Chapter Twenty-two
Tormod strode through the hall. The thralls and other women scattered as he passed. Even Ragna took one look at him and left him alone.
Outside dawn was breaking. He leaned against the door.
What had possessed him to do that? No, that at least was clear.
The lust of battle had still been on him, the joy of victory.
He had been careless, too overcome by lust to remember that he meant to wait, so that it would be clear to all the villagers any child Aoife birthed was his own.
He couldn’t even admit the reasons why it was significant without undermining his position as jarl.
He sighed. The impact of Ingrid’s deception was never ending, or so it often seemed.
And he didn’t want a child’s life ruined because of his mistakes, no matter how much easier it would make his own to do so.
There was a chance now of a child, whether he wanted one yet or not.
He tried to push from his thoughts the hurt on her face when he’d said he had made a mistake.
How could he explain to her about Ingrid?
About how he’d been taken for a fool? None of that was Aoife’s fault, and yet…
He could barely admit to himself what had happened in the past, so how could he explain it to her?
He didn’t want her to know how foolish he had been in the past. His poor judgment had nearly been the death of him, and those around him.
All he had to do was look at Arne to remind him how important it was to trust the right people.
The decisions he made as jarl were important — not just for himself, but for the villagers who depended on him.
And especially for the other Brothers of Thunder.
He stopped short, realising with surprise that the reason he didn’t want her to know how foolish he had been, was that he cared what she thought of him. Or was it was something else? Maybe he loved her and wanted her to love him in return?
No, he would never be such a fool as to love another woman.
He shook his head. That was a thought he was not going to entertain.
What was done was done and he would have to live with the consequences as he lived with the consequences of his marriage to Ingrid.
He could only pray to the gods that this would be less catastrophic.
Tormod unbuckled his sword from his waist and hefted his axe in his hand.
He headed out of the village. Once he reached the edge of the forest, he began to run.
Earlier, he had allowed himself to be distracted.
He needed to be alone, to run, to clear his mind and body of the anger and shame that filled him.
Why could he not put this behind him? Perhaps he should have insisted Arne stayed at home, in the Norselands, but Ragna had begged him to allow her son to come.
Told him that it would not help either of them to pretend nothing had happened.
He gripped the axe tightly, swinging it in front of him when branches got in his way. Otherwise, he pumped his arms back and forth, matching his steps. He could feel his heart racing, his blood beginning to burn. He ran and ran until he could run no more.
When he stopped, his breaths were loud, and his chest heaved.
He was deep in the forest and on the crest of a small hill.
As he calmed, he heard it. Snorting, and the footsteps of an animal.
A boar most likely. He turned slowly in a circle, trying to see through the darkness of the trees.
The glint of its eyes gave its position away.
He dropped the axe from one hand to the other and back again, preparing himself for the fight he knew would come.
The boar stared at him, pawed the ground a time or two, but didn’t move.
Tormod stared at it. It was a big beast, one of the largest he’d seen on these shores, and its tusks were sharp. They would make a fine trophy. He swung the axe around once, then again. The beast lowered its head to the ground, then attacked.
Everything outside of the fight ceased to exist. There was only the swing and miss or swing and hit of the axe.
Each time it sank into flesh was a small victory on the way to final triumph, each time it glanced off the tough hide of the boar a time to recalculate, change the angle of the thrust, the speed of the blow.
Screams from both man and beast surrounded them until finally there was only Tormod’s breathing.
He dropped to his knees as the boar collapsed for a final time at his feet.
He hung his axe on his belt and lifted the beast, staggering under its weight.
His muscles shook with the effort, but he had won and he would return to the village with his spoils, no matter how heavy they were or how long it took.
Tormod had run much farther than he’d realised. It was nearly full light by the time he reached the village again and took the boar into the hall. He dumped the carcass beside Ragna, who said nothing, merely looked at him and jerked her head in the direction of the beach.
Tormod didn’t even bother to undress, just strode out into the cold water and, once far enough out, ducked under it.
He remained under the water, his body finally cooling while his breathing and heart rate slowed.
His lungs began to burn, so he surfaced and took a deep breath.
Water sluiced off him as he pulled off his bloodstained clothes and threw them towards the beach. Then he swam a little.
Reality began to seep in. The water was bitterly cold, and his arms were trembling from the exertion of carrying the boar so far. He closed his eyes and floated onto his back, rubbing at his hair and wishing he had some soap.
A soft splash beside him got him to open his eyes and drew his attention to Bjorn’s presence on the beach.
Realising what had made the noise, he scrabbled on the rocky seabed until he found the bar of rough soap his cousin had thrown towards him and quickly cleaned himself and his hair of the last traces of blood and sweat.
Then he threw the bar back towards the beach.
He exited the water, and as he strode up the beach, Bjorn handed him a fur that he wrapped around his shivering body.
“We will feast later,” Bjorn said as they continued up the beach. “I hope seeing you again will be enough to calm that wife of yours, but I doubt it.”
“She was worried?”
“We all were.” Bjorn looked at him. “No shield, no sword, no armour, just gone. I have been looking for you.”
“I had to get away,” Tormod said. “I had my axe.”
Bjorn put a hand on his shoulder and stopped him.
“She thinks you are angry with her. You are punishing her for the sins of another. She is all alone here. If you turn on her…” Bjorn left the sentence hanging.
Then he looked over towards the barn where Ulf and Arne stood guard over the prisoner.
Arne looked away, but not before the sunlight highlighted the scars on his face.
Scars from injuries that everyone had believed would kill him.
Tormod closed his eyes, remembering. None of them had thought Arne would survive the journey home, but he had, although he was delirious with fever and had lost a great deal of blood. There was little skin that had not felt the touch of their enemies’ swords or axes - in an ambush meant for him.
