Page 32 of Rogue Knight
It was a large concession and boded well for the alliance Maerleswein had sought. He was glad he’d spoken to the king privately beforehand.
King Swein leaned forward. “What will you do if we agree to send our ships?”
“Once we have your assurance,” said Cospatric, “we will go to Scotland to seek allies in our cause, men who will fight with us, mayhap even King Malcolm.”
King Swein’s gaze fell upon Maerleswein, his brows raised in question.
Maerleswein stepped forward. “We have many allies there,” he assured the king, “including Cospatric’s cousin, young Waltheof, Earl of Huntingdon. King Malcolm, too, has been most encouraging.”
The king sat back, his chin in his hand as he rested his elbow on the arm of his throne. “You shall have the ships you seek,” he said, stroking his beard. “But I will not go.”
“Then who?” asked Cospatric in disbelief.
The king surveyed his hall, well decorated with weapons of war and his many sons, fifteen in all but only one born in wedlock. His gaze paused on a man with his same red-gold hair and beard, standing to the side. “I will send my brother, Osbjorn, and my sons, Harald and Cnut, with enough men and ships to assure we have our vengeance for the death of my warriors who fought in King Harold’s war.”
Osbjorn stepped forward from the shadows, a lesser man than the king in Maerleswein’s opinion, for he doubted the brother’s resolve. But the two sons in their third decade, who came forward to stand before their father, had his same appearance and were considered worthy fighters. Maerleswein would have to content himself with three blood relatives of the king to vouchsafe the strength of the alliance, though regrettably, the king himself would not attend.
Osbjorn bowed. “It will be as you say, my brother.”
“Take with you Christian, the Bishop of Aarhus. He can pray for your venture’s success.”
Before they left for Scotland, Maerleswein had the king’s promise he would send at least two hundred ships by summer’s end that would carry his Danish warriors and weapons to York.
“It will take that long to see so many built,” King Swein had told him. “Longships of solid oak are not made in a day.”
Maerleswein departed with his companions, pleased.It might just be enough to rid the North of the hated Normans.
***
York, England
Surrounded by a field of yellow and white flowers, Emma stood with Inga on the hillside outside the city walls as the twins happily frolicked nearby with Magnus. Both Ottar and the hound had recovered from their injuries and now wore no bandages. Magnus’ movements were as lithe as before yet his leg bore a scar from the snare.
Emma relished the warmth of the morning sun on her face as it rose above the trees of the distant forest like a great beacon. In the distance lay pastures planted with new seed and the apple orchard that would bear a rich bounty in the fall.
A soft breeze blew loose strands of her hair across her face and she brushed them away to watch the flock of curlew birds circling overhead. Spring had finally come to York.
It had rained last night and the ground was still wet. Emma loved the smell of the damp earth and harvest time when that same earth brought forth the life-sustaining grains and fruit. She was a creature of the land, she admitted with a smile, not the sea as Halden had been, yet she had loved him with a young girl’s passion.
In the far distance, Emma could see the ewes with their lambs. Just that morning, her villein, Jack, had come to tell her of the new lambs dropping each day. “’Tis a bountiful crop this year, m’lady.”
“We will pay you and your good wife a visit this afternoon to see them,” she had told him. “They always bring the children great delight.”
Weeks had passed since the Norman king had left with his army, raising the spirits of all in York. Yet despite the warm sun, the calm meadow and the promise of seeing the lambs, a passing cloud brought Emma a sense of foreboding, reminding her the peaceful respite could not last, not with her father and Cospatric gathering forces to seize York. Not with the people still chafing at the Norman rule, anxious to join him.
But today she was determined not to think of those things.
Finna, her basket in hand, left Ottar and Magnus and ran to Inga, tugging on her arm. “Come pick flowers with me, Inga!”
It was clear Inga wanted to go but was reticent. She had been particularly shy since the rape. But in some way Emma could not explain, Finna understood Inga’s sadness and her need for some lighthearted revelry.
Inga looked to Emma as if seeking her assent. Emma nodded enthusiastically. “Go! But beware, Finna will not be satisfied until you have picked half the field!”
The two ran off together laughing and bent their heads to the task. It cheered Emma to see Inga smiling again. Finna could make anyone feel treasured by her little girl ways. Inga was not immune.
Feigr was recovering, now able to get around and attend his shop, but he was bitter and angry. Inga, who still lived with Emma at Feigr’s insistence and Emma’s happy agreement, was more fearful than angry. In time, Emma hoped both could leave behind the memory of that horrible night. But she had her doubts.
The church often forced a young woman such as Inga to marry her rapist, but even if he knew, Emma did not believe the archbishop would force Inga to accept such a fate. Ealdred was too old and too weak for the people to follow his advice in such matters. Half the town of York would rise in protest if he even suggested such a thing. If all the maidens who had been taken against their will were avenged, it would become another uprising, mayhap one already in the making.
