Chapter 12

The Dragon of Normandy

Sk?rde finished the elaborate carving on the front door of the newly completed house for Bj?rn, his best Danish warrior and newly appointed First Knight of Chateaufort . Bj?rn and his new wife Bellerose were delighted with the two-story residence close to the castle. They were especially pleased with Sk?rde’s carving of an enormous bear—the meaning of Bj?rn’s Nordic name—on the massive oak front door. As leader of the Viking warriors who now served as Norman knights, Bj?rn’s elegant residence reflected the prestige and power of his new position. When Sk?rde gathered up his woodworking tools and said goodbye to the grateful newlyweds, he spotted Ylva in the distance entering the castle with úlvhild.

I wonder why she was with the v?lva. I’ll ask her at dinner tonight. I’m looking forward to another delicious wedding feast. And the chance to dance with Ylva again. Mayhap this time, she’ll invite me to her bed…

Images and sensations of the tantalizing kiss in the waterfall cave flooded him with a staggering surge of desire, his hardened body throbbing with painful longing and need. Although he’d had several opportunities to dally with pretty thralls or castle servants eager to warm their new lord’s bed, Sk?rde was not interested. Not only did he have no desire to sire a bastard, like both his father Harald and Jarl Rikard had done, but he was inexplicably drawn to Ylva.

He couldn’t explain it, but he suffered from an insatiable hunger for her And it was much more than mere lust. He craved her. Body, spirit, and soul.

After returning his chisel, plane, and hammer to the storage shed inside the castle complex, he crossed the bailey, waving to the many craftsmen completing their work in preparation for the evening’s continued wedding celebrations. Tonight, not only would there be sumptuous feasting, lively music, and exuberant dancing, but Jarl Rikard had also arranged an entertaining competition of skalds—the skilled poets whose clever kennings and evocative voices depicted epic tales of Nordic gods, legends, and lore.

This evening, Sk?rde would select the winner as his own castle skald, bestowing upon the privileged poet his esteemed patronage as Lord of Chateaufort and Count of the Pays de Caux.

As he now entered the steaming bathhouse and placed his clean clothing on a bench in the back corner, Sk?rde joined several Danish warriors and Norman knights who resided in the newly constructed lodging for unmarried soldiers defending the castle. Washing off the day’s grime with strong lye soap scented with herbs, Sk?rde reflected upon how happy his men were here in Normandy. Even those who had not yet found French wives still looked forward to the jubilant feasting and dancing which would continue all week. And the mass weddings every Frigg’s Day, when many young women attended the ceremonies, hoping to find husbands for themselves.

He scoffed at how quickly his voracious army of raiding, pillaging Vikings had become happy, peaceful farmers. Sk?rde himself had to admit that he much preferred the warmer weather of Normandy and the plentiful crops which now flourished in the fields. The green, fertile pastures for fat cattle. The abundant orchards for fruit and timber. The bountiful game for hunting. The rivers, lakes, and ocean for fishing, seafood, and ships. And the breathtaking beauty of the towering white chalk cliffs.

He—Sk?rde the Scourge, Dragon of Denmark, born and bred for battle—was surprisingly content in the promising Pays de Caux .

And utterly besotted with his beautiful Breton bride .

“Here’s a drying cloth, my lord.” Jofroi was the newly appointed chamberlain—one of the many Norse-speaking castle attendants sent by Jarl Rikard to serve at Chateaufort —whose responsibilities included everything from managing the servants to supervising Sk?rde’s private chambers and personal grooming. As he handed Sk?rde the soft white linen, Jofroi glanced disparagingly at the numerous Viking warriors washing in the public bathhouse . “I’ll arrange a royal bathing area for you, Lord Sk?rde. As chatelain of the castle and Count of the Pays de Caux, you’re entitled to privacy. I’m honored to serve as your chamberlain and insist on providing for your comfort. Beginning tomorrow, you’ll have the privilege of bathing in your own personal chambers.” Bowing his head in reverence, the meticulously groomed Jofroi motioned for Sk?rde to follow him toward the far corner of the bathhouse.

On top of a large wooden table, a deep green tunic edged in silver and embroidered with black Nordic runes was neatly folded, along with a black cloak, a pair of black breeches, and several items of silver jewelry. “I’ve prepared your formal attire so that you may leave the bathhouse, ready to escort Lady Ylva to the Great Hall for tonight’s wedding feast. Please, Lord Sk?rde, allow me to assist you.” Jofroi handed Sk?rde a pair of black footed hose.

“ Thank you, Jofroi. Your choice of clothing is much better than mine.” Sk?rde smirked, referring to the plain black tunic and brown breeches he had brought with the intention of wearing them after bathing. He accepted the hose and sat down on the wooden bench to pull them on, followed by the black silk breeches, which he tied with the drawstring waist.

