I know, I know! Two updates in a month! Who am I? But I have an interview coming up so I needed the distraction from stress (and maybe to procrastinate… maybe). I can't believe we are finally in England! Can you believe I thought I'd have this part written last year? Lol, I'm so funny with my unrealistic goals. Not so much happens but I had a lot of fun writing it and I hope you enjoy! Thanks again for all of your reviews and follows and faves. It means so much to me!
The ship creaked loudly, the only sound other than light snoring. Ivar was awake. It was the first night onboard and he could not sleep. He hated the sloshing of the water against the side of the boat and he abhorred the waves and he despised how bright the moon was in the sky, like it might be laughing at him for his fear of the sea.
Dagny had stood on the prow of the dragon-headed longship beside Sigurd when it left the fjord of Kattegat this morning. She had not even set her bow and quiver down before following his brother to the front of the ship. They were still slung across her back as she watched the boat make its way through the water and out of the fjord. She and Sigurd had been smiling, the apparent amazement of seeing the open water for the first time smoothing even Sigurd's rough edges. Neither of them had been on raid before. Neither of them had ever left Kattegat. Ivar didn't know how they could be so pleased to see something that haunted his darkest dreams. Open sea, dark water, murky waves.
Dagny was still grinning when she made her way to the stern, passing the oarsmen and beneath the sail. Her hair was only half pulled away from her face and the rest was curling in the already damp salty air. Some men said women should never be allowed aboard a ship, that they provoked the goddess of the sea, Rán, and made her jealous. Dagny was the only girl Ivar had ever seen that a goddess had a right to be envious of. If she sank their ships, so be it.
She went to Hvitserk and Ubbe, who were organizing their weapons. Ivar could hear them talking from his vantage point across the ship. Dagny shed her large bow, its wooden body the length of her torso.
"You seem in an unusually good mood," Ubbe said, taking her bow. Hvitserk quirked an eyebrow, slicing into an apple a bare hour into a three day journey.
"I am," Dagny replied and shrugged out of her quiver's strap. "It is a great day."
"You're kidding," Hvitserk said. She scoffed and handed the quiver to Ubbe.
"What are you talking about?" Ivar saw her cheeks redden.
"Oh, you know what I'm talking about! It is all over your face. You are completely different today." He ignored Hvitserk's sly glance in his direction. "I can't believe this. Tell me everything."
"Stop teasing her about it, Hvitserk," Ubbe said. Hvitserk rolled his eyes in response. He seemed ready to put the past aside and just be Dagny's friend. She must be glad of that. "I'm happy for you." Ubbe patted Dagny on the arm like she was his younger sister and smiled. Ivar recognized it as something bittersweet, though still unfailingly charming. After all, it was Ubbe.
Hvitserk looked between Ubbe and Dagny, as if trying to adjust to an entirely new world, one where he had been usurped as Dagny's closest friend, as her lover. Before he went on raid with Bjorn, he'd known things to be one way. When he returned, nothing was the same. Ivar actually wanted to feel sorry for him. But Hvitserk's expression softened. Perhaps he was adjusting well.
Dagny came across the ship to him not long after and sat beside him, so close their arms were touching. Their backs were against the side of the boat. Men's eyes had watched Dagny as she approached and they had looked at them together then. Ivar reveled in it.
She had a small bottle in her hand. "What's that?" he asked with a nod.
"It's something in case I get seasick," she replied without looking at him. "I have no memory of ever being on a ship, though I'm told that when I arrived in Kattegat, I was incredibly ill."
Ivar didn't remember that. He'd been so young at the time that it felt like Dagny had always been in the household. But Ubbe probably remembered it. Still, Dagny did not strike him as someone who would be sick off the waves. She had walked to the front of the ship with a confidence that came from enjoying it. She had not even stumbled or lost her balance the way many new to boats often did. She had not brought the draught for herself. Ivar wanted desperately to hate her for it but he had never known anyone other than his mother to show him that level of compassion, of sincere caring.
"I don't get seasick," he said.
"You don't?" she asked, genuinely curious.
"No, what bothers me is being on the water at all. The thought of drowning. I cannot swim." Ivar often dreamed of the waves closing over him, losing sight of the light of the sun, being so deep that he was unsure if he was floating to the bottom or the top.
