Elmenham, 873
As always, Oswald woke at dawn.
For a while, he did not rise from his bed, only staring at the wooden beams above his head. Sunlight was peering through the cracks in the thatched roof of the longhouse. Already, he could hear noises coming from outside his chambers, familiar and comforting. The servants were busy with their morning routine—and with the preparations for the events of today. Oswald sighed, turning to contemplate the space in his bed—the space that would not be quite so empty when he would retire this evening. His heart thumped in his ears.
Tonight he would go to sleep a king.
Tonight he would go to sleep a married man.
Oswald's hands were shaking a little as he cleaned himself up for the day. It had been a full moon since the battle at Burgh Castle, and his arm had healed nicely. In those weeks, Valdis had returned to Northwic with her brothers to escort Rued and the other prisoners they'd taken in battle. They also had to prepare for the wedding, not to mention arrange funerals for the warriors who had died at Burgh Castle.
Oswald had spent the last month doing much of the same. Indeed, Elmenham's little cemetery had grown bigger in those past few weeks. The men of the village had gladly followed Valdis to war, but many—too many—of them had not returned to their families. Part of Oswald felt numb that he would get married—that he would experience one of the happiest moments in his life—only a few weeks after burying people he'd known and loved since he was a child.
Life was made of such contradictions, he supposed. Eventually, fields would be sown anew and homes would be rebuilt. By God's grace, the village would once more be filled with laughter and the pitter-patter of little feet. All Oswald could do was to give his people enough time for these dreams to be realized. He owed it to the brave men now interred with the rest of his family beside Elmenham's stone church.
Eivor had also left after the battle, heading back to Ravensthorpe with her crew. She had assured Oswald that she would be there for his wedding. Promised him, even.
"And I don't make promises lightly," she had told him. "You should know that by now."
"Of course I know," Oswald had said. "Do please take good care of yourself, will you?"
He'd felt rather small and alone when she had turned to leave, waving her hand goodbye. Elmenham felt ever so empty without her stomping about and making a nuisance out of herself.
After he had broken his fast, servants swarmed Oswald to dress him in his wedding clothes. He protested, saying he was very much able to do it by himself, but as always his sensible demands were completely ignored.
"There!" Guthild said once they were done. "Very handsome, my lord."
Oswald's lips tugged upward in a wry grin. "We should be thanking the tailors, then. They've surpassed themselves."
It was true that he had never worn anything so well made; the whole of the outfit was pure white, with complex patterns embroidered in gold thread at the cuffs and collar. The fabric of his undertunic was softer than the rough linen to which he was used, and embossed with a delicate motif. A thick cloak was fastened around his neck by an ornate brooch, completing the ensemble.
Guthild kept fussing over him. "Ah," she said, sounding wistful, "your poor mother, today she would have…"
"Guthild?" Oswald prompted, remembering the harsh words she'd once reserved for his betrothed.
The old woman cupped his cheeks. "Oh, she would have been so proud! And so happy! To think that you are marrying someone who stormed a castle to save you! Isn't that something straight out of a story?"
Oswald chuckled, wondering what his mother would have made of his bride. Surely Lady Eadith would have grown to love the woman who had so heroically saved her son? "It's difficult to fathom, isn't it?"
Guthild squeezed his face with both hands, ignoring the little noise of protest he made. "Well, then, off you go!" she said, pushing at him. "You must meet with the men while the women attend to your bride. It's tradition!"
"How is she?" Oswald blurted out. "Valdis, I mean."
She and her brothers had arrived in Elmenham a day earlier, but Oswald had barely exchanged a word with his betrothed since then. He was almost ashamed to admit it, but he had missed her that past month; after enjoying her warmth and sweet kisses for a brief, all-too blessed moment, it had been hard to go to sleep every night alone in a cold bed.
"She's fine, I believe," Guthild replied. "Go on, then. You shouldn't be seeing her before the ceremony, anyway. It would be back luck."
"Of course," Oswald said, hanging down his head in disappointment.
As per tradition, while the women of Valdis's clan attended to her needs, Oswald spent time with Finnr, her brothers and some men from the village, ostensibly to profit from their wisdom. Instead, he learned to his horror that Dane and Saxon men alike held a common interest in one topic in particular. Oswald listened in mortification as his older companions shared salacious advice about the matters of the marriage bed, and he hid his face in his hands when they started to describe in minute details the 'mechanics' of the act. When Wynnstan came to fetch him, saying the ceremony should be starting soon, Oswald thanked God and all of His saints, rushing out of the longhouse as if the place was on fire.
Still, he slowed his pace as he approached the churchyard, letting out a soft, awed sigh at the sight that met his eyes. In the gentle glow of the morning light, the place was truly heavenly. The church had been decorated with hundreds of colourful flowers, just as Oswald had instructed. They filled the air with a sweet smell—a hint of spring in late summer. Banners and shields had been hung on the poles supporting the tarpaulins, while lanterns swung in the breeze, dangling from tree branches.
Already the tables were covered in food and drink. Oswald bit down a smile as he saw servants hurrying to fill them with even more plates full of delicious-looking fare. Then, a hog escaped out of a nearby pen, gleefully cutting across the courtyard to make its escape while a man rushed to catch it. Oswald snorted at the sight; Elmenham remained Elmenham, even under a thick layer of embellishment.
"Are you coming?" Wynnstan asked, snapping Oswald out of his contemplative moment. He and Finnr were waiting at the entrance of the church. "Your bride will soon be here."
"I know, but…" Oswald frowned, glancing over his shoulder. "Will you go in first? I'd like to wait for a while, so I can…"
"It's been a moon's turn, and we haven't heard from her, lad," Finnr said. "She's not coming."