Tormod opened his eyes and pulled the fur tighter around him against the chill of the morning air. Ulf approached them.
“The prisoner is chained. Do you wish to deal with him now?” Ulf asked.
“No, once I have dressed and eaten will be time enough,” Tormod replied. “Let him start to truly fear us before we question him.”
“Or it may give him a chance to escape,” Ulf retorted.
Tormod stared at his cousin for a long moment. Ulf’s gaze did not waver, and Tormod knew he had every right to doubt his judgment, but as jarl, Tormod could not let such doubt stand unchallenged. “Surely he will only escape if Bjorn has failed in his duty to chain him.”
“I can assure you he is well secured,” Bjorn said.
“We need to keep our heads clear and discover exactly what is going on. If Cadell has broken the terms of our alliance—then we shall respond in kind
Ulf held Tormod’s gaze for a minute longer, then nodded. “Very well.”
As he passed Ulf, however, his cousin put a hand on his shoulder, halting him.
“Did we not already hear enough? Lord Cadell has deceived us. His daughter is worthless. He doesn’t care if she lives or dies. Her presence here does not protect us.”
Tormod didn’t look at Ulf. He clenched his fists, struggling to stop himself from lashing out at his cousin, making him withdraw his words. But he couldn’t. Ulf was right. In one way.
Tormod turned to Ulf and met his gaze full on. “My wife is not worthless.” He realised as he spoke the words that he truly believed them.
“Your wife…” Ulf left the words hanging for a moment, then dropped his hand from Tormod’s shoulder. “Let us pray to the gods that you are right.”
Tormod closed his eyes and took several deep breaths, trying to calm the red rage that had descended over him at Ulf’s words.
He tried to persuade himself that his cousin’s words had not affected him as much as they had.
And pushed away the thought that what he felt for Aoife went beyond mere convenience.
He couldn’t love Aoife. He wouldn’t allow it. It was safer for everyone if he didn’t.
Tormod opened his eyes and looked around at the small groups of warriors and villagers who were still discussing the battle’s aftermath.
All of them were armed, and Tormod sensed from many of them the dejection that the battle had not even reached them.
The Britons had not made it past their first line of defence.
Still, if this were a sign of what was to come, then it would not be long before the whole village was needed.
By then, he needed to ensure that Aoife was seen as one of them, not as Cadell’s daughter.
If Aoife carried his child, their jarl’s child, then she would be protected.
At least working on that issue would not be a hardship.
“Ulf!” Tormod wasn’t sure what to say. He rubbed a hand down his face. “You are right. We need to rethink our alliance with Lord Cadell.”
Ulf’s face held an equal mix of triumph and relief. “We have been fooled by Cadell. We need to plan our next move.”
A chill ran through Tormod’s veins. He knew his cousin had tried to take the edge off his criticism by saying ‘we’, when Tormod knew fine well that this was his fault. He had been fooled. And not for the first time.
“We need to decide what we do with the prisoner and…” Ulf broke off, holding Tormod’s gaze.
“And my wife?” Tormod was torn between knowing that his cousin was right, and hating him for it. “My wife is innocent.”
There was a lengthy pause before Ulf said, “You are sure?”
“Yes.”
It was enough. It had to be enough. If Ulf was going to challenge him on this, then better that he should know now. He was relieved when his cousin nodded.
Tormod took a deep breath, remembering Elisedd’s stories about life at Car Cadell and Aoife’s sense that her father himself, might be in danger.
“But if Lord Cadell needs our help, then we must also honour that,” said Tormod.
“I believe that may be why the maid sent her son here, sent Elisedd here. After all, who would send a child into an enemy camp unless what is at home is something far, far worse?”
Ulf frowned, but seemed to be seriously considering Tormod’s words. “We have many questions to ask the prisoner. But Tormod, you need to deal with the prisoner in a way that reassures our people. Keep your wife away from the Thing.”
“These men came to kill all of us. My wife included.”
Silence. He couldn’t tell whether Ulf believed him or not.
“I don’t think we’ll ever convince some of the villagers of that,” Ulf said. That, at least, was one less thing to worry about. “Not unless you can get the prisoner to admit it. And then…” Ulf ran a finger across his throat.
Then the prisoner would be guilty of trying to murder the wife of a jarl and Tormod would have to have him executed.
In one way, he had no objections. In another…
He wondered how his wife would react. They had already killed five of her countrymen last night.
Those countrymen who had attacked their village had done so with the intention of killing Aoife as well as the Norsemen.
If things had gone differently, they might well have succeeded.
He knew she had heard the men in the boat.
She knew they had been ready to kill her themselves, but their prisoner was the one man who had queried that order. Killing him would achieve little.
Ulf marched off before Tormod could reply.
“Ulf is right,” Bjorn said. “There are many who are worried.”
“Worried?” Tormod bristled. Their suspicion of his wife was unwarranted, but not everyone would see it that way.
“You know what I mean. Worried that your loyalties are now divided.”
“I am hardly the first jarl to marry the daughter of an enemy for the promise of peace.”
Bjorn regarded him carefully. “I know that, and they know it, too. It is simply that here, with these people, everything is new and different. They don’t understand.”
“They choose not to understand.”
“And you have to deal with that. You need to keep them all together. Us all together.”
Tormod regarded Bjorn, concerned his cousin would not meet his eye. He expected this from Ulf. Ulf always challenged him, but Bjorn… Bjorn was solid, reliable. If Bjorn was worried, then Tormod really did need to take action.
“Find out what you can,” he instructed Bjorn. “Then find me and we will speak. Bring Arne.”
Bjorn nodded at him grimly.
Tormod headed for the hall, and through it to the room he and Aoife shared.