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| Characters l. to r.: Thørir Hróaldsson, Ingegjerd Haraldsdotter, Ragnhild Eiriksdotter, and King Harald Fairhair |
Screams reverberated through the curtained off area of the longhouse bathing chamber, as Ragnhild felt another searing, labor pain ripple through her swollen belly. She trembled as she knelt on the floor, her arms and knees shaking with the effort of holding herself up. With one hand she gripped her ambátt’s forearm while her other hand gripped the furs that they had placed across the floor to cushion her knees as she knelt, and she struggled not to scream again. It was weak to scream. She was proudly bearing her husband’s child.
‘I will let the pain wash over me and away from me. There is no pain,’ she thought. Her head fell forward to rest against the furs as the pain let up briefly, and her ambátt wiped a cool cloth across her mistress’ sweaty brow when she lifted her head back up.
The bjargrýgr knelt behind her exhausted queen, took in the blonde hair plastered wetly to the back of her head, and looked worried. To check on how the labor was progressing, she reached down between the queen’s legs with one hand, inserting her fingers inside, while the other moved to the queen’s belly. Ragnhild moaned at the touch and jerked.
The bjargrýgr stood up and ordered, “You, Tora. Fetch hot water and more cloth. Bring lard or whale oil as well. Be quick about it.”
Outside the great longhouse, the temperature had dropped considerably, and the bleak skies threatened even more snow. It was already proving to be a long, dismal winter.
Tora hurried to the heavy curtain, opened it, and ran into her master. She fell to her knees, bent her head and muttered, “Apologies.”
King Harald waved his hand, dismissing her, and pulled the curtain aside to glance at his wife, Ragnhild. Appalled by what he saw, he looked at the bjargrýgr in dismay. She inclined her head to the king and assisted Ragnhild to her side to rest while she was given respite from her labor pains. The bjargrýgr rose, then went past the curtain, pulling it closed behind her, and faced the king.
The king was not a small man. Standing well over six feet tall, he was broad-shouldered and heavily muscled for his age. His long, blonde hair fell over his shoulders, and his full beard was dark blonde, speckled with silver. Piercing blue eyes were those of a young man and not of a man who had seen fifty-nine summers. His bearing spoke to others of his good breeding stock and to his many years of successful battle campaigns.
“How is she? What is taking so long?” he asked urgently, clutching his sword hilt.
“My lord, the queen is small-boned and narrow through the hips, and the child is quite large. The babe is... not facing the right way and will not come. I will have to cut her to widen the opening so that I can turn the babe.”
“Will they both make it?”
“I believe so, my lord. We must, however, prepare for possible outcomes of this situation. If it comes down to whether we must save the mother or the child, what would be your decision on the matter?” she asked.
“Choose? You want me to... choose? How in Odin’s name can I choose between the woman I love, and the child we made together? How can you ask this of me?” he exclaimed.
“I did not mean to give offense. I merely wished to...” she began but he grabbed her roughly by the throat, cutting her off.
“There will be no choosing! Save them both! I will not accept anything else. Do you hear me? Save them both.” With that he released her and went to sit down nearby on a bench and leaned back against the wall of the great hall, looked up at the ceiling and then closed his eyes.
The bjargrýgr backed toward the curtain, holding her throat. Back in the curtained off area of the great hall, she heard the king bellow, “Mead! Someone bring me some bloody mead!”
Ragnhild panted heavily as another pain seared through her. ‘Give me strength, fair Freyja. Let my child... minn sonr have safe passage to Miðgarðr.’
The bjargrýgr ritualistically laid out the rune stones in front of her queen to help with the difficult birth that was ahead of her, and the slaves holding the queen up began to sing quietly to ease the birth.
Tora came back in with the cloth and whale oil. A young slave followed her carrying the pot of steaming water. The bjargrýgr took a knife out of her pouch and took the cloth from Tora. She tore off a piece and dipped it into the water. She wiped the knife several times and then left the bathing chamber to walk to the hearth and held the knife over the open flame. As it blackened, she walked into the bathing chamber, closed the curtain, and knelt down behind the queen once more.
