Chapter VIII: Oath-Sisters

Later in the evening, Ragnhildr did something she probably should not have done.

Like the old days, she found a copper bowl, told a maid to fill it with well water, and removed her jewelry. One of her rings, a bright gold thing, was from her father. Besides this, she never took it off. Lucky for her, it remained in Mercia when she warred at Hastings. The other was one from Edwin she wore mainly to give the impression she was loyal to him. They clanked as she set them on the floor of her chamber. Edwin was drinking with his housecarls, so she doubted he would return soon. And even if he does, he’ll be too drunk to know what I am doing.

She told the maid to set the bowl before her. The water in it glistened like a nighttime sky filled with stars. Quickly, a little frightened, the maid left.

Ragnhildr produced a chalice she made earlier. She put a bit of mold from old flatbread in it and also mixed in herbs and milk from a newly-nursing goat. Without looking at its gross consistency, she drank it. Her face scrunched up as she became engulfed by the sour, bitter drink.

Then she waited, chilled in nothing but her chemise, for something to happen.

Mother, mother, grant me vision to see what is to come. Woden, god of visions and prophecy, show me what is to come! Gods, give me vision! Give me hope!

Her head felt heavy, like a giant knot had lifted it from its place. A swirl. Like the flames in the hearth. Whirling around her casually, seductively. And as soon as her head felt numb, her eye began drifting off. Ragnhildr instinctively wanted to fight to keep her eyelid open, but it was hard. She was drifting into a trance. She let it wash over her, envelope her. She surrendered her body and mind.

The first thing she dreamt was fens. Indeed, the place she was seemed to be a fenland in East Anglia. Ragnhildr’s heart surged. Her head fell forward. Men invaded the fens. She knew because the rumble she felt in the ground was growing louder and when her mind gazed up she saw a hoard of men and armor. At the forefront was a huge man, the ideal image of any Saxon warrior, screaming.

Mists floated up from the fens. Ragnhildr felt herself choked by invisible hands. She at last glimpsed a white horse. White horses were a rarity; in fact, she’d only seen three or four purely white stallions in her life. But this beast was beautiful. It was almost otherworldly because of the way its coat shimmered and the thick hair of its mane caught the sunlight. Ragnhildr knew this beast, so she neared her hand towards it. The eyes were glassy like shined onyx.

Someone shouted “Save him!”

But the voice dissipated into a gurgle and silence.

She looked to her right, then saw the great Saxon warrior. Save him, it pounded in her head, save him.

-

Two days later, a riding party emerged from the gray mists of lower Mercia. Edwin was occupying his mead-hall, drinking somberly with his housecarls. His favorite priest was playing naughts and crosses with one of them.

“My lord, the men from Northumbria are at the gates. Shall I allow them through?”

Edwin nodded morosely. “Do whatever they please.” He stood, smoothed his tunic, pushed his light hair behind his temples, then summoned the priest to accompany him to the inner bailey where the riders dismounted.

“Edwin, good brother,” Morcar said after he removed his cap. “It’s been too long since I saw you.”

Edwin embraced him. “Indeed, it has been.”

Looking sideways, he saw Ragnhildr’s maid Nagesa. Morcar saw him staring and said roughly, “Damned thing has been with us for a few months. She hisses at me, little Devil-whelped bitch. I thank the Lord she can be with your wife now, and not with me.”

Edwin nodded. “She’s not so bad, brother. She sings very beautifully.”

To this, Morcar snorted. They started for the meadhall.

Nagesa walked behind the housecarls and servants with a scowl planted firmly on her face. Her gold earbobs, a gift from her lady, were the only things of value she wore. Besides them, she was an outlander in ugly rags. She saw Morcar laughing with his somber brother, but all she could think about was her ill treatment in Northumbria.

Like a snake, the party from Northumbria coiled into Mercia’s meadhall. Nagesa’s eyes searched the room for a familiar face. Where was Heafoc? Her heart pined for the boar-like housecarl. He was the pride of East Anglia. Or Guthraed, whom everyone loved dearly? She knew Ragnhildr was around, for she was told her lady lived, but where was she now?

“Nagesa,” she heard, then turned around to find Wihtgar, “thank the gods you came.”

Nagesa was relieved to see a familiar face, but her heart still faced dread. “What has happened?”

“Ragnhildr has been bed-ridden for two days now. I haven’t spoken to her,” Wihtgar said. Nagesa noticed a strange affection upon his lips when he said her name. They have been through much together. I shouldn’t think such things…

“Is she in her private chamber?”

“Aye. Been there since Easter,” he said, then signaled for Nagesa to follow him through the wood and stone corridor of Edwin’s meadhall. There, near Ragnhildr’s chamber, things were much quieter. Wihtgar had seen the chamber once or twice before, and knew that it was not the one she and Edwin shared. It was a small place, half as big as the tiny hall chapel, fit for only a bed and a chest. But there was a hearth in there, shared between two rooms. It was not altogether a horrible place to sleep.

He thudded the door.

“Lady, the ealdorman of Northumbria came just now and—”

He was cut off by Nagesa crying, “Ragnhildr! Ragnhildr! It’s me! Pray, let me in. I want to see your face!”

As soon as she said it, pale-faced Ragnhildr swung the wooden door open and fell into the Moor’s dark arms. She smelled sage.

