Hi! I hope you all are having a great week! Are you getting excited about the new season? I am! I hope you enjoy this chapter. I really enjoyed writing it. Please let me know what you think! Thank you.
Wessex's capital was surrounded with high wooden walls and framed in the thick fog of morning, it seemed otherworldly. No sound came from behind those walls and Dagny wondered if there was an actual possibility that the Saxons had simply abandoned the city. After losing the battle at Repton, why wouldn't they want to retreat?
"It could be a trap," Bjorn said, up ahead of them. He was mounted on a large white horse and his braid hung long down his back.
Beside her, Hvitserk was smirking, his sword already drawn. The look on his face suggested he almost hoped it was a trap, just so that there would be more fighting. Dagny didn't share his feelings. Repton was still fresh in her mind and she couldn't stop seeing the Saxon who'd almost killed her. His hair, his eyes, the set of his mouth in a snarl. His body at the feet of Ubbe. She would never admit it, never whisper so much as a breath of it to another raider, but when the adrenaline of battle finally wore off, she'd wondered if she was really made for war.
The gates to those grand walls opened before Ivar's chariot, as if they'd been made of feathers rather sturdy oak. She and Hvitserk headed in with the other raiders, bottlenecking through the gates. Once inside, the warriors ran freely through the courtyard and immediately into the outcrop of buildings. No one seemed to be in the city. Dagny had a chill and she couldn't justly say it was because of the threatening rain or the way the wind seemed to be harsher inside the walls. This place seemed immensely important, even abandoned as it was.
There were buildings of stone, so worn and weather-beaten that they could only be the work of the illustrious Romans. Dagny thought they must have been giants, like those from Jotunheim, to have built things that lasted this long. She didn't want the raiders to destroy them. Still, as she walked closer to one, a soldier tossed a bowl laden with jewelry that had been left behind into the street before her. It scattered the pieces into the dirt, necklaces, earrings, torques of gold. She was amazed that anyone would have left these behind.
There was a hand at her waist and despite herself, Dagny flinched. It was only Hvitserk and he'd done it to move around her and pick up a necklace that was anchored by a milky white stone set in gold. He smiled, so sweet that it seemed out of place, and laid it in her hand. Her hand that still bore the signs of dried blood, no matter how much she'd scrubbed at it after Repton. Plunder was the goal of a raid and she'd had no problem in Kattegat seeing the longships return loaded with riches from lands far away. But being here, standing before the great stone house and knowing the people who'd lived there must have fled in a hurry, made the glory taste of ash.
"I can't take this," she found herself saying, though a Viking would never refuse it. They would revel in taking it and everything else strewn on the ground. She regretted the words immediately because there was the thought that Hvitserk hadn't wanted her to come and it was likely because he believed she was too soft. Saying this could prove him right.
He folded her hands over the necklace, the flesh of her palm pressing onto the stone. "You didn't take it. I did and I'm giving it to you," he replied, still smiling as if Dagny's gentleness was the main reason he liked her. She looked down and rubbed her finger over the stone, clearing away the grime of the ground. It was beautiful and she'd rarely had jewelry of her own. She thought of herself young, wanting something that belonged to her and her alone.
"All right," she said and tucked the necklace into her belt, the pendant heavy against her leg. Hvitserk looked pleased but said nothing.
He pulled her through streets and alleys, all empty and quiet but for the yells of their own warriors. Finally, they arrived before the grandest building of all, the one Ivar said was the seat of their king. It was also obviously Roman work. The roof was the only part that didn't appear original. It was patched over, poorly in some areas, but it took away nothing of the grandness.
There was no one inside when Hvitserk pulled open the doors for them and led her in. Dagny had already been amazed by England and the ruins the Romans had left behind but being inside the Saxon palace was awe-inspiring. Everywhere was stone and mosaic and after wandering around for what seemed like an inordinate amount of time, they stumbled upon a room at the center of the building; the bath house. She'd heard tell of such things but seeing it was entirely different. It was just a pool of perfectly warm water, framed by Roman mosaics that showed naked men and women being pursued by half-human, half-goat creatures. This room was the revelation. It was permanently fixed in Dagny's mind as proof of genius, as proof that England was something special.
Hvitserk appeared as enamored of it as Dagny felt. He walked to the edge of the pool and stared down, unsure of its depth. "Bjorn told me about this," he said, kneeling and running a finger across the top of the murky water.
"Perhaps, there are monsters in it," Dagny said. Hvitserk turned, still on his knees, and his lips formed a crooked smile. For a moment, she thought of his image in the tiles on the walls, on coins like king Ecbert's.
"Maybe I'll throw you in and we'll find out." She laughed and backed away when he came towards her, hands on her waist, her feet suddenly off the ground.
"You throw me in and I will take you with me," she replied, her fingers digging into his leather armor. Hvitserk met her eyes, his expression suddenly sinister and mischievous. Dagny wondered if this was what his enemies saw when he finally cornered them, when at last he found their hiding place and pulled away their cover.
