Ragnar the Murderer Read online

  Many of the men were sleeping and loudly snoring, off duty, others were eating, talking and playing some rowdy gambling game at one end of the building. There was an unfamiliar strong smell of sweat, smoke and ale, unlike that of her home. The longhouse smelt undeniably of men.

  She waited nervously by the door, but to her distress, Kjartan appeared.

  “You’d better not rape me, or Ragnar will kill you,” she blurted. “So go and tell him I’m here.”

  “You have spirit,” he said. “Are you sure you don’t want my big stiff weapon inside you?”

  “I’m very sure thank you.” She turned her nose up at him. “Please get Ragnar at once.”

  “Did you enjoy it with him in the cave?”

  She blushed.

  “How-how did you know?”

  “Ah, I know everything. Do you know everything?” What was he talking about? He must surely be insane.

  “I know quite a lot.”

  “You know it’s my cave?”

  “No.”

  “Do you know who I take there?”

  Tiring of this game, Aelfwyn lied.

  “Yes, I do actually. I know all the women you take to your cave, and I know all your secrets.”

  His eyes widened.

  “Did Ragnar tell you?”

  “Yes, he told me everything.” Tired and anxious after Saehild’s revelations, she wanted him to go away and stop talking nonsense, so she could speak to Ragnar.

  “Hm.” Kjartan appeared to be about to say something else, but Ragnar interrupted.

  “Get lost, fool,” he said, putting his arm round Aelfwyn. Kjartan stalked off, muttering.

  Ragnar drew her to him and kissed her.

  “What are we going to do about Saehild and Bjarni?” she said afterwards.

  “I don’t know,” he sighed. “It’s a mess.”

  “And now my parents think I’m the virtuous daughter and I can never escape marriage to Eadbald,” she said, her voice shaking.

  “Shall we just run away together and forget them?”

  “Really? Do you mean that?”

  “Yes. Shall we?”

  She hovered on the precipice of stepping over the edge and giving her all to him. But reason prevailed.

  “I can’t. My parents would be heart broken if I left too. I can’t hurt them.”

  “I know. You are lucky to have parents, you must treasure them.”

  “Don’t you have parents?”

  “Not really. I was born to my father’s slave and he never recognised me as his son. Only the kindness of Jarl Thorvald and his late wife saved me. They took me in and brought me up.”

  He watched her, expecting shock and possibly revulsion.

  “You poor thing,” she gasped, hugging him tighter. “My parents annoy me but they always take care of me.”

  “I shall take you home. I wish you could stay but…” He wanted her to stay in his bed but did not want the other Huskarlr upsetting or taking advantage of her.

  They didn’t feel the cold night air, holding hands along the track to Aelfwyn’s home. They felt no need to speak, but longing accompanied them, shadowing them like a spirit.

  *

  Saehild spent her days at Hallfridby, in the company of the other wives. She watched her husband training once, but Steinar soon sent on her way because she was too much of a distraction for all the men, not just Bjarni.

  She found work to be done at this village too, even though she had left her own family to manage without her. But at least it was in a different environment. The Danish women were mostly friendly and she brought some of her own Anglisc friends with her.

  During the breaks in training, the Anglisc girls flirted with the Huskarlr and any other Danes nearby. A seemingly endless number of Danish men just happened to visit the Huskarl training area. Such an endless number that Steinar became annoyed.

  “Any of you men who want to join training, get your swords and start practising!” he shouted, in a voice well used to commanding. A stocky man, he had a huge scar down one side of his face and across his eye.

  “Is he married?” asked Saehild’s friend, Leofrun, with the wide, dreaming eyes.

  “Why? Do you fancy him?” she replied, giggling.

  “Why not? He looks harassed, I could calm him down with some loving,” giggled Leofrun in return. She fluttered her eyelashes at Steinar, who glared at her.

  “You two!” he shouted at Ragnar, who was innocently mending his sword hilt, and Kjartan, who was chatting up the Anglisc. “You look like you want to fight each other. Get in position!”