"Well, I can swim," she said.
"And what good does that do me?" Ivar responded.
"It means I'll save you if you fall overboard."
He scoffed. "You are not that strong a swimmer."
"Indeed, I am. I'm a better swimmer than Ubbe, am I not?" she said loudly enough for Ubbe to turn. He gave her a look that Ivar knew well, one of a more mature older brother. "We raced to the center of the lake in the woods last summer. Who won?"
Ubbe groaned. "You did."
"We had two rematches. Who won?"
"You did." Ubbe pretended it galled him but Ivar saw that he loved it. He'd probably let Dagny win just to have the excuse to race her again.
"So you see," Dagny began, turning back to him, "I could save you from the water."
Ivar was thinking of that now, as his stomach was churning and most everyone else was asleep. It was the middle of the night and the sea had a way of becoming even more daunting under only the light of the moon.
His brothers and Dagny were all crowded together at the stern of the ship, a pile of bodies and limbs. Bjorn was doing his best to not touch the others but inevitably failing. Ubbe was laid out long, arms and legs extended so that Hvitserk was pressed up against Dagny's back, an arm sloppily thrown over her waist, as if he just couldn't find anywhere else to put it. She was on her stomach, one hand under her head and the other stretched toward Ivar. If he was asleep, her fingers would be on his chest. Sigurd had managed to squeeze into the space between their heads and the railing, half of them using him as a pillow. They were peaceful now and Ivar thought they looked like a Roman painting from Ecbert's hall, entwined together like they were casting a spell.
On any other night this might have bothered him but Ivar had had Dagny and everyone aboard knew it. It helped that she seemed thrilled by it, that she was happier today than she had appeared for the last couple of weeks. It also did not hurt that Dagny was a real prize, a girl of beauty and kindness and skill, and the warriors in the army would know that she'd bestowed favor on him. Ivar was no longer just intelligent or worthy of pity. If he had control of the great army, he would have it all.
Dagny's free hand grabbed at the air and when it found nothing, her eyes fluttered open. "Ivar?" she murmured, voice thick with sleep and grogginess. "Are you on watch?"
"Yes," he lied. She smiled and propped herself up on her elbow, hand under her chin. Hvitserk groaned at the movement but didn't move his arm. Ivar's blood wanted to bubble like a pot full of stew but Dagny's grin was wry and her hair was frizzy with sea air. He remembered the night before, when she had been kind and patient and every inch of her skin had gleamed like silver.
"It would be no easy feat but I could get them to move," she jerked her head towards his brothers, "and then you could be in the middle. You need to rest." She blinked once, took stock of Hvitserk's arm, and moved away from him. Suddenly she was so close that Ivar wished he were laying down.
"Go back to sleep, Dagny. Save your healing for someone who needs it," he said. Half the things she had brought aboard were bandages and tinctures, as if she anticipated being told to remain behind when the battle started. For all that Ubbe trained her, he'd only ever counselled caution in Ivar's hearing. Your leg isn't healed. You aren't quick enough. You see better from a distance. Dagny's leg may never be right again and archers fought in the shield wall frequently. Ivar could see that she wanted it. After all, she had killed one of Lagertha's fabled shieldmaidens. There was a scar on Astrid's cheek from a blow Dagny had never intended her to recover from. Were Ivar the leader, he'd give Dagny command of the archers. He'd give her free rein to fight where she so chose.
He hoped it was because he recognized skill in her, not just some wretched affection that made him want to bow to her whims.
She sighed suddenly. "Fine. Do not listen to me and fall asleep on your chariot while Bjorn kills Aelle."
She meant it as a joke but Ivar grimaced. Bjorn didn't deserve the honor. He may have been Ragnar's favorite many moons ago but it was Ivar who went to England. It was Ivar who bore witness to what happened and came back with the message of what his father wanted.
"Well, I am awake now," Dagny murmured, her palm pressed flat against his chest. His heartbeat mimicked those small birds at the market, flapping their wings against the cage so hard it's unimaginable that they haven't broken free. People said Ragnar had been manipulated by a slave woman, that she'd played a good game and ensnared him with drugs from her homeland. Ragnar overcame it by drowning her, at least that's what Ubbe and Hvitserk said. Ivar did not want to be rid of the magic Dagny wove into her touch. He had no desire to see things with her finished.