“My queen,” said the bjargrýgr. “The child is turned the wrong way. I have to use the knife to help position the babe to ease the child’s passage. It will be painful. Be brave, and it will soon be over.”
Ragnhild nodded in understanding, grabbed onto Tora’s hands tightly and prepared herself while the two slaves continued to help keep her on her knees. As she felt the hot blade touch her skin and then slice down into her flesh, she screamed, falling weakly against Tora as she passed out, the slaves holding her up before her belly hit the ground, and they lowered her to her side. The bjargrýgr breathed a sigh of relief that she could work without further causing her queen pain.
“Hold her leg up so that I can work on her.” The slave quickly obeyed.
The heat of the blade seared the skin as the bjargrýgr lengthened the passage, stopping any bleeding that would have occurred. As she moved and inserted part of her hand inside, she felt a foot kick her fingers. She tickled the foot, making the baby squirm as she reached her other hand to the queen’s belly and pushed back toward her.
She tickled him again and felt the baby start to move his feet away from her hand. His foot pushed against his mother’s belly, and she tickled the foot again where it pushed up. The babe wiggled around further, and she could feel the head starting to get into position. Between her inserted fingers and her hand on the belly, she finally got the babe to line up.
“More cool water for her face. We must wake her up so she can help us by pushing.”
The slave bathed her mistress’ face again, and as the queen’s belly visibly spasmed, she woke up screaming again and felt the urge to push.
“Get her back on her knees,” instructed the bjargrýgr. “Good, good. Now when the next one comes, lower your head forward and rest on your forearms, bear down and push hard.”
Ragnhild’s belly twitched again, and she held her breath while she pushed with all her might. She had to be held upon her knees and elbows by several slaves.
“Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!” she screamed.
The bjargrýgr could see the head crowning. “Push, my lady. Push harder.”
Ragnhild pushed again as another pain hit. The bjargrýgr had the head and wrapped a cloth around it to have some dry leverage to pull the baby out. “Again, my lady. Push.”
Ragnhild cried, “Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh” and pushed again. The babe’s wide shoulders were wedged tight, and the babe would not come forth even though the opening had been widened. The bjargrýgr pushed the baby back in slightly, put one hand in the pot of whale oil and lubricated her fingers, then slid the fingers in and smeared it around on the baby’s shoulders. She wiped off her hand and looked at the queen.
“I know you are tired, my lady, but I need you to push once more for me. The babe is large.”
Ragnhild was whimpering and spent, but she silently agreed. Another wave hit her, and she screamed again and pushed with all her might. As the bjargrýgr pulled, and she pushed, Ragnhild felt something crack in her pelvis and lower back and screamed again, but felt the baby ease out of her into the bjargrýgr’s waiting arms, with the afterbirth spilling out in the babe’s wake.
Using the knife to cut the cord, the bjargrýgr laid the child face down across her lap and gave his bottom a little pinch. He screwed up his face, coughed and then began to cry, loudly.
Ragnhild felt at peace, hearing the cry, and cringed in pain as the slaves eased her onto her side and then onto her back on the furs. The bjargrýgr wiped the baby with a damp cloth, cleaning him up. She stood and walked with the babe to the queen and knelt down, holding him out to his mother. “My lady, you have a son.”
Ragnhild laughed, simultaneously crying in pain and took the baby in her arms. “My son, my sweet, sweet, son. Thank you, Freyja for my beautiful son,” she said to the ceiling.
“Tora, fetch the king,” ordered the bjargrýgr.
Tora hurried to the curtain, pulled it back, and called to the king. He came into the small space, reeking of mead, followed by his daughter, Ingegjerd, and blanched when he saw the blood and afterbirth and smelled the seared flesh. But then he looked at his wife and smiled.
