Ragnar the Murderer Page 9

  “I hope you are happy,” hissed Cwenburg as they walked to their hut. “The whole community is now against us. Why could you not just be happy with Eadbald?”

  “There is no use saying that now, mother,” snapped Sigulf, to the surprise of all. “We must look for a way out of this.”

  “Thank you brother,” whispered Aelfwyn in his ear a moment later.

  “Well, I liked Ragnar. He’s no murderer.”

  “But I thought you disapproved of him?”

  “I only did that to make him show what you meant to him.”

  “You are wiser than you look.”

  “Thank you.” Sigulf bowed slightly. “It would be hard not to be!”

  “Quiet, you two!” snapped Cwenburg. “This is not a time for jokes.”

  *

  Confined to the family hut, unable to go out for fear of the attention she would provoke, Aelfwyn kept to herself.

  “These will keep you out of mischief.” Her mother had made her in charge of all weaving and clothing tasks, which did indeed keep her busy every moment.

  However, while busy with such things, Aelfwyn had ample time to think. She needed to contact Bjarni, he would know how to help his best friend.

  “Mother, may I see Saehild? I need advice in his situation and she is a married woman now, and should know what to do.”

  “No, you may not! You are to remain in the hut.”

  “Then may she come here? I miss her. If she hadn’t gone away, I would have stayed here and not become involved with the Danes.”

  “Listen to me, Aelfwyn. You are an unmarried woman who has been seen with a Dane. You were always unlikely to be married, but now you have ruined your chances. I forbid you to see your sister, she is dead to our family.” Cwenburg stormed off.

  So Aelfwyn turned to her brother. She wrote a note to Saehild, begging her to meet in the morning at the well as they used to. Sigulf readily took it. Being male he had more freedom to come and go from the village.

  *

  The next morning, Aelfwyn went to fetch water from the well. Her only escape from the hut, she had offered to go, knowing her mother hated the long walk along the solitary path overhung with trees. Although now in early summer the green branches leant a more cheerful air to the journey, she of course had other matters on her mind.

  “Oh Saehild!” She flung herself into her sister’s arms. “What am I to do?”

  “Bjarni has plans.” The two women sat down on the wall. “He is finding out exactly what happened the night Eadbald was killed.”

  “Who told the Jarl that Ragnar went out that night?”

  “That is what he is finding out. He has to be subtle because everyone knows he is biased.”

  “Can I see him? I want him to know I don’t think he’s guilty. He wouldn’t do such a thing!”

  “I thought of that, my dear sister. Just a moment.” She stood and walked up the path, then into the bushes. She emerged with Bjarni, wearing plain brown trousers and over tunic, his golden hair loose.

  “If you go with him now, you can see Ragnar, he’ll arrange it.” She took Aelfwyn’s hand and put it in Bjarni’s, like a priest marrying them.

  “Oh will I? You have such faith in me, wife. I will do my best, sister in law.” He placed Aelfwyn’s hand through his arm and drew her along towards Hallfridby.

  “Why is Saehild staying behind?” asked Aelfwyn.

  “As far as I know, she wants to see old friends. But she is a mystery to me.”

  “How so?”

  “She wants excitement every day, nothing boring or tedious. She thinks Danish life is glamorous and thrilling, but it is just the same as Anglisc life.” He sighed. “Never mind, it will work itself out.”

  “Does Ragnar want to see me?” Too worried to listen to Bjarni’s concerns, she carried on with her own. “What did you find out about the person who said he left his quarters that night?”

  “I have my suspicions but it is hard to get anyone to tell me, as I am well known to be Ragnar’s brother in arms. I’m so sorry.”

  “I’m sure he didn’t kill Eadbald. I will know when I look in his eyes.”

  *

  Meanwhile, Saehild, her heart fluttering, made her way to the lake to meet Ljotr. His message had said as the other Danes wouldn’t be bathing there today, it would be the best place. She walked faster and faster as she approached Lauga Fen but when she reached it, couldn’t see him.

