When Richard stepped down from the top of the keep, men returned to the drudgery of clearing debris from the destroyed tower and damaged walls and the arduous task of transporting bodies of the fallen down to the beach for burning.
Skårde, Harald, and the Viking chieftains who had been on the ramparts with Richard returned to the ground, directing warriors to carefully convey the wounded into the Great Hall where castle servants, newly freed from subjugation to the Franks, scurried to set up pallets along the walls, procure supplies and bandages, and fetch healers to treat the injured men.
As Skårde summoned a messenger to deliver news of the victory to Ylva, he spotted a wounded falcon on the grass under the oak tree where he’d last seen Haldor Falk. Rushing toward the injured bird, he noted that the peregrine’s right wing had been pierced by an arrow and that the Falcon was lying in a pool of blood.
I must get him to Úlvhild, Ylva, and Maeve and pray that the trio of healers can savehim. I cannot remain here for the victory celebration—I must set sail at once. I’ll wrap him in wool padding and leather, to protect his body. A drakkar ship is smoother and faster than a horse or carriage, so it will jostle him less and get him home more quickly.
Skårde spoke soothingly to the Falcon. “I’m taking you to Úlvhild. We’ll set sail at once. Hang on, Haldor. We’ll be back atChâteaufortin a few hours.” He summoned two of his nearby men. “Bring me a swath of wool and a leather cloak. And a few scraps of linen to staunch the bleeding.” As one warrior dashed off to obey, Skårde commanded the second. “Alert the crew to prepare my ship for immediate departure. We must return toChâteaufortat once.”
The Viking warrior lowered his eyes. Regret tinged his reluctant voice. “Dragonclawwas lost in the battle, my lord.” When he raised his bowed head, renewed hope brightened his bearded face. “ButThor’s Roaris undamaged. I can have the crew ready to sail right away.”
Skårde’s spirit sank at the loss of his beloved ship. Of course the Franks had targeted it. With the heraldic banners of theDragon of Normandyand the enormous carved dragon at the prow, they had known it was Skårde’sdrakkar and had undoubtedly launched a relentless assault of boulders and fire barrels from the trebuchet until it was destroyed. He exhaled in sorrow but nodded in grim acceptance. “See to it at once.”
As the warrior ran off toward the beach where the ships were docked, the first soldier returned carrying a bundle of blankets and cloth. Skårde carefully wrapped a strip of linen around the Falcon’s torn wing and reassured the woundedvitki. “This will slow the bleeding until I can get you to Úlvhild. Try to remain as still as possible and rest as much as you can.” He painstakingly wrapped the injured Falcon in soft wool, tucking him inside the leather cloak. Scooping him up gently, Skårde carried the Falcon toward the castle to speak with Richard and Harald.
Inside the Great Hall, Skårde was astounded to see a wounded Gunni laying upon a straw pallet. “Loki’s balls! You’re alive! But I saw you fall…”
Gunni smirked and raised himself up onto one elbow, a snide grin stretching across his bruised, bloodied face. “It takes more than a feeble Frankish blade to kill a Viking redbeard.” He slapped his obviously injured leg and scoffed. “Just a nick. I’ll be on my feet in no time.” He indicated the wounded bird in Skårde’s arms, his eyes widening and his smile disappearing as comprehension dawned. “Is that Haldor?”
Skårde nodded and adjusted the Falcon in his arms. “I’ve got to get him to the trio of healers atChâteaufort.”An idea suddenly dawned at the thought of Úlvhild’s apprentice. “Come with me! I’ll have two men transport you to the ship. Maeve can care for you while thevölvatreats hervitki.” Skårde hailed two warriors headed toward the door. “Secure this injured warrior aboardThor’s Roar. He’s sailing with me back toChâteaufort.” To Gunni, he said, “Dragonclawwas destroyed, so we’re taking another. I’ll see you aboard ship.” He searched the Great Hall and spotted Richard in a corner, kneeling beside one of his wounded men. “I need to inform Richard and my father that I’m leaving. I won’t be long. Haldor is losing too much blood.”
