Chapter 2 - La Mère, We Finally Meet
Welcome to the first chapter of the second story I've posted on the internet! Thumbnail by: Isbjorg User Profile | DeviantArt
Warning: this story will have very triggering subject matter throughout. Individual trigger warnings will be placed with chapters when appropriate. Any feedback is really appreciated.
Triggers for this chapter: violence, vulgar language.
The night had finally come. The night the brothers Ragnarsson would come face to face with La Mère des Secrets.
The very woman who had eluded capture long before the great heathen army set foot on the English isles was within reach. The halls of Tamworth had been reverted to its meticulously well kept state. The walls were adorned with fresh flowers, apparently a favored decorum of the de la Croix's. Ubba thought Ceowulf would've hung up several crucifixes since apparently "de la Croix" translated into "of the cross."
That wasn't even their original surname. The previous head of the family, Aucassin de la Croix the first, was such a zealous Christian he changed it to match his beliefs. He made King Aelfred of Wessex look like a hellish sinner.
Pressure continued to mount among Repton's soldiers as the time to strike drew closer. Ubba still couldn't fathom as to why someone like La Mère would want to ally with anybody, let alone Mercia. The most he could attempt at rationalizing her actions was she would be allying with a formidable army by proxy.
But she had to know how many had lost their lives because of the "services" she offered.
From what he gathered on the de la Croix's they couldn't pose a threat to anyone beyond competing fabric makers.
What did they have over La Mère to make her take such a drastic course of action? It had to be something so compromising she had no other choice but to seek help. The greatest Viking army in England, no less.
She already held power in numbers. What's a few warriors to her?
One thing Ubba knew for certain was she would answer to all the wrongs she caused. She will only earn the title of ally, but not be one to him.
The de la Croix's responded to Ceowulf's call almost immediately. They probably figured a king's personal audience would grant them his favor. It would certainly open up a plethora of financial opportunities.
Based on their trade they'd probably want to supply quality fabrics. A seemingly frivolous yet worthwhile display of wealth which could further secure Ceowulf's status as king.
Ubba chuckled though, knowing they must be oblivious of what was to come: their ultimate demise.
Just another day in England.
Ubba loitered in the corridors of Tamworth with Ceolbert, Ivarr, and now Eivor Wolf-Kissed. Word had reached her ears of this high-risk arrangement and she offered her help.
It was good to see an honorable fighter like her by their side.
Eivor's presence was especially important because she'd been tasked with initiating La Mère's great reveal. Ceowulf wasn't kidding when he said there was an elaborate plan the elusive information broker had concocted.
And it involved a poem of all things.
Ubba appreciated poetry like many in his culture did. But this was superfluous given what was at stake. La Mère would present herself to Ubba and his company with a guard who'd "stand out from the rest" to use her exact wording. Then they were to recite the first stanza of a poem she wrote.
Eivor, a far more skilled poet than anyone in their ranks, was the obvious choice for that.
Ubba was growing increasingly annoyed with La Mère operations. They came off as immature, dramatic antics than a solid strategy. He already took great care to avoid her for her dishonorable lifestyle. Now he was glad simply because he cared not for these types of plans.
Still, he knew they were at her mercy. His eye twitched at the memory of that detailed account of the river Trent battle. Going along with a bizarre plan should be the least of his worries.
His fellow drengr and Mercia's aethling enjoyed mead and wine as the de la Croix's henchmen passed by. Ivarr glared at them, making choice comments about their fancy armor.
"Ubba Ragnarsson," a man's voice called out to him. Ubba glanced up to see a man bearing Francian robes walking towards them. Based on the wrinkles in his face and silver mixed with his dark brown hair he must've been around Ubba's age.
"I do not believe we've been introduced. I am Aucassin," he said politely.
Ubba nodded at him in greeting. He tried to hold back a chuckle at the Frenchman's ridiculous robes. They were chocked with ornate golden threads in elaborate designs. They must've cost a shamefully large sum of coin. They looked more like a costume than everyday wear.
