From Noyon to Notre-Dame
In the golden morning light, as warriors loaded wagons and secured their mounts for the long ride home, Jarl Rikard approached Haldor, an exuberant gleam in his bright gaze.
“I’ll ride with Capet back to Paris, but Thorfinn will return with you, Skårde, and Skjöld. Once we reach the city, Njörd and Tryggvi will sail home to Étretat.” Rikard’s bearded face broke into a broad grin. “Capet has chosen to honor Tryggvi for defending Paris—by hosting his wedding to Svanhild inle Palais Royalitself, as part of the grand celebrations for his coronation. He’s invited King Sweyn, and Jarl Sigurd—making Tryggvi’s summer solstice wedding part of the crowning of the new Frankish king. My valiant grandson will be honored in the very heart of Paris. A noble tribute worthy of skaldic song!”
Haldor gripped Rikard’s forearms and grinned at the Duke of Normandy whom he loved like a brother. “A truly fabulous honor. It will be a glorious summer solstice indeed.” He watched Jarl Rikard join the vanguard escorting the new king back to Paris. Swinging into the saddle, he nodded to Skårde, Thorfinn, Skadi, and Skjöld.
And led their procession northwest from Noyon.
Back to thePays de Caux.
* * * *
Gulls and gannets soared in the cerulean sky. The morning sun danced on the rippled waves of the Narrow Sea. Powerful waves crashed against the white chalk cliffs, sending frothy spray high into the salty air as Haldor, Skjöld, Thorfinn, and their mounted group arrived atlast in Étretatafter eight long days in the saddle.
Atop the cliff overlooking the sheltered inlet where dozens ofdrakkarwere beached upon the pebbled shore, the white limestone castle ofle Château Blancsparkled in the brilliant light. Thorfinn’s sentinels blew horns to signal their arrival, and castle attendants flocked to greet them. As Haldor, Thorfinn, and the riders dismounted, stable hands rushed forward to take the tired horses.
Haldor scanned the grassy meadow, searching for Úlvhild, but Bjarke—who had remained behind with a battalion of knights to defend the castle—informed him that she was with Elfi and the women inla Tour d’Écume.“They’ve been with her since you rode to Rouen,” he said, greeting Skjöld, Skadi, theÚlfhéðnar,,andLjósálfarwho were gathered behind Haldor.Bjarke grinned as he looked out at the white tower perched on the edge of the chalky cliff. “Here they come now.”
Haldor dropped the pack from his shoulder and ran to her, sweeping Úlvhild into his arms and swooping down to claim her lips, showering her beautiful face with fervent kisses.
She rested her beloved head against his leather armor, tears streaking her smiling cheeks. “Thank Freyja you’ve come back to me. I prayed every day that you were gone.”
Behind Úlvhild, Sif came running to Bodo, throwing herself into his wolfskin-clad arms, while Njörd strode across the grassy field to welcome hisÚlfhéðnarwolf brothers. After greeting Bodo, Njáll, and Flóki, he greeted Haldor in a fierce, fraternal embrace. “Welcome home.” Njörd grinned, white teeth gleaming in his dark, braided beard. “Once you’ve had the chance to rest, you must come meet my daughter. She’s as beautiful as her mermaid mother.” He kissed the top of Úlvhild’s head. “I thank all the gods Úlvhild and Ylva helped Elfi bring her into the world.”
Tryggvi threw a brawny arm around Skjöld’s shoulder and pulled him into a rough bear hug. “We’ll share tales of our battles tonight over the feast Thorfinn is hosting.” A corner of his blond bearded lip curled up into a teasing smirk. “But first—you need a bath,broðir.You stink of mud and blood.” He turned to Skadi,taking her two hands in his own and raising them reverently to his lips. “I cannot wait to hear how ourfrostdragonturned theDökkálfarto ash.”
Amidst castle servants scurrying to usher weary warriors to longhouses, huts, or quarters in the castle, Thorfinn’s deep bellow rose above the din like a heavy bourdon bell. “Today we rest. Tonight—we feast! For Noyon, Normandy, and the new king. Let there be meat, mead, and music till dawn!”
As roars of “Till dawn!” echoed across the glen and out over the sea, Thorfinn offered Haldor the same quarters in the castle that he and Úlvhild had shared before the ride to Rouen.
