Chapter 19 #2
“Aye, ’tis true. But I do not understand him. Why didn’t he simply kill me? He had no hatred for Erik. Why?”
“Because I would have flayed the flesh from his back without even asking him a single question. He believed by killing Erik, you would be blamed and he would still gain what he wanted. He could sit back and laugh at all of us, watching us perform as he’d wanted.”
“I am very sorry about Erik.”
“Aye, to die to have another blamed. I miss him sorely. Now we have the guilty man. I have sent a messenger to my other brother, Rorik, on Hawkfell Island. He and his wife, Mirana, will come, I doubt it not. Answer me, Laren. What should I do to Deglin?”
She said slowly, “Perhaps I would send him to my uncle Rollo. Let him serve up justice and punishment.”
Merrik’s nostrils flared. “Aye, it would be fitting. Rollo would have Deglin ripped apart by four horses or he would have him hung upside down next to a wolf. Your uncle isn’t known for his clemency or his forgiveness.”
“No, he is not, particularly toward those who attempt to hurt those he loves. No Viking is known for clemency. I would kill him, but not so crudely.”
“And what would you do?”
“I think I would take him deep into the forest, give him a knife, and leave him. He is proud of his wits. Let him save himself if he can.”
“Perhaps he would save himself. I cannot bear for him to live. It would offend the gods and all our people.”
She sighed then. “You are right. Kill him.” She paused a moment, then added, “He didn’t really confess to killing Erik.”
“He killed my brother.”
“He swore only that he saw me unconscious, and that is what I remember, Merrik. There is no doubt now in your mind?”
“None at all.”
All the Malverne people agreed that Deglin was guilty.
They all had heard him speak ill of Laren, heard his bitterness, his rage at her seizing of his position.
The men told of how Deglin, in his jealousy, had knocked Laren into a campfire, badly burning her leg.
All of Deglin’s silver was given to Merrik as Danegeld for Erik’s life.
It wasn’t enough, there would never be enough to pay for Erik’s life, but it was custom and Merrik bowed to it.
No one wanted him taken to Duke Rollo in Normandy, they wanted him dead, the sooner the better.
Thus it was that Merrik would wield the knife, as was his right.
He planned one quick blow. He wanted it over.
He would execute Deglin at dawn the next morning.
The morning was chill, clouds lying low.
Everyone stood in a circle, waiting for Deglin to be brought out.
But when Merrik, Snorri the blacksmith, and Oleg went into Snorri’s hut, Deglin was dead.
He’d managed to free himself and thrust a knife in his heart.
It was one of Erik’s old knives, there to be repaired, then to be given to Merrik.
“By all the gods,” Snorri said, infuriated, “I should have remained here in the hut last night! But I didn’t want to hear him pleading and begging me for his release. And now he is dead, by his own hand.”
All complained that his death was too easy, too quick. Merrik wondered why Deglin hadn’t tried to escape. Others wondered as well. Surely dying in freedom was better than knowing death was certain in captivity. Surely dying in freedom was better than taking your own life. But it was done.
Merrik merely shook his head and had Deglin’s body dragged into the forest. He did not deserve a Viking burial. Laren watched him wipe Deglin’s blood from the knife pulled from Deglin’s chest. He stared silently at it for a long moment, then handed it to Snorri.
They planned to leave for Normandy and the court of Duke Rollo after the harvest. That would give them enough time to return before the first winter storm struck Vestfold.
One week after a farmer had come across Deglin’s body in the forest, little left of it save bloody rags, there was much shouting and yelling and arm waving from the pier.
Merrik’s older brother, Rorik, had arrived at Malverne.
Laren was on her back on the floor, laughing and trying to avoid the huge dog’s hot tongue that lapped her face, grainy and nearly painful on her flesh. She gripped his thick fur and pulled and pulled, but it did no good at all. “Don’t just stand there,” she yelled, “help me!”
“Kerzog! Off her, you stupid hound! Get off!”
Kerzog took one final lick, then bounded up, his huge paws landing on Merrik’s chest, nearly dropping him to his knees with the force.
“I see that Kerzog still admires a beautiful woman and remembers how my little brother fed him more meat from his platter than he himself ate.” Rorik smiled toward the gigantic hound still trying to swipe Merrik’s face with his tongue.
