Chapter Twenty-Six

 

Thorvald awoke early. All within the longhouse slumbered, for revelry and laughter had lasted long into the previous night. Even he had joined in when he returned after his conversation with Gisela, quaffing goblet after goblet of ale until he’d drowned his anguish.

Gisela, misery clear on her face, sat alone in the shadows of the farthest corner of the room and did not join in. Surely that was his fault and he felt remorse for it.

He glanced at her bed curtains, drawn securely with nary a crack to peer through. She hid herself well, he thought wryly. Would that he could hide the feelings in his heart equally well.

Grey dawn tiptoed upon the fjord when Thorvald stepped outside. After the stale air of the longhouse, the freshness cleared his head, and he rubbed his face with his hands before massaging his scalp above his ears to ease away his headache.

He would find solace in the one place that always provided it—his perch high on the mountainside. There he could also say good-bye, perhaps for the last time, to Sun Meadow.

Deliberately, he quashed the memories of his last visit there with Gisela. To dwell on what could not be was the action of a desperate man.

He started along the path. His boots soon grew wet, and he stopped to adjust his cloak to keep it from dragging through the rain-sodden grass and low lying shrubs. A whistle sounded, a shrill tweet that sent a frisson of danger speeding down his spine.

It was not the whistle of a bird, but perhaps that of someone hiding in the woods waiting to ambush him. A quick glance to his left showed nothing; to his right, a spot of turquoise blue flashed between the trees. The foreign color resembled no bird he knew. He unsheathed his knife and advanced towards it.

As he drew closer, he realized an old woman stood among the fir trees with her back to him. Slowly she turned and his heart stopped, freezing the blood in his veins, when he recognized her.

The years had not been kind to her, for her hunchback almost doubled her in two; overuse gnarled her hands; sparse grey hair wisped about her face. Yet her eyes were bright, her skin relatively smooth.

His mother. Nay, it could not be. He rubbed his eyes and looked again.

Aye, there she stood.

Revulsion and betrayal surged through him, a bitter stew bubbling at the back of his throat, and he swallowed hard to keep it there. Holding his knife before him in both hands, he backed away, step by agonizing step until he felt the relative smoothness of the path beneath his feet.

She hobbled her way to the path just ahead of him, using a branch stripped of its bark as a crutch to support her crippled body.

“Eh, Thorvald, that is you?”

“It is. So you are the crone many have talked about.”

“Crone? Crone?” She cackled. “Age may have withered my body but I much prefer lady of the woods. It’s safe here. I can hide from those who wish to harm me.”

The question erupted from Thorvald’s throat before he could suppress it. “Why, Mor? Why did you scorn me? You loved me once.”

“A long time ago.”

“What happened, why did you push me away?”

She clamped her mouth shut. Her lips trembled as if they fought a battle to keep the words within from spilling out.

“Don’t I deserve the truth?”

She stared at him, and a single tear traced a crooked path down her cheek before she answered. “Because you’re a changeling. The man you called father and I called husband is not tied to you by blood.”

The words hit Thorvald as if he’d been struck by a stone. He flinched. “A changeling?”

“Aye. I bore a stillborn son when my husband was away trading. I knew when he returned I would disappoint him with the news, and I feared he would kill me for it. Instead I found another baby boy to take his place. You. For a time, all was fine. You grew. You even began to resemble him.” She stopped and closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them and heaved a sigh. “Then the woman who bore you came looking for you. I tried to scare her away, but I pushed her too hard and she fell and hit her head on a stone. That I killed her was an accident, but who would believe me if the truth came out? I threw her body into the sea and everyone thought she slipped and fell into the water.”

Wind gusted through the trees, a mournful whoosh hinting of the cold winter days to come.

The old woman shivered and hugged herself for warmth. “From that day forward, I couldn’t allow myself to love you, for you were proof, not only of my duplicity, but that I killed a woman wanting only to recover her son. I couldn’t fault her for yearning for her child. It’s what any mother wants. Her child.” She dabbed at her eyes with one corner of her soiled pinafore. “You were banished. Perfect, I thought, for it removed you from my sight, and I no longer had you to remind me of the past.”

A heavy weight settled in the pit of Thorvald’s stomach. My husband, Thorvald thought. She called him “my husband,” not “your father.” So it must be true. He forced himself to listen as his mother spoke again. Nay, he reminded himself. Not his mother. Simply an old woman.

“I cannot change what is in the past.” She wiped her nose with the other corner of her apron. “But I have something for you that perhaps you may remember me more kindly. Wait here.” She disappeared among the trees.

The woods suddenly became silent and the hair on the back of his neck stood on end. Was this a trap? Was the woman in league with Wormtongue? Did he stand close by, waiting his chance to kill Thorvald? He shifted position to move closer to the sheltering fronds of a nearby spruce, scanning the trees around him while he waited.

He stepped clear when she returned, dragging a long object wrapped in a linen cloth behind her. “This is for you. It belonged to him. You shall have it, and maybe it will atone for my untruth.”

She placed it on the ground at her feet. “Good-bye, Thorvald. Leave me in peace.” Tears welled and she blinked several times before shuffling back into the forest.

Thorvald watched her go until he could no longer see her amongst the trees. Her story left him feeling empty, even though it explained her disloyalty towards him. Aye, she’d raised him, but he was not of her flesh. Nay. Rather, he was proof of her lies.

Truly, he stood alone in this world.

Saddened, he turned back to regard the object she’d left on the ground. He nudged it with one foot; the cover parted to reveal the glint of metal. A dizzying rush swooped through him when he saw what it was.

A sword.

He recognized it immediately and reached for it, grasping the amber studded hilt and hefting it in his fist.

Odin’s Kiss. His father’s sword. Also made by Frankish craftsmen, and as fine a sword as Silver Tooth.

