“He wasn’t in his cottage.” Regret tinged Njörd’s apologetic tone. “But perhaps he will join us later…for the feast.” He smiled brightly to lift Sif’s despondent spirit.
Vilde must have overheard, for she came into the room and spoke softly to her daughter. “Lady Oda would like us to arrange fresh flowers forJarl Rikard’stable.” She took Sif’s hand and gently led her toward the exit door. Vilde inclined her head to Elfi and Njörd. “We’ll see you tonight in the Great Hall.”
After the two thralls had left, Elfi gazed expectantly at Njörd. “I truly hope Bodo does come to the feast. Sif will be heartbroken if he does not.”
Uncertainty dimmed Njörd’s bright blue eyes. “He did not arrive with the otherÚlfhéðnar.Nor did I see him in the crowd gathered in the meadow for the mass wedding.” Njörd offered an arm to Elfi, who linked her elbow through his. “Let’s hope he appears later, for Sif’s sake. But,truth be told, I sincerely doubt that he will.”
Njörd and Elfi exited the castle, crossing the wildflower strewn meadow to join the hundreds of guests who had gathered under the canopy of beech trees near the cliff overlooking the Narrow Sea. As the setting sun reflected off the white chalk cliffs and the white capped waves far below, the golden glow bathed the wedding crowd with divine light, like a blessing from the Nordic gods.
Elfi spotted the blue woad painted face of thevölvaÚlvhild near thegoði—the pagan priest who would perform the Viking wedding ceremony for the ten couples assembled inside an altar consisting of smooth stones which encircled a contained fire. Clad in a white robe for purity and connection to the gods, thegoðiwore an elaborate headdress of elk antlers interwoven with sacred mistletoe, vervain, and branches of rowan, yew, and ash. As Úlvhild thumped her long wooden staff upon the leafy ground, the moonstone within the hilt of her wand was as luminous as the white chalk cliffs gilded by the golden sun. Chanting avardlokkurto summon beneficial spirits and the protection of the benevolent gods, Úlvhild’s velvety voice floated on the briny breeze and rustled through the leafy trees.
While Elfi stood with Njörd among the throng, clutching his reassuring hand, four white-robed assistants each led a goat to be sacrificed to the gods. Retrieving a sacred knife belted at his waist, thegoðisliced the throats of each animal, one by one, while his acolytes collected the sacrificial blood in silver vessels inscribed with Nordic runes. The pagan priest dipped a twig from a sacred ash tree into the blood, splattering it upon the couples to be wed, invoking the blessing of the gods.
His rich, resonant voice carried across the windswept glen. “By the blood of this offering, I seek the favor of Thor to give you strength. I ask Freyr to grant you fertility, and the Allfather Odin to guide you with divine wisdom. May your union be as strong as the oak, as fruitful as the fields in spring, and as enduring as the roots of Yggdrasil." With majestic ceremony, thegoðibound the hands of each couple with long leather cords, joining them in the traditional handfasting ceremony. “As I bindyour hands, so I bind your future together, in joy and sorrow, in prosperity and struggle. May you walk side by side, forever entwined, with the blessed protection of the gods." He poured the remaining blood from each of the four silver vessels into the altar fire, symbolizing the consumption of the sacrifice by the gods and the completion of the Viking wedding ceremony.
Jarl Rikard,acting as host in Lord Thorfinn’s absence, bellowed above the cheering crowd. “And now, we feast! To the Great Hall ofChâteau Blanc!”
****
Along both sides of the enormous chamber—elaborately decorated with fragrant wreaths of rosemary, lavender, and grapevines—wedding guests settled at tables laden with aromatic platters of roasted meats, steaming seafood, fresh vegetables, and frumenty pottage seasoned with cinnamon and spice. Beeswax candles emitted a sweet scent from polished brass candleholders upon the wooden tables, and the clean aroma of pine wafted from burning torches in metal sconces amidst the tapestries upon the carved oak walls. In a corner of the room near the massive hearth where a festive fire crackled, musicians played lively music on lyres, lutes, and flutes. At the far end of the Great Hall, beneath the glorious banner of Jarl Rikard—with its duo of golden lions rampart on a background of solid red—the Viking Duke of Normandy sat at the head table, situated upon a wooden dais, in an intricately carved oak chair which served as an informal throne. At his side, a beaming Oda chatted gaily with Count Skårde, Bjarke, and Varg, while servants escorted Elfi and Njörd to the reserved pair of chairs on Jarl Rikard’s other side. As Elfi gratefully accepted a chalice of mead, she spotted Sif and Vilde serving the table where the wolfskin-cladÚlfhéðnardined with Njörd’s Danishwarriors from Ribe. Bodo was conspicuously absent, but the blond brute Áki was boisterously laughing, trying to pull a visibly harried Sif onto his lap. Fortunately, she managed to dodge the Dane and disappeared through the servants’entrance into the adjacent castle kitchens.
“Bodo is not here, and Áki can’t keep his hands off Sif.” Elfi sipped her mead and groaned quietly to Njörd. “I hope she can avoid him for the rest of the night.”