They moved on from the bathing pool reluctantly, passing into other abandoned corridors and cellars below the fortress that had been emptied. There was the sound of glass breaking as they entered a new hallway and Hvitserk immediately stuck his arm in front of her.
Floki stumbled into the hall before them and Hvitserk gave a relieved sigh. But the silence was now over. At every turn, Dagny heard the cracking of fire, wood splintering, metal clattering onto the stone floors.
Dagny stepped into a room Floki's raiders had already gotten to and it seemed to her that she stopped breathing. She wasn't sure what the purpose of the chamber was supposed to be but there were shelves upon shelves of capped scrolls and immediately, she felt captivated by them. A warrior pulled one out beside her and it unfurled, its end nearing the man's knees. It was covered in furling script, nothing like the runes she'd seen before, and there was gold, blue, and red paint on each side.
"Wait!" she exclaimed, hand outstretched, but it was too late. The raider had already lit it on fire. The vellum disintegrated, the paints curling off the page. Her stomach churned, on the verge of being sick.
Across the room, a writing desk was split by an axe. Several had already been torn apart and pieces of splintered dark wood were being lit aflame in the corner. Dagny's lip curled. It was a disgrace. What was the point of destroying these things just because they were Saxon creations? There was value in learning about what was important to them, if only to understand them. At any rate, they had seen neither hide nor hair of anyone inside the city's walls. Perhaps they did not plan on returning and a fortress the great army could commandeer for their own, they were destroying. Dagny did not understand the point of ruin, of damage simply because they were the winning side. It was more than disappointing or horrifying. It was sad.
"Do you want the scrolls?" Hvitserk asked, moving past her. He pulled several from the shelves and piled them in her arms. He was grinning and it made her want to laugh in response and forget what the great army was doing to this old city. But it was all around her and so she could not just push it aside.
She made her way to the back of the open shelves, flinching as a row of writing desks were pushed onto the stone floor. Her face paled and her fingers tightened around the scrolls in her arms. On the other side of the shelves, Floki was offering a lighted torch to the roll of vellum in Hvitserk's hand.
"Wait," she said, placing a hand against Hvtiserk's shoulder. The scrolls wanted to crumple in her other arm.
"You can't carry these as well," he replied, like they were sharing a joke. Floki even grinned.
"I don't think they should be burned," she said. Hvitserk's brow rumpled.
"Why not?"
"You don't feel that they're important?"
"Why would they be?" Floki asked and threw a stack of scrolls onto a fire in the corridor. The flames flared and reflected in his eyes. For the first time since she'd arrived in England, she wondered if the seer was right and she should have stayed home. Battle was one thing. It was expected to be blood and gore and death and fighting in the mud until either you got lucky or your opponent did. But this… this was different and Dagny wanted no part in it.
In the end, she could only save what she could accurately carry and that was merely three scrolls. She couldn't decipher anything about them and of course, she couldn't read the words as she couldn't read at all. She was unsure if these writings were even of importance. Maybe when the Saxons evacuated, they took anything they valued with them and what they left was worthless. But they were so beautiful that Dagny knew they were special. She couldn't imagine the time spent on them, how long it must have taken to create the images in the side panels or to write the words. Maybe the scrolls meant nothing to everyone else but to Dagny, they were the greatest prize of the raid.
She followed Hvitserk and Floki along a dark hall and finally, there was a shut door. The rest of the palace was open, doors hanging wide, seeming to invite them in. This one was bolted shut. Floki set to prying it open, the head of his axe wedging beneath the lock, and it gave way. Hvitserk put his arm before her again as they peeked in the room.
There was a man inside. Dagny thought he must be one of those Christian priests that Ivar had told her about because he was dressed in a pure white robe. She knew how difficult it was to keep something like that pristine so she assumed he was well off enough to have a steady supply of them. Around his neck was a long embroidered piece of red fabric that was close to grazing the floor. In his outstretched hand was a solid gold cross, inlaid with stones of blue and green. She'd never seen anything like it.
The man had been murmuring under his breath when they came in but now he began to shout, gesturing at them wildly with the crucifix. Hvitserk pushed Dagny back, like the priest would ever be able to reach her, and ran him through with his sword. The golden cross clattered to the floor. Floki laughed and set the drapes aflame. She choked, her grip bending one of the rolls of vellum in her arms. It took time for the priest to die, time in which the corridor began to glow with fire. Blood started to run out of the priest's mouth while he was still muttering prayers to the Christian god, his immaculate white robe stained red. The heat of the fires and smoke suddenly made Dagny feel like she was losing her breath. At least she hoped it was that and not something as useless as sentiment. The priest very well may have intended to kill them but so far, he was the lone person in the city and to Dagny's mind, that meant he was brave.
Hvitserk pulled her back into the hallway after Floki, who was still laughing, a keening sound that echoed off the stone in a way that made Dagny's skin crawl. She looked back into the room for a moment and saw the priest's mouth had gone still. She hoped he'd been praying for death.