He leaned forward and kissed her. She tasted like the sea, all salt and spray, and he wanted it to never end. He thought of the night before, how he'd untied the neck of her gown and kissed the line of her throat, the valley between her breasts, the skin across her ribs. He ached for it to happen again.
Dagny pulled back and murmured, "I love you." Ivar's chest tightened and if he did not know any better, he would think he was ill.
"What god have you angered to curse you so?" he replied, his voice husky.
"Why does it have to be a curse?" she asked. "Why can't it be a gift? Everything is dark clouds and lightning with you, Ivar. Sometimes there is sun."
Ivar had felt the sun shining on him the morning he went to England with Ragnar. He'd spent the night in Dagny's arms. His father had chosen him for the voyage. And if he were to drown, he thought it just might be worth it. But Ragnar was murdered and treacherous Saxons had brought him back to Kattegat's shores where his mother had been killed and Dagny was a free woman who could reject him. She'd become a shieldmaiden and she'd all but pledged her sword to Ubbe.
But with the army, with Dagny's rejection of Hvitserk and her love for Ivar, he thought the sun was beginning to break through the clouds again.
"I love you," he said, unsure if he meant it, unsure if he even understood the words outside of his relationship with Aslaug. But he remembered being strapped to the mast of Ragnar's ship and going under the water and while he sank and screamed, he thought of Dagny. Not of his brothers, nor of Ragnar or his mother. He'd thought only of Dagny's deft fingers weaving bandages, rubbing salve on his constant wounds, holding his chin when she kissed him. What was that, if not love?
The anxiousness in Dagny's expression disappeared. "If we kiss anymore, I will be drunk. Take my mind off of it. Teach me English."
It was a frequent request of Dagny's and one that was easy to fulfill. It took her some time but eventually, she could grasp the few words and phrases Ivar knew, though she wrinkled her nose when she practiced, like there had never been anything so deplorably hideous as the English language. Still, she had more of a knack for it than Hvitserk or Sigurd.
He knew it was a trick, that she planned on boring him to sleep, and he hated that it was working. Slowly, his eyelids grew heavy and then he was lying beside Dagny, who was wearing a satisfied grin. When he woke up, light was breaking through the clouds and her head was on his shoulder, her cloak thrown over them both.
Dagny was not shy about taking on work around the ship. She cleaned up, she learned how to manipulate the sail, she even rowed. Ivar was not the only one impressed by her. No one had said anything beforehand, just as nobody had opposed Helga and Tanaruz coming, but Ivar thought many of the seasoned raiders must be questioning Dagny's presence aboard. They believed her to be a simple healer, someone they would have to constantly look out for to stay on the good side of the princes. But Dagny was a hard worker and if there was anything she couldn't do, she had someone teach her.
She and Hvitserk kept watch that night. Ivar pretended to sleep, though being so close to Ubbe and Bjorn frankly made him sick. Still, he and Dagny weren't having much of a conversation. As far as Ivar could tell, they were just sharing cheese and bread in silence.
Hvitserk finally said something that caused Dagny to scoff around her bite of cheese. Ivar strained to look at them. "Sigurd is a fool," she said lowly. Sigurd turned over on the other side of Ubbe, as if he'd heard Dagny decry him.
"Well…" Hvitserk began, taking a bite out of bread that was already staling. "It does beggar belief."
Dagny laughed. "So you're sitting up with me tonight just to obtain details on what happened?" Hvitserk must have shrugged suggestively because she pushed at his shoulder and he had to catch himself on the deck. Ivar thought his brother probably preferred it when Dagny was soft and wore flower crowns, not now when she was a shieldmaiden.
"What's talk between friends?" Hvitserk responded, voice so low that his words sounded garbled to Ivar's ears. This was the right question to ask of Dagny, he knew, because she wanted things to be as they once were. She wanted Hvitserk to be comfortable with her. She wanted to be his friend. She'd never said the words but then, she didn't have to. Dagny was easy to read and this was a wound Ivar knew she desperately wanted healed.