When Richard saw Skårde approach, he rose to his feet and strode quickly across the room. Concern etched his furrowed brow as he noted the injured Falcon cradled in the crook of Skårde’s arms.
“I can’t remain for the victory celebration. I must get Haldor toChâteauforttonight. His wing was torn by an arrow, and he’s lost a lot of blood, He needs Úlvhild, Maeve, and Ylva. Perhaps they can save him withgaldrmagic.”
“Of course. I’ll organize the funeral for the fallen. The sacrifice and the feast. Get home as quickly as you can.” Richard beckoned Harald across the Great Hall.
When his father joined them, Skårde quickly informed him of the plan to save the Falcon. He told Richard and Harald that he was bringing Gunni with him as well.
“I’ll remain here with Richard for the tribute to our fallen soldiers and the victory feast. I’ll set sail tomorrow. Tell Sweyn I’ll be there by sunset, Rán willing.”He indicated the Falcon with a dip of his head. “Tonight, during the sacrifice, I’ll ask the Goddess Eir to heal Haldor Falk.”
Skårde said goodbye to Richard, Harald, and his Viking chieftains and quickly exited the castle. He descended the charred path along the riverbank near the castle, grateful that his warriors who had been mercilessly burned by the Franks had been removed and brought down to the beach. When he saw the piles of bodies being prepared for the funeral pyres, a contradictory blend of profound grief and sublime joy nearly overwhelmed him.
He shouted so all his men could hear.“Tonight, they feast with Odin and theEinherjarin the glory of Valhalla!”
Warriors all across the bloodied beach frapped their shields and roared. “Valhalla!”
Clutching the Falcon protectively against his armored chest, Skårde walked to the water’s edge, climbed the wooden plank, and boardedThor’s Roar.While the bustling crew readied for departure, he selected an upturned, empty crate and fashioned a protective nest with a folded blanket. Carefully placing the wounded Haldor Falk inside, he adjusted the wool padding to keep him stable for the sea voyage.
When he spotted Gunni on a makeshift bed near the mast of the ship, Skårde secured the Falcon’s crate next to him and settled down between his two injured companions. He spoke softly to both Gunni and Haldor. “Try to sleep. We’ll reachChâteaufortat dawn.”
The crew maneuvered the swiftdrakkarout of the sheltered harbor of Fécamp under stars dawning in the evening sky. As the square sail unfurled and the ship reached the open sea, the rhythmic rocking of waves and the painful throbbing of his wound forced Skårde to succumb to the fatigue of battle. He closed his eyes and prayed thatThor’s Roarwould arrive in time to save Haldor Falk.
Chapter 36
Freyja’s Kiss
Ylva sat at the table in her antechamber, beneath the wooden shelves where she kept her stores of herbal elixirs, healing gems, and crystals. A triangle of burning candles surrounded her, emitting the mellow fragrance of myrrh, the crisp pine scent of juniper, and the cleansing herbal aroma of sage. Golden rays of the setting sun shone through the open window and glimmered on the sea, a tangy brine wafting into her room on the late autumn breeze.
Earlier in the day, after Skårde’s ships had sailed for Fécamp, Maeve and Úlvhild had returned to the village, and Sweyn had gone to train with the young warriors and sons of castle knights, Ylva had gone to the waterfall cave. With offerings of fragrant flowers to each of the three goddesses, she had prayed for Skårde, Richard, Harald, and the warriors fighting to reclaim Fécamp.
But now, for the very first time, she would pray to a different trio of Nordic gods.
And for them—flowers, gems, and seashells would never do.
For the trinity of Gods of War, she would sacrifice her blood.
Upon the table before her lay the three bones she had carefully chosen. For Odin, she had selected a bone from the leg of a wolf to represent his two loyal lupine companions, Geri and Freki. For Tyr, she had selected the tusk of a boar to symbolize his bravery and tenacity. And for Thor, who had marked Skårde with his thunder, she had chosen the horn of a bull for the god’s inimitable strength and endurance.