Beside her, Hvitserk tucked the crucifix into his belt so that it stuck out haphazardly. She thought of the piece of mirror that she always kept with her, something that he had no doubt taken from a place just like this. There was the idea that this was completely natural. Indeed, it was the goal of the raid and it would serve to dishearten other Saxons from attempting to fight or draw the ire of the great army. But Dagny could not shake the feeling that she was not made for this, not in the way that Hvitserk or Bjorn were.
She followed Hvitserk into the courtyard, past warriors pulling down English tapestries and throwing them onto fires, past men pulling drawers from chests and emptying the contents onto the floor to be ground beneath their feet, past bedding and furniture being tossed from windows to break into pieces outside. She had lost track of Floki in the commotion but she assumed he was still in the palace.
The gates to the city stood wide and Ivar's chariot was in the center of the yard. He was leaning on its side, chin on his crossed arms, watching the raiders loot. There was a light in his eyes that Dagny could see even at a distance. In spite of the cold the destruction inspired in her and the sense that she would become a disappointment to all of Ragnar's sons when they discovered it, she could feel nothing but pleasure when she saw Ivar triumphant. There was something in her that just burned away all worries and doubts when she laid eyes on him, something that made her believe she was doing the right thing.
The raiders fell silent and parted before Ivar's chariot. Dagny and Hvitserk followed suit, unsure of the reasoning. Ubbe was across the way and there was nothing in his belt to mirror Dagny's or Hvitserk's. There was no golden cross or moonstone necklace. There were certainly no scrolls. In some ways, he appeared out of place against the line of other raiders. He was not smirking and laughing but nor did he seem grim, on the lookout for trouble. It was a foolish thought that took root in Dagny at that moment but she almost wondered if the looting had turned his stomach as much as it had hers. Ubbe hadn't been on raid since the last time Ragnar went to Paris. He had been a child then and many things had changed in the years between.
Soon it became apparent that the way had been cleared for another Saxon who had remained behind. He was an older man with long bedraggled hair and he was clothed in a dressing robe. He wasn't wearing any shoes. For a moment, Dagny assumed that he and the priest must have been mad and the Saxons had just decided to leave them behind but as the man got closer, poked and prodded forward by spears and blunt swords, she knew he was important. Not even someone mad would be smiling at this situation and he was looking at Bjorn as if he was an old friend. Dagny sucked in a sharp breath. Hvitserk turned to her in alarm, worried.
"It's Ecbert," she murmured. Ecbert had remained in the city after all, fate accepted. She would never say as much to anyone who asked but she wished he had gone. There was vengeance in the death of Aelle and it had needed doing but Ecbert did not deserve the disgrace of the blood eagle.
The English king evidently understood his name being said even in another language and he turned to Dagny. She froze, her arms locked around the scrolls she was somehow still carrying. Bjorn raised a hand and the raiders released Ecbert. He moved toward her and it felt, to Dagny, that she wasn't even present. She seemed to be watching this exchange from afar.
The king touched the caps of the scrolls and she relinquished one, feeling it was the least she could do. But he did not seem angry that she was holding onto them or that she'd taken them in the first place. He unfurled it, exposing the glory of the paints and the pictures and the words.
Ivar looked on, eyes narrowed in anger. Dagny barely registered it.
Ecbert said something to her, eager, and returned the scroll to her. She tried to give it back, thinking that it belonged to him anyway but the king shook his head, wistful. He said something else, where she only understood a single word; "Athelstan."
"What did he say?" she asked, smiling to match the king, believing that this was something special.
"He said he admires women like you and my mother," said Bjorn, approaching. Ecbert grinned up at him, again like he was being reunited with his greatest friend. "And he said that scroll was painted and written by the monk, Athelstan."
"Athelstan?" she echoed, her sudden good mood not even able to be spoiled by a comparison to Lagertha. The king turned back for the briefest moment and nodded.
"This man is King Ecbert. I order you to spare him," Bjorn announced loudly, as several raiders still appeared ready to run him through. Dagny was grateful for that, more than she could say. Was this to be the legendary Ecbert's fate? Killed in the courtyard of his own city when he could have gone with his army instead? She was relieved that he would not be killed here and now.
Hvitserk raised an eyebrow at her as Ecbert was led away by Bjorn. Ivar was looking at them, rage threatening to boil over from within. "You like the old Saxon king?" Hvitserk asked, teasing.
"I respect him," she replied. And at the very least, she thought, Bjorn respected him too.
"I will count to three and then I will set it," Dagny said. Halfdan was lying on a Saxon table that was serving as a cot, looking up at her. He was doing his best not to appear in pain but sweat had broken out across his brow and he was wincing. Still, she was impressed by it. She'd seen grown men cry at dislocating a shoulder.
Harald was grinning on the other side of Halfdan, already anticipating what she was going to do.
"One," she said, placing one hand on his bicep and the other at his wrist. Halfdan nodded, wincing. "Two." She pushed his arm up and twisted until there was a loud pop. Halfdan let out a yell that would have curdled milk and Harald began laughing.