  Had she mistaken the day? She looked round at the deserted area and sat down to wait. Maybe he’d been delayed by something or someone. A movement caught her eye and she turned. He sat on the ground by the shore, his brownish green tunic and trousers matching the surroundings, as did his light brown hair. He looked like part of the landscape, a spirit of nature.

  He waved and she hurried over.

  “I thought you weren’t coming,” he said, smiling. “Follow me, if you like.” He wandered off into the nearby trees and she had to obey.

  “Where are we going?” She was half aroused, half scared.

  “Don’t be frightened.” He led her into the undergrowth to a shelter made of wattle and daub, small enough for two people at the most.

  “What is this?”

  “I built it. For when I get tired of other people.” His eyes had that faraway look again, the one which made her want to grab him and say “Look at me! I’m here in front of you, not wherever you’re looking!”

  A heap of bearskins lay in the corner, set out like a bed. Ljotr grinned, his eyes moving from her to the bed, but somehow she knew he wouldn’t make the first move.

  So she did, stepping forward and pressing herself against him, pushing him onto the bed and loosening his clothes while he just let her, his eyes almost mocking her, daring her to have her way with him.

  *

  Aelfwyn and Bjarni reached Hallfridby and were met by scornful looks and even some spitting by the younger villagers.

  “Make way for me and my sister,” announced Bjarni, striding forward with a tight grip on Aelfwyn’s hand. People moved out of his way as despite his lack of uniform, they knew he wouldn’t hesitate to deal out punishment.

  Unfriendly whispers and muttering reached Aelfwyn’s ears and she heard Ragnar’s name frequently.

  “What are they saying?” she asked Bjarni.

  “You don’t want to know.”

  “I do! I want to know what I am accused of.”

  “They are saying it is your fault Ragnar is in trouble. They are saying you should have left him to marry a Danish girl, not interfered. They are saying-saying- you are a-a-“

  “Whore. I understood that bit.”

  “You did ask.”

  They approached the Jarl’s hall. Smaller than the feasting hall but far better constructed, the pillars supporting the porch roof had carvings on, with an extension to one end. Aelfwyn wondered if Ragnar stayed there, separated from his friends.

  A couple of Huskarlr were on duty at the door, one Kjartan but he just nodded when Bjarni led her in, through the living area with fur rugs, a table and a fire on which serving women stirred something in a cooking pot. The pot was suspended on a metal spit, far superior to the one Aelfwyn used at home.

  “Can you please wait here while I make arrangements. You will get to see him, I promise.” Bjarni strode off, leaving her eyeing the other Danes nervously.

  Twelf

  Bjarni rapped on Ragnar’s prison door and blue eyes appeared in the small window in it.

  “Yes?”

  “I’d like to see Ragnar. I want to see for myself if he’s guilty. Come on, I haven’t seen him since the accusations.”

  The door opened and Bjarni walked in to the basic room with a table, benches at the side, a torch to give light and a dirt floor

  There were two Huskarl guards sitting on a bench playing knucklebones, where small animal bones were thrown into the air and caught on the back of the hand.

  Ragnar was sitting on the floor, his head on his knees, dark red
hair tied back severely. Looking up, he rose and stepped towards his friend.

  “Brother!” he exclaimed. The Huskarlr gave them a brief glance but were so used to Bjarni and Ragnar being friends they didn’t intervene.

  Ragnar’s bound hands meant Bjarni had to hug him and pat him on the back without response, which felt odd, and awful to see his honourable friend reduced to prisoner status.

  “What have you found out?” whispered Ragnar.

  “I’m sorry to say I don’t know who said he saw you go out that night. I have my suspicions, but…” he shrugged.

  “It’s alright. I know you’re doing your best.”

  “When is your trial?”

  “Tomorrow. It will be at the Thing. I wish the Jarl wasn’t in charge. He of all people should believe me.”

  “He’s an honourable man, he will do right by you. Don’t worry. He and his lady are above dishonesty.”

  Ragnar snorted.

  “What’s that for?”

  “Believe me, his lady-“ he leant forward and whispered directly in Bjarni’s ear. “She is not the pure woman you think.”

  “What?”

  The other Huskarlr glanced over.