"Are you going to tell everyone?"
"Wouldn't it be to your benefit if I did? I must tell Sigurd at least." Sigurd was, predictably, the worst part of this. He was callous, petty, cruel, and Ivar was more than aware that he didn't believe anything could possibly have happened between him and Dagny. It was a rumor, Dagny was a generous liar, these were the things his brother most likely believed but at least he had not repeated them in Ivar's hearing.
"Some things should be private." Dagny got nothing out of showing off and frankly, it made little sense to Ivar. There came a point in time where you were tired of answering questions or sensing people's judgment. She didn't care much for what others thought. He was unsure if that was a strength of hers or a weakness.
"Then I won't tell anyone," Hvitserk responded, sincere. Their voices dropped even lower after a loud snore from one of the warriors and Ivar could no longer hear them. It was probably a good thing.
When her watch shift ended, Dagny wedged herself between Ubbe and Ivar and tucked her arm around Ivar's waist. He wondered if she could hear his heart pounding, if she could feel him tensing up. But soon, he was asleep and it no longer mattered.
The next day, they finally saw the shores of England. Though it was arrogant to flaunt their ships along the coastline, Ivar liked the thought of the Saxon kings knowing they were coming and fulfilling Ragnar's promises of revenge. Apparently Bjorn did too, as he'd given the order.
A large island was visible on the horizon, its mountainous monastery breaking through the fog of the North Sea. Dagny was at the prow, trying to catch a better glimpse of it.
"Do you know what that is?" Ivar asked. She did not break her gaze, like the island would vanish if she did not keep looking at it.
"Of course, I know," she responded, breathless. "It's Lindisfarne. Your father took Athelstan from there."
"Why do you love that story so?" Of all of Ragnar's triumphs and victories, of all his relationships, the things that happened with Athelstan held no interest to Ivar. His mother had hated him for being a Christian. Floki had hated him too and dealt him the blow that killed him. Ivar saw nothing wrong with that.
"Because it wasn't the familiar tale of war and bloodshed and loss. There was love between them. It wasn't a story at all. It was true." Ivar wondered if he was supposed to be Ragnar, if she was to be Athelstan, if the same old tale was playing out once more. But he remembered waking up that morning before Ubbe and Dagny and seeing how the backs of their hands were touching. There was no other contact between them, which appeared to be deliberate, as Sigurd looked to be smothered by Ubbe's shoulder and free arm. But their knuckles were entwined and his stomach twisted into knots. Ivar was many things but a fool was not among them.
Ubbe was the one to free Dagny, he was the one who'd trained her, he was the one she looked up to most. If anything, he was Ragnar. But what became of Ivar? He was Ragnar too, just the ruthless, intelligent side rather than the noble one. He was not one to be relegated to the side, somebody people barely recalled. The old stories were over and it was a new age. The heathen army would have a saga all its own and Ivar's name would be the one remembered.
Dagny knew from her first view of the coastline that she would love England and she did. It was a place that loomed large in the stories and every inch of the land seemed old. Lindisfarne, even at a distance, had appeared impossibly ancient. They frequently passed by ruins that Ivar claimed were at least 500 years old. England was a country of forest and rolling hills and its grass grew a green that Dagny had never imagined was possible. Other warriors complained about the ceaseless misting rain and mud, the wide rivers with no bridges, the steep hills. She adored it all.
They'd landed in Northumbria, the country king Aelle ruled. He no doubt knew of their arrival, since several Saxon scouts had gone running the moment their longships ran ashore. That there would be a fight was inevitable. Bjorn said little about it but he didn't seem intimidated. It told Dagny that fighting him would be nothing, that the army they had would be far more than Aelle anticipated.
"How's your leg?" Ubbe asked as they made their way closer to the king's home. Ivar was ahead, leading the way in his chariot. Bjorn was most likely just letting him have his way.
"It's fine," Dagny responded. In truth, it ached. She was unsure if that was due to the constant rain or the constant walking. They didn't have the time to stop.
"Is it?" She looked at him and rolled her eyes. Drops of rain tipped his hair, ran down his plated armor. "Ride with Ivar. Give me your shield."
