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  William motioned Broc over when he caught sight of him. “Did everything go all right?”

  “Aye, my lord. The chance of booty is the stronger pull at the moment.”

  “Let’s hope it does not change too quickly.” The duke grabbed the side of the ship as it began to sway. Now that all had been loaded, the anchor had been raised and the ship began to move into the River Dives.

  William smiled at Broc. “It has begun. I shall take back what is mine. Don’t worry, Broc, you will receive some of the booty. You have my promise right here, you can have any piece of land you wish. I’ll need friends such as you to watch over my kingdom.”

  Broc felt speechless. He had not expected to be given any land. It was his dream, one he had not really believed he would ever attain.

  With no further speech between them, Broc stood silently beside William and watched the other ships slowly take their positions behind the duke’s vessel.

  * * * *

  The wind seemed to be with them, but their good fortune changed halfway through the journey. Slowly the wind shifted until it began to blow in a westerly direction. Shortly after that the wind began to blow in earnest and ended up being their undoing. Much to their disappointment they did not see the shores of England that day. For some, they would never be able to see it. A few of the ships became wrecked on the shore or lost at sea. The survivors came into St. Valery, the closest land, exhausted, frightened and looking for someone to blame for the mishap.

  With the ships anchored off shore, and the men once again on land, they tried to reassure the troops. Many deserted. Then the rain came and the wind once more went back to blowing to the north. Spirits fell and grumbling could be heard. The duke went to many of the men to ease their worries.

  As camps were set up, William seemed to be everywhere. His presence alone held the remainder of the troops together. Broc watched William with awe. After the wait of four weeks at the River Dives and now this misfortune, a lesser man would have given up. Not the duke. To hide the lack of supplies, William increased daily rations given to each man. And to cover the number of men who had died on the shore, he ordered the burials to be done in secret.

  Nothing could be done now but wait for the south wind to come again, and to pray the wait would not be for long. Winter was fast approaching. If the wind did not shift soon, the crossing would have to wait until next spring.

  * * * *

  That very same day, Harold dispersed the fryd. He had kept them six weeks beyond their feudal duty and now had run out of provisions. Ariel couldn’t have been happier to be going home. She had not expected to still be at Bosham. She missed Colwyn to distraction. The separation had been harder on her than she had first thought it would be.

  The first couple of days she had been in pain, physically. Ariel had been glad she had to bind her chest so tightly. As her milk accumulated the pressure had turned to pain. When the milk finally stopped coming, Ariel couldn’t help but feel she had lost one of the ties she had with her son.

  She knew he was being well cared for back home. Lily had turned out to be just as attentive to Colwyn as Ariel herself. The girl had even found the wet nurse needed in her absence, another girl from the village whom Lily knew. The wet nurse had a son of her own and seemed to have enough milk to nurse both babies. The weeks of inactivity had not helped to take Ariel’s mind off of Colwyn either. Osbern had tried his best to distract her. He tried to fill her days with sword play and tales of the battlefield.

  Most of the fryd remained inactive. They practiced arms, but Ariel spent more time than others on it. She had even managed to catch King Harold’s eye when he had walked among the fryd one day. She stood out for being the only one who used a sword instead of a battle axe.

  Harold had stopped to watch her practice. Osbern had bent down to pick up his sword when Ariel sensed the small crowd that stood a few feet away. Seeing the king among the spectators, she bowed to him.

  Harold stepped out of the crowd and walked over to Ariel. “What’s your name, boy?”

  “I’m Wulf of Elmstead, sire.” Ariel had chosen her new name with the idea of trying to keep it short and easy to remember. The men from the village now always used her male name, even when away from the rest of the fryd, so she was quite used to it.

  The king looked her up and down before he spoke again. “You look young to have the skill you do.”

  “I’m ten and seven, sire.”

  “That old? I would have taken you for younger.” Harold paused once more, as if he thought something over in his mind. “You have great potential. I shall see you again before too long, Wulf of Elmstead.” With that said Harold left Ariel to wonder what he had meant by those words.

  Now the fryd had been released and Ariel would never find out. The king had not returned to their camp. Ariel glanced at her men, and at Osbern’s nod, she turned to start the long trek back to Elmstead. About to mount her horse, a hand reached out and held her back.

  “I told you I would see you again, Wulf of Elmstead.”

  Ariel turned and found the king standing beside her. He was tall, almost as tall as the knight. Being in his early forties, he made a fine looking man. She had heard a lot about him since joining the fryd. Harold was known to be generous and kind to men of goodwill. But he could not tolerate any man with evil intent. He was reputed to be even tempered and able to bear contradiction without retaliation, a trait any good king should have.

  Ariel believed all the things said of the king. For here he stood before her, smiling with genuine warmth. “Aye, you did, sire.”

  “I want you to send your men back to Elmstead. I’m going back to London and I want you to accompany me.” Ariel opened her mouth to respond, but Harold held up his hand. “I know what you will ask. Why? Well, it’s quite simple. You have skills I would like readily at hand. How would you like to become one of my house carls?”

  “I would be honored, sire.”