“Harald,” she said, smiling weakly. “We have a son.”
The king walked to his wife and knelt down next to her. She winced as he jarred her slightly. The boy had stopped crying and had a fist in his mouth. His blue eyes looked up and around him though not focusing. His father put his hand on his son’s full head of wispy, pale, blonde hair and said to his wife in wonder, “He has your hair color, Ragnhild, and your eyes, lips, and cheeks. He’s beautiful just like you.”
“He has your nose, husband, and your chin.”
“He’s perfect, and his eyes are so much like yours,” he said, picking him up. “What shall we call him?”
“We talked about Eirik for a boy, after my father, but it is your right to name him.”
“He is beautiful, father,” said Ingegjerd. “He resembles my Leif.”
He looked at the boy, then said, “He shall be known as Eirik Haraldsson. I declare him as my son and heir and all my people shall owe him fealty.”
Ragnhild looked startled. “Harald, you already have many sons who came before him. You would put our son above them?”
“Yes, I would. Eirik shall be my heir. I have given my other sons kingship over parts of our land. But for Eirik, I will give the best of our lands. He shall rule at my side.”
Ragnhild knew there was no talking her husband out of his rash decision and sighed in resignation, closing her eyes. “I grow weary, husband. I must feed him and then rest.”
Ingegjerd quickly sized up the situation, realizing that Ragnhild was in no shape to nurse her new babe as was the norm, and suggested, “Ragnhild, I would be honored to tend to my new brother so that you might rest. My child is only three months, and I have plenty at my other breast.”
Ragnhild looked relieved and smiled weakly. “Thank you.”
Harald was happy to let the women work out the details. He leaned over to kiss his wife on the lips, “Rest, wife. We will watch over our child while you sleep.”
The king left with his son alongside his daughter who was cooing at and holding the babe’s hand as she walked with her father.
The bjargrýgr began cleaning up the birthing mess. “My lady, I believe a bone broke during the birthing. You will need to rest and lie still as it heals.”
As the bjargrýgr cleaned the queen in preparation for stitching her up, a rush of blood began flowing out at an alarming rate. She grabbed some cloth, wadded it up and tried to stop the bleeding. Nothing she did stopped the flow.
As Ragnhild’s strength was leaving her, her last thoughts were concern for the safety of her son. She whispered, “Odin, mighty Odin, watch over my son, Eirik. Keep him safe. Make him a strong warrior and leader. I pray my husband’s path for him will not mark him for death. Please, keep him safe and let him live a long, long life.”
A/N: I have updated this chapter because I found a source that described the birthing process that Viking women used.
Old Norse to English translation:
bjargrýgr = helping woman
minn sonr = my son
Miðgarðr = Midgard
ambátt = handmaid
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Part Two
“Why has the old fool called all of us here?” asked Guttorm. “Have you heard anything, Halvdan?”
“I know that our father’s latest wife has given him a son. Just what we needed. Another sibling,” Halvdan replied vehemently. “You, Olaf? What news?”
Olaf drained his horn, dribbling some beer down his beard. He wiped his beard with his sleeve and belched, then replied, “I heard that Ragnhild died giving birth to the boy. We won’t have to worry about any more rivals on her account,” grinned Olaf. “Good riddance, I say.”
“We all know how randy the old goat can be. Don’t discount that he won’t have any more sons,” said Bjørn. “Just because he has given some of us small kingdoms to rule, does not mean one of us will be named heir here as well.”
“What in Odin’s name are you all bitching about? At least all of you have been given kingdoms to rule. Sigtrygg, Frode, Ring, Dag and myself have been given nothing. I’ll be damned if I will let some whelp take anything away from me. I say we kill the little bastard,” suggested Rørek through clenched teeth, as he pulled out a knife and sent it hurdling toward the support beam where it made a thunk sound as it hit its mark followed by a metallic tuning fork sound around the room.