I don't think I'll mind killing you if it comes to that.
"Hello! How are you enjoying Tamworth?" Ceolbert asked.
"It is an honor to be invited by the new king of Mercia," Aucassin said, bowing to Ceolbert. Aucassin's brown hair was in serious need of an even trim, an unusual trait for someone who clearly held fashion in high regard. Aucassin also possessed a rather bizarre accent. A hybridization of English and French gave his voice a rather comical twang. Ubba once again tried to stifle a chuckle by gulping down some mead.
Ivarr however did not bother trying to hide how amused he was. Aucassin cocked an eyebrow at Ivarr but seemed to shrug it off.
"RAAAA!" A woman suddenly yelled. Ubba followed the ruckus to see a tall woman charging at Aucassin with top speed. She was grinning like a madman, almost like Ivarr when he honed in on his next kill.
"Mon dieu!" Aucassin shouted, holding his hands up in defense. The woman tackle hugged the bewildered Aucassin and spun him around, laughing loudly.
"Why must you be an insufferable pest, Yvette?!" Aucassin whined, his voice swaying with each spin.
"Oh brother, what kind of sister would I be if I didn't pester you at least twice a day?" The woman asked sarcastically. She plopped him firmly on the ground before tussling his hair.
"This makes five so you're well above meeting your quota," Aucassin grumbled.
Ubba smirked at the pair. This Yvette woman was a character for sure. He expected nearly all French people to be snooty, but so far Yvette defied those expectations.
A refreshing change of pace.
"Why don't you leave us be and go pout somewhere else? You'd be far more productive tonight if you managed to finally scope out a wife! Give me some nieces and nephews already!" She teased.
Aucassin's face flushed red and his sisters' crass remarks before storming off.
"Someone's pride is easily bruised," Eivor remarked.
"He's what you people call a 'bacraut,' if I'm not mistaken, Yvette joked, brushing her frizzy hair out of her eyes. It matched Aucassin's in both brown and unkemptness, though it seemed to reflect her personality in a far more charming way than her stingy brothers.
"Yvette de la Croix, that bacrauts younger sister. Pleasure!" She greeted them cheerfully.
She shared the hybrid Francian-Saxon accent as Aucassin but her cheery mood made it more bearable. Her face had a few thin but distinguishable wrinkles, undoubtedly from the smiles she had from enjoying her life without a care in the world.
I probably will mind having to kill you.
"Insufferable pest is the friendliest way to describe you," another woman's voice caught Ubba's attention.
A woman roughly the same height as Yvette approached them slowly. Her robes were far plainer. Thick, loose-fitting woolen fabric covered her from head to toe. Ubba recognized it as the uniform for Christian nuns.
What was peculiar about her was her face was almost completely covered by an equally thick woolen veil. Her brown eyes peeped out through a narrow slit, making that and her clasped hands her only exposed skin.
"Do you French people always appear out of nowhere?" Ubba asked.
"Seems to be a habit of ours." Yvette said, shrugging.
Yvette grabbed a goblet of wine left on a nearby table and poured herself a glass. "What brings you this way, Sister Bernadette? It must be urgent to have the meanest, cruelest – "Yvette drawled.
"Most devoted nun you've ever met!" The nun interrupted.
"Not the phrasing I'd use, but I'll let your head remain up your ass about it!" Yvette laughed.
"Aucassin is right to criticize your immaturity. But even I would never imagine you associating with the likes of pagans," Sister Bernadette growled.
Ivarr twiddled with his axe holsters to threaten the nun. Though tempting, Ubba glared at him in hopes of mentally restraining his brother.
Their time to strike would come soon enough, whenever La Mère finally decided to show up.
"I associate with whoever I damn like. After all, we were invited here by King Ceowulf?" Yvette argued.
"A good, Christian king!" Sister Bernadette spat.
