“Rasha is here!” I hear my name called and look around at the crowd gathering in the bright morning sunlight. A young girl runs through the snow, followed by a group of red-faced children all carrying boughs of evergreen and wreaths of holly.
Kneeling to their level, I open my arms as they bombard me with little hands and sticky smiles, giving me things they made themselves. Proudly beaming at me, one says, “You are the prettiest Maiden we have ever had.” His blonde hair is half shaved, and his green eyes shyly look at his feet.
“Chin up,” I say, raising his round face to see me. The women behind us pass him a crown made of spun holly and white washed bones set in soft maple branches. “Did you make this for me?” I ask when their nerves take over.
“We did,” the boy says, and I tilt my shoulders forward for him to place it on my head.
“Go on, go help your parents. Leave the Maiden to her duties,” Harald calls, stomping across the ceremonial circle. The children jump, and I grab the crown before it falls, straightening myself while the children run back to wherever they came from.
“You didn’t need to scold them,” I say, brushing the snow off the bottom of my dress. Harald offers me his elbow, which I take, and we walk to the newly constructed platform next to the Yule log. More wood and kindling has been added under and around the logto keep it burning. I look for where I drew the runes in blood, but the flames and cinder have already made it disappear.
“Children need to mind what their parents say and do as they are told,” Harald says, helping me ascend the two step platform. Keeping my cloak tucked around my legs to hide my body, I take a seat and watch him sit next to me.
“Ruling with a heavy hand can come back to bite you.”
“And what does a heathen from a hunting party know about ruling?”
I fix the crown the children gave me as if it is a real one and look over at him. He is well groomed today. His beard is combed and every finger sports a shiny silver ring.
“I know that a leader needs to be able to trust the people around them. And in return, those people support their leader. That’s how a hunting party works. We work with each other.”
Harald waves his hand, and one of his servants appears with two cups of hot wine on a wooden tray.
“No, thank you,” I say, wanting to keep my head clear, but Harald passes me the cup and waves the man away. He takes a mouthful of wine and raises his cup, waiting for me to consecrate our moment. Gently clicking the glasses together, I take a small sip and force myself to swallow.
The red wine is vastly different from the sweetness I tasted last night. Harald is nothing like Shaw, not that I know either man well, but Harald’s method is to gain favor through oppression. Shaw doesn’t seem to seek favor or acceptance, and that is refreshing.
“What is on your mind?” Harald asks as the Vikings begin to lay offerings around us.
“Being a good vessel for the prayers of the people so that the gods might hear and respond,” I reply.
Harald leans over to rest his elbow on the chair, moving close to me so I can smell his overly herbed soap and wax. His clothes are beautifully crafted, the fur edges sewed with delicate patterns on the trim of his tunic.
“The people are easily swayed. After this season, it will be our job to teach them to love the King,” he whispers.
“Will the King come here?” I ask, barely raising my face to his.
“In good time. I want to make sure you are ready to receive a man of such status. Someone who walks in the likeness of a god.”
We are interrupted by four men who carry a dead goat hanging off a thick wooden post. The large, curved horns scraping through the snow remind me of Odin.
“For you Maiden. For tonight’s feast, we killed our best goat in honor of Yule,” the front man says, keeping the post balanced over his steady shoulder. Harald claps, rising half way out of his chair to survey the creature. “The horns are the best of our herd and will make a fine mask for you, Jarl.”
Harald roughly pats the second man on the shoulder. “A mask for the Wild Hunt in the name of Odin himself. Thank you, my friends.” The men walk away, turning to head for the stronghold. Large goats take hours to skin and cook, so the kitchen will have their work cut out for them.
Pouring himself more wine, Harald strides across the platform and resumes his seat by me. The crowd grows larger around us as people leave baskets of fresh bread and apples at my feet, bolts of dyed cloth for dresses or tunics too. After a few rounds of wagons roll by, there is a lull in the offerings, and I nervously shift in my seat, wondering how best to ask Harald about the map.
“You look like you want another drink,” Harald says, glancing over at me.
“I am alright, thank you. We have a long night of dancing don’t we?” I put on my most cheerful smile.
“Will you finally dance with me?”
“If you treat the rest of the people with grace today.” I offer a compromise, and he accepts.
“I would like to come to a place where you gladly perform the marriage rites, Rasha.”
“How does it benefit me to marry you?” The bold question catches him off guard, and he props his elbow on the chair to lean closer.