“What? Are you insane?” said Sigrød Haraldsson, who was standing by the hearth warming his hands over the flames and who, until now, had remained silent. “We need to stay in his good graces or he’ll take actions that none of us will like.”
“You always were afraid of the old man, Sigrød. Filthy little boy buggerer,” sneered Rørek. “Balls are wasted on you.”
Sigrød drained his horn and lunged at Rørek with the pointy end, knocking him off the bench. They were soon throwing punches and rolling around on the floor. Some of the other half brothers were egging them on and laughing at them. Rørek ended up on top of Sigrød and was punching him.
As if suddenly realizing something, Rørek exclaimed, “What the hell...you filthy bastard. You’re hard. Odin’s beard, you get randy with me? I will kill you for this.” He then proceeded to strangle Sigrød. Sigrød pulled Rørek by the hair, pulling him down to him, and bit his nose.
“Son of a bitch!” screamed Rørek and loosened one hand to wipe his nose, giving Sigrød the opening he was looking for. He slugged Rørek in the jaw.
Olaf took another draft from his horn and said, “Enough of this foolishness.” He walked over to them, picked both of them up by the back of the neck and pulled them across the room to the kamarr to one side of the room and shoved their faces into the kamarr which had not totally drained of its contents. He then laughed at the looks on their faces as they sputtered and spit out the urine and glared at him. Olaf pulled out his sword and pointed it at them. “Now that I have your full attention, be off with you. Get cleaned up for dinner. We can hear what the old man has to say and then continue our discussion later.”
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The great dining hall was filled with Harald Fairhair’s sons and daughters and with the local nobility. Groaning with the weight of the bounteous fare, the tables were laden with roast boar, pheasant, fish, fruits, vegetables, and breads. Servants and slaves waited on their every need.
The women were seated at a table adjacent to the men with tables equally loaded with bounty. The shuttered windows were covered with thick, red and gold tapestries to keep out the cold, and intricate carvings hung on the walls, effectively decorating it.
King Harald I stood up and said over the din, “Silence!”
When it quieted down, he said, “It was good of you to come on this auspicious occasion. As many of you know, my wife Ragnhild Eiriksdotter of Jutland has borne me a strong, handsome son and given up her own life in doing so. I mourn her loss. Normally, I would have a period of mourning, and we will, but tonight I wish to celebrate the birth of my son. Ingegjerd Haraldsdotter, bring my son to me.”
Ingegjerd, Ring and Dag’s sister, rose up from the bench at her table with her infant half brother, walked around to her father’s table and handed the boy to him. Harald took the child from her and lifted him high into the air. “I acknowledge the birth of my legal son, who shall from this day forward be known as Eirik Haraldsson, the next heir to my throne.”
You could have heard a reindeer hiccup in the room, it grew so silent. Then his sons started in all at once with protesting and shouting.
At the noise, Eirik woke up and began to cry. Harald quickly handed Eirik back to Ingegjerd who returned to her table. She rocked him gently, trying to calm him. When the rocking didn’t work, she opened the front of her dress, bared her breast, and pointed it at her half brother. Eirik searched open mouthed for a bit and then latched onto her nipple and started to suck greedily. She cooed to the baby and smiled as his little hand caught one of her blonde braids and gripped it. His mouth curled up in contentment as he pulled on the nipple with his lips as if he’d found everything he wanted in the warmth of that nipple.
Barely a week old, and already she had grown to love Eirik like her own three month old son. She looked over to her brothers and half brothers and held Eirik closer as they verbally laid into their father. Her own brothers were bitter over their lot in life.
Olaf rolled his eyes at his brothers and blew his horn. “Thank you, Olaf,” said Harald. “Now listen to me very carefully. Eirik and only Eirik will be my heir. He will rule over you. You... all of you, will owe him fealty. This is my edict.” Lifting up his recently filled horn, he said, “Now, drink to my new son and heir.”
He looked each son in the eye, one by one, and then drank from the horn and passed it on. “Drink,” he commanded.