Wihtgar smiled grimly, glad to see his lady was not entirely ill. She wore the same tunic he saw her in during the Easter feast. Her hair was loosely plaited.

“Sister, sister…” Ragnhildr cried. She buried herself in Nagesa’s neck. Her body convulsed as she began weeping feverishly. “It’s you…it’s you…all the way from Northumbria…”

“I would only journey so far for you, Ragnhildr.” Nagesa hugged her lady tighter. “Only you.”

Ragnhildr took Nagesa’s face in her hands and kissed her brow hard, over and over. Then she enveloped the little Moor again, hugging her protectively, like she would never see her again.

Instinctively, Wihtgar stole away into the corridor, knowing he was not needed.

“I have waited sleepless nights for you,” Ragnhildr confessed. “I knew you would come when tidings reached you I was here, safe.”

Both women slinked into the room. Ragnhildr shut the door behind them, then sat on her pallet.

Nagesa surveyed the room. It was as she remembered. A little dustier perhaps, but nothing has changed. She saw the chest where her lady kept her common garb. Does she keep lovers anymore?

“I didn’t think I’d see you again,” Nagesa said. “They said Tonmor was a huge defeat. They said there were Saxon bodies strewn all over the place…I didn’t expect you to make it out alive.”

Ragnhildr frowned. “Neither did I.”

“Did you really meet him?” Her eyes were big and glassy.

“Who?”

Nagesa lowered her voice. Ragnhildr did not know of what she was afraid. “…him. The Bastard.”

In her mind’s darkest corner, Ragnhildr pictured the aristocratic man, so haughty on his throne, showing her a moment of respect. But he was sadistic too, as he ordered her to be hanged after the prosaic speech on her valor. Ragnhildr shrugged. What more did I expect from the Bastard of Normandy? Truly? To let me go and keep East Anglia? Only a fool would think that.

“I did. After Tonmor, Hugh de Montfort took Wihtgar and me somewhere. I know not where…we traveled for days. I was sick. My thigh throbbed from a wound. The Bastard did show me some kindness by sending for a physician to dress it, just in case, I suppose, I would be ransomed. Don’t want tarnished goods,” Ragnhildr said bitterly.

“So Earl Edwin ransomed you?”

“No.” She heard Nagesa gasp.

“What a pitiful man!” Nagesa growled. “Truly pitiful. Not worth a goat’s droppings.” Ragnhildr laughed, so happy to be graced with Nagesa’s warmth and honesty again. She hardly cared about Edwin’s betrayal around Nagesa. “Yet, how did you escape and why are you still here?”

Drawing a little sigh, Ragnhildr explained the whole scenario: the dream, the seax, the escape with Wihtgar. Not leaving anything out, she told Nagesa about her new lover and why she chose to remain at Edwin’s side despite Wihtgar’s savage affection.

“It is good,” she said at last, “to stay with your husband. He has much power.”

Ragnhildr sighed. There was a sampling of defeat in her voice. “I know, I know. But I cannot help but wonder for how long he will have power. It’s a chore being with him. I know not if it’s worth this apathetic power. Where are the Bastard’s messengers? They brought hundreds of messages to East Anglia before they…” she looked away, “took it.” She bit her lip. “It seems foolish to stay here waiting for the Bastard to make a move. Edwin seems—gods, Nagesa—he seems friendly with the Bastard! He never speaks of him harshly or makes an accusation against his favor. It’s almost as though he’s glad the Bastard came.”

“He never talks to me about East Anglia,” she mourned, “not ever. Like it’s some nightmare he does not wish to have because he is a coward.”

Nagesa embraced her lady. She rocked slowly. “You know Edwin is not a coward. He fought in Northumbria against the Danes,” she soothed. Ragnhildr expected her to spit or scorn the Danes, for they raped her when she was little, but the Moor was more concerned with Ragnhildr’s plight. As always.

“Perhaps he has some plan hatched,” Ragnhildr said. “He is clever, that Edwin.”

Nagesa stroked her hair. “What should happen if Mercia falls too? Where will you go?”

“I don’t know—I don’t know.”

“Wherever you go, I shall follow. I want to stay with you, Ragnhildr.” Her voice was strong, absolute. “I want to see this until the end.”

Ragnhildr was smiling and weeping all at once. “Why, Nagesa? It’s an awful affair. The harvests are miserable, the Saxons poor and destroyed, the dawn seems as sad as ever. Why stay in England?”

“To be with you,” she said. Ragnhildr’s heart was beating like an errant drummer. “The housecarls say it’s bad not to have a lord. They say it’s a waste of a man’s life to be alone. Well, I don’t want to be alone. I want to have a lord.”

Ragnhildr felt like her heart was going to explode within her breast. It was soaring now, her veins pulsing, her mind overflowing with intense happiness. Her dearest friend, her only true friend, would not leave her as others had. She would stay at Ragnhildr’s side forever.

“The gods are good to me,” she said. “They’ve brought me such a companion. Thank you, Nagesa, oath-sister, thank you!”

Nagesa began weeping too. Salty tears made streaks down her face. “You rescued me many times over. I am yours to serve.”

Ragnhildr shook her head sadly. “I think you are the one who saved me, not the other way around.”

-

A/N: Thanks for being patient with me, guys! A lot has been going on. If you read this far, please take the time to review. It’ll be appreciated :)!