"You said you'd count to three," Halfdan moaned, rubbing his arm.
"It's better if you don't know when it's coming," she replied.
"I like you," Harald said, still chuckling, and clapped her on the shoulder. She tried to ignore how warm that made her feel. People seemed anxious around her now when before they'd never bothered to take notice of her. It was Ivar's doing. Men were scared of Ivar and there was the thought that now, they were wary of her as well. Harald and Halfdan were refreshing.
Across the yard, the pitiful Saxon church doors opened. Ubbe and Hvitserk stepped outside, talking heatedly. Dagny took a long look at the building, wondering how it was still standing after all it had been through. She'd yet to go inside more because she didn't want to see what the raiders had done to it than anything else. She wasn't superstitious about the place, not like some others. In fact, she assumed she would adore it the way she had everything else in the city.
"Do you know what have they decided to do about Ecbert?" she asked, wiping her hands clean with a rag. Halfdan managed a vague shrug before sitting up, a good sign that she'd managed to put his shoulder back in the socket correctly.
"Ivar wants to blood eagle him," Harald replied. She sighed in response. She'd expected that answer.
"Bjorn doesn't want that," Halfdan said. "And if he doesn't want it, then Hvitserk doesn't."
Harald rubbed the back of his neck. "The old king ruined the settlement here and he did sell Ragnar out to Aelle. He's done more than enough to warrant a blood eagle."
"Don't you think some of that was a trick? Ragnar struck me as wanting to die," she said.
Halfdan rubbed his aching shoulder. "Whatever it was, it's not our decision to make." That much, at least, was true.
Dagny told Halfdan not to use his shoulder much for the next few days and finally made her way to the cathedral. The brothers had all left. Ivar was back to sitting on his chariot and Sigurd, Hvitserk, and Bjorn crowded around him. Ubbe was the only one still outside the church, looking obviously conflicted.
"What decision was made?" she asked Ubbe when she reached him. The doors to the cathedral hung wide and she could see a cage hanging from the ceiling in the center of the nave. She grimaced when she realized Ecbert was in it, a sad sort of poetry in knowing Ragnar met his end from a similar cage.
Ubbe shrugged, his eyes focusing on some point far away. "You know what Ivar wants."
"Did he convince you all?" Dagny was secretly hoping he hadn't. She wanted Bjorn's cooler head to prevail. She didn't want Ecbert dead. What was the point when his much stronger son would inherit the throne and wish for vengeance the same way the sons of Ragnar had? It would become a cycle that would lock them in war with the Saxons forever.
"Not all. Sigurd agreed with him but Bjorn wants to think of our people. The king offered us land in East Anglia, in honor of what my father's dream used to be." At this, Ubbe appeared to feel bittersweet. They were coming to the end of avenging Ragnar. After dealing with Ecbert, it would be done.
"That's wonderful," she said, thinking that she loved England and Ragnar had as well. It seemed fitting that a settlement would mend all of those old wounds and possibly become Ragnar's legacy. He'd started life as a farmer. It felt right.
"I agree. I would like to farm here, as my father wanted." There was something in his voice that belied it wouldn't be that simple.
"But?" she prompted.
"But Ivar doesn't care about any of that. He only wants to continue raiding, keep hitting the Saxons again and again until they can no longer field an army."
"What is the point of that? To keep us exhausted and always on the run? This way there would be a permanent home and it would be exactly what Ragnar always wanted."
Ubbe wryly smiled. "Ivar believes you would agree with him so perhaps you should have been deliberating with us." Dagny was glad she hadn't been. She didn't think Ivar would be angry at her disagreeing with him but she doubted it would be a pleasant experience anyway.
"You are his older brother. You should be the one telling him what to do," she replied and laughed only a little. The thought of anyone having the ability to tell Ivar what to do now seemed utterly preposterous. The army respected him and she could see that most of the men believed that it was Ivar and Ivar alone who was responsible for the victory at Repton. They were not wrong.
"Well, I think he'll support taking the land." But Ubbe sounded unsure and Dagny again felt a creeping unease. The seer had warned her to stay home if she wanted to save her friendship with Ubbe. Only now, after seeing the looting and destruction and this ominous feeling in her gut, did she think the seer could have been right. "Why did you take those scrolls?" he asked suddenly.
"I just didn't want to see them burn," she murmured, wondering why she was being so honest about it. "It made me sick to watch that room be wrecked. I wish I could have saved more but I could only hold three. Maybe you were right and I am not made for this."
Ubbe turned and though it was overcast and cold, he looked like a summer king. "There's no reason to be ashamed of that. There is a large difference between battle and conquest. In truth, I don't have much stomach for it either."
"It's a shame," she said, melancholy. "The city was beautiful and now it is cinders."
"When Ecbert is dead, this will be over. You can work the land in East Anglia if you so choose. You can go home. You don't have to do it ever again."
