Laren slept. When she awoke it was nearly dark. The sleeping chamber was cast into deep shadows, and the stillness was oddly frightening. Suddenly there was no comfort here. This was a place of violence, a place of fear. The sleeping chamber was again as it was two years before.
She raised herself on her elbows, calling out quietly, her voice raw as a cold night, “Is anyone here? Merrik?”
There were whispers of sounds, surely there was something she heard, but no, there was only stillness and it seemed to grow, and with it the shadows, the encroaching darkness. She swallowed, but her throat was dry and it hurt. Then she heard it. A small noise, of little account really, but it was over there, in the far corner of the chamber, a noise that was like a wounded animal.
She held herself very still.
It came again, only closer this time. She wanted to cry out, but there was only dryness and pain in her throat. “Merrik,” she said, and wondered if his name was only in her mind for surely there had been no sound from her mouth.
“Who is there?”
She swung her legs over the side of the bed, felt her belly knot and churn, and bowed her head, trying to keep from vomiting. Where was Risa? Why was she alone?
But she wasn’t alone. There was that sound again, so very soft, yet distinct, unlike any sound she’d ever heard.
“Who is there?”
It was different now, a rustling sound, no longer soft, no longer muted, and it was close. She looked toward the doorway. It seemed far beyond her, that doorway, the only way to escape this chamber and what was in this chamber and growing closer to her. When something touched her shoulder, she screamed, whirling about to see Ferlain beside her, her face as pale yet as distinct as a cold winter moon framed by utter darkness.
“How very strange you are, Laren. Why are you shaking? ’Twas you who startled me.”
There was black amusement in her voice. Laren tried to calm herself. It was but Ferlain, fat and slow Ferlain who whined and carped, but who was harmless, certainly no one to fear.
“You frightened me. Why is the chamber dark?”
“I don’t know. It was dark when I came in. I am only here to visit you. How do you feel?”
“Let us light a lamp.”
“Very well.” Ferlain held the oil-soaked wick next to a burning coal in the brazier near the box bed. Soon it burst into a small flame.
“I prefer the darkness, you know,” Ferlain said, staring at the flame. “But you don’t, do you? When I was your age I didn’t like the darkness either, but things change, you know. Always change, always grief and sorrow. But enough of that. Now you can see everything. Nothing is the matter, is it?”
Ferlain, such a common sight, comforting, the gray streaks of hair, the fat smooth hands. Surely there was nothing frightening about Ferlain. Laren said, “No, not really. I suppose when I wake up suddenly I remember that horrible night two years ago when the men came and took Taby and me.”
“Aye, that would be frightening. Helga is right. It was an act of mercy that you weren’t killed. Well, Taby died, didn’t he, but not you. No, you are safe and pregnant with that Viking’s babe and everything will be yours, if you survive the birth, that is. If your babe survives. I know that many babes never survive, Laren. Many babes are dead before they know life. My babes all died, you know.” Ferlain looked at the gleaming hot coals in the brazier, then back at her half sister. “Only it is not the same as it was before. You were to wed the prince of the Danelaw but you didn’t. He wed a Danish princess. Of course he would have taken you away from here, wouldn’t he? He would have made you live in the Danelaw. We hear that there is trouble there now, that soon the Danelaw will fall to the Saxons. The Wessex king is strong and growing stronger. Soon there will be no more Viking kings and the Danelaw will be ruled by Saxons again. The prince and his wife will lose everything. Mayhap you should have stayed away, Laren.”
“I couldn’t. Were you the one who hired the men to take us away, Ferlain?”
“I? My dear girl, why ever would I do that?” She laughed then, a fat merry laugh, but somehow it wasn’t funny, that laugh. Laren wished desperately for Merrik, for Risa, for anyone.
“I don’t know. I wish to leave the chamber now.”
“Oh, not just yet, Laren, not just yet. I wanted to speak to you, to warn you.” She leaned close, her heavy fingers closing about Laren’s upper arm. “Listen to me, Laren, for I have your best interests at heart. It is Rollo who is your enemy. He is old and bitter and he hates all of us, including you, including that Viking husband of yours. He hated Taby most of all because he was of Hallad’s seed and not his. He sired but one male and one female whilst Hallad’s seed was wild in its potency. Aye, Rollo hated his own brother. Did you know that he wanted your mother? Aye, ’tis true, and Hallad discovered that she, the faithless bitch, wanted to be the duchess of Normandy. Thus she wanted our father dead. She wanted Rollo. Did our father kill her? It seems very likely, does it not? Our father did run away, disappeared. But beware of Rollo. He is quite mad and he became madder still after she died and our father left. Aye, Laren, you should leave too.”
Laren stared up at her, felt her belly heave, and ran for the basin. She heard Ferlain laughing behind her as she retched and retched.
Fromm was buried with many of his favored belongings in a deep mossy grave on a hillside overlooking the Seine. His old slave was killed and laid beside him, his arms crossed over his chest, a rough wooden cross in his hands, a token sop to the Christian God, Rollo said. All of Fromm’s weapons, his clothing, and his prized chair posts were wrapped carefully and placed into the grave with him.
Helga was a magnificent widow, tall and beautiful, her face set and still, aye, a tragic brave figure. Fromm was buried quickly, despite the Christian tenets, for the Vikings believed deeply in the return of the corpse’s spirit as a ghost, a monster, who would bedevil them. And Fromm hadn’t been a good man when alive. What could his spirit be upon his death but a malicious ghost?
“It is over,” Rollo said, and turned away from the heavy mound that held no marker, no adornment, as was again the Viking way. When grass covered it once again, no stranger would know that it covered a body and riches. There would be a marker, but it would be placed near to the palace, where people would see it and know of all Fromm’s good works and bravery.
Rollo looked at Helga and Ferlain, then at Laren who stood close to Merrik. “I dreamed of Hallad last night,” he said. “I dreamed he came back and that he was angry at me. He wasn’t old, but as young and strong a man as I once was. Odd, but he even looked like me, and that isn’t right, for Hallad was very different from me, you remember that, don’t you, Helga? He wasn’t strong or fierce. And his hair was that damnable red, and thicker than a mink’s pelt. Ah, but the women loved Hallad, all of them, even those—”
Rollo looked down at his fingers. He began to rub the joints. Weland said quietly, “Sire, it is time to return to the palace. There is a man, a blacksmith by trade, who has asked to see you. It seems he knows about Fromm and the fight. I questioned the other men and none admit to any knowledge, just the violence and it was over quickly and Fromm was dead, nothing more than that, they all swear to it.”
Rollo nodded and followed his lieutenant. He said over his shoulder, “My sweet Laren, you and Merrik will dine with me, just you two. I would speak to Merrik about King Charles and his sly ministers, pigs all of them, so William tells me. Merrik must know all of this before he travels to Paris to meet William and the Frankish king. Otta knows many of them for he has spent much time in