Chapter V – Marriage and Children
26th of March, 1088 Anno Domini
City of Oslo, Kingdom of Norway
“Back off, scum!”
What passed as a pathetic excuse for a beggar found himself thrown heavily into the wall of the tanner's shop. The silhouette of an enormous man now loomed over him, flanked by two smaller ones. A fourth one appeared nearby and began to slide his sword free from its scabbard.
“Wait, stop!” a high voice interrupted them. “Stop this instant!”
The man's blade froze in its scabbard, and the leader of the three looked back inquiringly. “He might have hurt you, your highness. He should be punished.”
Astrid shook her head fervently. “There will be no killing, nor beating, of this man. Am I clear?”
The huskarl gave her a grin full of yellow teeth. “As you wish, Princess. Back off him, lads.”
The other guards backed away but continued to watch him warily. Her retinue was not small and very visible. Eight of her father's best men, plus two handmaidens and herself made eleven in all. Oslo was now the capital of Norway and as loyal to her father as any city could be, yet her guards were still on edge to take nothing for granted. She was sure she had seen several patrols of her father's men shadowing them as well. As his only blood descendent, he had become immensely paranoid of any attempts on her life. She wasn't too worried herself – most of the clans would likely try to oust her through the landsting on her father's death, rather than risk the considerable wroth of Olaf Jernror if caught.
As the sole heir to King Olaf Jernror's bloodline, Astrid found herself constantly under heavy guard. Her father would spare no expense to ensure both her survival and her inheritance of the throne that in his mind was rightly deserved. She was shrewd, but still young and naïve to the world. This late medieval representation shows her and one of her many guards presumably in a church.
“Thank you Normund.” She looked down her nose slightly at the beggar, who was shaking and cowering against the wall. He had come to her looking for food or coin, taking her for a wealthy woman no doubt. She was wealthy, of course, and not without a heart. Reaching into the purse tied to a cord about her waist, she withdrew a couple small coins of silver and tossed them to him. “For your trouble. Now begone.”
He stared at the silvers in awe for a moment, and then scrabbled to collect them. Before Normund could so much as take a step in his direction, the dirty man fled back into the alleys of the city. He shook his head disapprovingly but moved once again to her side. “You shouldn't encourage the man. He'll most likely waste it on cheap mead and a whore.”
One of her handmaidens, Anneborg, looked disgusted. “How could you speak that way to the Princess!”
Astrid ignored her. “You're probably right...” she sighed. “But it costs me little, and the Bible teaches us to show charity and kindness to those less fortunate.”
“Ah yes, the bible...” Normund said in a strange sort of tone. Astrid knew that her King's Captain of the Guard was not Christian and it was a topic that always became uncomfortable around her. Her father, she was sure, gave only lip service to God while she was quite earnest in her belief. It was a difficult situation to live in, but she would be sure to raise her own children better.
At the thought of children, she remembered Harald and the butterflies returned to her stomach. It was not long now until they were to be wed. The nature of her visit to Oslo was nothing less than the procurement of her new dress, which her father had paid a royal sum to have sewn for her. The city was noisy, but her escort made sure the way was always clean and clear for her. Occasionally some peddler of goods caught sight of her and approached as if to speak to her, but a stern glare from the guards warded them off.
“At last, here we are your highness.” Gry, her other handmaiden, pointed to the entrance of the tailor's. It was quite sizeable and she suspected he got a lot of business from the locals, based on the excellent state of repair. “A dress for your wedding day, I'm sure you can't wait!”
“Yes...” she said quietly. “I can't wait...”
She knew she should have been more excited, and not nearly as nervous about the coming event. Even as they worked tirelessly to wash her and help her into the dress, her thoughts never left the impending marriage. She liked Harald, maybe even loved him. He was strong and brave, not afraid to get into trouble and quite handsome as well. She had taken him to bed two years ago – a memory she was quite fond of, to be sure – but in spite of all of that she wondered deep down if she would be happy with him.
“You look absolutely gorgeous! Your husband-to-be will be in awe, my lady!” Trygve the tailor grinned at her. “Are you pleased with the dress?”
She gazed into the bronze mirror. The expensive object was well-polished and offered her a perfect view of what it would look like upon her. She stared blankly into her own eyes, lost in an image of her future wedding. Her eyes became Harald's, and the room became for a moment the great hall of Søborg, where the bishop would bring them together in happy union. Or would it be?
After a moment's silence, Astrid realized that the room was staring at her in eager, worried anticipation. The gown was beautiful, yet she couldn't bring herself to find excitement at the sight of it. Nonetheless, she forced a wide smile onto her face and spread her arms. “I love it. We'll take it.” She said with false confidence.
”What have I gotten myself into...” she thought in despair.
----- -=-=- ----- -=-=- -----
26th of March, 1088 Anno Domini
St. Mary's Monastery and Nunnery, Amt of Riga
The sound of the door was the first thing he acknowledged: little more than a faint creak, it still crept through into his awareness. The second thing he noticed was an intense throbbing ache in his head, followed promptly by a bout of nausea. He willed himself to move, but he soon succumbed back into the darkness of sleep. Time passed – how much he was not certain of – and eventually he felt his eyes flutter open as consciousness returned to him.
Erik sat up slowly; or at least he would have, had a strong hand not restrained him by pushing his shoulder back down onto the bed. “Rest my lord, you're in no condition to be moving.”