"And what of you?" Ubbe appeared to ponder his answer but he said nothing. A chill passed over her that echoed the one she'd felt under the lake all those months ago. Something was indeed reaching its end and she hoped it wasn't the age of her friendship with Ubbe.
The nave of the cathedral was dark. Barely any light made its way through the colored glass window in front of her. But somehow, Dagny thought it only lent the place more beauty. There were columns with ornate detail on either side of her and wrecked tables and pews were littered about the floor. Yesterday it had probably been a radiant, safe place. Now it was ruin.
Above her was King Ecbert, suspended in a cage. She understood the reasoning for it. She even understood the desire to see Ecbert pay for what had happened to the old settlement and for sending Ragnar to his death, whether he'd meant to or not. But this still felt wrong. No one deserved what Ecbert had been forced to endure, particularly at his age.
Dagny kicked one of the few benches that were still in one piece to right below the cage. Ecbert stirred at the noise and at once, she felt awful. It could be the last time the king was afforded sleep, even if it wasn't decent. She climbed onto the bench and brought out a glass vial. She waved it until it captured Ecbert's attention.
"What is that?" the old king asked. Dagny raised a brow. "I know some of your language."
"It's for the pain," she said. He smiled, wistful, and took it from her. His hand was cold.
"Is it poison?"
"Would you rather that's what it was?" It had never occurred to Dagny to do something like that. People would know she did it, if they suspected poison was involved. But there were draughts that had no trace. It would be just like someone died peacefully and at Ecbert's age, with the stress he'd recently been under, no one would question his heart giving out.
He shrugged and it was a pitiful gesture. "I get to choose the manner of my death. It will not be some pagan ritual." At that, Dagny smiled. Bjorn had come through after all.
"What will you choose?" she asked. He sighed and told her. "That is a good way. It will be peaceful." It was a lie; slitting your wrists would be painful for a long time before it became serene.
"Better than in battle? As your people claim is the ideal way to die."
Dagny shook her head. "I see no point in hungering for violence or pain."
"Then you are no Viking," he said and it wasn't in disdain. It sounded more like a compliment and to Dagny, whose own mind had been overwhelmed with thoughts like this since entering Wessex, it was a genuine relief. But Ecbert was a Saxon and his opinion shouldn't matter at all.
That night, she was still thinking about it. She was drowsing between Ivar and Hvitserk, thin blankets and cloaks the only thing between them and the floor of the Saxon palace. Across the room, Sigurd and Ubbe were keeping watch and Dagny suddenly remembered seeing Sigurd's chest stained with blood before the battle at Repton.
"Why are you awake?" Ivar asked and it made her flinch. She'd been so sure he was asleep. Hvitserk groaned on her other side and turned away from them.
"I am just thinking about things," she replied, knowing that none of those things mattered. Ecbert would be dead on the morrow, slain by his own hand. The land grant had been drawn up in writing before all of the brothers, regardless of the fact that they couldn't read it. There would be a celebration and a feast and people who wanted to start the settlement would be able to. Ubbe was right. If she never wanted to raid again, she didn't have to.
Ivar reached over and pushed a strand of hair behind her ear, his fingers light against her cheek. "Ecbert should be dead at my hand," he said, turning something that should have been sweet into malice. But then, there was little difference between the two to Ivar.
"He will die anyway," she responded.
"You don't want him to die," he teased, "because he told you those scrolls were written by Athelstan."
"You are making fun of me." The corner of his mouth turned up in a smirk. Sigurd narrowed his eyes at them from his vantage point in the corner, as if sure the only thing they could be talking about was him. Tensions between him and Ivar were running high and Ivar's mood about killing Ecbert had not helped.
"Yes, I am. I do not understand your fascination with some Christian priest and some old vellum that he supposedly painted. You can't read the scrolls and they are sure to be worthless anyway. Why do you want them?"
"One day I might be able to read them." He scoffed, not so much at the thought of Dagny being able to read as at the idea that the scrolls might have anything in them worth knowing about. She'd known he wouldn't understand it but at least he had not begrudged her keeping them. Other raiders had their spoils. Even now, Hvitserk was asleep beside her with the jewel-laden crucifix next to him. Those scrolls were no different. "At any rate, Ecbert will be dead. Does the manner in which it happens matter so much to you?"
"When Bjorn has taken what I deserve, then yes, it does." He sighed and pulled away, lying on his back. "But he will leave after the celebration. He has no desire to stay in England. All he cares about is finding his way back to the Mediterranean."
"Halfdan will go with him," she said, propping herself up on an elbow and looking down at him. Ivar suddenly smiled.
"And what of you? What do you want to do now that my father's death is avenged?"
"I want to see the settlement started." Ivar groaned and rolled his eyes.
"You are soft, Dagny," he replied but it was said to be playful and she didn't think there was any spite hidden behind the words. "You are not Ubbe. You were made for more than farming. You are a shieldmaiden now and I want you at my side."
"Would you want me at your side even if I wasn't one?"