"Who betrayed his Christian king to get the throne, as you recall? Does the eighth commandment not say 'you shall not bear false witness?'' Yvette shot back.
Sister Bernadette's brows furrowed, the only visual signal of how embarrassed he must've felt. "Hmph!" She scoffed before holding her head high and walking away. The group booed at her until she disappeared around the corner.
I would LOVE to kill you!
"What's up her ass?" Ivarr asked.
Yvette clicked her tongue. "There's...actually an understandable reason." She said. She propped herself up on the wall and crossed her arms.
"Five years past. Your men wiped out her village. Death spared no one that day. Including her husband and three children," she said somberly.
"Dear God!" Ceolbert gasped.
"The veil is to cover her disfigured face, burns scars. She's dedicated herself to the faith since that terrible day," Yvette sighed.
Ubba ran a hand through his hair. It was well within their way to bring fire and fury onto villages like that. The ways of war commanded it. Knowing it birthed vengeful figures like that nun wasn't too worrisome to him.
If Sister Bernadette's idea of vengeance was open discrimination against Norsemen and Danes, with ever insult she gave she also gave anyone a just reason to remove her head.
But something was off with Yvette's story. The main giveaway being a subtle smirk she bore. She suddenly started to giggle, trying but failing miserably to hold back a laugh.
"Oh, you bacraut!" Ubba laughed.
Yvette giggled mischievously. "I couldn't help it! Nah, she's just a prejudiced ass. Pay her no mind," she reassured them. She patted Ceolbert on the face who was rubbing his temple.
Despite the pleasant company, Ubba was growing impatient. La Mère could be any woman here. Hell, it wouldn't surprise him if La Mère was actually a man who used a woman's name as yet another shroud to cower behind.
His blood started to run hot as he tried to guess where she was. If La Mère was truly among them, they'd surely be in their sight soon.
He glanced at Eivor, being sure she shared his frustration. But she appeared to be transfixed on something across the hall. He followed her gaze and saw that something - or rather, someone - was Sister Bernadette.
This time the nun was accompanied by a young man. He wore thick leather armor and a well-polished lyre on his holster. The man glared at the group across the way. His pitch-black eyes and matching hair were stark against his ghost white skin.
Ubba eyed the stranger carefully. Now who might you be?
"You de la Croix's, seem so proud and noble. But in truth, you are schemers, betray when you're able," Eivor said slowly.
"Eivor?!" Ubba whispered harshly. He looked at Wolf-Kissed in shock. That was the first part of the poem to recite in the face of La Mère.
Surely Eivor couldn't possibly think this bacraut of a nun was La Mère des Secrets?!
Sister Bernadette was clearly a young woman whereas La Mère had to be senile. Ubba's mind became a flurry as he scrambled to come up with an excuse for her actions.
Yvette's expression was blank. Perhaps the wine had clouded her judgement, buying Ubba some precious time.
"Go on," Sister Bernadette coaxed Eivor. Ubba gulped as he waited for whatever was to come.
"'Twas indeed the case when the youngest of all, was beaten and raped. Yet they let her fall," Eivor finished. Seemingly satisfied with her delivery, Eivor stood tall and crossed her arms.
Your move.
"It is for my songs, brothers, sisters and daughters. I have no qualms with bringing your slaughter," Sister Bernadette said. The tone of her voice had transformed from prim and proper to something resemblant of a purr.
Ubba gawked at the nun. That was the second stanza.
He looked at his brother whose expression almost seemed to say "you have got to be fucking kidding me?!"
"What...is happening?" Yvette asked nervously. She separated herself from the group and slowly walked towards Sister Bernadette.
A fools move.
"We will cherish your screams until your spirits begone! And my true family's song rings forever on!" The crazed nun declared. The last stanza had been voiced.
A presentation, the poem, and a guard. It was clear as day to Ubba.
Sister Bernadette was La Mère des Secrets.