Chapter 3 #2
Daneland is prosperous thanks to the treaty I signed with the Vikings. We coexist because the Vikings have proven far too strong to fight. This was the only way for peace in England. However, many Saxons hate me for my decision.
They would rather fight and sacrifice the lives of thousands of men than cohabit with the Danes.
I know many have tried to incite an uprising amongst their men, but no army is big enough to defeat the Danes. Their numbers only grow. They do not attempt to overthrow me because of the agreement we have in place.
And also, because of Skarth.
They fear the wrath he will deliver unto those who dare challenge the laws which protect both Saxon and Dane.
In this territory, Dane customs, laws, and power have overthrown those of the Saxons. So I am merely a visitor and am expected to abide by their rules, just as if a Dane were to set foot in my kingdom.
The Danes are resilient. This is evident in the produce and greenery that surrounds me. They have planted many edible plants and herbs, ones that thrive. It’s rather astounding to see, and it gives me great satisfaction knowing I was a part of this flourishing.
Beyond the greenery, I see something in the distance—a large village.
Lord Louis instantly rides ahead, forever the protector of his queen. But it is here where I feel most at home.
I often wonder if I am more Dane than Saxon because I never considered their customs taboo or even strange. I understood them and saw the cleverness in their practices, both in war and farming. They are a culture we can learn from, yet to my countrymen, they are nothing but heathens.
Halfdan cups his mouth and lets out a call. It’s akin to a bird. I know this is to let his tribespeople know he has returned.
The energy soon vibrates down my spine as we get closer. I take it all in. I am proud to be a part of history. This place exists because Skarth and I sacrificed our love.
We’ve bettered the lives of Saxons and Danes, but what of ours? When I see little children run toward us, eyes wide with curiosity, I long for my children to be able to experience this as well.
These are their people, yet they are unable to learn from them. What cruel world do we live in?
Men and women watch us closely, but when they see the pendant hanging from my neck, their hostility turns to curiosity. We ride until we reach a large square area in the middle of the village. I know this is where Vikings settle whatever scores they may have with one another…until the death.
And I’ve seen the very creative ways they deliver that fate, for I delivered it onto King Egbert when he was executed by my hand, by the only punishment he deserved.
His death may be honorable amongst the Northmen, but a blood-eagle death means that King Egbert’s soul will forever roam restless, unable to find peace, as he will not be able to enter heaven, having died a Pagan’s death.
The memory of his ribs cracking open with precision as I peeled them from his body, spreading him wide, leaves my heart a fluttering mess.
I’ve condemned his soul for an eternity, and I would do it again if given the chance.
I cluck my tongue, and on command, my horse stops. As do the horses of the others. We give the villagers the respect they deserve since we are visitors in their homeland. I will respect their wishes if they want us to leave, but not before the questions I seek are answered.
We don’t waver, although we are not welcome.
Most look at me with new eyes, for they have not seen the Viking Princess in the flesh. But when I hear a voice in the distance, nostalgia tackles me.
But it’s not the good kind.
“The notorious princess returns. It saddens me that talks of you suffering a horrible death were just a rumor,” says Inga, an old friend, but more so a foe.
I wish I could be happy to see her, but I am not.
She helped lead us to victory, but it was for her own gain. No doubt this village is hers. She is now the queen of her people, which leaves the question, just who is her king?
Memories of her limbs twisted with Skarth’s as they were in the throes of passion assault me, and it takes all my willpower not to throw my blade at her head.
I recall the last time we were in battle and why all of this is possible.
“That is why Inga helped us? Because you promised to lead them again?”
“We are lost after so much bloodshed. Just like you, we need to start again.”
“You will leave England? I command you not to leave. I command that you do not leave…me.”
“I will always be with you. And when I am not, peer into the skies, and the North Star will remind you of that. North of the stars is always the brightest, just how your light shines within me.”
“Skarth, n-no. I cannot do this without you.”