"And be thought more of a burden than I already am? No."
"I've met mules less stubborn than you are, Dagny," he replied and she smiled. "The battle against Aelle and his men will probably be on foot."
"I can fight in the shield wall, Ubbe. You have trained me well," she said because he sounded tentative and unsure.
"I know you can."
"But you don't want me to." He sighed, as he always did when he was about to say something disagreeable.
"No, I don't. I want you to stay back with Helga and the others."
"Ubbe, you can't be serious." She tried not to be hurt by it but it was difficult not to be.
"I won't ask you to do it. But you listen to me when we are on the battlefield. You heed anything Bjorn says. And stay in the back lines."
"The back lines won't see any fighting against a force this meagre and Ivar wants me at the front." She didn't mention that Ivar thought Ubbe should not have a voice in the discussion since it had been a long time since his last raid. Frankly, she would be better served by asking Bjorn to place her somewhere than let any of the other brothers' opinions hold sway.
He made an exasperated noise that might have been a sigh or even a groan of frustration. "Ivar doesn't command here. He has seen you train only a few times. Bloodlust and attraction cloud his head. You will be safer at the back. Then you'll see how your leg holds up and whether you want to be in a shield wall at all."
"All right," she conceded because this was a fight she could not win and Ubbe was not wrong. She knew he wasn't deliberately trying to tear her down. He was worried about her and though it was infuriating, it was also a small bit nice.
"All right? No arguments from Dagny the mule?" He grinned and even in the dark of the forest and the rain, it was bright.
She laughed. "Another girl might be offended by that."
"Then I am fortunate you are not another girl." She wanted to ask him about Margrethe or tell him what the seer told her but what good would it do? She hadn't heeded the advice the seer had given her. She'd come on the raid anyway, without any real thought given to why she should have stayed home.
The battle would happen on a hilly field where the terrain would help disguise their larger forces. The army would be broken into groups, some led by Harald, some by Floki, and some by Bjorn. Everyone seemed to think it would be an easy victory so she did not heed Ubbe's advice. She stood to the front of Bjorn's contingent, just a few feet behind the brothers and Ivar's war chariot.
Across the clearing, the king had not fielded a fraction of the number the great army boasted. She could just make out the red and gold of their flags and Aelle himself, not the grand image of an English king that Dagny imagined he might be. Though the Saxons were mounted, the horses would not make much difference once the fighting began and they were overwhelmed. Suddenly, a war cry went out. Sigurd banged two axes together, shrieking. Ubbe and Hvitserk unsheathed their swords and yelled. She raised her sword and joined them until the cries of battle were all she knew. She had not truly known Ragnar but she'd loved him all the same and vengeance was due.
No one would sing songs or compose poems in honor of this extremely one-sided battle. Many of the English turned tail and ran before it started. Bjorn gave the signal and Dagny took off running with the other raiders past Ivar's chariot. It was remarkably easy as the Saxons were disheartened and so their guards were down. She tried to focus and block out the noise, the screams, the howls, metal against metal, sword against shield. This was what Ubbe had trained her to do. It was sometimes the difference between life and death.
Finally an English soldier turned his attention to her. Dagny flipped her sword's hilt in her hand and slammed her yellow shield into him. It knocked him flat on the ground. The kill was suddenly stolen from her by Sigurd, who smirked as he slit the Saxon's throat and blood splattered onto her face. "You need to be quicker if you want to beat me, Dagny!" he yelled, chest heaving, and turned to another Saxon, who was cut down in short order by his axe.
It seemed like it was over in the next instant. The battle, in total, could not have lasted longer than a few minutes. She wiped her eyes once and saw the grassy field stained red and covered in bodies. None of them looked to be members of the great army. To her left, Ubbe was pulling his sword from the stomach of a Saxon with poor armor. His face was covered in dirt and streaks of blood. He turned to her and cocked his head. She nodded back since she was all right. She was not even unnerved. Lagertha's raid on Kattegat had been bloodier than this.
Ivar called her name and she made her way to his chariot. Aelle was on the ground next to it, being looked over by Bjorn. Ivar pulled his helmet off and though she was filthy and covered in mud, he looked on her with desire. He took her by the back of the head and kissed her roughly. All she could taste was dirt and blood but there was something about it she liked.