"I'm sure she will be here," Oswald answered. "She's promised, after all."
"Don't tarry too long," Finnr said, shrugging. He and Wynnstan went inside the church, leaving Oswald to stand beside the stone steps.
He made sure to greet every guest, shaking their hands and bidding them to take a seat inside the chapel. Soon, a fair number of people, Dane and Saxon alike, were sitting on the pews. Still, there was no sign of Eivor.
"Oswald!" came a familiar voice. Brothir was heading his way, the villagers giving him a wide berth to let him through. "Ah, good! You haven't gone inside yet."
"What is it, Brothir?" Oswald asked. "Shouldn't you have gone to attend to Valdis?"
The man stopped, scrutinizing Oswald for a moment. "There's… well, there's something I need to say…"
"Yes?" Oswald prompted.
"When our sister married Rued…" Brothir grunted, passing a hand through his wild mane of hair. "When she married Rued, my brother and I… it seemed a good match at the time, so the two of us, we..." Again, he made a noise of irritation and grew silent.
Oswald frowned. "What is it that you mean to say?"
In response, Brothir pointed a finger at Oswald. "We were hard on you because she deserves a good marriage. Are you capable of providing for her? Of making her happy?"
"Oh," Oswald said, suddenly understanding. Valdis's brothers felt guilty for letting her marry a monster. Of course they would be wary of anyone seeking her hand afterward. "There is no reason to worry, truly. I will cherish your sister, I swear on my life."
"Better keep that promise," Brothir growled.
"All right, all right," Oswald said, chuckling. "I give you permission to punish me if I do not treat your sister like a good husband should."
Brothir's scowl softened. "I know you will. We should have trusted in Valdis's judgment. Broder is too proud to admit it, but he thinks the same. Just… don't expect to hear it from his mouth."
"I see," Oswald said, baffled and amused in equal parts by the man's candour. "Thank you for being honest with me, Brothir."
"Good. I'll, er… I'll leave you be…"
"Yes. Your sister needs you."
Again, Brothir's expression showed unusual tenderness. "She does, doesn't she? The two of us, we're her elders, but she's the one who's always watched over us. Valdis, she's… well, she's…"
"I understand," Oswald said. "I understand perfectly. She'll be glad to have the two of you by her side today, I'm sure."
Brothir nearly returned his smile—nearly! Then, he cleared his throat, and his face went back to its usual gruffness. He headed back to the village, where surely Valdis and Broder were waiting for him.
Oswald's own smile dissipated when he was gone. Now the church was almost full—and still Eivor had not arrived. Perhaps Finnr was right. Eivor had come and gone in Oswald's life in a flutter of wings, profoundly changing his existence before disappearing from it as though they had never met. Oswald wondered how many souls she had touched in such a way. He suspected the number was rather high. He wondered if that made her feel lonely, living an existence marked with farewells.
His feet turned toward the church, sand crunching under the sole of his shoes. Still, Oswald kept looking toward the village, in vain hopes of seeing a broad-shouldered figure riding into Elmenham, a cocky grin etched on that scarred face. With a sigh, Oswald climbed the steps, hand lingering on the arched entrance of the chapel.
Then…
"You've gotten better at handling disputes between Saxons and Danes," came a voice in the distance. Of course Eivor was standing there, leaning on the stone enclosure surrounding the church. Of course. "How else could you have convinced Christians and pagans to stand together under the same roof without having them at each other's throats?"
"Eivor!" A great smile broke on Oswald's face, and he rushed toward her, all propriety gone and forgotten. God, he had to keep himself from crushing her into an embrace. "Eivor, I'm so glad you've made it!" His eyebrows arched up in mock affront. "Just like you to keep a king waiting at his own wedding!"
"Yet, I arrived in the end," she drawled.
Oswald smiled, ruefully. "A part of me worried you wouldn't."
"I came for the food and the mead," Eivor said, winking and punching Oswald's shoulder in a playful manner. "Is there a wedding as well?"
"There is, there is!" Oswald said. "You won't be disappointed by what Elmenham has to offer."
There was a softness in her blue eyes now. "I told you I'd see you crowned. And now here we are."
"Without you, I'd be dead," Oswald replied. "Another wasted hope for East Anglia."
Eivor reached for something on her back, a long object wrapped in cloth. "Here… it's not much of a wedding present, but…"
"My father's sword!" Oswald exclaimed as he recognized what it was. "I thought I'd lost it in Dunwic."
"I grabbed it as we ran," Eivor explained. "I wasn't about to let Rued's men lay a finger on such a precious family heirloom."
"Thank… thank you, Eivor," Oswald said, feeling a lump in his throat at the sight of the sword. He stared at his reflection in the blade—and could almost see Lord Osmund's benevolent smile upon his own lips. Had he done right by the man? Oswald hoped so. "Once again, I am in your debt."
"Think nothing of it." She appraised him with a raised brow. "You look good, Oswald. Like a man about to marry a more powerful woman."
"Do I?" Oswald said, giving her a forced smile. "Because I'm nervous as hell."
"Of all the battles a man can fight," Eivor said, "the war against himself is the hardest to win."
Together, they went inside the church. Predictably, people began to speak in hushed whispers the moment they caught sight of Eivor. She stayed behind, leaning on a stone pillar as Oswald joined Finnr and Wynnstan beside the altar. The steward clapped Oswald's shoulder, in a surprising show of almost fatherly pride.