  So they did. Ragnar, annoyed at his situation with Aelfwyn, and at the knowledge of Kjartan and the Jarl’s wife, launched into the fight with enthusiasm.

  Kjartan, equally, frustrated about his situation with Yngvild and annoyed that Ragnar knew about it, set about defending just as readily.

  “Don’t they look handsome with their hair tied back like that?” said Saehild to Leofrun, then realised it was someone else.

  The area for combat had originally been grassy but so many heavy boots had worn it down over time it had become dusty, dry ground now. There were logs round the sides of it for onlookers to encourage or taunt the fighters.

  The other Huskarlr cheered and yelled, but Saehild soon became bored and went into the training area to look for Bjarni. Seeing so many men in the same uniform confused her but after a while, she spotted him.

  “There you are.” She ran and kissed him.

  “Not now,” he said, embarrassed.

  “But I’m your wife!”

  “Steinar won’t like it.”

  “He can’t see us behind all these men.” She kissed him again and they fell behind the pile of logs used for strength training.

  “Kill him!” shouted the men watching the fight between Kjartan and Ragnar, half serious, half laughing.

  Ragnar got Kjartan at a disadvantage, his sword against his throat.

  “Why did you tell your woman my secret?” hissed Kjartan.

  “What?” Ragnar was thrown off guard.

  Kjartan leapt up, fighting back against him.

  The crowd gasped as this time, Kjartan pressed his sword to Ragnar’s throat.

  “Your tiny woman will find her head parted from her neck if she tells.”

  “What? I’ll never let you hurt her!” Ragnar pushed him away and the fight continued, until, out of breath and muddy, the two combatants paused.

  “I declare this a draw!” shouted a Huskarl. “Where’s Steinar?”

  No one could see him anywhere, so the contest concluded without him.

  “What’s next?” “Isn’t it axe practise?” muttered the men, and shuffled around picking up axes and short logs for hacking.

  Steinar appeared from behind a hut.

  “You missed the fight, where did you go?” asked someone.

  “Official business,” he barked. “Well done, Solmund, for keeping everyone working.”

  Saehild returned to the other women, pleased to have distracted Bjarni successfully. Leofrun waited for her.

  “I was right,” Leofrun said smugly.

  “What?”

  “Steinar did need relaxing, he was far too tense.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I just did it with him, behind that hut, against the wall.”

  “What! While the others were fighting?”

  “Yes. He’s certainly strong. I think I might come and live here like you do.” Leofrun said dreamily.

  Saehild’s jaw dropped. Her friend used to be reserved and demure but it seemed the move to Hallfridby had brought out another side to her.

  *

  Meanwhile, at Aelfwyn’s home, preparations for her wedding had been escalated due to Saehild’s desertion. Her younger sisters were to be bridesmaids and their best dresses must be adorned with extra decoration. She had to visit the priest of the church with Eadbald, to discuss marriage. A wedding feast must be arranged, meaning extra food to be
cooked and animals slaughtered. The flowers were to be picked at the last minute, but still needed to be tended to reach perfection at the correct time.

  “Your wedding gown will be the most beautiful dress you’ve ever seen,” said Cwenburg, sewing a line of pearls to the neckline. “You have always been the reliable and steadfast daughter, always there when needed. We shall make sure you have a wonderful day.”

  Aelfwyn felt tears forming, partly because due to thoughts of Ragnar and partly because she had never been the favourite daughter before. Saehild had always been the shining jewel of the family, she had known it. The one her parents cherished the most and hoped the best for. Aelfwyn had been a distant second place, until now.

  Outside in the village however, discontent grew.

  “All our women are with the Danes,” muttered Wilmund, a former suitor of Saehild.

  “They should be here doing their work and amusing us, not them,” grumbled another.

  “They are too clean, it’s not normal to wash every day and bathe every week. Real men don’t do that.”

  “We should go there and see what they are doing.”

  “They haven’t even been here for long, they come over here invading and taking our women.”