“Yes, you can. You believe I was the one who saved you, but you are mistaken. You saved me—time and time again. You will be in my heart—always—and when I am melancholy, I will have you in there to remind me to keep going because not once have you ever, ever given up, and neither will I.”
My heart aches for the man I miss with every breath I take. But I cannot show weakness, especially since I know these are Inga’s people.
She examines me closely as many moons have passed since we last saw one another. She is still as striking and just as fierce as when I first laid eyes on her. Her blond hair is plaited and twisted into an intricate style. And she wears leathers and chain metal, forever ready for battle.
There is no mistaking her for anything other than royalty.
“May we speak?” I ask her as I dismount my horse.
She folds her arms across her chest. “Why do you think anything you say will be of interest to me? All you Saxons are the same, regardless of whether you were once a Viking whore.”
I inhale deeply, composing myself because I know she is baiting me. I remember who I am and why I’m here. She can insult me all she wants if it means getting my sons back.
My men advance, but I raise my hand, stopping them. “Your tongue is still sharp, I see. I need something from you, Inga, and I will not leave until I get it.”
The tension begins to grow because, although outnumbered, I refuse to back down, and Inga knows it. She remembers how shrewd I am in war, so I know she wonders whether this is an ambush. I also believe her curiosity will get the better of her in the end.
“All right then, you may speak, but on one condition.”
I nod, gesturing that I am all ears.
“You fight me.”
“My Queen, I must insist—”
But I ignore Lord Louis because this is the only language Inga speaks.
“All right, I shall. But when I win, you must honor your promise.”
Our audience mumbles under their breaths, amazed by my courage, it seems, for Inga is a fantastic warrior.
Inga smirks, but there is no warmth to it. “You have my word.”
“My Queen! No!”
But this is happening, and it’s happening now.
I style my long hair into a tight twist and tie it high on my head, out of my eyes, as I cannot have anything impairing my vision. Halfdan offers me a sword with a look of sympathy as he believes he has led me to my death.
“Do not worry, sweetling. I was taught by the best,” I assure him, caressing his cheek.
I meet Inga’s eyes and see nothing but hatred.
I don’t know why she dislikes me. Maybe it’s because two of her men sacrificed everything for me even though I never asked for it.
Whatever the reason, it’s time to settle old scores. And I will leave here the victor.
I follow Inga as she leads me to the square, prepared for battle.
The Vikings holler in excitement, sculling their cups of ale as I can imagine they’ve not seen their queen fight another queen. But they don’t realize I did not get to where I am by being senseless.
I got here because I fought dirty.
I lied.
I cheated.
And I killed, and I will happily do so again.
Inga cracks her neck from side to side, eyes never wavering from me. I simply smile in response before getting into a fighting stance.
Norse is spewed around me. Inga’s men are riled up and demanding my blood, but Inga knows this fight won’t be easy. She extends her sword in front of her, peering down it at me.
“Now is the time to retreat to your kingdom. You do not belong here. You never did,” she says, baring her teeth.
“I do not take orders from you, Inga,” I reply, circling her and mimicking her movements.
It’s a death dance as such.
“Are you angered that I had their love, and you did not?” I ask, using my words as fuel, as I know they harm her.
And as anticipated, a guttural cry leaves her before she charges for me.
The force of her first strike is brutal, but I raise my sword, blocking her. I shove her backward with all my might, and she stumbles.
“I believe the answer is yes.”
She screams, charging for me once again.
I read her moves, however, and dodge her attack by sidestepping her. Her back is turned to me, so I use this to my advantage and kick her to the ground. She scrambles desperately, but I don’t give her a reprieve and push my foot to the small of her back, pinning her down.
“You do not fight like the warrior I remember you to be,” I mock, pressing down harder onto her spine. “Mayhap your arrogance will finally be that of your demise.”
Inga has always fought dirty, and now is no exception. She turns over her shoulder and throws a handful of dirt into my face, blinding me for long enough for her to squirm from my clutches and swing her sword.
I frantically rub the soil from my eyes, but it only makes things worse. Inga drives the butt of her sword into my stomach, winding me.