The church was too small to accommodate all of the members of Valdis's clan in addition to the people of Elmenham. Still, Oswald had never seen the place so full. It was strange, almost comical in fact, to have so many seats occupied by burly, battle-hardened Danes who had clearly never set foot in a church before. They seemed as out of place as he had been in Eivor's longship when they had gone to raid Serpent's Landing.
Then, everything went very quiet. Three figures had entered the church: Brothir and Broder, looking proud in their most ornate tunics. And between them was…
Between them, hands clasped together, was Valdis.
Over cream-coloured robes Oswald's bride wore a silver dress made of a fabric that shone with a slight sheen as it caught the sunlight. The middle part had been embossed with a rich pattern of leaves and flowers, and the hems were embroidered with gold thread. Grey furs hung over her shoulders, while a silver collar was clasped around her lovely neck.
Valdis caught Oswald's gaze from across the chapel, and her eyes filled with tenderness. A warmth unlike any Oswald had ever experienced bloomed inside his chest as he beheld her loveliness. He tilted his head, lips forming a soft, bewildered smile, as if he couldn't quite believe this vision of beauty was walking down the aisle to meet him. Once Valdis reached the altar, Oswald extended his hand toward hers; she brushed her fingers against his, and a pleasant jolt spread from his arm to the rest of his body.
In view of all, Oswald swore to give his new bride riches and livestock to serve as her handgeld—showing that he could indeed support a wife and a family and compensating her clan for the loss of a precious daughter. Brothir, acting in stead of Valdis's father, then offered Oswald a crate of hacksilver as her brýdgifu—her bride's dowry. Finally, Oswald passed on his father's old sword to Valdis.
"This blade you will keep for our sons to use," Oswald said, as solemnly as he could.
In exchange, Valdis presented him with a new sword, fresh from the forge. "This blade you will use to protect our home."
"I swear, on the names of my forefathers," Oswald answered.
Finally, Finnr presented them a cup of red paint—symbolic of the blood ties that would hopefully soon unite their families. Oswald marked his new wife's brow, and she did the same for him. Then, Oswald placed a ring on her finger, pledging to take her as a wife. Valdis admired the fine craftsmanship of the golden band and the cut of the gemstones. Afterward, she adorned Oswald's left hand with a matching ring, declaring she would have him as her husband.
Finnr took the crown Wynnstan was presenting to him. "I hereby name you man and wife," he announced. "And as man and wife, I name you..."
Oswald kneeled, smiling as the steward placed the golden band upon his head.
"Oswald of Elmenham," Finnr announced as Oswald rose to his feet, "first of his name, the rightful king of East Anglia... with his Lady Valdis, soul, fist, and beauty of this land!"
Oswald and Valdis exchanged a chaste kiss as the whole of the church erupted into cheers. Above their heads, the church's bells rang, a loud and joyful sound. Oswald's wife held on to his arm as he led her across the chapel, proud as a preening rooster. The moment they set foot outside, they were pelted with hundreds of flower petals by enthusiastic villagers. People were clapping and cheering, reaching to pat Oswald on the back or to squeeze his shoulder. The crowd escorted the newlyweds to the small wooden platform that had been erected beside the church, where Oswald and Valdis were expected to sit as they received gifts and congratulations.
Soon, the celebrations were in full swing. Oswald watched his people as they feasted, curious to see if Dane traditions differed much from Saxon customs. The ale flowed freely, of course; good food and drink formed a universal language, spoken by Christians and pagans alike. As they sat together on the dais, Oswald peppered Valdis with questions about her culture. Apparently, Dane brides had to sit through their wedding feast with a heavy hammer in their lap—a rather ludicrous notion, Oswald found. Other customs sounded more familiar to his ears; the sharing of the bride's ale, for one, not to mention the closure of the ceremony by a bridal race.
"The bride must always win in Saxon culture," Oswald told Valdis. "Then her husband has to carry her over the threshold of their new home."
"It is the same for us," Valdis said.
Oswald scratched the back of his head in a bashful manner. "It is a sweet tradition, I think."
"Valdis!" a burly warrior exclaimed. "How is your little groom supposed to carry you in those scrawny arms of his? They would break like twigs!"
"You should be carrying him instead!" said the shieldmaiden next to him.
From the drunken guffaws that followed those words, her suggestion was evidently very popular. Oswald idly imagined being carried in Valdis's arms, and his cheeks grew warm up as a result.
"I have no worry in that regard," Valdis replied, taking Oswald out of his sweet daydream. "I know Oswald is stronger than he looks."
I am…? Oswald nearly blurted out. Instead, he cleared his throat and said, "Yes, I will be honoured to carry Valdis over the threshold of our new home."
By then, a group of musicians had gathered before Oswald and his bride. They dedicated their first piece to the new queen, who listened in baffled silence as they began a ballad describing the battle of Burgh Castle.
Through their tale, Oswald learned more of the astonishing events that had led to his rescue. He was told of the valour displayed by the men of the fyrd who'd fought to breach the castle's defences, and of the courage shown by the Danes who'd sailed through the flames to reach the harbour. Finnr's eyes were unusually misty when the musicians lamented his ship's fiery demise. The bulk of the song, however, was centred on Valdis's exploits during the assault. That prompted a rare blush to form on her cheeks—and a sudden desire in Oswald to commission every skald in East Anglia to sing of his wife's battle glories.
When they were done, Oswald was the first to clap and cheer. One of the skalds then proposed to have people among their audience show their musical talents as well. When his lyre eventually passed to Valdis, she plucked the strings with an ease that surprised Oswald. Her voice was soft as a crackling hearth, and he felt its warm tones enveloping him like a comforting embrace. When she finished her song, all were silent, as if under a spell. Brothir was even dabbling at his eyes.