  “We should make them pay for this.”

  The muttering and complaining carried on for the next few days, getting angrier and angrier.

  Eahta

  Meanwhile, the Danes were pairing up with the Anglisc girls. Leofrun worked her charm on Steinar even more, eating and sleeping with him, transforming from someone he barely spoke to into his constant companion. He arranged a place for her as the maid of lady Yngvild, as her last maid had left to marry.

  All Saehild’s friends were able to take their pick from the mass of unmarried soldiers and craftsmen. Waves of Danes had invaded Angland for so many winters that the imbalance between the sexes-three men for every woman-still existed.

  The greatest attraction proved to be the weekly bathing session. Every Saturday, groups of Danes from Hallfridby would bathe in the nearby lake. This seemed strange and exotic to the Anglisc, because they only bathed every few months, if that. The Danes treated it as a social occasion, going together with their friends and lovers.

  Most people bathed when the sun was at its highest. The late spring water was still cool, but the Anglisc were surprised to find that the Danes still bathed regardless.

  Of course the Danish men were more than happy to invite the Anglisc girls to bathe with them and this further strengthened the bonds between the groups.

  Saehild always went with Bjarni of course, and after a few timid attempts at bathing, finally submerged herself, as the sun beat down from the first cloudless sky of spring.

  “See, it’s not so bad,” he teased, standing naked in front of her. His lightly tanned skin had the familiar rosy hue of the Danish colouring. He posed, showing off his muscles to her while she giggled, then picked her up and ran into deeper waters, the swishing and clopping of the water disturbing the lake bed and mud whirling up around his legs.

  She looked around, expecting to be centre of attention in the arms of the most handsome man in the group, standing in the middle of the lake. But when she met the eyes of the other men, they shyly glanced away.

  “Will you wash my hair?” asked Bjarni. “It’s itchy.”

  “You only washed it last Saturday,” she laughed.

  “Exactly! A whole week ago, it’s disgusting.” He swashed over to the bank and sat down, scratching his scalp.

  The lake lay in open, flat land surrounded by marsh. Unknown to the Danes, a huge block of ice from the last ice age had melted to form the kettle hole, where the lake now lay. When the Danes had found it, they’d been overjoyed and relieved to find a place to bathe and socialise.

  Small streams flowing into and out of the lake kept the water clear. It had been affectionately named Lauga Fen, the bath bog.

  Saehild followed him. She took the handmade soap from his hand and began to rub it into his scalp. He groaned, loving the feeling. She had done this so often however, it wasn’t fun anymore and her eyes wandered. Groups of friends splashed around, couples kissed and washed each other. Steinar and Leofrun stood a pace apart as she tenderly washed his scarred face. Sounds of laughter and talking filled the air.

  “I’m a bit cold,” she complained, unaccustomed to her top half being open to the air.

  “When you’ve finished my hair, I’ll warm you up,” chuckled her husband.

  She smiled, but gazed around again. So many muscly naked men around, water running down their chests, backs, buttocks, but all avoided her eyes. She knew why. They didn’t want to risk offending Bjarni and being killed for disrespecting his wife. But she preferred the days before marriage, when all men eyed her with interest and she had been kissed more times than she could count. It seemed having an elite warrior husband limited her life, not expanded it.

  Twining her fingers in his golden hair, she began to feel a little aroused and noticed a couple away from the others, moving together in a familiar way. The man, his long blond hair drenched into dullness and hanging down his back, pressed the woman against the bank, one arm around her and one bracing himself against the edge, while the tops of knees peeped above the water line like breasts.

  Another couple seemed to be doing the same further away. Bjarni finished rinsing his hair and sat up, flicking it back. He noticed where she was looking.

  “A good way to warm up.” He pushed her up against the nearest bank, not caring that his friends weren’t too far away. They were busy washing and arguing and making fun of each other anyway.

  He pushed inside her and she wrapped her legs round him, glad to get what she wanted. Something dug into her back from the bank.

