Elmenham, 873
The sun was already dipping over the horizon when Oswald and Eivor arrived to Elmenham. Two soldiers were guarding the entrance to town—Aelfwold, a burly young man who had often teased Oswald when they had been boys, and freckled Eoppa, a distant cousin on his mother's side. The two men nodded at Oswald as he rode past them, though they stared slack-jawed at Eivor.
"Look there, why is that Dane with our lord?" Oswald heard someone whispering. Wayland, a hog farmer, and the father of two of Oswald's boyhood friends. "She shouldn't stand so close to him."
"Sh. Be kind, yeah?" another man replied. Sigbert, a fisherman, married to the village healer. "As Christ would command."
Oswald greeted the two men, and they bowed their heads, respectfully. Still, he could not fail to notice how closely their eyes followed Eivor. Wayland and Sigbert were not the only ones to show her such scrutiny; the whole of Elmenham could not stop staring at the shieldmaiden riding by Oswald's side. From their expressions, they seemed to believe she was about to jump at his throat and rip it open with her bare teeth.
Perhaps she is, an unkind voice whispered in Oswald's mind. It wouldn't be the first time a Dane had treated a Saxon with unreasonable cruelty.
Oswald shooed those thoughts away. So far, Eivor had been nothing but helpful and honourable. Why would she protect him from those raiders in Beteleah, only to harm him afterwards? The idea was ludicrous.
They both dismounted near the longhouse, and Oswald handed the horses' bridles to the stable master. One glance inside told Oswald that the servants were nearly finished preparing the evening feast. He sighed in relief, glad that he could count on his people to be dependable, as always.
"This intended of yours, Oswald," Eivor said as they entered the longhouse, "who is she? One of love? Or politics?"
"Her name is Valdis," he answered. "And people don't marry for love these days, Eivor. This is an arrangement for East Anglia's benefit. She's from a family whose military might is not to be trifled with. But her brothers… their motives are selfish."
"Selfish how?"
Oswald rolled his eyes. "They do not consider me to be much of a prospect. The only way I can prove myself to them is by offering generous bridal gifts."
"And your Valdis? Have they thought to ask her opinion?"
She's not mine, Oswald thought. He very much doubted she would enjoy being considered as such. "Valdis is fine with the arrangement, only…"
"She needs permission from the heads of her clan," Eivor completed with some bitterness.
"One would think that Halfdan's blessing would be enough."
Eivor gave him a flat look. "One would think that a woman should be able to barter her own hand."
Oswald's cheeks coloured a little. He hadn't thought of the matter that way. "True enough." No wonder Valdis herself was so bitter about the entire affair. "Have a seat, Eivor. I'll see to it that you are provided with refreshments. We have only a few hours at most before my guests are here."
Indeed, Valdis, her brothers and Finnr arrived after nightfall, accompanied by a few other members of the Boar clan. Oswald's poor servants scurried about like ants to tend to their Danes guests, while Oswald guided his betrothed and her family to his table to offer them the seats of honour.
Finnr grimaced as he caught sight of Eivor, already sitting next to Oswald's empty chair. "You! What are you doing there?"
"We meet again, steward," Eivor said. "You told me where to find Oswald of Elmenham, and found him I have. Our host was kind enough to invite me to his hall as well." She raised her mug to Oswald. "Thank you for your hospitality, lord."
"You're most welcome," Oswald answered, bowing his head.
"Who's this, Finnr?" Brothir said, with suspicion.
"I am Eivor Varinsdóttir, of the Raven clan." She did not smile, though her blue eyes shone with amusement. "You might have heard of me as Eivor Wolf-Kissed."
"I've never heard of you," Broder said, bluntly.
"Perhaps if you took out that wool from your ears, you'd hear more."
Broder bristled, but Valdis lay a hand over his arm. "Well met, Eivor of the Raven clan," she said. "My name is Valdis Eiriksdóttir. And these are my brothers, Brothir and Broder. You already seem to know Finnr, the steward chosen by Halfdan Jarl."
"I've had the… pleasure of meeting him, yes."
Finnr's scowl deepened, and Oswald stifled a laugh. He wondered how that meeting had gone.
"Good!" he said, clapping his hands. "Now that introductions are done, let us sit and eat. You must all be famished from your journey."
Valdis and her family took place around the table. When finally food and drink were served, Oswald stood up again, opening his arms to address his guests.