"Close your mouth when you look at your wife, lord," Eivor muttered to Oswald, "or else you'll catch flies."
Oswald snapped his mouth shut with an audible 'pop!' "God, you're right," he whispered back. "I must have looked the part of a fool."
"I don't think she minds. She keeps looking at you. You've charmed her with your sheepish Saxon ways. Who would have thought?"
Despite being gifted with the voice of an angel, Valdis was not so talented when it came to the art of dance. She moved with stiff awkwardness, kicking Oswald in the shins quite a number of times as he made her twist and twirl. Eivor was even worse, stomping around with all the grace of a bear. Oswald suspected her lacking skill had much to do with the large amount of ale she'd already imbibed.
When Oswald was out of breath from all the laughing and the dancing, Valdis dragged him back to the dais, where they shared another drink of mead. She was still smiling. Oswald could not stop staring at her lips, idly wondering if the honeyed ale would make her kisses taste even sweeter. He was taken out of these pleasant (and drink-induced) musings when some children from the village came to present their own offerings.
"Flower crowns," Godgifu said, "for you, Lord Oswald, and for your wife the queen too!"
"Why, thank you, dear one." Oswald placed one of the two flower crowns atop Valdis's head, and she adorned him with the other. "Very pretty. It suits Valdis perfectly, don't you think, children?"
Valdis raised one brow. The children shared a few looks, some nodding, others shrugging.
"I don't know," Godgifu said. "She looks less frightening that way. If I was her, I'd rather be scary, you know. That way, the boys wouldn't want to tease me so much."
"I could teach you how to fight," Valdis said, rather pleasantly. At Oswald's expression of horror, she added, "With your parents' permission, of course."
Godgifu seemed utterly delighted. She and the other children waved with much enthusiasm as they sauntered away, leaving Oswald to look at his wife in dismay.
"Her grandmother is going to give me hell for this promise," he muttered.
In response, Valdis bit down her lip, seemingly to keep herself from smiling. "It does go well with the dress," she said, running her hands on the soft, tufted fabric. "I've never worn anything made with such fine craftsmanship."
"When I saw you walking down the aisle, my heart just about stopped," Oswald blurted out. God, had he just said that? He had, hadn't he, that was why she seemed about to burst out laughing.
"That sounds like a painful affliction."
"There's a vast array of symptoms, actually." Why couldn't he stop running his stupid mouth? "Shortness of breath. Uncontrollable blushing. Occasional b-bouts of s-stammering."
"Hm." Valdis's eyes were twinkling. "You should consult a healer."
"It's fine," Oswald croaked. "I'd rather not be cured of this affliction. I'll gladly live with it."
In response, Valdis stroked his arm, looking at him in a way that made the blood rush to his cheeks. Still, Oswald puffed out his chest a little, quite pleased with himself.
There were other gifts, of course, many of them brought by the members of Valdis's clan. A great deal of these offerings, it seemed, concerned a particular topic…
"A moon's worth of mead," the Boar clan's brewer announced, to the great delight of all. "To help with the conceiving of children… and to ensure that the act of making them is even sweeter!"
"We are grateful for such a gift, Audbjorn," Valdis said, while Oswald stood stiffly beside her, very much aware of the snickers and loaded looks directed toward him.
Not long after, other men of her clan came forward, carrying a plate displaying a large boar. Its delicious aroma wafted to Oswald's nose, making his mouth water.
"The boar is Freyr's sacred animal," the oldest of the hunters explained. From the way his words slurred, it was obvious he had already drunk a fair amount of ale. "The bride consumes its flesh so her womb will quicken more easily, and the groom..." The man let out a raspy chuckle, leering at Oswald. "Well, he needs to go on and on, all through the night—"
"God, I hope not," Oswald said, horrified. Eivor and Valdis both stared at him. "I'm sorry, but that sounds painful, for both bride and groom."
Eivor let out a bark of laughter. Both Broder and Brothir looked at their sister in dismay.
"Valdis," Brothir said, "I am sorry we've let you marry a man who would say such a thing…"
Oswald rolled his eyes heavenward. "Lord Almighty, there's no pleasing you lot, isn't it?"
"What would you ask of golden Freyr, then?" Valdis said.
Oh, God, why was she looking at him like that? Oswald cleared his throat before saying, "Well, the groom needs to satisfy his bride, certainly." He looked askance, feeling like the greatest of lechers as he added, "So, not the whole night, but… long enough?"
This time, the twins laughed alongside Eivor. Broder even exclaimed, "He's finally starting to learn!" Valdis was biting down her lip. Was she stifling an urge to laugh as well? It was hard to tell. Oswald had never heard her give as much as a chuckle.
She did laugh, however, when Oswald presented her with a gift of his own later in the ceremony.
"The fiercest of the litter, I've been told," he said as he gave her a grey-striped kitten. "I thought that would make him a great protector for our home."
"You thought right," Valdis said, inspecting the little beast. "Aghi, I'll name him. With enough luck, he'll inspire terror in the hearts of his enemies."
For a while, she kept the tiny feline close to her heart, stroking his furred head. Then a group of children came to ask if they could serve the king and queen by watching over this precious gift of Freyja's. Valdis handed the kitten over, and the little ones solemnly declared they would protect him with their lives.
"Relatives of yours?" Oswald enquired after they were gone.
"Cousins," Valdis answered.
"They seem very fond of you."
Valdis adjusted the flower crown on his head. Again she was looking at him with that unusually soft gaze, the one that very much threatened to make a blushing, stammering mess out of him. "And the little ones of Elmenham love you just as much."
