Chapter Seven
Timing
After the longboat anchored at the mouth of the river that bordered his cousin’s lands, Aaron disembarked, then walked to the only village nearby to borrow a horse.
He rode for hours. He didn’t remember his cousin’s home being this far inland.
Perhaps it seemed longer and farther away because he dreaded the confrontation.
Tyr had promised certain death if he ever found him in the Trondelag again.
Aaron wanted to win back his confidence, his respect.
Tyr’s influence stretched to the farthest reaches of the northlands.
There wasn’t a jarl in Norway who didn’t seek his friendship. Even Christian leaders respected him.
Days after his banishment, Aaron had determined two choices for his future.
Slither back to Scotland and beg his father’s forgiveness or prove himself as a soldier under King Magnus.
With Magnus now dead, the chance of seeing his cousin had increased because his own lands were located so close to Tyr’s.
The army had met all his needs short of mother’s milk.
As he neared Tyr’s steading, he dismounted and led his horse the rest of the way.
As the large house came into view, music filled the air; he smelled roasting meat—a feast. His cousin was a generous man who treated his tenants and thralls as family.
Nothing had changed, a gaggle of children were running wild in the fields.
Women were working in the vast gardens, while the men drank in the courtyard.
As Aaron entered the courtyard, someone called his name. Onetooth. The loyal henchman lived.
“Fortelle min frende den fortapte s?nn tilbake,” Aaron answered.
“Prodigal son, my arse,” the burly soldier uttered as he ducked inside the house.
Memories brought a smile to Aaron’s face. Within the span of two breaths, Tyr appeared in the doorway with a young boy perched on his back. No mistaking the boy’s parentage, he favored his father. His cousin swung his son around, then set him on his feet.
“Mine ?yne bedrar meg, fetter?” Tyr’s lips curled in revilement.
Aaron ignored the words and hissing sounds coming from the men sitting nearby.
This was the moment he’d anticipated . .
. how he proceeded would have great consequences.
It might give him a new future or deprive him of one altogether.
“No, cousin, your eyes don’t deceive you.
” He knelt at Tyr’s feet, bowing his head.
During the period of uncomfortable silence that followed, Aaron didn’t move. He waited to feel the steely edge of Tyr’s sword slice through his neck or feel his fist slam into his jaw. He’d never offered himself to anyone this way—never felt this helpless.
His cousin sighed. “What game do you play?”
Aaron lifted his head, meeting Tyr’s heated gaze. “I seek forgiveness, in Odin’s blessed name. For everything I’ve done.”
“Odin?” Tyr’s voice boomed. “Dette hund krever Odin’s n?de.” He pounded his chest with a fist and summoned his guards. “You dare invoke Allfather?”
Here was the man Aaron knew too well, the one he feared and respected.
A chill swept over his entire body as he yanked his shirt over his head, revealing the dragon tattoo on his back.
Its barbed tail curled its way around his right shoulder.
The words respekt gir makt were scrolled across his broad chest. The sole symbol of Norse might, Thor’s hammer, adorned his left arm.
“Proof of my unwavering faith and devotion.” Tyr couldn’t reject his claim—deny his conversion.
Never before had Aaron publicly attested to his new faith.
“A liar dressed in silk still deceives.” Contempt laced his voice. His cousin had grown fiercer since he’d fathered children, not kinder.
“Aye,” Aaron concurred. “But a Christian would never mutilate his own body.”
Tyr brandished a long knife and stepped forward. “When did you abandon the White Christ?”
“Two days after I left this house.”
“Can baptism be reversed? Your spirit was dedicated when you were a babe in your mother’s arms.”
“What was done to me as a child has nothing to do with the man kneeling in front of you today.”
Tyr grunted, then frowned. “It’s always amused me how men think they receive full remission of their sins if they’re dribbled with water.”
Unexpectedly, Tyr’s son ambled over. He fingered Aaron’s shoulder admiringly, tracing the lines of his tattoos. “Far.” He faced Tyr. “Will I have these markings someday?”
“If you grow up fearing the gods and obey your parents—perhaps.” Tyr blinked, eyeing first his son, then cousin. “This is my eldest, Latham.”
“Hello, Latham.” Aaron half-smiled. “I am your kinsman.”
The boy grinned. “Do you have children?”
“None that I know of,” Aaron mused. “But I’m here today to make amends to your father so I can start my own family soon.” Kara’s beautiful features flashed before his eyes. He missed her.
Aaron owed the boy his gratitude for interfering when he did. The knife was meant for his gut. His knees ached from kneeling for so long. He glimpsed over his shoulder, studying the faces of the guards who had circled around him. Onetooth stood in the forefront with his weapon at the ready.
“I’ve kept a close eye on you, cousin,” Tyr informed. “Known your whereabouts since the day you left. I commend your service to Magnus—we all miss our king.”
Blessings were offered in the king’s name.
“Now, you represent Olaf.”
“Aye.” Aaron looked his cousin in the eyes. “And I wish to serve you and your wife.”
“Don’t speak her name or I’ll be forced to cut your tongue out.
I cannot believe what I’m seeing and hearing.
” Tyr’s brows drew together, his face tightening.