"Lords, ladies," he said, "this is a day of peace and fraternity. I asked you here to Elmenham to offer my thanks and extend my generosity. First to Finnr, our steward, but also to our guests of honour, Brothir and Broder. And..." Oswald went to the other end of the table, where a certain shieldmaiden was seated. "And to my lovely bride-to-be, Valdis."
A servant—Guthild's youngest son Godric—was kneeling, holding a box containing one of Oswald's bridal gifts. Oswald opened it, presenting Valdis with a sword. She nodded, indicating her approval.
"You get to plow our sister because Halfdan commands it," Broder interjected from the other end of the table. "But you won't drag us into bed with you, you hear?"
"Broder, that is—" Oswald began, holding up a hand.
"The last Saxon king we backed wasn't half as mushy as you," Brothir interrupted him. "And we lost a hundred and fifty men protecting his maggoty arse!"
"Brothir," Valdis warned.
"If you're going to be rude," Oswald said, coldly, "then I must ask you to leave. This is my home, and I won't be insulted here."
As the brothers laughed, Oswald nudged at Valdis to get her attention. She looked up at him, brow creased in confusion. Before she could get a word in edgewise, Oswald pressed something into her hands. A handkerchief he'd commissioned from Alfilda, the best seamstress in the village. It was embroidered with a delicate pattern of flowers in the middle and adorned with knotwork at the corners. Broder was saying something, but Oswald only had eyes for Valdis. He saw her unfold the handkerchief as he returned to his seat. Valdis opened her mouth in surprise and she met Oswald's eyes across the table. A slight, bewildered smile was teasing her lips. Oswald felt a warmth that had nothing to do with the ale he'd been drinking.
"I'm sorry," Eivor's voice took Oswald out of his daze, "did you say something?" Had she been talking to the brothers? Oswald hadn't even noticed.
"Do I bore you, Wolf-Kissed?" Broder answered her, rather belligerently.
"I'm here to protect my clan," Eivor continued. "If that means helping your king secure his throne, well, so be it."
Brothir chuckled, putting one foot on the table and gnawing at a piece of meat on his knife. He ignored the scowl Oswald sent his way. "You'd be safer crowning the throne. It's made of less wood than this one!"
"We'd all be safer if you had the stones to stand up to Rued's clan." Eivor looked at Brothir, then at his twin, before continuing in a slow, deliberate manner, "But between the pair of you, I can't see a single nugget."
Broder leaped out of his seat, jabbing a finger at her. "You watch your tongue, Wolf-Kissed, or you'll find it freed of your face!"
"So easily wounded by words," Eivor said, with savage delight. "Imagine the ruin my axe would inflict on your… flaccid ego."
To Oswald's great horror, Broder climbed on the table, roaring, "My flaccid what?"
"Please!" Oswald said, standing as well and holding up his hands. Broder kept kicking at the plates and cups in his path as he stomped over to Eivor. "Please, stop this!"
Eivor stood from her seat, looking up at Broder with a smirk. "You heard me."
And she kicked the table from under him.
In a clatter of utensils and plates, the wooden surface toppled, sending Broder crashing to the ground as well. Screams of fright and shock spread through the meadhall. Brothir rushed out of his seat to help his brother to his feet. Valdis stood as well, face twisting with obvious disdain and disgust. Only Finnr remained sitting; he kept gnawing at his leg of mutton as if all of this was perfectly within the realm of normality.
"That's it!" Broder roared, turning to face Eivor.
"She called us flaccid!" Brothir screamed, launching himself at her.
"Limp," she drawled, easily evading his first punch, "weak, soft…" With each word, her grin grew in wickedness.
"Ridiculous!" was all Oswald could exclaim as her fist collided with Brothir's jaw. "Absurd!"
Beside him, Valdis was pinching the bridge of her nose. "This is no way to ensure I'll be queen…"
"Ha!" Finnr said, now washing his meat with a mouthful of mead. Had he stolen that tankard from another table? "Reminds me of home, those bygone days. To be so full of vigour again!"
Broder reached forward to grab Eivor, hollering like a rabid beast. She twisted out of his grasp, moving in a fluid motion to throw him over her shoulder. He landed on the ground with a dull 'splat!' From behind, Brothir lunged at her. She struck him with the point of her elbow, directly in his stomach, and the man wheezed, grabbing his belly.
