Harald, as the highest ranking monarch, was seated in the center of the table of honor. Royal blue cloak draped over his broad shoulders, chain mail armor gleaming in the incandescent light, the majestic King of Denmark and Norway rose to his feet, his goblet held high in tribute. Rich, resonant, and regal, his deep voice reverberated through the Great Hall.
“Knights, warriors, and ladies ofChâteaufort! Tonight, we celebrate victory. To Richard the Fearless, Viking Duke of Normandy who reclaimed his ducal palace at Fécamp!”
Riotous cheers resonated across the room.
Harald continued his toast of triumph. “To thevitkiwho summoned swarms of birds to peck out the eyes of our enemy. Whom the Goddess Freyja herself healed in this very castle. ToFreyja’s Falcon, Haldor Falk!”
Thunderous roars of “Skál!” rumbled throughout the hall.
“And to my son, Skårde the Scourge. The Dragon of Denmark who freed his brother Sweyn from the prison of the Frankish King. The Dragon of Normandy who saved the Falcon, Haldor Falk. The Dragon ofChâteaufort, the vital link in the Viking trinity which triumphed at Fécamp. To Skårde Haraldsson. Lord ofChâteaufort.Count of the Pays de Caux!”
Everyone shot to their feet and shouted. “To the Dragon of Normandy!Skál!”
Skårde grinned and cautiously rose to his feet, clutching his injured side. His deep, solemn voice carried across the hushed silence. “I am honored by my father’s tribute and proud to form the Viking alliance between Normandy, Norway, and Denmark. But victory would not be ours tonight were it not for the sacrifice of hundreds of fallen warriors who surely feast with Odin and theeinherjarin the glory of Valhalla. To the valiant Vikings who died in battle. To the Norse gods who granted us victory. Tonight, we feast in their honor.Skál!”
The exuberant throng erupted in riotous cheers.
When the crowd quieted, the music resumed, and everyone began to feast.
Richard leaned forward to address Skårde from his seat at Ylva’s side. “We honored your chieftain Viggo, and my Marshal Enguerran in a special funeral tribute. We placed each of their bodies in a separate karvi, with their swords, axes, and personal items. Since Viggo was a shipbuilder, his funeral boat contained tools of his trade. For Enguerran, who was an avid horseman, the head of his beloved stallion. We set the boats to sea, and my finest archers set fire to the karvis with flaming arrows shot from the beach. The remainder of our warriors were burned in nine funeral pyres, with the sacrificial blood of nine cows—the sacred number to honor Odin and the nine days he hanged himself from Yggdrasil. We roasted the meat, feasted to honor the fallen, and thanked the gods with horns of mead.”
Skårde’s heart clenched at the memory of Viggo’s gruesome death.He feasts in Valhalla tonight, as I feast here in Châteaufort.In response to Richard, Skårde bowed his head and nodded in solemn gratitude. He raised his silver chalice in tribute. “To Viggo, Enguerran, and the warriors who died in battle. May they feast in the glory of Valhalla.”
All goblets at the table of honor were raised in tribute as combined voices cheered. “Valhalla!”
When guests had completed the second course of roast pheasant, steamed mussels, stuffed squash, and stewed lentils, Sweyn looked up at his father with wide, inquisitive eyes. “When do we sail forHeiðabýr?”
“The crews are inspecting the ships, making repairs, loading supplies. We set sail in two days. But we’re not returning toHeiðabýr.We’re sailing instead to TrelleborgCastle, where we’ll meet your mother. I’m sure she can’t wait to see you.” Harald spoke to Richard. “I plan to fortify Trelleborg with the superior defensive structures I have seen in your castles here in Normandy. I’m very impressed with the motte and bailey design—the castle keep built upon elevated ground, with defensive outer walls, moats, and ditches. I plan to implement a similar style and constructseveral ring forts throughout Denmark.”
Richard washed down his mouthful of pheasant with a gulp of mead, nodding in agreement. “And I plan to fortify Fécamp by rebuilding the entire castle in stone. Impervious to fire and much stronger than wood.”
