The Viking's Hold (First 11 chapters)

Chapter 5: Betrothal

Sven Gunnarsson stood in the great hall, admiring the size of the room and the vast stone fireplace. Built as a recess in the outside wall, with a hole at the top to vent the smoke; it was an unusual feature in a Saxon house. He had seen this before, during a trip to Normandy, in one of those wooden towers that the Duke chose to copy. They were spacious, and free of the fumes that made the breath labored and the eyes red and watery.  It was better than those primitive barn houses that most thanes[i] favored.

The village would need to be extended, if it were to accommodate his men’s families the next winter. Although after viewing the primitive huts, they might just opt to build a new settlement.

Someone cleared their throat and his mind returned to more immediate concerns.

The fight had been short; the surprise attack had taken the soldiers off guard. They were slaughtered without mercy; taking trained warriors prisoners was unwise. And feeding them would have put a strain on their resources. It was a pity: passed the initial shock, they had proved worthy opponents.

He gazed upon the prostrate servants on the opposite side of the room, waiting in anguish to learn what would befall them. His men had round them up, so that they could testify to the coming events. They had been separated, the thralls[ii] placed away from the ceorls[iii]. Some were getting restless, but they wouldn’t have to wait for long.

Two warriors entered the room, dragging a disheveled man. His hands were tied in his back, one of his sleeves torn at the shoulder. A cut on his scalp had his graying hair matted with blood. His escort threw him face first on the floor, at their chief’s feet.

Sven looked down and scowled.

“Lord Ethelred, how kind of you to join us! Pray feel free to kneel!”

The prisoner glared at him. “How brave of you to mock me! You wouldn’t brag thus were I free and armed!”

Sven scoffed. “Of course not! You would be dead. Just as the messenger I sent you… Did you at least give him a chance to fight for his life?”

The Duke averted his gaze.

“I guessed as much. I offered you a truce and you refused it in the most vile manner. You are despicable!”

Ethelred reddened and clenched his jaw, angered at the public disrespect.

“What is done is done. What do you want with me?”

“Not much, I assure you. You will sign the betrothal agreement between your daughter and I…”

“My daughter is worth better than you, raider. She is already betrothed, to the son of King Athelstan. He won’t let you get away with this.”

“Really? You won’t fool me, old man. The parchment was still on your desk, waiting for your seal. I burnt it myself!”

The Duke cringed. He had witnessed the documents in his room being taken away, but didn’t worry about it, in his assumption that Vikings were illiterate.