are our horses? Our group?" Hvitserk gasped. Ubbe noticed then that his brother was also bleeding.
Berglijot looked up again from her hands and gave a heavy sob. "They – they came," she stuttered. "They killed everyone. Took our horses." Her lip quivered and she suppressed another sob.
"Did they hurt you?" Hvitserk asked. Ubbe was still draped over him and Hvitserk adjusted his grip on his brother. It sent a shock wave of pain through Ubbe and he stifled a wince.
"I thought they were going to rape me," she shuttered. "But they just tossed me around amongst them, tearing my clothes and hair." She shook off a chill and stood carefully.
Hvitserk let out a deep sigh. "At least that is good," he said. "Can you walk?"
"Yes," she answered. "I am uninjured; just shaken."
"We have a long walk."
York was still quiet with sleep by the time the three of them hobbled back to the camp, the city unaware of the mess that occurred a few miles away. Ubbe's mind was racing the entire painful trek back. How to deal with Ivar, how to deal with this humiliation, how to help Lhyrie. Answers flooded his mind, tangling with one another, never sorting themselves out. He hoped a chair and a strong ale would help the clutter.
Despite the rest of York being still, the church was alive with noise and buzzing as the morning sun peeked through its windows. Ivar was already awake, sitting on his perch at the front of the steeple. "Welcome back, brothers," he laughed with a wide grin. The closer they came, the wider his smile grew, seeing the results of their negotiations.
Ubbe collapsed in the nearest open chair and leaned heavily on the table in front of him, placing his forearms onto it and then his throbbing head. A slave hurriedly placed a glass and cloth in front of him and he muttered a prayer to her. He drank noisy from the cup, still unable to feel his lower lip and placed the cloth to his eye. Hvitserk was already pouring them another glass. Ivar continued to laugh.
"I know I shouldn't say, "I told you so," …" Ivar mocked, scattered chuckles joined him in the hall.
"We went -," Ubbe struggled against the pain of his swelling face.
"You went to the Saxons, and tried to make a deal, huh?" Ivar finished for him; he could hardly contain his amusement. At that moment, Ubbe wasn't angry at his youngest brother for the torment, he was just exhausted and wanted to mewl decisions, not be berated by his youngest brother.
"Where is the witch, huh?" He asked once he realized Lhyrie wasn't with them, though the smile remained on his lips. Ubbe undoubtedly wanted to knock it off his face. "You didn't let them get away with that, huh?" Ivar mocked. "They took your wife," he said slowly, making sure Ubbe registered every word. "What kind of man are you?"
"I was just trying -," Ubbe began.
"YOU MADE A BAD CALL! You two are lucky to be alive. And who knows about your wife." Ivar chuckled again and clasped his hands together. "And now it is time to recognize me as the leader of the Great Army."
Ubbe blinked hard and tried to shake his head, thinking the hits clogged his hearing. Ivar did not repeat himself, but held his arms open in anticipated praise or acceptance of his new role. Ubbe stood shakily and approached his youngest brother. One of his so-called bodyguards attempted to stop him. Despite his injuries, the ale must have eliminated some of his pain, as Ubbe was ready to strong hold him to get to his brother. "As your older brother, I will never accept that. It would be a dereliction of duty."
"I don't believe it is. I have done more for this army than you, brother."
Ubbe turned to look at the others in the hall. Hvitserk was silent in his seat. Ubbe wished he would defend him on this. Certainly he felt the same way. Ubbe scoffed away his brother's comment and turned to look at him again, though Ivar was leaned over speaking with someone next to him.
"Ivar," Ubbe said calmly, attempting to regain his brother's interest. "Ivar," he called again, his blood beginning to boil. His brother could disagree with him, but to blatantly ignore him was another insult. "IVAR!" He boomed with everything he could muster. It rang throughout the church and pulled his brother's attention back to him. "You cannot continue to fight in England without Hvitserk and me."
Ivar laughed again. "I think you will find more of our warriors will want to stay with me then go farm with you two."
"Then Hvitserk and me will take our forces away from here," Ubbe said calmly, coming to the ultimatum was easier than he had thought. There was no wayward decision from him. It was the right thing to do. They had completed their mission in England: kill two kings and earning land was a bonus. They could finally farm in England, with good fertile soil.