  “Sh! The Jarl doesn’t know she has been fucking another man behind his back.”

  “What!”

  “It’s true. She and Kjartan have been-“

  “Kjartan? No, I don’t believe you. The lady Yngvild is pure of heart and body, she’d never do anything with a demon like him.”

  “Well, if you don’t believe me, what hope have I got?” Ragnar glared at him.

  “Enough whispering! Bjarni, you’ve been here long enough, it’s time to go,” snapped the Huskarl guard.

  “But can I bring Ragnar’s woman here? She wants to see him.”

  The Huskarl paused.

  “Why? Why should she? If it wasn’t for her he wouldn’t be in this mess.”

  “If you let her in to see him, I’ll clean your weapons for a week.”

  “Oh, like that is it? He must love you, Long Reach, to offer me that.” He laughed.

  “I didn’t mean that sort of weapon, you joker!” tutted Bjarni. “I meant your swords, axes and the rest.”

  Ragnar smiled at his friends’ attempts to cheer him up.

  “I’ll just go and get Aelfwyn.” Bjarni hurried off.

  *

  While Aelfwyn waited for Bjarni, she at first watched the busy serving women cooking and bossing the two slaves about, who fetched and carried for them. The Huskarlr stood guarding the door, but talked to each other and the serving women.

  There seemed to be some love making going on too, as faint but definite groans came from somewhere in the building-perhaps the Jarl and his lady? Kjartan and his colleague were laughing and making suggestive noises and gestures. They eyed Aelfwyn, who ignored them.

  But love making made her think of Ragnar and what would happen after the trial found him innocent. They would marry, live in their own hut and make love all the time. She drew back behind a convenient pillar and imagined him making love to her as before. His tongue teasing her nipples, his weight crushing her, his hard manhood pressing into her softness. Subconsciously, her hand wandered to her own breast, the other down towards her skirt where her wetness had begun bubbling.

  Suddenly a male figure pushed himself into the alcove against her, lean and tall and hard in the right place. Coming back to awareness, she realised it was Kjartan.

  “Caught you pleasuring yourself, you little whore,” he whispered. “How would you like a real man inside you right now?”

  Shocked, she tried to retreat but he pressed against her.

  “When Ragnar’s exiled or dead, come and be my woman. I’ll show you how it should be. You and Yngvild can pleasure me in turn, or at once, or you can pleasure each other. You can hear her coming now, does that excite you?”

  She wondered what he meant, even while trying to resist him.

  “I want you so badly,” he whispered, pulling up her skirt.

  She gritted her teeth. If she had to put up with this before seeing Ragnar, so be it. Bjarni would be back soon and then she could see Ragnar.

  Her skirt raised above her waist, Kjartan began to loosen his trousers, when he was pulled violently backwards.

  “What in the gods’ name are you doing to my sister?” snarled Bjarni. “Control yourself, you fiend!”

  Kjartan merely chuckled, and stared at Aelfwyn.

  “Get lost or I’ll kill you!” continued Bjarni.

  He took the sensible path and hurried off.

  “Are you alright?” asked Bjarni. “I’m sorry to have left you so vulnerable.”

  “He’s obsessed with me. He’s got all these plans for me.” She shuddered.

  “What plans?”

  “He wants me and some woman called Yngvild to be his lovers and pleasure him in turn.” She felt sick.

  “Yngvild?”

  “Yes, the name sounds familiar, can’t think where I’ve heard it before.”

  “Oh-probably just around the village.” But Bjarni’s mind began working fast. First Ragnar, now Aelfwyn mentioning something going on between Yngvild and Kjartan. Could it be true that the Jarl’s wife and the Huskarl were intimate?

  *

  Aelfwyn stepped into Ragnar’s room, sick with nerves. Loitering near the wall, his face lit up when he saw her. He lifted his shackled hands and brought them down over her shoulders, holding her tightly.

  She pressed against his solid chest, so reassuring and hard and-if the other Huskarlr hadn’t been in the room, she would have taken him inside her that second. Her earlier arousal had been made worse by Kjartan pressing himself against her like that. However scary he was, he’d still got her physically excited and she trembled against Ragnar.