  “Good. Once we reach London I will have you put through the tests. I know you will pass.” As Osbern moved to stand beside Ariel, the king nodded. “You may come with the boy. Both of you may travel with my house carls once your men have started for home. We will talk further once we are in London.” Harold clapped Ariel on the shoulder and left her standing with her head spinning.

  Ariel looked at Osbern as she felt a full display of emotions run across her face. He leaned closer to her and spoke quietly. “Sorry, my girl. You have to go. He may have said it nicely, but that was an order.” Seeing her worried expression, Osbern must have understood what troubled her. “Before the men leave, write a missive to your father. He will help you figure out what to do about Colwyn. Right now, cheer up. The king has honored you. If you pass the tests, you’ll be the youngest member of the house carls. You will be making history by being the only woman among them. Now go write that missive. We can’t keep the king waiting.

  Chapter 7

  The march to London turned out to be an uneventful one. But Ariel wouldn’t have noticed even if a boulder had been dropped on top of her. All she could think of was, with each step, she was getting farther away from Colwyn.

  Not knowing how this new role in life would turn out, Ariel had asked her father to help bring Colwyn to London. She could not stand to be separated from her son for much longer. As it stood now, he probably wouldn’t even recognize her. She had been away from Elmstead for the whole summer instead of the two months she had planned on.

  The first impression Ariel had when she entered London was the utter size of the city, and then the smell. Ariel had never seen so many people living together in one single place, which also explained why the city smelled so bad. In some places Ariel had to cover nose or she would have gagged.

  Osbern who rode beside her, laughed at her attempt to block out the foul odor. “It’s something you will have to get used to.”

  “How? The smell seems to be everywhere.”

  “Only during the summer months. When winter sets in, it
does go away.”

  Ariel shrugged at the older man. She thought that highly unlikely. The smell was just too strong. They rode the rest of the way in silence. Regardless of the smell, Ariel could not stop herself from drinking in all the new sights. All too soon they arrived at the king’s residence.

  It was the biggest hall Ariel had ever seen. She thought Elmstead’s hall was large, but this took her breath away. Made out of wood with a thatched roof just as other halls, its size alone suggested it belonged to a king.

  Ariel dismounted with the rest of the group, nervously adjusting her cloak. She watched as a woman stepped out of the hall. Upon seeing the king, she ran up to him and threw her arms around his neck. When the woman passionately kissed him, Ariel realized who she was.

  She was the king’s lover, Edith Svanneshals, or swan throat. Harold had not made her his wife, even though they had been together for twenty years and Edith had given him three sons. It was said Edith was content though. She would never leave the king, even without the offer of marriage some thought she should demand. But it was also said Harold loved her with all of his heart.

  When the embrace ended, the couple turned and went into the hall. Ariel envied them. She wanted to have what they shared. She could not help wondering what it would feel like to have someone love her that much. With that thought, the knight’s face came to the forefront of her mind.

  The past month Ariel had been having disturbing dreams about the knight. They were so intense she swore she could feel his body pressed to hers. She could even smell his scent on her skin after she awoke. It was when she woke up that Ariel felt the most agitated. The burning in her loins left her aching for much more than what a dream lover could give her. Now that she knew first hand the pleasure that could be had between a man and a woman, her body seemed to crave it. Ariel ceased her musing as a large man approached her and Osbern. She recognized him as one of the king’s house carls.

  “You two are to come with me. We stay in a separate barracks. You’ll be sharing a room.” His words were gruff and none too friendly.

  As the big man turned to lead them away, Ariel looked over at Osbern. With a shrug he followed the other man. Apparently he also didn’t understand the man’s animosity toward them any more than Ariel did.

  The barracks had its own small hall with chambers situated at the back. Their small chamber only had two cots and a chest at the end of each one. It was nothing special, but it would serve its purpose. Ariel chose one of the cots and sat down. She undid her cloak and pulled it off as she looked down at her tunic and trews. With mud crusted to her boots and up her legs, she wished for a bath along with the much needed change of clothes, but that would not be something she could indulge in.

  Osbern cleared his throat. “I’ll watch the door, lass, if you want to clean up.”

  “You don’t mind?”

  “Nay. I’m sure the king will call you to him soon. You need to clean up. I’ll be in the hall, close to the door. Let me know when you’re finished.”

  After Osbern closed the door, Ariel reached for her pack and pulled out a fresh tunic and trews. She hoped the king did not leave her waiting for long. Ariel needed to know what he had planned for her. Arrangements had to be made.

  * * * *

  The call did not come that day or the next. It so happened that the king had been brought to bed with a crippling pain in his leg. Nobody knew what had brought on the attack. Talk of the king did not last long though, greater fears preoccupied people’s minds. The news reached the court three days after the king had become ill. An invader had come to the shores of England.

  It was not Duke William, who they had waited for all summer, but another. The least expected man had come to try and take Harold’s throne. King Harald Hardrada of Norway had landed two hundred and thirty miles away in Northumbria and burned the town of Scarborough to the ground. They had waited all summer with nothing happening. Now with the fryd dispersed and winter about to set in, they had thought themselves safe.