The implications of her words were evident. Many members of her clan were giving them knowing glances, chuckling under their breath. Some of Oswald's people were snickering as well. His face felt as if he was on fire. "Er, well…"
"Would you show me more of your home?"
Oh, thank God. "Of course," he said. "Here. I'll lead the way…"
Together they walked, arm in arm, through the church grounds. Oswald talked—or, rather, babbled—about the history of Elmenham, in an effort to fill the silence between them. After a while, Valdis asked that they sit on a nearby stone bench, citing sore feet. Oswald took out a piece of parchment from his sleeve, hoping to charm her with his latest attempt at poetry, but instead she tucked a strand of hair behind his ear and said, "You are much too nervous. You should calm down."
Then she smiled, leaned closer and… well, the piece of parchment slipped out of his hand, forgotten and unneeded.
Some time had passed when they returned to the wedding celebration. Oswald's head was mushy, pleasantly so, and he felt like he was walking on a cloud. Valdis's expression remained stern, as always, but sometimes he spied the hint of a smile on her lips. Her lips, softer and rosier than ever after so much kissing. Oswald looked away, biting the inside of his cheek to keep his stupid grin from growing too wide.
Nobody seemed to have noticed that the king and queen had gone away for a while, thankfully. Servants were bustling to furnish the tables with more food, while wedding guests continued to sing and dance and drink. For some reason, Broder was stumbling about, looking rather pleased with himself. Eivor followed him closely, grinning as well.
"Freyr's cock," Valdis cursed once Broder was out of hearing range. "Eivor, I would have thought better of you."
In response, Eivor snorted out a laugh. "I didn't know you held me in such high esteem, Valdis."
"What…?" Oswald said, brows furrowing. "I don't understand…"
"You will, sooner than later," Eivor said. She glanced at Valdis. "Much sooner. Than later. Because—"
"Gods, not you as well," Valdis grumbled. "Is that the only thing you people have on your mind? Did you all regress to the mental age of an adolescent?"
"It is a wedding," Eivor said, before grabbing Oswald by the shoulders. "A word, Oswald. There's something I need to tell you. Some wisdom I'd like to impart."
Oswald looked behind him as Eivor dragged him away. His wife was rolling her eyes, arms crossed over her chest.
"Please," Oswald said, shuddering as he remembered his morning ordeal, "tell me you're not about to share the tale of your most recent sexual conquest while pretending it's meant to help me."
"What? No, why would I—" Eivor shook her head. "I just wanted to say… often, the gods tie the thread of our fate to another's. In their wisdom, they bond us to someone who might have been perfectly made for, well…" She seemed to be searching for her words, which was unusual. "Even so, things in Midgard can keep you apart from that person. Like a marriage made for convenience." A shadow passed over her face, rather suddenly. "Made for an alliance…"
"Eivor?" Oswald said. "Are you all right?"
"I'm fine," she said, gruffly. "What I mean to say is… you're lucky, Oswald. Luckier than most. Don't squander that chance. Cherish your wife—"
"Of course I will," Oswald said, almost affronted that she would think otherwise.
"—fall at her feet, worship her—"
"All right, all right, that's enough," Oswald said, grimacing. "I understand your point, just… please, stop."
"Good. This shall be my last—my most important—lesson."
He frowned at her grim tone. "Eivor, you know you're allowed to be happy, don't you?"
"What?" she said, voice blunt as a hammer. Clearly, she hadn't expected for Oswald to dole out some advice of his own.
"You shouldn't live your life simply in service of others." He managed a smile. "You should be allowed to seek out your own happiness as well. Don't you think?"
Eivor stared at him mutely. Oswald had never seen her in such a state of disarray.
"Might I help you with your troubles?" he asked, as gently as he could. "Just as you helped me with mine?"
Her mouth twisted, and she looked away. "No. You cannot. But… the offer is appreciated."
Before Oswald could add anything, cries of dismay came from where they had left Valdis. Oswald spun on his heel, heart pounding; the crowd was pointing toward the church, where he saw—
"Look there!" said a woman of Valdis's clan. "Finnr on the roof!"
"Goodness gracious!" Oswald exclaimed. "Finnr! What on earth are you doing up there?"
"The road to Valhalla does not run that way, Finnr!" a man added, with a laugh.
"Good Lord!" Oswald said, passing a hand through his hair. "He is going to get himself killed! Eivor, would you get him down, please?"
"Of course," Eivor said, giving him a cocky shrug. "It'll be easy."
She leaped on the church wall as if she meant to scale it, prompting Oswald to scream, "Christ!" She began to climb her way up, and Oswald hid his face in his hands. Many people cried out in fright, though a few laughed instead, cheering with drunken fervour.
"God, what have I done?!" Oswald said. "They'll fall and break their necks, both of them!"
"Calm down," Valdis said. "Have a little faith in Eivor."
Eventually, Eivor reached the platform where Finnr was sitting, feet hanging from the edge. The two of them exchanged a few words. Then, Eivor slung him over her shoulder as if he was a sack of turnips, and she made her way down. When finally both of them were on solid ground, Oswald exhaled loudly. Eivor dropped him in the dirt, and Finnr grunted, running both hands over his face.
"Sorry for this, Eivor," he muttered. "I've had one last glory. I should be happy. I am happy. Thank you."
"It need not be the last," Eivor told him.
Finnr was looking at her strangely. "Not the last…"
"What were you thinking, Finnr?" Oswald asked, helping the old man to his feet. "Have you gone mad?"
"I… I was trying…" Finnr belched, prompting Valdis to utter a soft curse. "I was trying to find your… your god, Oswald. Eivor says he is mysterious and always moving, and this is… this is his house, so…"
"That is why you climbed there?" Oswald said, horrified. "You could have fallen to your death!"