  He sat down carefully on the floor, bringing her with him, and kissed her passionately.

  “I’ll be outside,” said Bjarni, and hurried out. The Huskarl guards were gazing at the couple, open mouthed.

  “Fuck off, you perverts,” said Ragnar, between kisses. They gathered themselves and turned back to their knucklebones game.

  “So, you believe I didn’t kill Eadbald?” he asked when they stopped for breath.

  “Of course! It’s not in you to do that. You’re honourable.”

  “Ahh,” said one of the guards. “Aren’t you sweet?”

  “I just told you to-“ snapped Ragnar.

  “Alright, alright. I’m just saying I can see why you like her.”

  “Well, she’s mine, so piss off. Aren’t you?”

  “Of course.” Tears pricked her eyes. “I never doubted you.”

  “The trial is coming up. It’s at the Thing.”

  “What do you mean, the Thing?”

  “It’s the gathering we Danes hold every so often to sort out disagreements. And crimes.”

  “It’ll be alright.” She cuddled up to him again, hoping it would be.

  *

  The outdoor assembly area where they always held the Thing was within Hallfridby on a piece of plain grassland, open to all witnesses. The clouds were scudding across the blue sky, blown by the fierce early summer winds.

  Ragnar stood shackled by his wrists. The Jarl and his wife sat in ornate chairs on one side of him. Twelve Huskarlr sat opposite them. Some frowned, some smiled uneasily but most appeared simply impassive. They were all dressed in their smart Huskarl uniforms of red cloak, grey trousers, over tunics, hair platted neatly. Bjarni had been excused due to his being Ragnar’s closest friend.

  An accused Huskarl was not allowed to wear the uniform, however so Ragnar wore a plain brown over tunic and trousers with his hair tied back severely.

  “Welcome all to the Thing,” began Jarl Thorvald. He glanced round and the crowd were silenced.

  “The main dispute today is a very serious one.” He turned to the defendant. “Ragnar Long Reach, you are accused of murdering Eadbald, the potter from Byrnstanham. He was killed in the Danish way, so the An
glisc are agitated and eager to find the murderer.

  It pains me to see you accused, as you have been like a son to me, but I will not let that divert me from seeking justice. We must review the evidence.” He turned back to the crowd.

  “On the night before Eadbald’s wedding to Aelfwyn, daughter of Aldulf, also of Byrnstanham, he was brutally murdered in his bed. The killer crept in at the darkest moment of night, cut his throat and then stabbed him in the buttock to humiliate him.

  It is well known around that Ragnar Long Reach has been associating with Aelfwyn, at least they have been seen together many times. He was observed leaving the Huskarl longhouse that night and heading towards Byrnstanham.”

  A blond figure approached the scene, with hair so pale it could only be one person. Ragnar stepped forward but his Huskarl friends shook their heads violently at him and he controlled himself.

  Kjartan stood in front of the Jarl and his wife.

  “Did you see Ragnar leave the Huskarl longhouse on the night of the murder?”

  “I did.”

  “In which direction did he go?”

  “I can’t be sure, of course, but he seemed to be walking out of Hallfridby, towards Byrnstanham, carrying his sword under his cloak.”

  “How can you be sure it was his sword hidden under his cloak?”

  “I can’t, but he definitely was carrying something under there.”

  Thorvald stepped away.

  “So Kjartan, a Huskarl also of blameless character-“

  Ragnar made a scornful noise, but turned it into a cough. He noticed Kjartan still stood near Yngvild, gazing at her. She gazed back but hastily tore her eyes away.

  “-is certain that Ragnar Long Reach left the longhouse that night, with his sword, heading towards the village where Eadbald dwelt. There is no one who can vouch for him remaining asleep in the longhouse, I regret to say.

  Not only that…” The Jarl paused for effect. “the potter’s oldest child found Ragnar’s sword next to the body of Eadbald.”

  The onlookers gasped. A clash made them jump further: a Huskarl’s spear had fallen over in the wind, hitting his shield below like the toll of a funeral bell.