"This is not how we settle disputes in East Anglia!" Oswald shouted. God, Eivor was smirking, even as Valdis's brothers stood before her once more, eyes blazing with fury.
"Brothers!" Valdis exclaimed. "Stop this! Or I'll have both your arses!
"Calm yourselves!" Oswald screamed.
Broder charged at Eivor; still, with a simple turn of the heel, she deflected him from his path, swinging him over a table instead. Pots and plates fell to the ground in a chaotic clutter as the table broke under his weight.
"That was expensive!" Guthild shrilled as a jug shattered into hundreds of pieces at her feet. "Watch out!
Finnr was laughing. "Not worth much now!"
Broder slid off to the ground, moaning in pain. Not far from him, Brothir roared in anger. He directed a flurry of blows at Eivor, who evaded or parried each of his attacks with insolent grace. When he faltered, at last, she aimed a jab under his jaw, then struck him across the face. With an undignified noise, Brothir fell like a stone.
Eivor stood alone, panting and wiping the sweat from her brow. Every eye was upon her. Silence hung heavy in the air for a moment… and then a group of men from the village leaped from their seats, cheering and raising their mugs in the air. She offered them a cocky salute in response.
"All right, now!" Finnr said, clapping his hands. "That's enough fun for tonight!
"If that's all you've got," Eivor said as the brothers finally staggered back to their feet, "it's little wonder East Anglia's in the state it is."
Broder fixed on her eyes full of hatred, wiping the blood from his mouth. Then, he turned to Oswald. "You're weak, sheepherder. Your Norse friend here can't change that. We're better off without a king."
He and his twin lumbered away, Valdis closely following behind them. Oswald caught the barest of scowls on her face as she left.
Dozens of eyes filled with concern and dismay fell upon him. Oswald's people were waiting for his guidance—and yet all he could offer them was a long, beleaguered sigh. "Well," he said, "that's me done."
"I think I prefer dream nonsense to these ale house brawls," Finnr said, gruffly. Soon, he was gone as well, leaving only Eivor standing at Oswald's side.
What a mess, he thought, looking at the sorry spectacle before him: cracked pottery, broken cups, and scraps of food scattered everywhere. A cask of ale had leaked most of its content after falling from a table, leaving a large stain on the ground. Oswald could smell its pungent odour even from where he stood.
"What a waste of time and good mead," he griped. "These brothers will never back me and my claim, now."
"This dance is just beginning, Oswald," Eivor replied, stretching and rolling her neck. "Get some rest, you'll need your energy."
"Will I see you in the morning? We have much to discuss, I think."
Eivor shrugged. "I'll find a place to lay my head."
Before she could leave, Oswald lightly touched her arm. "Eivor, if you can help me right this situation, you'll have a strong alliance with East Anglia. That much I promise."
"It will be like forging fetters from the sound of a cat's footfall." Eivor's insolent grin returned soon enough, however. "Which will make the feat of crowning you as glorious as the binding of the Fen-Dweller by wise Odin."
She then walked away, leaving Oswald to puzzle over those strange words. The three men who had cheered on her after the fight could not stop staring at her. Sigbert, his brother Sigelm, and Theodric, the town's miller. They presented Eivor with an ale horn full to the brim, and she responded by drinking it in one draft, to their great delight.
"You louts!" Guthild told the men when Eivor was gone. "Encouraging such brash behaviour… especially on the part of a lady!"
"Brash behaviour?" Theodric slurred. "I'd done the same in her situation!"
"Hear, hear!" Sigelm agreed.
"That wouldn't have been necessary," Oswald said. "But I appreciate the concern either way."
"They insulted you, lord!" Sigelm said. "They deserved the pummelling they got!"
Sigbert placed a hand over Oswald's shoulder. "You've more courage and kindness in the tip of one finger than those brutes have in the whole of their bodies. They're not worthy to call you family."
"No, they're not!" Guthild said. "Especially that grim she-devil. I dare not imagine how a good boy such as yourself could be happy while trapped in marriage to that cold woman... oh, your dear mother would have wept!"
"Don't insult my betrothed, please," Oswald chided.
"I know Christ wishes for us to be good to our neighbours, but…" Guthild raised a hand to Oswald's face. "They do not deserve your kindness, my sweet lord. They're barely human. Truly, these Danes are more like beasts than good, honest people."