Rørek bolted out of his seat, knocking the bench over, and glared at his father, giving him such a look of loathing. He turned on his heels and stalked off.
Harald watched, with narrowed eyes, his son leave and then watched to make sure each of his other sons drank from the horn being passed around. Guttorm, took the horn, and said, just a tad sarcastically, “To our little brother, Eirik. May he live a long life.” He drank deeply and passed the horn to Halvdan, glaring at his father.
Harald sat back down and said, “Now, please. Sit. Enjoy your meal.”
His guests looked back and forth at each other and then went back to enjoying their meals like nothing had happened, apparently unaffected by all the drama.
Harald looked at Ingegjerd, holding his son, and smiled. She looked back at her father and then down at the suckling child. He must have been famished because he was sucking for all he was worth and making little noises in the back of his throat as he swallowed. After stroking his blonde hair, she gently stroked his little cheek with her thumb. She took his hand in hers and curled her thumb in his palm. He gripped her thumb tightly in his fingers and looked like he was giving a little smile as his little tongue curled around her nipple. She was content.
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Later that night, the sons of Harald met outside near the blacksmith’s forge. The snow had ceased falling for the moment, and they pulled their furs closer around them as they plotted.
“He cannot be allowed to live, I tell you. I want him dead,” exclaimed Rørek.
“Not so loud, Rørek,” warned Ring. “Voices carry easily over the snow-covered ground. Someone might hear you. Harald is a cautious old bastard. His spies are everywhere.”
“Well, what say all of you? Shall he live or die,” asked Olaf. Everyone but Sigrød said, “Aye, kill him.”
“Okay, then. Who wants to volunteer for the deed?” asked Olaf. “Guttorm? Frode? Halvdan?”
No one spoke up. Finally, Rørek said, “I will do it. It will be my pleasure.”
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As Ingegjerd placed Eirik in the cradle next to her own son, she bundled both of them up against the cold with an extra fur. When she stood up, she felt a cold chill run down her back and shuddered. She looked back down at Eirik and just knew. It was just like she would get flashes of other things before they happened.
Her heart started pounding. “No, not, Eirik,” she said aloud. She scooped up Eirik and Leif, walked across the rush-strewn floor, and took them to her bed, not daring to let either of them out of her sight.
“Please Odin, watch over them,” she said as she nestled them against her and pulled the furs around them. “Keep both of them safe.”
Part Three
Young six-year-old slave Hanne had finished her duties in the hall and walked to the area where her mistress’ was sleeping. She went to check on the babies and saw that both were missing. She whirled around in shock, certain that she would be blamed if anything had happened to them.
Scurrying to her mistress’ pallet, she raised her candle, preparing to wake her, and saw that the babes were securely ensconced next to her mistress, and she breathed a sigh of relief. She blew out the taper and went to her pallet near her mistress. She laid down and pulled her furs around her to get warm. For some reason, sleep did not come to her easily that night.
Her mistress, Ingegjerd, was not a harsh mistress like some who came to the hall. Some slaves did not even have a warm pallet to sleep on and were beaten frequently. Neither her mistress nor her master, Thørir Hróaldsson, ever mistreated her. Her master, a great warrior and faithful husband, had never even tried to bed her like a couple of drunken men had tried. She prayed that the gods would bring him safely home from sea to her mistress so that he could finally meet his son, little Leif.
Watching the flames crackling in the center of the small hall, the weariness of the day finally overtook her, and she feel asleep.
She wasn’t sure what had awakened her later, perhaps it was the smell of unwashed male and stale beer, that now assailed her alert senses. She listened intently and heard the straw rustle as she laid there feigning sleep. When she dared take a peek, she saw a man leaning over the cradle with his back to her, and she held back a gasp as she saw the crib bedding raised in one hand. The man, searching through the furs in Eirik’s cradle with his other hand, whirled around and stifled a curse. Barely keeping her eye closest to the pallet open a bit, she saw him look at her and then move out of her sight toward her mistress’ side.