He recognized the voice as that of Harald Svendsen, but the surroundings were dimly lit and unfamiliar to him. The young lord felt that he had slept for a long time, but he was also weak and exhausted; his limbs held no energy and his stomach was empty and ached for nourishment. He offered no resistance to Svendsen's hand, but instead let his palm fall onto his own head. It was damp with sweat, but did not feel overly warm in spite of that.
“What happened?” Erik finally asked his huskarl. “In the forest, I mean...did we win?”
“Yes, although only the hand of the heavens saved us. Only seven of our men are left, and two are maimed to the point where I fear they will never be able to fight again should they live. There may be none of us left, were it not for the intervention of Lord Astrup's men.”
“Lord Astrup?” Erik strained to think for a moment before it hit him. “You mean the Greve of Selija? Truly he saved us?”
The same man Harald Audensen had labelled as 'unimportant' had now saved the life of his brother Erik. Stigandr would become a fairly well known figure amongst scholars studying the Baltic region for a number of reasons - the controversy of Harald's infamous claim was hardly the least amongst them.
“Not directly, although I heard tell he is interested in meeting you as soon as possible. This nunnery falls near the edge of his land and he was hunting the very same men that attacked us. They heard the sounds of the battle and came riding in from the south, smashing the damned pagans. When they realized who we were, they immediately brought us here for treatment.”
Erik nodded slowly. The huskarl brought a cup to his lips and his sipped dutifully, before coughing and spluttering a bit in surprise. “Ugh...what is that?
Svendsen sounded more surprised than his lord. “It's just water my lord, mixed with warm honey and leaves. The abbess said that so long as you were asleep, we should feed you that way. No one knew how long it would take you to wake.”
“I hate honey...shouldn't have bothered...” he grumbled, but then paused. “Thank you, anyway.” He winced and took another sip of the concoction, forcing it down.
Erik's eyes were getting used to the light now, and he finally noticed the large swath of bandages wrapped around his caretaker's head. It covered his eye, and there were still traces of blood. “Your...your eye is...”
Harald Svendsen's face was grim, but stern. “Worry not about that, my lord. It was unusable but by the grace of God, I will live. I only regret that I could not protect you better.”
The door slammed open suddenly. Erik turned his head to see who it was, and almost winced as he recognized the frame of his mother. It wasn't easy for a moment: her figure was obscured by heavy robes and her dark curls trapped in a hood to force modesty upon her. She had aged too since he last saw her, deep wrinkles framed her cheeks and caught the shadows oddly. It was her deep frown and eyes, though, that struck him the most. He could never forget her looks of disappointment.
“What's the matter, mother? You look disappointed.” He spat with a little bitterness.
Gro said nothing, but instead crossed the room to his bedside and knelt down, unwrapping a bandage to examine his head. He said nothing, but winced slightly as she touched at something tender in his hair. It felt like that blow had split his skull wide open. The room's silence continued until she finished her job and then looked to Harald Svendsen. “Leave us.” She said with the same curt, authoritative voice he had always remembered.
The huskarl looked reluctantly to Erik, but the lord nodded to him and so he departed as requested. Even after the door shut, Gro did not speak for a moment, but just gave a slow sigh. “It's good to see your face, Erik. More than you know. I feared you were dead...”
That wasn't quite the reception he had expected, and Erik immediately suspected a game of some kind. “I'm sure you did, mother. I'm sure you spent your every waking moment fretting over my well-being. Was this before or after you learnt that it was not Harald who came to meet you, but me?”
She looked slightly hurt for a moment – that surprised him too – but her face quickly returned to a well-guarded mask. “It might come to surprise you that I love my children.” Her hands tightened on the bed cloth. “I did not choose to be far from you all.”
“Far from Harald and Ernst, you mean. They were your prize jewels after all.” Erik scoffed. “And you may as well have made the choice when you adulterated yourself this way.”
Her eyes flashed dangerously at those words. “My first and sec-” she caught herself for a moment. “They were the heirs to Sjælland, Erik. They were groomed for rulership and command, whilst you were not expected to inherit much. I am sorry to have hurt you with that, and I was surprised the council preferred you to Ernst. I expected the split, but I did what I did for the good of all my family, not just you.”
They watched each other in caution, but try as he might Erik could discern little from her calm, measured gaze. It bothered him. “Well, now the third son rules over a great land. What do you think of that, mother? Are you disappointed that it was me and not Ernst?”
She stood and swept her hand in anger over the small table next to his cot. The candle fell to the floor and bounced wildly before rolling, leaving a trail of hot molten wax. Next to it the wooden cup of honey water had spilt its contents into a rapidly spreading pool beneath the both of them. Like an angel of fury she marched to the door, only to stop at the last moment and gaze back. “One day you will have children, Erik. Only then will you begin to understand a mother's love...even this damned Monastery cannot take that from me.”
St. Mary's Monastery included a sizeable Nunnery and was for a time in the 1100s the largest of its kind on the west Baltic coast. It became a popular destination for nobles to send unruly women into exile, following the trend of Hertug-Biskup Auden Tokesen's banishment of Gro.
He opened his mouth to retort, but couldn't find the words to say. She left before he could think of anything and he fell silent, his hands clenched into tight fists. He watched the flame of the candle sputter and struggle for life, its graceful dance reflected in the liquid beneath it. She had seemed genuinely hurt and he almost regretted what he had said to her. Almost.