Haldor slung his pack over his shoulder and wrapped his other arm around Úlvhild, shaking his head with a grateful grin. “I’ve had enough of stone walls and echoing halls. I’ll sleep in the thatched roof hut tonight—with just my wife and the scent of the sea.”
* * * *
Kól jumped down from the bed piled with furs and dashed across the rush-strewn floor to greet Úlvhild as she led Haldor into her dim hut. While Haldor stood hisÍsfálkrspear against the wooden wall and unstrapped hisSeiðrvindrsword, she opened the shutters on either side of the hut and started a fire in the hearth.
She helped him out of his leather armor, laying it carefully upon a wooden trunk at the foot of the bed. As she stroked the thick beard on his cheek, her golden eyes glowed like the amber gem of her wedding ring. “I’ll make us a pot of barley porridge with hazelnuts and honey while you bathe in the stream.”
Searching among the colored vials, ceramic jars, and bundles of dried herbs on her shelves, she handed him a rough-hewn bar of soap and fetched a linen cloth from the counter in her small kitchen. “Chamomile and yarrow—both soothing and cleansing. The water will be cold, but invigorating.” A seductive smile curled hersultry lips. “And I’ll warm you up when you come back.”
Haldor stripped off his filthy linen tunic and woolen breeches, placing them in a pile to be cleaned, and strode naked from the secluded hut into the woods. Morning sunlight streamed through the trees, the scent of pine mingling with the brine of the nearby sea. At the edge of the forest, he followed the sparkling stream to where it spilled and splashed into a deep, clear pool.
He dove in. The cold stung his skin and seeped into his bones. He quickly soaped his hair and body, washing the mud and blood from battle, the dust and grime from the long ride home. He plunged beneath the rippling surface to rinse, rising again in a splatter of droplets as he shook like a shaggy wolf. Quickly drying off with the linen cloth, he ran barefoot through the grass, back to the warm, cozy hut.
Úlvhild handed him a clean tunic and breeches, for he had left some of his belongings here with her. He inhaled the clean scent of chamomile in the soft wool, grateful she had washed and mended his tunic. As he pulled the warm clothing over his chilled body, she dropped his soiled garments into a wooden tub by the hearth, crumbling shavings of her yarrow soap into the steaming water. The cleansing aroma of herbs and woodsmoke rose as she soaked away the blood and dust of battle.
After Kól finished a few morsels of cheese, which Úlvhild had placed for him in a bowl on the floor, the sleek black cat jumped through the open window.
Haldor settled down with her at the small table, sharing bowls of porridge, mugs of mead, and harrowing tales of the battles they had each endured.
He told Úlvhild that Skjöld had fulfilled her prophecyin the bloody Battle of Noyon, where theSon of the Dragonhad wieldedÍsfirtoshield the cape and defend the future crown.He described how Skadi had unleashedfrostfireto defeat the enemy forces and reduce theDökkálfarto ash. How Yrjar had sacrificed himself to save Skadi for Skjöld. And how he, Haldor, had hurled his Dwarven spear to destroy the fiery troll—just as he had slain the crimson-eyed witch in Ísland.
Úlvhild related how Elfi had nearly died in childbirth, like her mother Dúva, after three arduous, endless days of labor. She told him how the sea had warned Elfi that Njörd had fallen. And how she and Ylva had helped Elfi descend from the tower to the edge of the sea, so that herWolfsongcould heal him withmir glir—the wedding gift from Queen Íssla. Eyes widened in wonder, Úlvhild described the radiant blue light which had flowed from Elfi to Njörd, healing him with theLjósálfarSong of the Sea.
Haldor described the coronation in Noyon, informing her that on the upcoming summer solstice, they would all go to Paris,to witness the formal coronation of Hugh Capet in the Christian church of Notre-Dame onl’ Île de la Cité. “The king insists on hosting Tryggvi’s wedding to Svanhild, to honor him for defending Paris in the sea battle with Njörd. He’s invited us to be his guests inle Palais Royal—where Skårde and I once freed King Sweyn as a young boy, remember?”
“I do indeed. You flew up to the North Tower as a falcon—and discovered where King Lothaire had imprisoned him. Capet helped you free Sweyn—by giving you the key to his prison door.” Úlvhild finished her porridge and took a sip of mead, her brow furrowing in concern. “Sweyn was planning to host the wedding inHeiðabýr.How will he react to the ceremony now taking place in Paris?”