Jofroi helped him don the green and silver linen tunic, the colors of Sk?rde’s new heraldry. Draping a black silk cloak across Sk?rde’s shoulders, the attentive chamberlain fastened it with an elaborately carved silver brooch engraved with the Nordic rune Thurisaz .

Sk?rde smiled proudly. Thor’s rune. The symbol of protective strength and destructive power. Perfect for the Dragon of Denmark who would henceforth be known as the Dragon of Normandy. The unbreakable link in the Viking alliance between Ylva’s father, Duke Richard of Normandy, and his own father, King Harald Bluetooth of Norway and Denmark.

As Count of the Pays de Caux and Lord of Chateaufort , Sk?rde would wield Thor’s thunder to defend the Land of the White Chalk Cliffs.

Jofroi handed him a silver arm ring, also engraved with Thor’s Nordic rune. As Sk?rde placed the thick band over the sleeve of his deep green tunic, positioning the torque above his right bicep, he reflected upon the day his father had presented it to him in the royal longhouse of Heieabyr in Denmark.

In a grand ceremony before hundreds of Viking warriors, King Harald had bestowed the title Dragon of Denmark to Sk?rde while presenting the prestigious silver arm band and simultaneously appointing him warlord of the entire Danish army. For the next few years, Sk?rde had won battle after battle, defending the kingdom of Denmark and leading lucrative Viking raids against monasteries, churches, and wealthy cities along the Nordic and Baltic coasts.

Now, as he looked down at the silver torque encircling his arm, a wave of anger and jealousy washed over him at the thought of being replaced as warlord by Anvarr and displaced as heir to the throne by his half-brother Sweyn.

His father’s legitimate son.

Bitter bile gnawed at his gut.

In Heieabyr, I was bastard son of the Danish king. But here in Normandy, I am Lord of Chateaufort and Count of the Pays de Caux. I have a title of nobility. A new coat of arms. A fortified oceanfront castle. A fleet of drakkar warships. An army of five thousand men.

Ylva’s face floated into his thoughts.

And the most beautiful woman I have ever seen as my wedded wife .

Jofroi handed him a silver torque necklace where an amulet of Mj?lnir , Thor’s invincible hammer, was suspended from the thick, wide band.

Thor.

The Thunder God who had marked Sk?rde in battle .

Whose lightning bolt blazed in a bold tattoo across his maimed chest.

Whose hammer was emblazoned on his new coat of arms.

Sk?rde examined the majestic necklace cradled in the palm of his hands.

Above the heavy pendant of Mj?lnir, a trio of Nordic runes was etched into the massive silver torque. Sk?rde ran the pad of his thumb over the deeply engraved symbols.

Thurisaz, Thor’s rune.

Algiz , symbol of a massive elk. For defense, protection, and strength.

Ingwaz , to represent Freyr, the Nordic god of prosperity, virility, and fertility.

An intense wave of desire shuddered through him as Sk?rde envisioned planting his potent seed in Ylva’s receptive womb. He shook his long blond hair back over his shoulders, casting off her intoxicating effect on him, as Jofroi attached the torque around Sk?rde’s wide neck.

The male Viking thrall named Kofri approached, carrying a tray of silver beads and dark green gemstones which glittered in the sunlight through the opening in the thatched roof.

Emeralds.

The rare gems that Sk?rde had obtained from a Byzantine merchant in the trade center of Constantinople on the eastern shores of the Caspian Sea.

“These beads have been drilled through the center, Jarl Sk?rde. I’ll braid them into your beard and display the colors of your new coat of arms.” Kofri placed the tray on the table and groomed Sk?rde’s thick beard with an antler comb. While the thrall deftly braided the wiry strands of dark blond hair with the silver beads and emerald gems, Sk?rde reflected upon the emblem he had chosen to represent him as Lord of Chateaufort and Count of the Pays de Caux.

A silver castle defended by a dark green dragon, with the overlapping weapons of Thor’s invincible hammer and a magnificent silver sword. Sk?rde had selected the name Dragon of Normandy for his new coat of arms, representing a blend of his Viking heritage as the Dragon of Denmark who now defended the castle of Chateaufort and the alabaster coast of Normandy.

Kofri’s voice interrupted Sk?rde’s thoughts. “The emerald gems and silver beads will sparkle in the firelight, sure to catch Lady Ylva’s eye.” Satisfaction reflected in the thrall’s proud smile. He collected the empty tray which had contained the beads, Sk?rde’s soiled clothing, the unworn clean tunic and breeches, and the used linen drying cloth. “Enjoy yourself this evening, my lord. I look forward to the competition of skalds.” With a respectful bow, the dutiful thrall retreated from the bathhouse through the exit door.