Njörd washed down a mouthful of salted boar with a gulp from his engraved silver chalice. “Soon, everyone will head outdoors, to dance around the bonfire. Odin willing, Áki will find a pretty widow and leave Sif alone.”
While wedding guests finished the feast with sumptuous fresh fruit and delectable desserts, such astartes aux mirabelleswild plum tarts, honey cakes flavored with cinnamon, ginger, and cloves, and custard cream pastries made from the rich, plentiful milk of abundant Norman cows, the castle skald Egil—who had previously delighted his audience with the inimitableDrápa of Dagin tribute to Elfi’s fallen brother—entertained the throng with a captivating rendition of the Völsung Saga ofSigurd the Dragonslayer and the Valkyrie Brynhildr.Accompanied by a duo of musicians playing alternating patterns of harp and flute, the skald’s intense, engaging performance portrayed all the romance, mystery, and tragedy of the epic Norse legend.
When Egil completed his stellar skaldic presentation, castle musicians resumed playing festive tunes. While some guests remained in the Great Hall to enjoy the revelry and continue to eat, others filtered out of the castle to dance under the moonlight.
“Come, let’s slip outside. I long for the fresh scent of the sea.” Njörd rose from the table, took Elfi’s hand, and guided her down the stairs at the end of the wooden dais. They wove through the jubilant throng, crossing the rush-strewn floor of the Great Hall, out the enormous oaken doors into the dark, velvety night.
As lively melodies of flutes, lutes, and lyres floated into the starlit sky, newly wedded couples danced around the bonfire and patrons gathered around tables under the canopy of giant oaks. Across the heathered meadow, far from the dancing couples, Viking warriors engaged in mock battles with axes, shields, and swords.
Njörd led Elfi to the same spot under the enormous beech tree where they had danced during the welcoming feast when hehad first arrived in Étretat. He pulled her against his broad chest, wrapped his arms behind her back, and swooped down to claim her lips in a greedy, possessive kiss. “Mmm,” he murmured into her open mouth. “You taste divine.”
Elfi melted against him, grateful for his rugged warmth against the chilly September night. In the background behind them, peals of laughter rang across the clearing as the newlyweds followed Viking tradition and leapt over the bonfire flames.
Sif was serving mead to a table of guests, and once again, Áki was pestering her with amorous advances and unwanted attention. Just as she was about to walk over to the table and ask Sif to fetch her cloak—as a ruse to get her away from the Danish beast— Elfi spotted a furious Bodo storming across the grassy glen. To her utter astonishment, he was not limping in the least.
“Look, there’s Bodo…” she spluttered to Njörd, indicating with a nod the angry stonecutter who was headed straight toward Áki. “And he’s not limping!”
Njörd spun around to see, his jaw dropping open in surprise. He quickly recovered when he realized that he needed to intervene before a fight broke out at the wedding feast. Hollering to Úlf, the leader of the wolf warriors imbibing mead at a nearby table, Njörd shouted, “Stop Bodo! I’ll get Áki!”
Bodo shoved the bearded blond Dane, pushing Áki back against a table, knocking over mugs and sloshing mead onto the guests. “Leave her alone. She’s with me!”
Just as Áki reached for his dagger, Njörd grabbed his arm and yanked him to his feet, pulling him away from Bodo. “Stand down,” he ordered Áki in the commanding, resolute tone of the Danish Jarl of Ribe.
As Úlf restrained Bodo by wrapping steely arms around the stonecutter’s neck and chest, Áki jerked his arm away from Njörd, rolling his thick neck to contain his seething anger. Like an enraged bull, he snorted, his florid face enflamed with furor. “You side with them against your own men. You’re a Count of Normandy now. One of theÚlfhéðnar. You’re no longer the Wolf of theNordic Seas. Loki’s balls, you’re not even a Dane!” Áki spat at Njörd’s feet, spun on his heels, and stormed off, away from castle.
Úlf slowly released Bodo, who brushed himself off, as Jarl Rikard rose to his feet and raised his mug of mead. In an attempt to restore order and resume revelry, he bellowed with a hearty, bearded grin. “To the newly married couples! May the gods bless this glorious Viking wedding! Skál!”
At the Duke of Normandy’s gesture, the musicians began to play once again, and Richard the Fearless hollered above the melodic din. “Let the dancing begin!”
Reassured that the fight had been averted, wedding guests flocked to the clearing around the roaring bonfire. As waves crashed against the white chalk cliffs, sending salty spray into the starry night sky, Danish warriors found Norman widows willing to dance under the light of the waxing moon.
Bodo was obviously still rattled and ready for battle. “I should have challenged him to fight me. We could have formed the square--and settled this tonight.”
“Not at a wedding feast.” Njörd gripped Bodo’s shoulder, urging him to cast aside his anger and return to the celebration. “Besides, I can’t have either of you wounding or killing each other. I need him in charge of my Danish army to defend the castle when you and I sail to Ísland.” He looked pointedly at Bodo’s normally maimed foot, which now appeared completely healed. “You’re not limping. What happened?”