Beasts. Oswald thought of Aethelred, and how his father's old friend had hoped to 'cull' the Dane infestation in East Anglia. He weakly returned Guthild's smile as she patted his cheek, though his expression grew serious the moment she had her back turned.
Like forging fetters from the sound of a cat's footfall indeed, he thought with a heavy heart.
Elmenham, 873
For the first time in many years, Oswald dreamed of the sea.
He woke up with only a faint recollection of the nightmares that had plagued him. They had been frightening and unpleasant, that much Oswald could remember. Still, those had only been dreams, mere delusions made up by his exhausted mind. He had far more pressing matters to worry about in the waking world.
Oswald found his people still cleaning the mess from last night's feast. He could also hear a chorus of snores coming from the other end of the longhouse; that was where his Dane guests were sleeping, evidently enough. Oswald felt a twinge of shame as his poor servants fussed over him, wasting more of their precious time to serve his morning meal. When he was finished eating, Oswald asked Guthild if she and the others needed his help. Guthild answered with a categorical, "No!" before pushing Oswald out of the longhouse, telling him that spending time outdoors would do wonders for his poor, ailing nerves.
Indeed, the morning air was fresh and crisp, and each breath cleared his lungs. Only a few indolent clouds hung low in the pale orange sky; hopefully, they would be blessed with beautiful weather today. Oswald's people greeted him warmly as he made his way to the river's edge, though he could spy a certain tension on their faces.
The source of that unease soon became clear. On the docks stood a lone figure with a shield marked by a gold and blue sigil. Oswald's heart beat faster at her sight. Hiding sweaty hands behind his back, he headed toward his bride-to-be.
"Good morning," Oswald told Valdis, in what he hoped was a light tone. "I see you've found my favourite spot in the village."
Valdis startled, but soon enough she was frowning, as always. "Pardon me?"
"I, er…" Oswald had barely spoken, and already he was making a mess of things. "Before I start my day, I enjoy contemplating the river. I find the sound of flowing water rather soothing. And it's lovely to see the morning sun glistening on the surface, don't you think?"
Valdis stared at him with the same leaden expression. She thinks you sound like a fool, that unkind little voice whispered in Oswald's mind. Still, despite his embarrassment, he managed to keep smiling.
"Your hometown," Oswald blurted out, "was it near a body of water?"
Was that a slight show of surprise on her face? "My village was built near the sea," she answered. "The Boar clan was renowned for the skill of their shipbuilders."
"That's fascinating. I didn't know that yours is a clan of skilled craftsmen."
"Was. Was a clan of skilled craftsmen."
What does that even mean…? Oswald wondered. He decided not to push the topic further. "Do you miss it sometimes? Your hometown, I mean?"
"No. The past is behind me. I have other things to worry about." Valdis narrowed her eyes at him. "And so do you."
"Right," Oswald said, evading her gaze. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry. That feast yestereve was a disgrace, and for this, I apologize—"
"Why?" Valdis said. "Why do you apologize? The fault is not yours. My brothers and Eivor were the ones to start that fight."
"I was a poor host," Oswald sputtered, caught off-guard by her interruption. "I should have stopped them before—"
Valdis only continued to frown at him. "What a strange man you are," she said. "Always apologizing even when it's not needed."
Oswald inwardly cringed. Coming from her mouth, that did not seem like a compliment.
"I have to go," Valdis said, suddenly. "I must prepare our return to Northwic."
"I'll leave you to your business, then," Oswald mumbled. Good Lord, his cheeks must have gone crimson with shame. "Good day, Valdis."
He let out a sigh as he watched her leave, then looked upon the river. In other circumstances, Oswald would have gone for a quick swim to ease his worries. Instead, he began shovelling hay at the behest of old Hunstan, one of the few drovers still willing to make the journey from Elmenham to Northwic. As he worked, Oswald found himself surrounded by a group of children. The little ones kept asking questions about the surly guests he'd welcomed at last night's feast. Guthild's little granddaughter Godgifu showed a keen interest in Eivor's person ("Why is she dressed like a man? Do you think my mother would mind if I carried an axe and a shield like her?"), while Theodric's sons Theobald and Theowulf were eager to hear more about the brawl that had pitted her against Valdis's brothers ("Two against one, and she still won? Those Northmen aren't as tough as they look, then!").