“Shall I accompany you to Lady Ylva’s chambers, Lord Sk?rde? I know your grandmother Gyda and her servant Dagny were helping her to dress for tonight’s feast. I saw them with the servants Eydis and Norhild before I came here to join you.”

“Thank you, Jofroi, but that will not be necessary. I’ll fetch my fetching bride myself.” Sk?rde exited the bathhouse at the edge of the forest and headed across the wildflower strewn meadow toward the imposing stone fortress, a smile stretching across his braided, bearded face. He chuckled softly at the surprising realization.

Being banished to Normandy was actually a blessing in disguise.

****

As he neared the castle, Sk?rde observed several servants setting up tables under the canopy of enormous beech trees while others prepared kindling for a bonfire in the clearing near the cliff. Musicians were tuning their instruments, and performers in costume practiced a routine.

I’m looking forward to tonight’s events, too. Perhaps, after a night of dancing, music, and mead, Ylva will finally invite me to her bed .

He stifled another sudden surge of lust and trotted up the stone steps, through the massive double oak entrance doors, and into the clifftop castle.

Inside the chateau , attendants were bustling about, scrambling to finish the last-minute decorations as guests began to file into the Great Hall for another night of feasting in the continued celebration of Sk?rde and Ylva’s royal wedding. As he crossed the vast foyer and climbed the stairwell, the delicious aroma of roasted meats and sumptuous seafood made his mouth water and his ravenous stomach growl.

Sk?rde’s smiling grandmother greeted him in the hallway near Ylva’s chambers. “How handsome you are in that magnificent shade of green! And the emeralds and silver beads in your beard sparkle in the sunlight.” With a gnarled hand, she reached up behind his head, pulling him down so that she could bestow a maternal kiss on his whiskered cheek. “Ylva is ready, too. I can’t wait for you to see her!”

Slanted rays of the setting sun sliced through the open window. A saline summer breeze wafted into the cheerful room where the thralls Dagny, Eydis, and Norhild stood in obvious anticipation of his arrival. Their eyes twinkled with pride as they parted to reveal his beautiful bride.

The sight of Ylva took his breath away.

She was draped like a goddess in a dark green gown, a shimmery silver tunic belted at her slender waist. Long blonde waves cascaded to the curve of her hips, tiny braids woven with ribbons of dark green silk threaded with silver on either side of her oval face. A silver circlet engraved with Nordic runes and embellished with dark green emeralds glittered atop her golden hair.

Gilded in the glowing sun, as she had been the very first time he’d seen her, she again embodied the Nordic Goddess Sól.

But this time, she was wrapped in the silver and green hues of his new heraldic colors as the Dragon of Normandy.

Mouth agape, he stood in speechless admiration of his beguiling bride.

Ylva flashed him a smile as dazzling as the glittering emeralds in her silver coronet.

Sk?rde recovered enough sense to stammer, “You are breathtaking.” He gently grasped her hand, lowering his head to kiss her soft skin.

The large pear-shaped emerald in her silver ring inexplicably beckoned, seeming to pulse with every beat of his heart. And when his lips touched the dark green stone, the rhythmic throbbing shot straight to his loins.

His knees nearly buckled with the impact.

Odin’s eye, I want her!

He suppressed the overwhelming urge to send his grandmother and the three servants scurrying out of the room so that he could ravish his ravishing bride. Instead, he rose to a shaky stand and smiled down at Ylva. Just as he was about to offer her the crook of his elbow to escort her downstairs, Richard’s booming voice bellowed from behind.

“The guests are seated, the food is ready, and the music has begun!” Blond hair and beard braided like his own, the Duke of Normandy—bedecked in a red silk cloak and sporting magnificent silver armbands and an intricately engraved silver brooch—majestically swept into the room. He beamed at Ylva. Eyes aglow with paternal pride, he bent to kiss his daughter’s cheek. “You look beautiful, dóttir. The magnificent chatelaine of Chateaufort.”

A grinning Richard turned to Sk?rde. “Harald, úlvhild, and Gunnor are waiting for us in the foyer downstairs. We’ll join them and enter the Great Hall together.” Eager anticipation danced in his ducal gaze. “There are two special guests at the table of honor that I’m anxious for you to meet.” He shot an impish grin at Ylva. “They each have a wedding gift to present to the bride and groom.” With a chivalrous bow before Sk?rde’s bemused grandmother, Jarl Rikard gallantly presented her his arm. “Allow me to escort you to the king.”

Crinkled cheeks blushing like the rosy hue of her shimmering gown, Gyda hooked her elbow inside Richard’s. Her lyrical laughter was the trill of a twinkling bell.