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Ingegjerd woke up stifling a scream as a hand stole over her mouth. Looking up, she could barely make out the form of her half-brother, Rørek, in the fire light.
“Silence, Ingegjerd,” he said. “It is only I. Will you be silent?”
She stilled, nodded, and he removed his hand. “What is it? Is it our father?”
“No, the old goat is healthy as a horse. It is his young heir that brings me here tonight.”
“Eirik? Why would you...” she started and, like her flash earlier that night, she knew. This was the danger she had sensed.
Before he could restrain her, she reached under the furs and pulled out a knife. “Come no closer or I will gut you where you stand,” she said through gritted teeth, moving up onto her knees with a speed that surprised even Rørek.
“Give him to me. You know we cannot let the boy live. Too much is at stake.”
“You will not harm him,” Ingegjerd said through her teeth. “I will die before I’ll let you have him.”
“Really? How touching,” he sneered. He moved and grabbed the bundle closest to him which happened to be Leif. “So sweet, so innocent. It would be a pity if this was his last sunset.”
“No, get away from Leif!” Ingegjerd cried, getting up and taking a few steps forward, her hand shaking slightly.
Rørek smiled evilly, drawing his own knife and gesturing toward her sleeping son. “Choose. Eirik or your son. Which one is it?”
“Don’t do this. You will never get away with it. Father will kill you.”
“Not if there are no witnesses.”
Hanne couldn’t be still any longer. She got up off her pallet as quietly as she could and started edging along the wall so that she could raise the alarm. Ingegjerd’s eyes shifted to Hanne, and Rørek turned around, walked the few steps, grabbed Hanne by the hair and threw her against the wooden wall where she sank to the floor.
Ingegjerd rushed to her brother, snatching Leif, and placing him back on the furs. She yelled for help as she stood between her brother and her two babes. Suddenly she stopped yelling when she saw what was happening behind her half brother, who was coming toward her with his knife.
Under her breath, Hanne had muttered a brief prayer to Odin to give her strength and was now on her hands and knees, and she was snarling. Rørek whirled and looked at the half-naked child, as before everyone present, Hanne shimmered slightly and changed into a large, light-colored wolf, baring her teeth at Rørek.
“What in Odin’s...” said Rørek.
The wolf crouched, growling, and then sprang at Rørek, knocking him to the floor. Hanne, in wolf form, clamped her teeth on his throat and bit down. He screamed and jabbed a knife in the animal’s shoulder. The wolf yelped in the back of her throat but didn’t loosen her grip. She was moving her head back and forth now clamping tighter.
In the meantime, Ingegjerd, recovering from the shock of seeing Hanne transform, had grabbed one of her husband’s axes. She brought the blunt end down on Rørek’s head, and he was still. The wolf gave one more shake and then released him.
Ingegjerd backed up toward the bed as the wolf looked at her. She watched as the wolf released her half-brother, limped slowly toward her, slumped down on her four haunches with her head on the floor between her paws in a submissive manner and whined, looking up at her mistress. The wolf shimmered and returned to her human form. There was blood around her mouth, running down her neck onto her chest, and a gaping knife wound in her shoulder.
“Hanne, oh Hanne,” said Ingegjerd. She sank to her knees, and the axe hit the floor. She tore some of her own clothing around the hem and dabbed at the blood around Hanne’s mouth.
Hanne looked at her mistress in surprise and shame. “Mistress, are you not afraid of me? I am so ugly. I did not wish you to know about me. They will kill me if they know.” She shivered and started weeping.
“Shhhhh...Hanne. Don’t cry. You were very brave. You saved us all. Do not be ashamed of your other form.”
Behind her, Rørek choked up some blood.
‘So, he still lives. I will let Father deal him,’ Ingegjerd thought to herself, looking over at him.