Did the bitter irony never stop? His father? Nay, not his birth father, only the man who, not knowing the truth of Thorvald’s birth, raised him like a son.

Now he had a sword to fight a battle he really had no right to fight. For, according to Viking laws, lands followed blood lines.

He placed the tip of the sword on the ground and leaned on it while he spewed bitter laughter.

He had no claim to Sun Meadow. None at all. By rights, it belonged to Karl after all. Karl, who had his father’s blood while he, Thorvald, did not. He, apparently, did not have the blood of his mother either. The bones of his true mother lay at the bottom of the sea, while the woman he called Mor since the day he could talk, lived a lie through him.

He could only guess Wormtongue did not know the truth, or he would have said something. There would have been no murder, no banishment, for Karl would have inherited all.

Now he faced another trial in Kaupang to clear his name, to regain a farmstead he had no claim over. Why should he go through with it now? He had nothing to gain.

Nay, that was not true. He could reclaim his good name, because he still stood accused of a murder he didn’t commit.

And afterward?

He could only forget his dreams of living in Agdir a free man and return to the life sustaining him for the past five years.

Sailing. Fighting. Killing. Whoring.

He didn’t want any of it.

He only wanted Gisela by his side.

Regardless, last night he’d pushed her away, chiding her for her disobedience. Regret burned him at the remembrance of the devastation on her face when he scorned her.

Yet he’d done the right thing by denying her. Love did not exist in his world. Love was an illusion. Let her go now, he told himself, before the pain of losing her became greater.

Gisela clearly wanted to go home. All of a sudden her actions in confronting Wormtongue and his men became obvious to Thorvald—it was because of his promise to free her if she helped him find the truth. So desperate to return to Frisia was she, she had deliberately put herself in danger.

Gisela didn’t want him. Rather she wanted to go home.

He would see that she did, because then she would be happy. If nothing else, knowing she lived in happiness would sustain him through the long barren years ahead.

First, he would fight his battle with Wormtongue.

There was no point now in seeking out solace on his ledge. He turned and trudged back the way he’d come, cradling Odin’s Kiss in his arms.

 

* * *

 

Thorvald found Arni chopping wood behind his longhouse. His friend gaped when he saw Thorvald’s sword. “What? Is that your father’s sword? Where did you get it?”

“Aye, it is. How I came to have it is a story for another time.” How it wounded to hear Arni refer to Odin’s Kiss as his father’s sword.

Not his father.

Wormtongue’s father.

Of course Arni didn’t know that.

Weariness consumed Thorvald. He had no desire to explain anything to his friend at this time.

“I need to get my boat. Will you come? We’ll bring Magnus.”

“You mean to face Wormtongue again at Sun Meadow?” With one mighty swing, Arni stuck the axe in the chopping block then dusted his hands.

Thorvald shook his head. “Nay. We’ll go tomorrow early, before the sun rises. He feels he’s safe, he will not post guards.”

“Well, my palm itches to feel my sword. I would welcome a scuffle.”

“There is no time, for once we reach the Happy Wife we sail on to Kaupang. Will you come?”

“What of Gisela? Do you mean to leave her here with Bertrada?”

“I’ll bring her with us. Once in Kaupang, I’ll free her.”

“What? After all you’ve been through for her? Now you free her?” Arni looked at him, a sorrowful expression carving his face. “Truly, this woman has made you stupid.”

Any other man would have received a cuffed fist for that; Thorvald shrugged. Arni’s friendship had been true and for that his unruly tongue deserved to be excused.

“Will you come and look after her after the trial? I know I ask much of you.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know if I’m going to beat Wormtongue.” It was true, he didn’t. He’d lost all taste for the fight.

He had to muster the strength and, if he lost, he didn’t want Wormtongue to have her. For that, he must convince Arni to take her straight away.

Arni looked at him, eyes narrowed. “Something eats at you and I feel you won’t tell me what it is.”

“I fear for Gisela.” His reason sounded lame, even to his own ears.

“Just yesterday, you told me how you would best Wormtongue. Now today you’re admitting your defeat before you even fight him? Has another Thorvald taken the place of the one I know?” He peered behind Thorvald’s back as if looking for someone, then stepped back and crossed his arms.

The Thorvald you knew is no more, thought Thorvald, replaced by an imposter, a changeling. “I’ll not ask you for any other favors, I swear, but please, let me rest easy knowing she’ll be in your company as a free woman.”

Arni crossed his arms and lapsed into silence, drumming the fingers of one hand against the elbow of the other arm.

Thorvald waited, his breath coming in quick shallow rasps. He asked a huge favor of Arni, but he didn’t know who else he could trust with Gisela.

Arni sighed and shook his head. “Nay. She is your woman and your responsibility. You claim you fear for her, then see to it you best Wormtongue. And one more thing.” He stopped and squinted at Thorvald as if he thought about the wisdom of what he was about to say.

“Aye?” prompted Thorvald.

“You tell me you mean to free her in Kaupang. Then what? You will leave her alone in a land that is not hers? How will she find her way? I say again, she is yours and should not be tossed away lightly because suddenly you fear Wormtongue.”

Truly, Arni’s reasoning was sound. Thorvald was so caught up in the news from his mother that he’d lost his ability to reason. To free Gisela here would not aid her. He must see to it she returned to her homeland.

“Agreed. Gisela is my concern, not yours. At least would you consider sailing with me to Kaupang?”

“Aye, Thorvald, I will. I’d rather stay here, where Bertrada keeps me warm and feeds me, but you’ve been wronged and for that I will do one last thing for you.” He grinned, an impish twist to the lips that barely appeared through the thick beard, “This time, when I come home, I have a good woman waiting for me. What could be better?”

Aye, thought Thorvald morosely. What could be better?

He would never know.