  “Hang on.” She felt behind herself and pushed the stone away.

  The water splashed round her, it made it more difficult to get aroused as it felt cold on her most intimate places. It didn’t seem to affect Bjarni though, nothing ever did. He could probably fuck her upside down in a snow storm and not be put off. She had liked that about him at first, but… did she want a change now? A different man?

  Noticing one of the bathing Huskarlr watching them surreptitiously, she smiled at him. His jaw dropped, his hand wandered to his cock and he began stroking it. She put her finger in her mouth and sucked on it while the Huskarl’s stroking became more and more urgent. She threw her head back, exaggerating her arousal, her breasts bouncing against Bjarni’s chest.

  Her husband shuddered at the same time as the onlooker, who jerked forward a few times, then stopped. He grinned at Saehild, who grinned back, then he returned to his friends, who hadn’t noticed. He had light brown hair and a wiry, lean body in contrast to Bjarni’s broader one. She must find out his name.

  “That warm you up?” Bjarni kissed her happily.

  “Oh yes. I love you.”

  “I love you too.”

  She untangled herself from him.

  “I’d better wash your hair away from this bank. The water here is a bit cloudy for some reason,” Bjarni chuckled, leading her away.

  Saehild felt lighter. There were ways to involve other men in her loving after all.

  *

  The group of Anglisc men marched towards Hallfridby in the early evening. On reaching the gate, they were halted by the Huskarlr on guard.

  “What is your business?” asked one.

  “We’ve come for our women,” said Maegla, who had taken charge.

  “Oh yes?” The two Huskarlr chuckled, so Maegla stepped forward and knocked the spear out of one’s hand.

  Both Huskarlr bridled.

  “We challenge you Danes to a fight for our women,” said Osfrith, Maegla’s unofficial second in command.

  “Very well.” The Huskarl blew into the cattle horn he kept on his belt.

  Unfortunately Bjarni and another Huskarl hastened up just at that moment.

  “That’s him,” muttered the Anglisc, gesturing at him
in anger while the Danes conferred with Maegla and Osfrith.

  Soon, Steinar appeared.

  “You cannot fight within Hallfridby,” he shouted, unable to lower his voice after so many years of commanding. “We will fight in the clearing between our villages.”

  Ten Huskarlr marched out, in full battle gear.

  “That’s unfair!” exclaimed Maegla. “We are just farmers, we don’t have swords or spears. It should be hand to hand fighting.”

  After more conferring, the Danes handed their weapons to two Danish women who waited behind them.

  “We have not left our village unattended,” boomed Steinar. “In case this is a trick.”

  The group of men reached the clearing, after much goading and provoking of each other on the march there.

  “Right, pair up with a man of the same height and build as you!” roared Steinar. “A useful training exercise for all of you!”

  Ragnar was taller than all the Anglisc, so the tallest of them, Osfrith, stepped up. He was still at least a hand’s breadth shorter.

  The Anglisc and Danish women who had followed settled themselves round the borders of the area.

  Saehild didn’t understand why Bjarni was involved. As a married man, he had no direct challenger, but he wanted to fight, she could tell. Glaring at his opponent with a look of hatred she had never seen before, she quivered partly in fear, partly in arousal.

  Steinar marched up and down, giving instructions, then put his fingers in his mouth and whistled piercingly.

  The fighting began. The women round the arena leant forward eagerly, wincing and gasping at every blow. There were no rules, so some pairs wrestled, some hit each other, some tried any sort of tactics.

  Some of the women were becoming really excited by the fight, especially Leofrun. Her hand caressed her own breast, her mouth open, she groaned, eyes wide.

  Saehild watched the fight surreptitiously, feeling uneasy and becoming bored. Bjarni seemed to be easily winning his fight, similarly Ragnar, who seemed on a mission to destroy. Did Aelfwyn know of her lover’s violence? Perhaps she should fetch her sister and show her.

  She slipped away to Byrnstanham, stealing through the darkness.