The Mistress (Vikings)

27. Laveste impulser

Lowest Impulses

It is almost impossible not to think that Elsewith or Judith did not have anything to do with the miscommunication of the attack to the town where I was captured. Ivar said so himself, it was not a strategic move, and the King could have predicted it. Of course, there was also the fact that King Ecberth was becoming a liability on the throne. It would not have been surprising that Prince Aethelwulf made the decisions then, influenced by Princess Judith. Being the King's mistress and the Prince's wife surely does have its advantages.

And yet, the news of the slaughter of my people by Ivar's doing makes me feel confused. On one part, it is a sin to kill an entire town just for the amusement of it. It feels as if it is my duty to try and stop something so horrendous from happening. Not that I actually have a shot at convincing the Vikings to do otherwise. On another part, I can not avoid remembering how my own people treated me when I became a mistress, or even before then. Commoners were not the ones to joke around about my barely noble status, or my promiscuous new role in society. Nevertheless, are not commoners a reflection of their rulers? Something tells me that the gossip within court did not stay only there.

Am I feeling displeased or guilty when Vikings inevitably march to York? I can not say. The only thing I am sure of, is that I wish this uncertainty to dissipate. I can secretly admit to myself that my lowest impulse seeks revenge, but how and for what? People in York did nothing to me, they are merely more of the flock. Still, should not a hit to Alfred's legacy be of my own benefit? Am I going as low as affiliating with Vikings, though? This would be going beyond ensuring my survival.

"What is it that you saw, sister?" Egadyd asked when I returned from the ritual.

"It was nothing, do not worry," I lied easily.

When I came back from the sacrifice, Egadyd saw something in my expression that made her keep inquiring about it. She can not learn of it, though, it would break her. She would not understand... I am not sure that I do. I have been trying to separate my beliefs and comprehend what brought Ivar to do that, but I must still be thinking as a Christian. The murder of two innocent children; lives lost only to pray for more killing? I do not condone it, and I can not hate Ivar for doing so. What is wrong with me?

I also realized that my presence there was a test. He wished to see my reaction, did I pass? Who knows. I did not cry or scream, but I refused to look too. When he said goodbye before leaving for York -because he came to say goodbye- Ivar did not seem angry, rather just... eager for battle. The intense gaze we shared before he turned around left me speechless, and also with a certain heat I did not think I would feel. God, why do you tempt me so? Is it my destiny to be driven by lust?

Egadyd and I remain quietly next to each other. The journey from the King's Villa to York was not precisely short. Even more so with the knowledge of the impending battle. Neither of us was looking forward to getting to York. Likewise, neither of us had the authority to really do something about it. So, we had to withstand it and make the travel. Luckily, they were kind enough to provide horses for us. I do not know what would have happened if we had to walk all those miles. My sister is close to her due date, the birth is nearly in our hands. She is a mess, and horse riding has made her quite tired. Meanwhile, my own babe has been unusually quiet. Besides the morning sickness and the slightly increased hunger, I could almost say I am not pregnant.

"Do you think they will leave any survivors?" Egadyd asks quietly. Next to us, the guard looks at her as if he wishes to understand the conversation.

"Probably not," I answer truthfully. I do not want to give her any false hope.

We have been waiting in the woods near the town for the massacre to be over. This time, most of the Vikings, men and women alike, are in the raid. Only a dozen of us await on the outskirts. My guess is that it is mainly because of Egadyd and I. I suppose I should be grateful they are preventing us from seeing them in full bloodlust. It is either that, or they might think they would confuse us with the villagers and kill us by accident. I would not be surprised if that is the case. Either way, we remain where we are for hours until they finish.

Our pace is slow as I guide my sister into the town. Her arm is linked with mine, and she heavily supports her weight on me. I do not complain. The messenger merely told us the raiding was over, but then he disappeared. The guard behind us remains quiet as well, but the deep frown on his face tells me he is not happy to have missed all the fun. I do not know where to go, but guessing by the lack of direction, it must not matter. Perhaps Ivar has learned by now that it is highly unlikely we will try to escape. Something tells me that the Viking guard is mostly for our protection and not for our restraint.

I expected to walk into a town full of corpses, blood, and decay. That is not quite true, even though Vikings are loitering everywhere, the place seems devoid of carnage. That is what I believe, at least until we reach one part of the town near the church. I can see a mountain of bodies piling one over the other haphazardly. I see them before my sister does, but I have no time to tell her not to look. Egadyd covers her mouth in a startled cry. Then, she clinches into me, doubles over, and vomits on the path's stones. Bile climbs up my throat, threatening the same fate as my sister. I manage to contain myself with one last gaze at the main attraction of dead bodies.

I recognize the man as the holy father of this church, not because of jewelry, but because his robes are those undertaken by men in his position. The shocking part is not gruesome blood or injuries. His face is completely destroyed by the boiling gold poured over him. It is truly magnificent in a tyrant way. Part of me already knows who did this. Yet, I refuse to acknowledge it. Accepting his monstrous ways would mean pondering over other wants, and I am not sure whether I am ready.

Nevertheless, the Devil has other plans to tempt me even more so. When I look away, my eyes catch those of the cruel prince. He is already staring at me, weighing my reaction to the bloodbath. Maybe he expects me to look in horror, run away, or cry. Some part of me wants to do that and more, but I refuse to let him see me weak. Instead, I continue to gaze at him. He smiles, blood covering his face like paint on the most barbaric, mad, savage, beautiful, bewitching portrait. The hair at the back of my neck stands in fear and something else... Something that I can no longer pretend to ignore. I felt this way before when I met him all those years back, I felt it when spied that stable boy taking his shirt off, and I felt it with Alfred when he touched me. Now I feel it when looking at that deranged Viking: Desire.