"Who would have cared?" Finnr slurred. "Halfdan's far away, Valdis hates me and—"
"I would!" Oswald answered, indignantly. "Do you truly think I wish you to see you dead? And Valdis doesn't hate you, far from it!"
"If I hated you, Finnr, you would know," Valdis said. "I would have simply told you."
Finnr looked chastised. It was not an expression Oswald thought he would have ever seen on the old man's face. "My ship's gone," he said, sadly. "Up in flames it went!"
"Ships can be repaired, Finnr," Oswald said. "But lives cannot be rebuilt. You can't sail the ocean blue if you're dead, can you?"
Again, Finnr's mouth twisted. He looked at Oswald and Valdis in quick succession, clearly beset by emotion. "The Sun! And the Moon! I've chased them, running like Sköll and Hati in the sky! I've chased them, and now I've caught them! Here they are!"
"Er…" Oswald glanced at his wife. "This is the first time I've seen him in such a state. Shouldn't we…?"
Valdis guided Finnr to a seat, and she forced him to sit down. He offered no resistance, only a baffled, almost guileless look.
"Here, old man," she said. "Sit here, we'll have food brought to you. But no more ale!"
"But…"
"Show a little dignity, Finnr Olafsson! I know you still have some in that mead-imbibed carcass of yours!"
Finnr made a vague noise of agreement, looking at his feet. When a servant presented him with a plate of boar meat, the steward grabbed it meekly enough, eating with a contrite, but contented expression on his face.
Valdis rubbed the bridge of her nose. "I should have known I would find myself resolving a crisis of some sort, even on this day. Dealing with this old fool and my brothers is like herding cats."
"Still, poor Finnr," Oswald said, chuckling.
"He's always had his achievements overshadowed by the feats of greater men. A rather cruel fate, for one capable of showing his fair share of wit and bravery when the situation demands it."
"I think he's simply a man in need of a little kindness."
"You would think that, wouldn't you?" Valdis said, with a certain fondness.
Oswald opened his mouth to reply, but she silenced him with a brief kiss. His eyes lingered on Valdis's lips as she pulled away. Her smiles tended to have that effect on him.
Someone cleared their throat loudly, and Oswald startled, moving away from his wife. Eivor was smirking at him.
"Ah, Eivor!" he said. "Good timing! I was about to address our guests, and…"
"Were you really?" Eivor said.
"I was," Oswald said, in a gentle scolding. "But I could not start without you. Have you had enough fun yet?"
Eivor nodded. "Yes. I'm ready to hear you address your kingdom."
"Good!" Oswald clapped his hands. "Come, come. Join me!"
He followed Valdis to the platform. People gathered in front of them; soon, dozens of eager, curious faces were staring at Oswald. It should have been daunting to speak to such a large crowd—but the warmth brought by Valdis's presence suffused in him, and he stood before his subjects with confidence and pride.
"Friends, honoured guests," he began, "we've pushed through hard times. It seems like all we've known is loss. And suffering."
Briefly, he recalled Elmenham's graveyard, with all of its freshly dug graves. From the grim looks he could see in the crowd, he was not the only one to dwell on such sad thoughts.
"But it is not conflict that binds us," Oswald continued. "It is compassion. May we always favour compassion, even when our enemies refuse its boon. So... to my Dane friends and neighbours, I give thanks for the bravery you have shown during our collective struggles. And for my fellow Christians, may we continue standing as examples of our Lord's grace." He motioned at the crowd, voice filled with passion. "Lights in the dark! I see East Anglia's future right here. Right now. In all of you, Dane and Saxon alike. To our future!"
He was heartened to have his people cheering and clapping at his words. Brothir and Broder were the loudest among them. Finnr was nodding at him, eyes crinkled up in a subtle smile.
Then, Oswald turned to a certain Norse warrior, motioning her over. Eivor took place beside him and Valdis; were Oswald's eyes deceiving him or was that a slight blush on her cheeks?
"And to Eivor," he continued, "without whom none of this would have been possible!"
"On behalf of East Anglia," Valdis said, showing an arm ring to the crowd, "let this ring be proof of our loyalty to the Raven clan, and all they have done for us today." She gave the ring to Eivor, who took it with a rare candid smile.
"Would you have any words of wisdom for us?" Oswald asked Eivor.
Eivor turned to address the people. "I'm not one to bask in the glow of another's triumph," she said. "But I'll say this: East Anglia is safe. Under his protection, under his guidance, under his wing, the good king Oswald will keep you safe for many moons to come."
"To Oswald!" Broder shouted.
"Skal!" his brother added, and the crowd readily took up his chant. "SKAL! SKAL!"
"Skal!" Oswald and Valdis said, both of them raising their hands as well.
"Steady all!" Finnr said, clapping his hands to quiet the crowd. "And ready yourself for the wedding race, the king and his bride against all! Remember, you have to lose to our royal couple!"
"Do we have to?" Broder protested. "We can't lose to Oswald!"
"Unlike you," Oswald retorted, "I'm not drunk as a fish. At least I'll be able to go in a straight line."
His words were met by drunken laughter on the part of both brothers. It was only at this moment that Oswald noticed the man limping in the distance, well behind Finnr and the rest of the crowd. He was holding his side; what was that dark stain under his hand, Oswald wondered, eyes widening…?
"My king!" the man said, panting. "He... he—"
Then, a sword burst through his chest.
