Season of the Sun (Viking Era 1)

“At least I am not a traitor. If I had to die, I would not go to my death with shame or guilt heavy on my soul.”

“You little prig!” She slapped him hard. Egill’s head snapped back on his neck, but he held his place. He made no move against her. He planted his feet more firmly. He stared at her with contempt.

“Damn you, you’re free. I paid the king a lot of silver for you. It matters not to me whether you leave or not. I have tried to do my duty by you.” She whirled about, only to pause and turn slowly to face him once more. “Listen to me, boy. You know nothing, do you understand me? I was your father’s steward, his helpmeet, the one he could depend upon to take care of Malek. It was my farmstead as much as it was his! I was more than a wife could be, for I am flesh of his flesh. I oversaw everything at Malek, even his women, and yet he threw me away for that filthy whore. Ah, and there is that whore’s sister, that squalid little idiot! See how she cowers behind you, just as her slut sister cowered behind Magnus, telling him lies about me! Aye, and complaining that I had hurt her, mistreated her. All lies, everything she said was a lie. Stay with her sister, Egill, I care not!” She took an unmeasured step toward Lotti, her hand raised.

“Don’t,” Egill said. “Don’t touch her, Aunt, or I will make you pay for it. I am no longer a child. My father would want me to protect one who is weaker than I. Lotti is not only in my care, she is also mine.”

Ingunn stared at the boy. He meant it. He would very likely attack her, she who had cared for him after Dalla had died, she who had treated him like her own child. Suddenly it was too much. Tears came to her eyes and she sobbed. She turned on her heel and left the manor house, only to stop abruptly, unable to go on, though she wanted to. By Thor, would it never end? She paused yet again, furious with the boy, but she knew what she had to do, aye, she knew. She had no choice.

King Guthrum rubbed his fingers over the richly carved oak post of his chair and stared at Magnus Haraldsson. He’d agreed immediately to see the man. He liked him and trusted him, as far as he’d trust any man, and he was infinitely curious as to what he wanted.

“So,” he said slowly, his eyes on his fingers tracing over the elaborate carvings, “the boy is your get. I thought he looked familiar, as did Aslak. Aye, he has the look of you. His aunt bought him back from me and took him away. ’Twas yesterday she came. I assume he is gone now.”

“And a little girl? Her name is Lotti.”

“Aye, I recall the little one. The woman didn’t want her, though even my dear Cecilia knew she and the boy were inseparable. It is almost as if they acted as one. I assume she is still with my, er, niece Cecilia.”

Guthrum heard Zarabeth’s sharp intake of breath and turned to her.

“I recognize you now. You are the woman Magnus saved some months ago, the woman we believed had poisoned Olav the Vain. It is odd, aye, very odd indeed.”

“What do you mean

, sire? And no, I did not poison my husband.”

“Aye, all know now that you were innocent of his murder. It was Toki, wife of Keith, Olav’s son, who killed him. She is dead now.” He rubbed his hands together, obviously pleased at the solution.

Magnus stared hard at the king, wondering at the vagaries of fate. If he hadn’t returned, Zarabeth would have been put to death for the crime and everyone would have been pleased and relieved, certain that justice had been meted out. Now Toki had been shown guilty and she was dead. By the gods, it was more than a man could explain to himself.

Zarabeth echoed some of his thoughts, her voice disbelieving. “Dead? Toki has confessed to what she did?”

King Guthrum shook his head. “Nay, ’twas her husband who told the council that it was she and not you who had killed his father. He said she confessed it to him when she was drunk. He beat her to death for it.”

Zarabeth moved closer to Magnus. He felt the quiver of her flesh, the withdrawal of her being from the coldness of the king’s announcement.

“Aye, Keith said she was a vicious shrew, filled with envy and malice. He said she deserved to die by his hand, for as her husband he was in part responsible for the evil of her act.” Guthrum nodded wisely, his countenance certain and benign. “I agreed with him, as did the York council. He prospers now and is gaining stature. He looks more like his father by the day. He begins to strut about wearing silver and gold armlets and many rings, and he wears only the finest clothes. He has taken a new wife, a lovely girl of fourteen who will bear him many sons. He has given me several gifts.”

Fate, Magnus thought again. Its workings eluded him, as they did all men. He took Zarabeth’s hand and squeezed her fingers as the king continued, his look one of a ruler endeavoring to be just. “I had forgot that Olav the Vain had said you were to receive all that he owned were he to die. Since you were innocent of his death, you should be recompensed.”

“Aye, I believe it just, sire,” she said. She looked up at her husband and smiled. “I should like back the coin Magnus paid to Keith in danegeld for his father’s death.”

“It will be done.”

“Sire, we wish to fetch my son and Zarabeth’s sister. If my sister, Ingunn, took the boy away, then I must also know where to find Orm Ottarsson, for she is with him.”

The king said nothing for many moments. Then finally he said, “If the little girl is still with my niece, why, I will give her to you, for Ingunn Haraldsson paid me much for the boy. Go, then, Orm Ottarsson lives by the River Thurlow, on the north side. He has named his farmstead Skelder, and it is three hectares in size. He is a good subject, a man who will bring me strength and coin.”

The king gave Magnus a deliberate stare, but Magnus merely nodded and smiled. His voice was bland. “Orm has always been good at many things, sire. My wife and I thank you for your kindness and your generosity. We will remain loyal to you, as always.”

Magnus stared at his huge countryman, the master of the vessel Water Path. Grim Audunsson was rough and crude and the strongest man Magnus had ever wrestled with. He’d lost to him three times to date. Grim was also wily and greedy, and blessed, in his view, with little conscience. Magnus watched him spit and shake his shaggy golden head. They stood on the dock at the harbor, beside the Water Path, the smell of fish strong in their nostrils, the harbor wind sharp in their faces.

“Aye, Orm was here and he was as mad as the white death. He didn’t try to hide it from me. He used to hide his anger years ago, or perhaps he didn’t have it when he was younger, but he doesn’t bother to hide anything now. A berserker, Magnus, that’s what he seems now. His eyes were black with excitement, his hands fisting and twisting, ready to kill anything he could catch. I can easily see him clothed in naught but a bearskin, whipping himself into a frenzy before he kills without fear, without conscience. He is not an easy man now, Magnus. Nay, he is more dangerous than a berserker, for his rages come on viciously with a simple taunt, a smile, even a jest. Aye, he is as unpredictable as a Frenchman’s moods, and he would speak so calmly whilst he cut your throat. Aye, I gave him the woman and the children. What else could I do?” Grim shook his head and spit into the water. “I wonder if he’d kill the woman. He looked ready to, I’ll tell you.”

“The woman is my sister, Ingunn. The children are mine. Orm took them all, stole them from me, and set fire to my farmstead.”

Grim shrugged, but his eyes narrowed. “I am sorry, but again, what could I have done?”

“You could have killed him yourself. You are the strongest man I know.” He looked at the flexing muscles in Grim’s arms. “Does age sap you, Grim?”