The English king Aelle was an older man, perhaps old enough to remember Ragnar's first raid on Lindisfarne all those years ago. It did not spare him from Ivar's wrath. His armor was torn from him, his hands were bound, and his feet were tied to Ivar's chariot. He was made to give up the location of Ragnar's death and even though she couldn't understand him, Dagny heard his voice crack. He did not give off the sense of authority or regality that Ragnar had. That Ivar possessed now. If he had, perhaps he would not have been dragged deep into Northumbria's primeval forest behind his enemy's horse.
Dagny rode in the chariot at Ivar's insistence. She stood to his side and never once looked back, though the trees were echoing with victorious battle cries from the raiders and the wretched moans of Aelle. She did not want to feel sorry for him. Ivar's hand snaked around her waist and he looked up at her once, smirking. It was indeed an occasion to smile.
Once in the clearing, Dagny cut the rope binding Aelle's ankles to the chariot. The rope was stained with blood. He looked up at her and there was an expression in his eyes that she knew to be fear. He was covered in mud, his hair was a tangle of weeds, and despite it all, Dagny did pity him.
The old king was made to stand and point out the place of Ragnar's death after Bjorn barked at him in English. Aelle was shaking as he nodded toward the covered pit. Ubbe and Hvitserk pulled the coverings back, detritus and dead leaves stirring into the air, falling into the hole. Ivar's horse gave a snort and pawed the ground, anxious. Dagny rubbed its neck so it wouldn't run off but she felt much the same. This was a cursed place.
Many of the warriors gathered around and looked down into the pit, even though Aelle was pleading and repeating over and over that there were no snakes inside, that the body had been removed. Dagny had no desire to see what Ragnar's last moments were like, to know what he felt, because surely he'd been tortured long before the Saxons dragged him into these woods. She felt a cold that wasn't from the heavy rain sneaking beneath her armor, soaking her long hair.
Sigurd had an axe to the king's throat beside her. Aelle's labored breathing was suddenly the only sound aside from the rain.
"This is where our father was killed," Ivar said, on the ground next to Ubbe.
Aelle began babbling in English and Dagny only caught words here and there. "Gold" she knew as well as "silver" and at the end, she thought he might be saying, "Anything!" He was begging for his life. Ivar turned his head and she hoped he never looked at her the way he was looking at the king. He replied in English and it was chilling, if only because his tone never changed.
Dagny didn't need to know what he said to understand it. It was partly the reason why they'd brought Aelle into the forest to begin with. He was to pay for Ragnar's death with his own.
Night fell quickly but the rain did not stop. Torches and fires were lit. A sacrificial stand was made for the blood eagle of the king. Dagny stood back with the other warriors while the princes held Aelle down. Floki hammered nails through his hands and all the while, Aelle groaned and screamed.
Bjorn was to conduct the ceremony. He tore the back of the king's tattered tunic and pulled a knife from the fire. Its blade glowed red. This would not be the legendary blood eagle given to Jarl Borg, which felt respectful and sad even in the stories. This would be cruel. There were no rules, not as there had been for Jarl Borg. This was intended to be painful. It was meant to be terrible to behold.
Hvitserk stood in front of her and Dagny was grateful for that when Bjorn put the knife into Aelle's back. She'd seen blood all her life but this felt different. The old king let loose a scream that raised the hair on her arms. The eldest Ragnarsson dragged the blade down his spine and he continued to yell. She thought they could hear Aelle dying back in Kattegat.
Ubbe stepped forward and handed Bjorn his axe. When Bjorn brought that down on Aelle's ribcage, the screams only got louder but they did not cover the sound of bones breaking and the inevitable wheezing of the king's breath. He was already giving out and Dagny wondered if he was praying to his god for death.
Ivar crawled forward to watch the man who killed his father die. There was poetry in it, Dagny thought, even though it seemed mad. Ivar was strange in that way. Things that other men would shy away from, he was always willing to do.
When the blood eagle was finished, they hung his body in the forest, overlooking the old pit of serpents. Aelle was dead.