Almost in slow motion, Oswald saw the spray of blood flying in the air. Villagers screamed and ran. Children hid behind their parents. Warriors drew their weapons, all levity gone from their faces. What had been a place of peace only moments ago had become a scene of violence. Oswald watched the man fall in a pool of his own blood, face forever frozen in a mask of fear and pain. His killer stepped forward, bare chest glistening with sweat. The bite mark on his cheek—the one that Oswald had inflicted almost two moons ago—was even more swollen than before, angry and raw.
"Oswald!" Rued called out, marching toward the platform where Oswald was standing, people screaming and scrambling out of the way. "The sheep you left to guard me have been shorn! King of the sheep-fuckers! Show your eyes!"
Oswald's subjects were crying out in terror, each of their screams a dagger twisting in his heart. And he could not tear his eyes away from the red stain on the ground, where that poor man's corpse had fallen before his comrades had taken him away. Once again, Oswald was submerged with a familiar fury—the same he'd felt in Serpent's Landing, where he had refused to let his people be treated as things. He clenched his jaw, turning to Valdis. Her eyes were hard, but her brow was creasing in worry. Still, she nodded. Oswald gave her his flower crown before descending the wooden steps to meet Rued.
"I challenge you!" the warlord said, with a bloodied grin.
"I accept," Oswald said, without hesitation.
"No square," Rued snarled. "Only sweat and blood!"
"He may be wounded," Eivor said precipitately, walking over to Oswald, "but do not let your guard down."
"I won't," Oswald assured her. "Let's settle this."
"Here," Broder said, handing him a shield. "This belonged to our father. Now you are family as well. Put it to good use."
"Thank you, Broder," Oswald said. The shield was old, but sturdy, the blue and gold paint slightly peeling off. He took it, vowing to do right by its previous owner.
"I will bury you, Saxon!" Rued shouted. "I'll take all that is yours!"
Oswald did not answer; the time for words had gone and passed. Instead, he drew the sword he'd received from Valdis and readied her father's shield.
With a roar, Rued lunged forward, swinging his sword at Oswald's head. Just in time, he deflected it with his shield. Immediately after, Rued attempted another attack, one that Oswald parried as well. Rued screamed, raising his sword in a clear attempt to cleave Oswald's head split open. Oswald ducked, using his shorter stature to evade the heavy swing, and Rued stumbled on his feet.
Oswald regained his bearings before Rued did, falling into a defensive stance. The man swept his blade toward Oswald's head for a third time, and there was a shower of spark as it was deflected off the metallic rim of his shield. Letting out a scream through grit teeth, Oswald hit the man in the face with its blunt edge. Rued staggered to the side, stunned and slightly shaking.
Now clear humiliation showed on that twisted face. Roaring, Rued rushed toward Oswald, holding his sword point first. In a split second, Oswald remembered the way Eivor moved when she fought, how she seemed to use her opponent's momentum against them. That was why she could defeat men stronger and bigger than she was. Oswald spun on his heel, barely, but just enough to evade the man's blade. Rued's feet slipped, and he fell to the ground headfirst, dropping his sword in the process. Immediately, Oswald was upon him; with all the strength he could muster, he kicked at Rued's face, feeling a sick sense of satisfaction as he heard a loud 'crack!' beneath his feet.
Rued rolled in the dirt, moaning in pain. With great difficulty, he pushed himself off the ground, blood spilling out of his mouth and nose. He glanced in Oswald's direction—and Oswald saw something he'd never thought to see in those cold blue eyes.
Fear.
Rued was afraid.
Of course, Oswald thought, as everything grew clear in his mind. The Danes valued strength above all else—and Rued was all too aware of it. He was all too aware of his failings, of the true source of his weakness, of the fragile grasp he held over his emotions. He clawed and struggled to keep what he thought he was owed, terrified that his true nature would one day be brought to light. Rued's violence was one born of fear.
How many Dane warlords had preyed upon the Saxon kingdoms for that simple reason, Oswald wondered? How many years of his life had been shaped by the wars they had waged to hide this secret weakness?
How many of his people had died to assuage the fragile pride of men too weak-willed to live as anything but beasts?
Oswald's mouth twisted in disgust as he beheld the miserable creature kneeling before him. "Should a king show mercy to one so malevolent?" he called to his subjects, voice loud as church bells. "So cruel?"
Rued tried to stand, but his knees seemed barely to be able to support his weight. He looked up at Oswald, eyes wide with growing panic.
"I'll not give you the satisfaction of a good death," Oswald declared, "for my God forbids such cruelty. Therefore you are outcast, from this moment on."
"You have won!" Rued shouted, voice hoarse with desperation. "My life is yours!"
"No," Oswald said, with cold fury. "Your life is God's."
He slashed at Rued's face, marking him on the cheek—marking him as the coward he truly was. The man screamed, hands shaking as he tried to staunch the flow of blood. From behind, Oswald heard Brothir utter a soft curse. His fellow Danes were all looking on in horror. Yet, Oswald did not care.
He knew enough about Valhalla to be certain that its golden halls did not deserve to be sullied by the likes of Rued.
"Now go," he snapped, "leave my kingdom and never return."
Rued struggled to his feet. Around him, the warriors of Valdis's clan loomed tall, hands draped around the handles of their axes. Their cold eyes followed him even as he ran out of the churchyard, to the jeers of everyone present. Oswald's hand remained tightly wrapped around the hilt of his sword, until finally—finally!—that wretch of a man was out of view.
Then, Valdis was at Oswald's side, murmuring his name. She put a hand over his cheek, in a surprisingly tender gesture. Oswald tossed his sword and shield aside to stroke her face.
"Are you all right?" he asked softly.
"Why are you asking me?" she said, just as quietly. "You are the one who has just survived a duel to the death."