He furrowed his brow. "I would want you with me even if you were still a slave, even if all I ever did was watch you weave flower crowns and have you mend my pretended injuries."
Dagny smiled a half-moon smile and kissed him beneath the vaulted ceiling of the Saxon palace. She put her head against his shoulder and thought that she could endure more raiding, if that was what it cost to be with Ivar. The brothers could all go their separate ways tomorrow but she would be all right if she was still at Ivar's side.
It was cold in that corridor, almost like the doors and windows were hanging open, but Dagny thought nothing of it. Few things were capable of holding her attention when Ivar ran his fingers over the back of her neck.
Dagny was drinking, more in honor of Ecbert and Helga than in honor of technically conquering Wessex. She'd known having Tanaruz come with them was a poor idea but she hadn't thought the girl would ever bring herself to harm Helga, even unstable as she was. But she'd killed her and then herself amidst the confusion of entering the city. Dagny believed it was probably premeditated. But she could not imagine Floki's pain. She hadn't seen him since Hvitserk killed the priest.
Harald and Halfdan were on either side of her and they were both laughing at some joke she hadn't managed to catch. In front of her, on the risen platform, was the feasting table of the sons of Ragnar. Ivar had wanted her to sit with them but Dagny felt strange about it, like she would be claiming a legacy she had no right to. Besides, the raiders already looked at her like she was an enigma. Some wouldn't even meet her eye. She didn't want to encourage that. After all, she was really no different from them. In some ways, she was much less.
"Do you want a farm, Dagny?" Harald asked, biting into a piece of bread.
"Yes, I do," she replied. She began peeling an apple, watching its shiny red peel curl onto her plate.
"You'll need a husband then," said Halfdan as he quirked a brow. "And Ivar is no farmer. Now Hvitserk might consider it. He used to speak of you often when we were in Spain."
She groaned. "Hvitserk and I are friends. In fact, I think that's all we've ever been." Halfdan tilted his head in scrutiny and she scoffed. "You don't need a husband to have a farm. I am accustomed to hard work. But it will be ages before I can have it. Ivar wants to keep raiding England."
"And you will just do as he says? You are a free woman." Halfdan raised his goblet to his lips and winked at her. Harald grinned on her other side. Still, free as she was, she thought she'd be lost without Ivar.
Bjorn's horn suddenly rang out and all the noise stopped. Sigurd even relinquished his lute and came back to the table. Ivar sat at the other end, a disillusioned and bored prince. He was not interested in whatever his eldest brother had to say. Hvitserk and Ubbe, on the other hand, looked to Bjorn expectantly.
"Friends, no one will ever be able to doubt what we have achieved; an army of all our peoples and we have defeated not one but two English kingdoms," Bjorn said loudly and everyone cheered in agreement. "For us, the sons of Ragnar, our first duty was to avenge our father's death and that, we have done. But we have also achieved my father's dream. We have the legal right to land and to farm here. It is up to all of you to use this opportunity, to send over new settlers and young families. Unfortunately, I will not be here to see this new settlement grow and thrive. My fate will take me elsewhere. I always knew I had to return to explore the Mediterranean Sea and now I feel free to follow my destiny." Dagny wasn't surprised by that nor, she assumed, was Ivar, by the way rolled his eyes. "But my brothers will be here for you!"
He raised a goblet and said, "Skol!" Everyone raised theirs in turn. Dagny took a long drink from her cup, sensing that Ivar would not let the implication that he might become a peaceful farmer stand.
"I will be here but not to settle down and plow," Ivar called, turning in his chair and gripping the arms. He looked vaguely sick. "Who wants to be a farmer now? We have a great army and we should use it. There are many other places that I want to attack and raid. And those of you who feel like I do, you should come with me and those of you who don't, ask yourself, who can stand in our way now?" Cheers went up throughout the courtyard. Even Harald and Halfdan were yelling so Dagny felt that she should too. Ubbe was stoic at Ivar's side on the platform and he was looking at her, shaking his head. Don't do this for him, that gesture said and Dagny knew he was right.
Finally, Ubbe began to smile sardonically and even from this distance, she could hear him saying, "You cannot lead the army, Ivar."
"I don't want to, Ubbe," Ivar snapped. The courtyard was still quiet so their conversation became incredibly easy to hear. "All I'm saying is that for those who are still brave enough to raid and find adventure, then I will lead them. You can put on an apron and settle down if you want to." Ivar patted him on the leg and Ubbe scoffed.
"It will take a great man, Ivar. To stake a claim here. Defend it," said Hvitserk. Dagny was frankly surprised that he decided to take a side in the debate. Somewhat ashamedly, she presumed Ubbe had been speaking to him.
"Ah, that does not sound like yourself, dear brother. The Hvitserk I know, he loves to raid. He's a real Viking. What you just said, that is not the Viking way. That is Ubbe's way and I see he has been pouring his poison into yours and Dagny's ears."