Sk?rde offered Ylva his arm and led his exquisite wife out the door.

They descended the stone stairs behind Richard and Gyda, crossing the vast foyer as they headed toward the Great Hall where Harald, Gunnor, and úlvhild waited in the vestibule near the entrance doors. Lively, jubilant music and the tantalizing aromas of a sumptuous feast permeated the festive air .

In passing by the castle kitchens, storage rooms, servants’ quarters, and guardrooms, Sk?rde remarked how each area was contained inside a separate chamber with a designated space and wooden doors for privacy, cleanliness, and efficiency. Very different from the cramped, crowded, single room interior of a Viking longhouse with its enormous fire the length of the central hearth.

In contrast, the castle interior of Chateaufort was bright and airy, with numerous windows which allowed for much more light and ventilation. As he deeply inhaled the fresh, briny tang of the nearby sea, Sk?rde realized how much he preferred a spacious Norman castle to the gloomy, smoky interior of a Danish Viking longhouse.

Harald, clad in a deep blue cloak over a white tunic embroidered with silver, clasped Sk?rde’s forearms in an affectionate greeting and bent to kiss Ylva’s cheek. “Welcome, Lord and Lady of Chateaufort . Tonight, your royal wedding festivities continue!” Atop his regal head, Sk?rde’s father wore a silver crown studded with glittering gems. His hearty grin revealed his distinctive dark tooth.

At his side, Gunnor wore a deep red gown in the same vibrant hue as Richard’s ducal robe. And úlvhild had chosen an amethyst colored gown. Her long black hair glinted with flecks of purple in the fiery glow of the amber pendant around her neck.

Sk?rde glanced up at the enormous heraldic banner proudly displayed above the double oaken doors leading into the Great Hall of his new Norman castle.

On a background of rich emerald green edged with a silver border of Nordic runes and Norman knotwork stood Sk?rde’s new coat of arms as the Dragon of Normandy .

Boldly outlined in black, the silver castle depicting Chateaufort was protectively encircled by an enormous dark green dragon with sharp, extended claws. Beneath the dragon’s castle, in the lower half of the emblem, Thor’s invincible hammer overlapped a silver Norman sword.

A blend of Sk?rde’s Viking heritage as the Dragon of Denmark who now defended Chateaufort and the White Chalk Cliffs as the Viking Dragon of Normandy.

He inhaled deeply, pride filling his lungs with the fresh saline scent of the Narrow Sea.

Four liveried guards flanked the double entrance doors to the Great Hall. Wearing the distinctive green and silver colors of the Dragon of Normandy , the attentive knights greeted them at their approach.

A blare of trumpets announced their arrival to the hundreds of guests already seated in the expansive Great Hall. While Sk?rde and Ylva waited in the vestibule with Richard, Gunnor, Gyda, and úlvhild, the castle seneschal escorted Harald through the carved oaken doors.

“Hear ye, hear ye, Vikings of Normandy! All hail Harald Bluetooth, King of Denmark and Norway!” The deep baritone of the herald’s booming voice resounded throughout the chamber amidst the din of applause and cheering. A dozen Danish guards joined the royal procession, following their monarch toward the table of honor.

“Lady Gyda of Norway and Denmark and the esteemed Viking v?lva úlvhild.” A pair of liveried pages escorted the duo of ladies through the entrance doors, close behind Harald’s royal guards.

“His Grace, Richard the Fearless, Count of Rouen and Viking Duke of Normandy, and his lady wife Gunnor, Duchess of Normandy!” As the herald’s trumpet and booming voice introduced Richard and Gunnor, another pair of formally attired attendants escorted the duke and duchess to the royal table, a dozen of Richard’s guards from Fécamp following in a ducal cortège .

Finally, as Sk?rde proudly approached the entrance doors with Ylva at his side, he smiled down at his beautiful wife. Together, they would rule as Lord and Lady of Ch?teaufort and govern the Pays de Caux. Sk?rde’s heart thundered like Thor’s hammer as Ylva looped her arm through his and the trumpet blared throughout the Great Hall.

“Ladies and gentlemen! It is my honor to present Lady Ylva and Lord Sk?rde of Ch?teaufort , Count and Countess of the Pays de Caux, Tonight, we continue the celebration of their royal wedding and the Viking alliance between Norway, Normandy, and Denmark. All hail the Dragon of Normandy! Long may our alliance endure! "

As the crier’s booming voice resounded across the vast chamber, Sk?rde—flanked by a pair of royal pages and followed by a dozen Norman knights of Ch?teaufort— escorted Ylva into the Great Hall.

The entire castle stood cheering in riotous, enthusiastic applause.