"I'm fine. Only, to have him of all people ruin what should be a day of peace and happiness for you, it's... well…"
"You could have died, and yet you worry about my day being spoiled. What a silly man you are, Oswald of Elmenham."
Valdis rested her forehead against his for a brief moment before letting go of him. Oswald would have preferred to linger there, basking in the bliss of having her near, but he could feel Finnr and Eivor's eyes upon him.
"A remarkable thing," Finnr said as Oswald turned to face him. "From what inner spring does such kindness run? I'd like to know." To Oswald's great shock, the steward went to one knee. "With my duties here fulfilled, I now choose East Anglia. I fight for you, my king."
"Rise, old friend, rise!" Oswald said, with a nervous laugh. "You're embarrassing me."
"A bold choice, steward Finnr," Eivor commented. "But a good one."
Finnr swayed a bit on his feet as he rose from the ground. Valdis went to help him up.
"Useless old drunk," she chided.
"Ice-cold shrew," was his reply.
Oswald narrowed his eyes at Finnr, but Valdis actually gave a chuckle. She guided the old man up the path to the longhouse, leaving Oswald alone with Eivor.
"You continue to surprise, Oswald of Elmenham," Eivor told him. "It won't be easy putting the pieces of East Anglia back together. But you won't be alone. Saxons and Danes have banded together in your name. You're the right man for the throne, and they'll be with you."
"Thank you, Eivor," Oswald said. He could feel something rising in him, inevitable as the tide. The sorrow of an imminent parting, he realized with a pang. "I don't know what to say."
"Everything I've done here was for my clan." Her eyes held the same intensity he'd seen when she had told him to cherish his marriage. Eivor was facing her own hardships, he was sure of it. Yet, Oswald was also certain that she would refuse any help he would try to give. "Their safety is my night's good rest. You know that feeling, I'm sure."
Oswald returned her smile. "I do."
"When we met, I spoke of an alliance. Will you hold to the oath you made?"
"I will." Oswald held out his hand. "Consider East Anglia a friend of the Raven Clan."
Eivor easily took it. "There will be a day when I come calling."
Oswald nodded. "Goodbye, my friend."
"Until next time, Oswald, king of East Anglia."
And once more, she turned on her heel, waving her hand goodbye with perfected nonchalance. Something gripped Oswald's heart tightly as he watched her go. He was struck by an odd feeling, almost as if he had just realized that he'd been visited by someone who was not quite real, someone who was more like a figure out of a legend. What would have happened if he had never met her, that fateful day on the road to Elmenham? Oswald did not even dare imagine. As ludicrous as it sounded, it seemed as if Eivor had been placed in Oswald's path right when he had most needed her. That realization made the heavy weight upon his heart seem a little lighter.
When Eivor's silhouette had finally disappeared over the horizon, Oswald climbed up the path to the longhouse. He found Valdis standing alone on the edge of the hill; she was contemplating the village, seemingly lost in thought.
"You've not gone inside?" Oswald asked her.
"No," Valdis answered. "I was waiting for you. You have to carry me over the threshold, remember?"
That prompted a tired chuckle from Oswald. "I think those friends of yours had the better idea. Perhaps you should be carrying me instead."
Oswald was glad to see another smile touch her lips. Then, he turned to look upon the village as well. From this height, Oswald and his wife were offered a splendid view of Elmenham, one that included the small stone church where they had just been married. Bathed in the dimming orange glow of the setting sun, Oswald's home was breathtaking in its pastoral simplicity.
Still, something still weighed heavily in his mind. "That man who was killed by Rued," Oswald began, "what was his name…?"
Valdis thought about it. "Bjarni. He married a distant cousin of mine."
"We have to make sure his family is compensated for this terrible loss," Oswald said, a wave of weariness washing over him.
"We will," Valdis replied. With a frown, she added, "Oswald, he is not the first man to die for you… and he won't be the last."
"I know." Saying these words out loud didn't make him feel any better. "He wouldn't have died if I'd executed Rued at Burgh Castle. If I hadn't shown mercy to someone undeserving of it."
"It might be so, yes. But Bjarni died protecting his king. It was a good death."
A good death. Would Oswald ever get used to that strange concept? He doubted it. Perhaps the man would have preferred to grow old alongside his loved ones. That was the end Oswald sought, anyway.
"Was I right to let Rued keep his life, then?" Oswald asked Valdis. "Instead of giving him death, as he wanted?"
"You gave him the shame of exile," she said. "In my culture, there is no greater punishment. You made him less than a man, worse than a thrall. I doubt he will survive much longer. The members of my clan could hunt and kill him, and it would be called justice and not murder."
"But I did it out of mercy, not because I wanted to shame him…" That was partly a lie. A little voice from the back of Oswald's mind kept whispering, he deserved worse, you should have swung that sword. That little voice frightened him. Had Aethelred been driven by such dreadful thoughts? Was it why he'd let himself be submerged by bitterness?
How could Oswald rule without ending like him—without giving in to the easy lure of hatred?
"Did I do the right thing, I wonder?" he asked.
"Not so long ago," Valdis said, "I would have told you that any kindness was a show of weakness."
Oswald looked at Valdis in surprise. "You don't think so anymore?"
"No." A slight smile showed on her lovely mouth. "I met someone who made me change my mind."
Oswald felt a burst of affection for the woman standing beside him—for his wife. Still, it did not fully dispel his uneasiness. "When is mercy warranted? When should I be harsh instead?"
"I don't know." Valdis took his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. "But let's find out. Together."
Oswald drew comfort from her touch—from her warmth. He laced their fingers together. "All right. Together."