“Don’t worry, Hanne. You will be safe.” She rose to her feet, wondering why only now other folks were rising from their beer-induced slumber. One of the servants went outside into the cold and ran to the main hall.
She walked back to Hanne, taking the fur from Hanne’s pallet as she walked by and drew it over Hanne’s naked form. Two armed men came rushing in, followed by some servants. They all stared at the gory scene in shock.
Ingegjerd simply stated, pointing to her half-brother, “Wake the king. This man tried to murder his son.”
A short time later Harald came into his daughter’s room and looked at Rørek lying on the floor and then to Ingegjerd.
“What has transpired here?” he asked.
“Rørek came here intending to kill Eirik, Father,” she said. “He admitted it to me. When I wouldn’t give Eirik to him, he threatened Leif. Hanne surprised him, stabbing him in the neck with a knife several times and receiving a shoulder wound in the process.”
He took his foot and moved Rørek’s head to examine his neck. “It looks more like an animal bite rather than knife wounds,” he said more to himself than anyone, then turned his attention to the slave.
Harald looked thoughtfully at her and saw the look of surprise on the girl’s face as she looked back and forth between her mistress and the king, then cast her eyes downward. He narrowed his eyes and then looked at his daughter and then back to the slave.
“This is your work?” he asked Hanne. "Answer me child."
She dared a glance and nodded, saying, “Yes, master.”
He knelt before Hanne and took her chin in his so he could look at her. “You have bravely risked your own life in keeping my son, daughter, and grandson alive this night. You are free. If you wish to stay in service to us, you will receive a fair wage.”
Hanne could not believe her luck. Not only was she not going to be killed, but he was freeing her as well and thanks to her mistress, her secret was still intact. Before she could even thank him, he stood up and barked, “Send for the healer. I want both of their wounds tended to. Remove Rørek. After his wounds are seen to, confine him to the stockade. I will deal with him later.”
He walked back to the pallet and looked down at the two sleeping infants blissfully unaware of the activities around them. “I want two men on watch around Eirik at all times. Someone clean up this bloody mess.” With that, he left the room.
The following week everyone in the great hall grew silent as the king announced what the punishment would be for Rørek’s assassination attempt. The blood eagle.
The remaining conspirators blanched when they heard the news knowing what a painful death was in store for their brother. They looked back and forth at one another in disgust. The king noticed their exchanges in grim silence.
“No, Father, please. I beg you. I am your son. Do not do this,” pleaded Rørek with a raspy voice. “You must listen to me. The slave is an unnatural creature. She bewitched me then turned into an animal and tore my throat. Please, you must believe me. I am innocent in this.”
“Enough, Rørek. I have two witnesses in this matter. One your own half-sister. Do you call both of them liars?” To his soldiers, he said, “Take him away.”
Rørek’s tortured cries sent shivers through his brothers and half-brothers. Their father had ordered them outside to watch the procedure. The knives did their work all too well but the men took their time with the torture, under orders of the king, instead of doing it as quickly as they normally would. Harald wanted his other sons to know that he would not be crossed and what to expect if they ever tried again. He had suspected that one of them might try to kill the child but had not thought they would act as soon as they had. He would not be surprised again.
Note: The blood eagle was a medieval form of torture/assassination that was reportedly used by the Vikings. The Orkneyinga saga gives a description of the process. If you want to know more about it, please Google “blood eagle.” Not a pretty thing to behold. I may revisit it in a later chapter but will warn you if and when it is posted.
Characters:
Harald's sons:
- Guttorm Haraldsson, king of Ranrike
- Halvdan Kvite, king of Trondheim
- Olaf Haraldsson, king of Vingulmark
- Bjørn Farmann, king of Vestfold
- Sigtrygg
- Frode
- Ring
- Dag
- Rørek
- Sigrød Haraldsson
- Eirik Haraldsson
Harald's wife:
Ragnhild Eiriksdotter of Jutland
Harald's daughter:
Ingegjerd Haraldsdotter
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tbc