“I must wash my face at least six times a day,” Mirana said to Laren. “Kerzog is as loving as is my husband, and he is considerably stronger.”
“Six times?” Merrik said to his smiling sister-in-law. “I should say he is far more loving than any mortal man could be, including my brother.”
Rorik Haraldsson grinned at Laren, and said, “Your new husband has enough wit for the entire family. You, I understand, are a skald. That is unusual. Both my wife and I are eager to hear a tale.”
“And our sons as well,” Mirana said, pointing to two little boys who were utterly identical, both with hair as black as their mother’s, and eyes as light blue as the sky, just like their father’s.
They were beautiful. They were eyeing Taby, the three of them circling each other, wary, yet interested.
“In a few minutes, they will be rolling on the ground, wrestling and yelling,” Mirana said comfortably.
Mirana was right. The boys were the best of friends within the next ten minutes and fighting like the worst of enemies.
As for the brothers, they were speaking quietly together, and Laren knew they spoke of Erik.
She watched them leave the longhouse and she knew they were going to Erik’s grave. And to their parents’ graves as well.
“So much trouble,” Mirana said, shaking her head. “I am sorry that you have had to bear such dissension. At least Sarla has held fast to your friendship.”
“Aye, she is like a loving sister to me.”
“And you are the niece of the famous Rollo of Normandy!”
Sarla said, smiling, “Aye, but she still only has three gowns, Mirana. Ileria is weaving madly so that the mistress of Malverne does not embarrass us with her lack of finery. None of us want her to return to Normandy looking less than flawless. Have you yet changed Merrik’s mind, Laren?”
She shook her head. “He still believes he is keeping me safe by leaving me here. But don’t worry, this is too important for him to continue in his confusion.”
The women laughed. Kerzog woofed loudly, and ran right at Mirana. She shrieked and ducked behind Laren. The huge hound knocked both of them over, barking and waving a thick violent tail that could break an unheeding arm.
When Rorik and Merrik returned to the longhouse, silent and each alone with his thoughts, his own memories, they were greeted with laughter. Each man slowly smiled. Life once again overcame death and all its pain.
The longhouse bulged with people. The men had hunted, bringing down a deer and a boar.
Many others had fished, and the rich smells of the venison and the boar mixed with the baked herring and salmon, filled the air, covering the ever-present smell of men and women pressed too closely together.
Laren looked upon the row upon row of bodies, each wrapped in a woolen blanket, along the far wall.
She looked down at a tug on her gown to see Taby, rubbing his eyes with his knuckles, wearing only a linen tunic.
She dropped to her knees and drew him to her. “You were asleep, Taby. You had a bad dream?”
He nodded. “How can Merrik be my Viking warrior if he comes back here to Malverne? The Viking warrior stayed with the little boy, to protect him, to keep him safe. I’m not stupid, Laren. I know that this other place is far away from here.”
She’d made up the Viking warrior. She felt tears sting her eyes. She’d given a child a hero and now, because they lived not in a skald’s tale but in the real world, the hero would leave him, and so would she. She couldn’t bear it.
“I don’t know,” she said against his soft hair. “I don’t know, but we will do something.”
She saw Merrik then, standing close to them, watching, saying nothing.
“I don’t want to leave you or Merrik,” Taby said against her neck. “I don’t care about being a prince.”
Merrik came down beside her, lightly stroking the child’s arm.
Taby turned, his eyes still dulled with sleep, but there was a quiver at his mouth that made Merrik’s gut cramp.
He drew in his breath and said slowly, “Taby, you remember I told you that who you are means many things have to happen that none of us can change.”
Taby nodded, but said, “I don’t care.”
“I know, but I have to do the caring for you. I cannot allow you to be other than what you are meant to be. It is possible that you will someday be the duke of Normandy. There is no choice.”
The child drew up, jerking out of Laren’s arms. “I hate you, I hate both of you! You just want to get rid of me!” He turned and ran back to the children’s sleeping chamber, this night filled with at least eight small bodies all pressed together in the single box bed.
Laren jumped to her feet, but Merrik held her still. “No, let him go. He is very young, Laren, but he must realize that there are duties, endless responsibilities, that direct each of us.”