When the children were gone, Oswald heard Valdis's voice coming from up the path to the village. "Clear the mess in the longhouse," she was saying, speaking in the Dane language. "And wake my brothers with the coldest water you can find." There was a pause, then she said, in a surprisingly light-hearted tone, "Eivor! Good to see you."
"You are Oswald's powerful bride-to-be." Oswald recognized that low, raspy voice. Eivor had risen early as well, then. "Valdis."
"I'm not his," Valdis said, and Oswald felt a dull pang at the bluntness of that statement. Of course he was already aware of that fact, but… "This marriage is to be an alliance. Nothing more. Besides, the man can barely carry a sword or speak with conviction."
"Oswald is many things," Eivor said, "but a gifted leader he is not."
He can barely speak with conviction. A gifted leader he is not. Oswald stopped sweeping the hay, feeling a frown settling upon his brow. The people working at the docks were looking at him with concern. Hunstan seemed ready to march up to Eivor and Valdis to give them a piece of his mind. Oswald only tightened his hands around his hayfork, continuing to work as if he had not heard what they had said.
"Still," Eivor continued, "of everyone I have met here, he is the only one willing to be responsible for the place. Surely that amounts to something?"
There was a slight silence, then Valdis said, "I will leave you to your day. You can find Oswald by the docks. Watching the river calms him, apparently."
Oswald raised his head at these words, looking up the path. Indeed, Eivor was making her way toward him. The villagers gave her a wide berth as she made her approach, looking at her with suspicion and even a touch of fright.
"Ah!" Oswald said. "Good morning. Up bright and early, are you?
"You can labour like a thrall," Eivor said, looking him up and down, "but you're no good with feasts. Not a good start for a king."
"No, indeed," Oswald answered. "I find a solitary comfort in my menial labours. Not something a king should admit to, I suppose."
Eivor sat at a table behind him. Oswald could feel her scrutiny as he continued to sweep the hay.
"The brothers shamed you at dinner," Eivor said. "It's your duty to answer their insults. Don't let the matter lay unresolved."
Oswald frowned, setting his hayfork aside. "Oh, it was a petty row with henhouse wolves. I'd sooner answer the moo of a cow than worry about their insults." He leaned against the hay through, crossing his arms. "I have a wedding to plan and a kingdom to save. I haven't time to suffer fools."
"They betrayed your hospitality, Oswald. Where I'm from, that's a grave insult."
"Well, well," a coarse voice said, interrupting Oswald before he could reply. Finnr was heading toward them, looking rather well-rested considering just how much he had drunk last night. "Here's the mud-soaked Saxon who's been taxing my patience…"
"Steward Finnr..." Oswald raised his eyes heavenward. "I know I failed to impress at dinner yestereve, but fear not. Valdis' brothers will come around in time."
"You stake claim to the throne, you dazed dog with no bone," Finnr said, in a rather odd cadence. "If Halfdan Jarl were here, he'd squeeze ale from a stone, yelling 'Finnr, my drengr, stick this cur in the ground!'"
Eivor shook her head, standing up. "All mewling and spitting, here's Finnr, the hound," she said, in an equally strange rhythm. "He has bark but no bite, just a puppy, I've found."
Finnr laughed and clapped his knee. Oswald stared at the two in confusion.
"Wait," he said, "what just happened?"
"That's flyting, Oswald," Eivor answered. "Using rhythm and rhyme to lay a man flat. Try it, match his verse."
"There's no man you can lead," Finnr began, "you dunce of the fyrds…"
"Uh..." Oswald racked his brain trying to find a witty response. The villagers had—understandably—taken their distance when Eivor and Finnr had come near, but Oswald could still feel their concerned gazes upon him. "Em... a glutton you are, just stop eating your words!"
Finnr's thick eyebrows rose slightly. "Not bad, not bad..."
Eivor leaned toward Oswald in a conspiratorial manner. "He's an ugly puss, so when he brags, hit him back with something about his looks."
Finnr rolled his eyes, though he said, "I hail from the North where the winter's our season..."
"But you're foul," Oswald said, "you're a blister, you're a... a..."
Eivor smirked. "Plague-ridden lesion."
"Oh, yes!" Oswald said, with a chuckle. "That's very good. Plague-ridden lesion."
"He's got the wit of a boar," Eivor continued, "so when he insults you, make him feel stupid."
Finnr threw a weary glance at Eivor, clearly unamused by her choice in topics. "When I'm done with you, cur, you'll be raven-flock food..."