“No, princess,” she sneers. “I will be the reason for your demise.”
I stagger back, almost losing my footing, but I remain upright, blinking past the grit prohibiting my vision. Inga kicks my leg, and I buckle to the ground, poised on one knee. She slams her fist into my face, splitting my lip open.
The sharp metallic sting trickles down my throat, and a surge of excitement courses through me from the taste. It almost animates me back to life.
Inga charges at me with a war cry, but I spring up and turn, avoiding the sharp end of her sword.
Our audience hollers and bellows for Inga to finish me off, but they underestimate a queen scorned.
The soft rustle of wind blows over my face, amplifying the blood pumping through my ears. I focus on it and allow the universe to guide me, just as Skarth taught me.
Inga is a skilled fighter, but she’s passionate and, therefore, vocal. I hear her attack before I feel it, which is why I close my eyes and fight blind. I shut out the background noise and concentrate on Inga’s feet in the dirt and the small intake of breath she takes before she strikes her sword.
Her sword whips through the air, intent on taking my head, but I duck low and drive my sword into her leg. I quickly withdraw, listening to the drip…drip…drip of Inga’s blood as it trickles into the earth beneath her.
“Kill her!” one of Inga’s men screams, but heads will not roll today.
Inga charges for me once more, but with my eyes still closed, I crouch low, only to elbow her in the stomach. When a pained breath escapes her, I raise my elbow higher and break her nose.
My senses are alive, and when I open my eyes, I see a sight of utter beauty.
Inga wears her blood as warpaint, charging for me, but I spin and press the tip of my blade to Inga’s throat. “I am no princess. I am Queen, and you will bow to me, for if you do not…I will cut off your fucking head!”
Inga wrestles with her choices, but there are none.
She lost.
I win.
Eventually, she surrenders, tossing aside her sword and kneeling before me with nothing but contempt. She underestimated me, which was her first mistake. The second was her short memory, it seems.
“You forget who taught me?” I question her, pressing the tip of my blade into her throat. A trickle of blood runs from the wound. “Hear me now, Northmen, I am Queen Emeline, and I will not leave this wretched place until you tell me where to find Skarth the Godless.”
Silence.
Inga doesn’t waver like the true Dane that she is. She will accept her consequences and will not beg for mercy because she lost. She will accept whatever fate is coming her way.
“Where is he?” I ask Inga, who merely narrows her eyes. “So eager to feast in Valhalla? I can grant you your wish.”
“No!” a man cries, holding the hand of a young child. “I will take you to where he is, but you must leave here, and no more blood will be shed.”
Inga turns over her shoulder, glaring at the man who looks at her with nothing but love. With eyes the same color, I assume this is her brother, as her husband would celebrate his wife’s death. Do not attempt to save it.
“I am Aric.”
“Father was right,” Inga says, before spitting at Aric’s feet. “You are weak.”
Aric ignores her and lets go of the little boy’s hand. He runs to Inga and wraps his arms around her. Her son, perhaps?
The sight stirs my humanity, and instantly, I drop my sword. It reminds me of my children, and the longing hits me so hard that I need to leave.
I offer my winning sword to Halfdan, who cradles it against his chest. He carries the sword of a victor.
I quickly take off into the woods, for I feel my tears approaching. I cannot show weakness. When I am alone, I bend low, place my hands on my knees, and take three calming breaths. For a moment, I wanted to take Inga’s head.
The rage I felt was overwhelming. I did not like it.
“Are you well?”
Turning, I see Catherine standing a few feet away. Nothing but concern is etched on her face.
“I am well, lambkin. Just catching my breath.”
“I’ve not seen thee fight like that before.”
“I suppose that is because I’ve never had to fight for something I value more than my life. Something I value more than England.”
Catherine nods, understanding my pain because she lost her family too.
“We leave immediately,” I order. “We are not welcome here, regardless of whether I won.”
“Can we trust Aric?”
I peer into the heavens and feel nothing but dread.
“What other choice do we have?”