“He is very young, too young to remember. The last two years have been very hard for him. He’s not known kindness or stability. He fears the unknown, for it is all he’s had for far too long.”
“And his sister as well. Now, we will go see him in a little while. Tell me what you think of Rorik and Mirana.”
“She is more beautiful than Caylis or Megot.”
He laughed at that. “Once I hated her, believed her evil, for her half brother, Einar, was a more black-hearted scoundrel than the Christians’ devil.
All that black hair of hers and her white flesh, aye, I believed her a witch.
I was wrong. By all the gods, it is difficult to be young.
Nothing appears as it really is, and your mind twists and bends and sees snakes where there are rainbows. And what do you think of my brother?”
“Rorik is like all Viking men. He is beautiful, well formed, stout-hearted.”
Merrik just stared down at her, a dark blond eyebrow cocked. “And?”
“And his dog is going to sleep in our bed with us tonight, I doubt not. He has discovered that I’m not as strong as Mirana and thus he can lie on me and lick me until his tongue is dry.”
Merrik grabbed her about her neck, leaned down and kissed her hard.
They planned to set sail for Normandy when the moon had reached its half phase some fourteen days later.
Merrik would leave Oleg in charge of both the men and Malverne’s defense.
Sarla would continue as mistress of the household.
Taby was sullen. He had been sullen since his outburst. On the morning of their departure, he allowed Laren to hug and kiss him, but when Merrik went down on his haunches in front of the child, Taby turned away from him.
Laren saw the pain on Merrik’s face. Raw anger shot through her. She grabbed Taby’s arm and jerked him back to face her. “How can you act so to the man who saved your life? The man who also saved my life? The man who will restore you to your proper position?”
He kept his head down, scuffing his bare toes into the hard earth.
“Answer me, Taby! You are of royal lineage and yet you behave like a thrall’s get! What is the matter with you?”
“He doesn’t love me, Laren.”
She jerked back, momentarily stunned. “What did you say?”
“He doesn’t love me. If he did, he wouldn’t leave me, he wouldn’t go tell Uncle Rollo where I was.”
“That is quite enough. Listen to me, Merrik loves you more than he loves anyone on this earth.”
Taby shook his head. “No he doesn’t. If he did, he wouldn’t leave me. He’s even taking you with him.”
“Well, that is different. He finally came to realize that without me, he would have a difficult time convincing Uncle Rollo of anything. I know all the people in Uncle Rollo’s court.
I can help him. He needs me. He’s leaving you here so he can be certain you’ll be safe, nothing more.
He can’t be worried about you, else he would endanger himself. ”
“He doesn’t worry about you?”
“Not overmuch. I have proved I can survive.”
“So have I, Laren.”
“Ah, but you’re a stubborn little pullet.” She ran her fingers through his thick hair. “Listen to me, Taby. Merrik takes me because I will be useful to him. He doesn’t take you because he loves you and doesn’t want to take any chances with your being hurt.”
“He doesn’t care if you’re hurt?”
Even as she shook her head, she knew he did care, but it was nothing compared to his feelings for Taby, feelings she knew he didn’t understand, but so strong nonetheless that he was helpless against them. She accepted that and with the acceptance she felt a lurching of pain deep inside her.
“I won’t be hurt,” she said, rising. She kept her hand on Taby’s shoulder. “I want you to go to Merrik now. Do not use his love for you against him. I expect you to act the man you will one day become.”
Taby looked at her for a very long time. Then he looked toward Merrik who was speaking to Oleg and Roran, his body stiff with silent pain.
He walked slowly to him. When Merrik turned to look down at the boy, the blanked pain in his eyes turned to delight and relief.
He clasped the child to him and closed his eyes, even as he spoke quietly in Taby’s ear.
What was he telling him? Even when Merrik found his release with her, even when he laughed with her, he had never looked at her with such joy and tenderness.
For the first time in her life, Laren found herself jealous of her little brother.
She felt sour resentment roil in her belly, and she swallowed, forcing herself to turn away.
She sought out Sarla, to hug her good-bye once again, for there was really no other reason.
As they walked side by side down the winding trail to the dock, she told her how to combine cloudberries with mashed hazelnuts to flavor venison-and-onion stew, something she’d already done two days before. Sarla looked earnest and nodded.