She subtly shook her head at Ivar. Beside him, Ubbe brought a knife down onto the table. Dagny looked to Hvitserk, who was pulling meat off the bone and tossing it in his mouth. He shrugged at her. This was nothing new. It was the same argument in a new form; Ivar couldn't lead the army but believed he deserved it.
"Is this every day with them?" Harald asked, chuckling and drinking his ale. Dagny would have said yes if this didn't already feel far tenser than any normal argument between them.
"Don't do this, Ivar," said Sigurd. "We are all the sons of Ragnar. We have to stick together."
"Frankly, dear Sigurd, I don't care what you say. The truth is I wouldn't even piss down your throat even if your lungs were on fire," Ivar said, smirking and pouring out his goblet. Harald kept laughing and Halfdan shook his head but Dagny felt something within her go cold.
"Well, maybe that's because you're not really a man. Are you, Boneless?" Sigurd smirked but Ivar paled, in embarrassment and in rage. The crowd stayed silent but Dagny saw that more than a few around her wanted to laugh.
"You can prove that claim wrong, can't you?" Halfdan muttered, nudging her with his arm. Indeed, she could but Ivar wouldn't thank her for saying anything. It might even make things worse.
"Don't bring me into this," Dagny said and drank from her goblet. At the princes' feasting table, Ubbe was pretending to relax and Hvitserk didn't seem to care at all. He just kept on eating. But Ivar and Sigurd appeared likely to start one of their famous fights.
"So who's going to stay and farm?" Bjorn asked, nicely changing the subject in Dagny's opinion.
"I would like to stay but I have other plans," said Harald, standing.
Halfdan seemed vaguely hurt by that but quickly smiled. He also stood and said, "As for me, I want to go with Bjorn. I want to see the Mediterranean."
Bjorn hopped over the feasting table and came down to embrace Halfdan. "Then it seems the only thing that really kept the sons of Ragnar together was the death of their father," he said, turning back to the platform, eyes narrowed. Dagny's fingers began to dig into the table.
"Poor Bjorn!" said Ivar, his grip so tight on his chair's arms that his knuckles were turning white. "It is you who doesn't want to keep the army together. It is you who wants to go away to sunny places! Everyone else can follow me."
Sigurd slammed a hand down on the table, startling everyone. "I do not want to follow you, Ivar. You are crazy. You have the mind of a child," he said, gesturing wildly. Bjorn looked down at Dagny and rolled his eyes. On another day, she might have done the same but all of a sudden, she felt like this was going to go badly. Worse than any fight they'd had before and there had been many that ended with Ivar on the floor or Sigurd with an axe at his throat.
"And all you do is play music, Sigurd," Ivar finally said, his voice a hiss.
"I'm just as much a son of Ragnar as you are."
"I'm not so sure," Ivar said slyly, a barely disguised grin making its way onto his face. "As far as I remember, Ragnar didn't play the lute and he certainly didn't offer his ass to other men."
The raiders laughed and oohed but Dagny didn't register it because Sigurd's eyes slid to her, cold as a snake. Hurt was on his face, so slight it felt like she might have imagined it. Time seemed to slow, sluggish enough that she felt stuck and unsure of what to do. Sigurd clearly thought that when she was speaking with Ivar in the night, they were talking about him. Perhaps he even believed it was a regular source of conversation for them but Dagny had never said anything. She'd promised Sigurd she wouldn't and her word was good. No one wanted to be seen as an oath breaker.
Dagny stood and pushed away from the table when she realized what was coming. Harald, Halfdan, and Bjorn looked alarmed by the noise of the bench scraping backwards. The brothers on the dais registered it only slightly, Ivar so consumed by rage that he couldn't see anything but Sigurd at the end of the table.
"Sigurd-" she started, voice so low that only Bjorn cocked his head. But Sigurd was already smiling, his eyes glistening in the light like a wounded animal about to make a final strike, and she thought of all the times she'd trained with him, of the way he'd sewed the gash on her leg shut, of saving his life on the battlefield at Repton. Suddenly, none of that mattered.
"At least I do not love a woman who spends most of her time wishing she was bedding my brother!" Sigurd exclaimed and laughed. Dagny sucked in a breath so sharply she almost choked.
"Shut your mouth!" Ivar screamed and his hand came down on the edge of the table hard enough to bruise.
"That's enough!" called Bjorn but he wrapped his hand around Dagny's forearm, sensing she was about to make her way to the platform. He shook his head down at her, even as she tried to wrench free. "This is all slander!"
"Oh no, it isn't," Sigurd replied, almost calmly. He was still smirking. "It's all very true, isn't it, Dagny?" Dagny found herself shaking her head, going pale, because it wasn't true. It wasn't. Her heart was pounding so fast that she heard it in her ears, felt the blood pumping in her veins. "Isn't it, Ubbe?"
Hvitserk dropped the knife he'd been holding onto his plate and gaped at Sigurd. Dagny had the thought belatedly that his shock had nothing to do with Ubbe's name being said but was more at Sigurd's exposing it.
"Sigurd, stop this!" Dagny begged. "What is wrong with you?"