  The king ordered the house carls to prepare to march and confront the invaders. The hall where Osbern and Ariel stayed was thrown into an uproar. As the men prepared to march the following dawn, they piled their armor and needed belongings in the hall. Ariel had no idea what she and Osbern were supposed to do. She had not yet spoken to the king and the tests had not yet begun. Not being a member of the house carls, Ariel figured when they marched she would be left behind.

  “What has you so deep in thought, Wulf of Elmstead?”

  At the sound of the king’s voice, Ariel shot to her feet and bowed. Osbern quickly followed suit.

  “I was wondering what would happen to me when the others march out, sire.”

  “You will be coming with us.”

  “But, sire, I haven’t completed the tests. By rights, I am not a member of the house carls.”

  Harold smiled. “Invaders have come to our land. I need every available man I can get. The house carls are only three thousand strong, but I’m sure King Harald Hardrada brought much more than that. I’ve seen you fight. You would have no problem passing the tests. I decree you are now officially a house carl.”

  Ariel stood with her mouth open, unable to speak. When she had left Elmstead it had never occurred to her she would go so far. “Thank you, sire.”

  “Thanks are not necessary. Just don’t let me down. I expect you and your man here to be ready to march at dawn.”

  “You can count on me, sire. We will be prepared.”

  Ariel and Osbern bowed once more as the king turned and left the hall. Once again alone they set off at a run to their chamber. If they were to leave at dawn there was much that needed to be done.

  Chapter 8

  Sweat broke out all over Ariel’s body and her hands grew so damp the handle of her sword kept slipping. She didn’t know if she could go through with this, even though Osbern had reminded her that she had the skill and was capable of coming out of this without a single wound. Right now all Ariel could see were the Norsemen on the other side of the bridge preparing to meet them in battle.

  They had marched to Tadcaster, one hundred and ninety miles from London. There, they received news of the Norsemen’s whereabouts. The Norse had headed to York after their first victory. It had made sense when it became known that Harold’s brother, Tostig, was among the invaders. King Edward had been the one to banish Tostig for some grievance. With the banishment he had been stripped of the title of Earl of York and all that went with it. So it made sense that he would have marched on that city.

  The new earl, Morkere, who was ten and six, along with his brother Edwin, collected what men they could. The battle did not last long, only about an hour, but it had been a thorough victory. The Norsemen won and took over York. Once inside they demanded hostages. Tostig and Harald had then left leaving orders for the hostages to be taken to Stamford Bridge. So at this bridge the battle lines had been drawn between the English and the Norsemen.

  Sensing Ariel’s nervousness, Osbern moved closer. “What you are feeling is natural, especially when it’s your first battle you are facing. Once in the middle of it, it will pass. Let your instincts take over, don’t think. I’ll be at your side.” Ariel gave the older man a wavering smile and once more wiped the palm of her hand on her trews.

  The waiting would soon be over. Talks were taking place between the king a huge Norseman and a slightly smaller man. As the news filtered back to Ariel, she found out the identities of the two other men. The large man turned out to be King Harald Hardrada himself and the other Tostig. From her vantage point Ariel could see the men talking, but could not hear what they said to each other. After a short exchange, Harold rode back to his army. The king dismounted and the battle began in earnest.

  The Norse held the York side of the bridge and the hilly ground on the opposite bank. The fighting began on the York side. As Ariel moved to engage the enemy, she made a silent vow that she would survive this day. She’d be damned if she’d leave her s
on an orphan.

  Osbern had been right. After she settled into the hacking and slashing motions as she swung her sword, Ariel blocked out everything else around her. The smell of blood, the anguished cries of the wounded and the dying, didn’t bother her. She fought so many opponents that she soon had their blood on her face and caked on her arms.

  The Norsemen were slowly beaten back across the bridge and into the river. The water became choked with bodies. One large Norseman remained on the bridge and defended it single handedly. Hard as they might, the English couldn’t move him. He alone killed forty men before an Englishman drifted under the bridge in a small boat, unseen, and speared him up through the chinks in the wooden deck. With the Norseman now eliminated, the English charged the bridge and battle began on the other side.

  Ariel crossed the bridge with Osbern still at her side when King Harald went berserk. She watched in awe as the big man charged out, flailing about him, holding his weapon in both hands. The spectacle didn’t last long though. The Norse king ended being brought down with an arrow to his throat.

  At the end of the battle, the Norse were defeated. It had lasted from morning until dusk. Watching the last spurts of fighting die down, Ariel stood panting. When awareness set in, she smelled all the blood around her. Pitiful wails of the wounded drifted on the wind. Looking down, Ariel found herself to be covered in blood. It seeped from small nicks on her hands and from a slight wound on her forearm. Ariel had felt nothing during the battle, but as her system returned to normal, they began to sting. Reaching up to remove her helmet, she found her hair stiff with dried blood.

  It took all her willpower to swallow the bile that rose to the back of her throat. She would not disgrace herself by throwing up the contents of her stomach on the battlefield. But looking at the dead lying scattered around her and floating in the river almost defeated her.