“Either you’re truly reformed or you’ve become the most skilled liar I’ve ever known.
If I killed you now, there would be no legal ramifications.
Not even King Olaf would fault me for settling our blood feud.
You kidnapped my wife and sold her to Hardrada’s bastard son for gold. ”
Upon those words, Onetooth stalked to his master’s side, glaring down at Aaron. He knew the old warrior would love to flay him and keep his skin as a trophy. Aaron’s gaze didn’t waver—side by side, these two powerful warriors reminded him of ancient sentinels.
Tyr spoke. “I’m greatly conflicted, cousin.
I must accept that you’ve renounced your faith—the proof is irrefutable.
The markings on your body are clear. And if I slayed one of Odin’s sons for past misdeeds, I might suffer the wrath of the gods.
For this reason alone, I’ll spare your life. But why should I trust you?”
A life spared did not promise a former life regained. Not in the way Aaron desired. He wanted more—family—peace—kinship. “We’re brethren and I’m contemplating marriage.”
Tyr rubbed the back of his neck. Aaron knew it would take more than kneeling to convince him how deeply he had changed. The dark past bound them together like chains. If his cousin’s wife, Rachelle, could forgive him . . .
Aaron shifted uncomfortably. “I’ll swear fealty to you and leave the king’s service, if that’s what you ask.”
“Do you know how often I’ve formulated your slow death in my mind—how often I’ve dreamt about it?” Tyr sheathed his weapon, then rested his hand on Aaron’s shoulder. “Stand. We shall eat together.”
After spending a few hours at his cousin’s table, Aaron realized how deeply Norway burned for war.
The mistrust between pagans and Christians was even more evident in the Trondelag.
Aaron explained the king’s mission, bitter debate exploded amongst the freemen.
Some recognized Olaf’s authority, but others questioned the legitimacy of his throne.
Why should pagans honor the pope? Tithe?
Obey a Christian king? Why weren’t pagan holy sites given the same considerations as churches?
Odin’s sons had never forcibly converted peasants.
Odin’s priests didn’t abstain from sexual relations or deprive themselves of the joy of children.
What kind of god denied men their natural rights?
What kind of god abhors violence, especially in the name of self-defense, depriving his devotees the opportunity to enter Valhalla?
Turn the other cheek. A coward’s decree if they’d ever heard one.
Aaron attempted to answer their questions.
“I’m not here to promote or defend church doctrine—I am no holy man.
And I cannot disobey my orders. The king has promised not to punish heathens.
But he’s also cancelled future treaties of protection and higher taxes.
Anyone who defaces a holy site in these lands strikes at the heart of this nation. ”
“Perhaps it’s time to rip that heart out,” a man suggested.
“Hand Norway over to the Swedes,” another offered. His comment inspired another round of raucous arguments.
Aaron threw up his hands. He’d jumped from the cauldron into the fire. “It’s safer in the woods.”
“You ask too much of men who have little to give,” Tyr commented.
“The reports we’ve received in Oslo convey the northlands have flourished since the war.”
“For men with lands, ships, and trade agreements. Farmers and craftsmen don’t have the resources or connections to sell their goods in foreign markets.
Christians refuse to buy from unbelievers.
As a result, demand in southern Norway, one of the largest markets they depended on, is down.
These poor men rely on wealthy landowners to transport and sell their goods now.
Profits have diminished considerably. I must charge a fee for my services—I too have a family to feed—lands to protect. ”
The level of resistance Aaron witnessed convinced him the king knew exactly what sort of challenges he would face before sending him on this mission.
Why sacrifice a Norsemen when he had a perfectly good Scotsman in service?
“We’ve all felt the bloody sting of war, been deprived of honor, and suffered immeasurably from the deaths of our brothers.
Things must change. Olaf should grant permission for all to buy and sell freely.
Religious preference should not condemn a man to a life of poverty.
” Aaron would immediately pen a letter to the king.
“I agree. But there’s more to consider,” Tyr mentioned. “You didn’t come here only seeking peace. You have asked these men for the greatest treasure they possess on earth—their sons.”
“Not for war.”
“No, but you’re asking them to target rebels who may be members of their own families.”
Aaron had failed to make the connection. “I am the king’s humble servant,” he reminded. “Whether by my hand or another’s, Olaf will have his new army.”
Tyr shoved his empty plate aside, then took a swig of wine. “Have you considered the possibility that Christians are responsible for the destruction of the churches?”
Aaron suspected anyone capable of lifting a sword.
The longer he contemplated the purpose of the attacks, the more he wondered why pagans would risk so much for so little.
Half the families in Norway were Christian converts.
And at the rate priests were striking out across the country, within another decade, the old religion would disappear.
Honestly, in Aaron’s mind, everyone was a suspect.
“I must keep my opinions to myself.” He’d say nothing more on the subject.
Tyr stretched. “You mentioned a potential marriage. Take a walk with me, cousin. Politics can wait, love cannot.”
Aaron gazed down the length of the table. There was no point in staying in the great hall. Everyone had a bloody opinion—few worth anything. The level of noise reminded him of a henhouse. Happy to go, Aaron followed his kinsman outside. Any chance to think about Kara, he’d take.