"If that is your decision," Ivar said simply.
Hvitserk rose to join him. They both turned to leave, but Ubbe stopped, wheeling back to stare at Ivar. "Our father would have hated you." Ivar made no comment to him and Ubbe spit his mix of blood and ale on the floor and left.
After leaving the church, the brothers went back to Lhyrie's apothecary, slowly walking through the streets. The rush of adrenaline from the encounter was wearing off and Ubbe could feel every ache and pain from the long night. Berglijot was already back at the shop, stoking the fire and bandaging her scrapes. Hvitserk went to help her as Ubbe once again collapsed next to the fire and buried his head. He gave a long sigh and wished for sleep that didn't come.
The shop door opened and for a moment he thought it was Lhyrie walking through, a basket of herbs balanced on her hip and a smile on her lips, humming some song she heard in Frankia. Blinking away the image, it was just a man he didn't recognize, or perhaps he did; at this point he didn't care. The despair had finally reached him: Lhyrie was gone. Again.
"What is next, brother?" Hvitserk asked, he held a bandage in his hand and Ubbe flashed back to Lhyrie again, sitting by the fire at his father's cabin bandaging his wounds after he tried to kill Lagertha. He wanted to shove his brother away at the thought.
"I don't know," he admitted, taking the bandage from Hvitserk. He set it down on the table, too overwhelmed to fix any of his wounds right now. His eye might swell shut, but it was a chance he was willing to take. He didn't want to admit he only trusted or wanted Lhyrie to heal him.
"Should we try to go back to the camp?" Hvitserk asked weakly.
Ubbe sighed heavily. He didn't want to discuss anything until he had a plan. "I don't know," he snapped. He told Ivar they would leave, but to where and when. He could not, would not abandon Lhyrie and their child. But he also knew they could not go back to the Saxon camp right away.
"We could go back to Kattegat and try to gather more forces," Hvitserk volunteered.
"And what if we lose men who want to stay in Kattegat?"
It was Hvitserk's turn to sigh. "What if we stay here and fight with Ivar to get her back?"
Ubbe almost punched his brother in response but was too tired. "I can not accept Ivar as the leader of the army," he said slowly, carefully. "And I will not start another war."
"But they have Lhyrie!" Hvitserk nearly yelled, slamming his fists on the table. Ubbe wished he had the strength to show his same rage with their situation.
"You don't think I feel the same way, brother?" He sniped. "She is my wife. Mine." He slammed his palms to his chest harder than he wanted and knocked some breath from his lungs. "And she is gone," he added softly.
He wanted to scream in frustration. He wanted to blood eagle the bishop and laugh in his blood. He wanted to be at peace. He wanted to start his family here in England, with the lands they were promised. He wanted to see his father's dream come alive and share it with a son named after him. But most of all, right now, he wanted Hvitserk to leave so he could collapse at this apothecary table.
"I heard there were more Danes somewhere in England," Ubbe said quietly, closing his eyes. "I could go to them."
Hvitserk nodded his head slowly and kicked his feet up on a spare chair. "Okay," he agreed. "Sleep now, brother. I will ready things."
He did not fight his brother on this one. Ubbe kept his eyes shut and placed his forehead to the table and slept easily. When he woke, his right eye wouldn't open, but the other pains of the day were weakened. Berglijot had kept the fire going for him, fiddling with things within the shop as he slept.
"Do you want to come with us Berglijot?" Ubbe asked her when he woke. "It might be good for Hvitserk."
"I think I will stay here," she said. "Lhyrie had taught me quite a lot and I can continue… without her," she trailed softly. Ubbe nodded and sniffed the dried blood in his nose. "Hvitserk gathered your things from the loft," Berglijot said, pointing to the pile of bags near the entrance of the small shop. "He is moving things to the ships already."
"Thank you, Berglijot," Ubbe told her. "You have been a great help here." His back was stiff from the awkward nap and he reached his arms above his head to stretch fully. He grabbed a bag from the doorway and headed out, toward the river and toward the boats. Tomorrow would be a promise to reunite with his wife, and nothing was going to stop that. Even brothers.