When Skårde squeezed Ylva’s hand under the table, he noted that Haldor Falk did the same with Úlvhild.I didn’t realize they were lovers. But now that I see them together, it’s obvious that they are.He asked the Falcon,“Do you plan to sail back to the Faroe Islands when Harald leaves for Denmark?”
Haldor, whose fierce face looked considerably less ominous without the intricately painted feathers and elaborate leather armor of the Falcon, raised Úlvhild’s slender hand to his lips. He pierced thevölvawith a passionate, penetrating stare. “No. I plan to stay here through the Yuletide season. Perhaps sail home in the spring.”
Ylva smiled and lifted her goblet to full, luscious lips. Skårde’s lusty thoughts required a discreet adjustment of his breeches.Odin’s eye, I want her all the time!
“It will be a glorious Yuletide season in this splendid Norman castle. Maeve and I plan to marry, as soon as my leg is healed.” A broad grin illuminated Gunni’s beaming, bearded face. He wrapped an arm around Maeve, seated beside him. Pulling her close, he leaned down to kiss her smiling, rosy lips.
“Your babe will be born during the Yuletide season as well, isn’t that right, Bellerose?” Gyda sipped her golden mead, her wrinkled cheeks crinkling in content.
“Yes, in early December.” Björn’s pretty brunette wife placed her hands behind her back and stretched in obvious discomfort. “But I’d be pleased if she came in November. My back aches from the strain of carrying her.”
“Of carryinghim,” Björn chided, hugging her against his shoulder and kissing her long dark hair.
The conversation continued as they savored the final dessert course of honey cakes, lingonberry pudding, mead poached pears, and cinnamon apple tarts. When servants cleared away the empty platters, the castle troubadour Bragi, accompanied by his lute and lyre, regaled them with heroic, skaldic verse.
His first poem, “Song of Freyja’s Falcon”, honored thevitkiHaldor Falk, who sailed from the Faroe Islands to aid his Viking allies. With poignant prose, melodic voice, and lyrical notes, Bragi lauded the sorcerer of the skies who summoned the winged creatures to attack the Frankish enemy in the bloody battle of Fécamp. How the Goddess Freyja, summoned by avardlokkurchant, healed her wounded Falcon by bestowing him withFreyja’s Kiss. Bragi’s rendition of “Triumph of the Valiant Vikings” paid tribute to Harald, Richard, Skårde, and the hundreds of warriors who sacrificed their lives in victory and glory to reclaim Richard’s ducal castle. The skald’s final poetic tribute, “Saga of Skårde the Scourge,” told the epic tale of the Dragon of Denmark, son of Harald Bluetooth, who was sent to Normandy to wed the Celtic priestess Ylva, daughter of the Norman duke. As light, lifting melodies filled the Great Hall ofChâteaufort, Bragi sang of the prowess and valor of the Dragon of Normandy, the Viking Count of thePays de Caux.
Skårde rewarded Bragi with a silver armband engraved with Nordic runes and embellished with a dazzling emerald, representing the green and silver heraldic colors of the Dragon of Normandy, with a gemstone similar to the one which adorned the hilt of his legendaryLjösálfarsword.
After Bragi’s stellar performance, the castle musicians resumed playing, and celebrants danced to the lively notes of rebecs, fiddles, harps, and flutes.
Although Skårde longed to twirl with Ylva, and he suspected Gunni wanted to glide Maeve across the castle floor, neither he nor the redbeard were able to dance, due to their recent injuries. Björn remained at the table with Bellerose, who had declined his invitation to dance because of her aching back. Harald danced with Gyda, and Haldor Falk swirled a laughing Úlvhild, whose long black hair floated around her, like the folds of her deep red garnet gown.
As he beheld the vibrant, jubilantvölva, Skårde remarked how she had always seemed like a withered old crone, but now radiated the vitality and vigor of youth.Lovelight sparkles in her eyes as she looks at him. Úlvhild—the lonely, isolated völva who heals others with her powerful galdr magic—has been healed by the love of her Falcon.
Later that evening, when the feast had ended and revelers had retired to their respective rooms, lodging, or homes in the village, Ylva helped Skårde recline on their bed so that she could change the bandages on his wound.