"But your brain's soaked in mead and your..." Oswald snapped his fingers, unable to find a proper conclusion.
"...head's made of wood," Eivor finished.
"Wood!" Oswald said, laughing. "Head's made of wood!" He could still feel the villagers' scrutiny upon him, but their worry seemed to have turned into curiosity. Oswald even spied a smile or two directed toward him.
Eivor jutted her chin at Finnr. "Under all that posturing is a snivelling boy, so dig deep. When he brags, take a jab at his manhood."
Finnr pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering something under his breath. Still, he rose to Eivor's bait, saying, "I've sailed squalls and north winds. You? Not even a breeze."
"But the winds that you sail..." Oswald said.
Eivor's grin grew wicked. "...blow between both your knees."
"Blow between both your... Oh!" Oswald returned her smile, filled with a childlike delight he'd not felt for many years. His adolescent self would have rather enjoyed this game of words and wit, though he imagined his father would have been appalled to see him acting in such a manner. "You mean farting! Ha!"
"Oswald, my boy," Finnr said, shaking his head, "you're useless without your raven. This one's wrong for the throne! He's too soft and too tame..."
"Hit him back and make it personal," Eivor said, with some savagery. "Attack his mother."
"When you crawled from the womb," Oswald said, pointing at Finnr and imitating the cadence she'd used earlier, "you were ugly and lame! Your poor mother, she fainted away from the shame!"
A few chuckles followed Oswald's declaration, and he found himself sporting a boyish grin. Finnr's mouth was hanging open in an unflattering way. The steward seemed at a genuine loss for words.
"Well spoken," Eivor said. "Before sword clash and blood flow, we destroy our enemies with well-timed words."
Oswald's smile grew a bit bashful, and he scratched the back of his head, touched by the genuineness of her praise.
"You have a talent for verse, I'll give you that," Finnr said. "But how long will that silver tongue hold up against an iron axe?"
Oswald remembered Valdis's earlier words. I've learned to speak with conviction, he thought. Now is the time to show I can carry a sword as well. "Let's find out, Finnr. I challenge you to a holmgang!"
His declaration was met with a heavy silence on the part of his two companions. Finnr even winced.
"You don't mean that, Oswald," he mumbled, clearly uneasy.
"That's a fight to settle disputes, no? A holmgang?"
"A fight to the death, yes," Eivor said grimly.
The blood left Oswald's cheeks. He glanced about, hoping none of his people had heard these words. "Let's… let's talk it out, then."
Finnr shook his head, giving a nasty laugh.
"Too late," Eivor said, "the challenge has been made. But a fight against Finnr wouldn't be anything to boast about. You'll fight me."
"Hold on," Oswald said, raising his hands, "this is—"
"That said," Eivor said, in a lofty tone, "I shouldn't be seen killing a Saxon in the streets of Elmenham."
"There's a nice islet downriver, near Seahenge," Finnr said with a nod. He and Eivor seemed to be sharing some secret jest at Oswald's expense. "The water will wash the blood clean away.
Oswald felt faint. The blood…? A vision of him lying eviscerated on some beach flashed in his mind. God, why had he not just kept his mouth shut, just for once?
"Prepare the square and we'll meet you there." Eivor turned to Oswald. "I hope you're ready."
He held his head, feeling the telltale sign of an incoming migraine. "I have to be," Oswald managed. "Just give me a moment to mentally prepare."
"Do not make us wait long, it would not be kingly." And she turned to walk away, Finnr closely following after her.
As he watched them go, Oswald thought of the dream he'd had the preceding night. He had dreamed of the sea—
—and he had dreamed of drowning.
Superstitions, Oswald could almost hear his father saying. Yet, a sense of foreboding clouded his mind as he made for the longhouse. He wondered what Lord Osmund would have said about his son's dire predicament.
Not to mention the strange company that Oswald was now keeping.
Oswald mulled over these thoughts as he found his father's sword and shield, proudly displayed on a wooden beam in his quarters. The shield felt too heavy in his hand, and the sword—
Oswald gazed at his reflection in the blade, and the distorted face of a frightened young man stared back at him. People said he resembled his father, but Oswald could not see it. Osmund had looked every inch the part of the proud lord with his solemn bearded face and straight-backed, regal bearing. In contrast, Oswald seemed only fit to look after hogs or sheep. With a sigh, he sheathed the sword, heading out of the longhouse to meet his fate.