"Come now, Dagny, surely you knew when you spent all those days and nights in the forest training with Ubbe that the truth would out. It isn't your fault, most women fall prey to his charms. It's a curse, isn't it, Ubbe?" Ubbe looked likely to be sick, a sweat breaking out on his brow. "I wish I could say it only happened once but how many times was it, Dagny? Too many to count!"
Halfdan looked around Bjorn to raise an eyebrow at her. Beside him, Harald looked extremely disappointed and if matters were left up to him, Dagny worried she'd die for it.
Ivar was shaking and he suddenly looked up from under his hooded eyebrows. "You don't know what you're talking about," he said.
Dagny tried to pull from Bjorn's grasp again but he leaned closer and said, "If I let you go up there, you could be killed."
"What of Sigurd?" she replied.
"Would you like to know why, Ivar?" Sigurd said, raising a goblet to his lips. Ivar tensed in response, the set of his shoulders looking like he was ready to go to war.
"Do not listen to him, Ivar," Ubbe murmured. But he seemed to recognize that this was about to go badly. Dagny didn't understand why no one did anything. The warriors just decided to watch and listen to the humiliation of everyone involved. It was clear to her that Sigurd's life was in danger but no one else seemed to recognize it. Even Hvitserk was still looking between them, ready more for a show than an escalation to violence.
"Don't speak to me," Ivar hissed.
"He'll kill Sigurd," Dagny whispered but Bjorn still only shook his head.
"Dagny knew what you'd done to Margrethe," Sigurd continued. "That you'd almost killed the poor girl and threatened her with silence. So she was thinking about preserving her life for the day you came calling when she first crawled into Ubbe's bed. She didn't want you to be disappointed. She's scared of you! Everyone is! It must be hard for you now that your mommy's dead, knowing that she's the only one who ever truly loved you." He took a long drink from his goblet, feeling triumphant.
Dagny began to feel weak, her muscles so taut that she thought she might be ill.
Ivar let out a breath through his clenched teeth, the sound verging on a growl.
"Ivar," said Ubbe, trying to be calm but failing. "Ivar!"
It happened so quickly that Dagny barely saw it. Ivar reached down beside him, took hold of an axe, and threw it across the table, yelling. It caught Sigurd squarely in his chest. The goblet dropped from his hand, wine spattering the wooden platform. Hvitserk jerked back and Ubbe could only stare at Sigurd, aghast. Dagny didn't think anyone in the crowd could move.
Remarkably, Sigurd was still standing. Blood was running down his blue tunic. His skin was already going white. She remembered that vision before the battle and knew that it was no hallucination. It was finally coming true.
Sigurd wrenched the axe blade from his chest and angled it at Ivar, whose face had totally leached of color. At once, Ivar appeared a child, realizing that he'd done something terribly wrong. Sigurd stumbled towards him, axe held out, but at last, gave in. He collapsed.
The sound his body made against the wood imprinted itself on Dagny's mind. She shuddered.
"Dagny!" Hvitserk yelled as he and Ubbe came from behind the table to reach Sigurd. Ivar was stricken, frozen in his chair. "Dagny!"
Bjorn dropped his hand and she ran to the dais. Hvitserk pulled her up so hurriedly that she was already on her knees beside Sigurd. "Turn him over," she said, voice clear. This was a situation she knew how to deal with. She needed to be composed or else it would continue to spiral out of control. Many men had survived a wound of this nature. But when Hvitserk and Ubbe got him on his back, he coughed and blood bubbled from his mouth. The axe blade had hit something vital. He wouldn't recover.
"What can I-" Ubbe began.
"I need you to stand back. Don't crowd him," she said, knowing it was futile. She put an arm out and Ubbe flinched away, as if her touch might place a curse on him. Perhaps it already had. "Hvitserk, put pressure on it."
Hvitserk fumbled with that, his hands shaking so violently that Dagny had to place them on the wound. Blood pumped out over his fingers, so quickly that she and Hvitserk's hands turned red. She pulled back, looked at her palms, barely registering how bad it truly was.
Ivar looked on from his vantage point at the end of the table. He still appeared frozen in shock.
"Sigurd," Dagny murmured, grabbing his hand. His skin was already cold. "Sigurd, come on, fight." His eyes were open and he didn't blink. She bent down and put her head to his chest, his blood warm against her cheek. The only sound she heard was her own ragged breathing. "He's dead."
Hvitserk looked over, his hands still pressing hard on Sigurd's chest. Ubbe stood and walked away, the expression on his face one of utter wrath. Dagny looked up at Ivar and shook her head. "He's dead," she said again, unsure if he'd heard. But he was only looking between her and Sigurd, at his blood on her face and hands, at the split in Sigurd's pupil that had given him his name. His eyes were wide and he was holding tight to the arms of his chair but he said nothing. What was there to be said? He'd killed his own brother. Distantly, as if through a fog, Dagny knew it was no one's fault but her own. But it was difficult to place blame when Sigurd's body was before her, already cold and pale.