Chapter 28

Freyja’s Falcon

Ylva had been working diligently with Maeve and úlvhild every day since Sk?rde had left for Heieabyr , caring for the wounded in the Great Hall of Ch?teaufort . Although many of the men injured in the battle of Fécamp had been able to return to their homes in the village, the Viking longhouses near the castle, or the lodging for the castle knights, thirty still required constant care. A corner of the Great Hall continued to serve as a healing chamber, where the seriously injured lay upon pallets along the north wall, tended by village women who volunteered to help by administering salves, cleansing wounds, or changing bandages. Kitchen attendants served soups, broths, and meals to those who were able to eat, while Ylva, Maeve, and úlvhild brewed herbal infusions, tonics, and warm possets as healing beverages for their patients to drink. Servants frequently replaced straw in the pallet bedding or the sweet flag rushes on the stone castle floor, which Ylva insisted upon for their fresh floral fragrance, cleanliness, and crucial ability to repel insects.

A storage room near the castle kitchen had been transformed into an herbal workshop, where the three priestesses prepared salves, tinctures, and ointments each day. Together, they imbued crystals with healing galdr magic, stocking the shelves in Ylva’s antechamber and the storage room with herbal remedies and curative gems that they not only used to treat the injured in the Great Hall, but stocked in preparation for the warriors who would inevitably be wounded when Richard and Sk?rde attacked Fécamp. Now, as she ground herbs with mortar and pestle in the herbal workshop, Ylva inquired about the Viking vitki that úlvhild had summoned.

“How did you meet Haldor Falk?.” Ylva mixed the ground comfrey and yarrow into honey, storing the healing poultice in a ceramic jar and sealing it with a cork stopper.

úlvhild shook the bottle of elderflower tincture which she was steeping in potent red wine. Soon, it would be ready to strain and serve to their patients in the Great Hall, with the rest stored for future use. Nostalgia glowed in her golden eyes as she reminisced about the past.

“I met him in King Harald’s royal longhouse in T?nenberg, a Viking port on the Skagerrak, near the Baltic Sea. Harald had summoned him to accompany the explorers he was sending to establish a Viking colony in the Faroe Islands. As a powerful vitk, Haldor Falk would provide spiritual guidance and protection during the voyage and ensure the blessing of the Nordic gods in the new settlement.” úlvhild spooned ground rosemary and calendula into a bowl of melted beeswax, mixing the crushed herbs into the base which would harden into a healing ointment. “As Harald’s v?lva, I was introduced to the intriguing sorcerer who had studied in the Lofoten Islands—the wild, rugged north of Norway.”

She flashed an enigmatic grin to a captivated Maeve and Ylva. “Legend says that the goddess Freyja herself took him as her lover. Some versions recount how she appeared before him on Dragon’s Peak, the highest cliff overlooking an icy fjord. Others relate that it was inside the ancient stone circle of Flakstad?y, or the Midnight Cove on Austv?g?y. Regardless of the location in the Lofoten Islands, all the tales describe how—during the vitki’s ritual to invoke the gods—Freyja appeared before him in the form of a falcon. And that, when she shifted into human form, and they made love beneath the shimmering aurora borealis, the goddess imbued Haldor Falk with her divine essence, granting him the power to transform at will into a falcon. She also gave him a cloak of shimmering feathers, like her own, and the power to communicate with—and command—all winged creatures. Haldor Falk, the Falcon of the Faroe Islands, is a master of avian magic. ”

“I cannot wait to meet him. Today, when I go to the waterfall cave, I’ll make an extra offering to Freyja and ask that she guide her lover safely to us.” Ylva had taken the wooden yew sculpture of Divona back to the waterfall cave, recreating the sacred shrine where she worshipped the trio of goddesses every afternoon. Her heart now fluttered like the wings of the swan in Freyja’s Whisper , the sacred knife she had used to imbue the runes on Sk?rde’s emerald talisman with her blood. “And to Rán, so that she will control the seas and bring Sk?rde quickly home.”

“I need to check on Kól. I have some fish for him that I saved from the midday meal.” úlvhild turned to Maeve, who was scraping her herbal ointment into a ceramic jar. “Do you want to come with me into the village?”

Maeve wedged the cork stopper into the vial containing the crushed garlic, sage, and rosemary salve she had just prepared. “I would love to. I want to stop in and see Gillie and Ingi.” She placed the jar on the wooden shelf and smiled at Ylva. “We’ll come back to the castle in time to feed our patients their supper.”

The three priestesses put away their herbal supplies, cleaned off the counter, and kissed each other on the cheeks to say goodbye. As Maeve and úlvhild left the workshop and exited the castle, Ylva went into the Great Hall to speak to Gyda.

Sk?rde’s grandmother was with Dagny, tending the wounded with castle servants and women from the village. She looked up at Ylva’s approach, a warm smile crinkling her soft, wrinkled face. Setting down the scissors she was using to cut linen into bandages, Gyda strode across the hall to greet her.

Ylva kissed Gyda’s crinkled cheek. “I’m going down to the waterfall cave to pray for Sk?rde’s safe return. I’ll be back in an hour or so.” She gazed at the wounded Viking warriors who lay stretched upon straw pallets, valiantly clinging to life. “I’ll pray for them, too.”

“Say a prayer for me as well. For my grandson… and for all these injured men.” Gyda squeezed Ylva’s hands and re turned to cutting bandages with Dagny.

****

The late August sun was warm on Ylva’s face as she stopped amidst the wildflowers to gather meadowsweet, rockrose, and sea lavender for her offering in the waterfall cave. Escorted by Kallez and her personal guards, she descended the grassy path from the clifftop near the castle to the pebbled shore a hundred feet below.

A briny breeze caressed her cheek, the salty tang of pungent seaweed tickling her nose as gannets and gulls squawked and soared overhead. Near the entrance to the sheltered sea cave, the thunderous waterfall of Divona’s sacred spring cascaded from the top of the white chalk cliff.

Ylva crossed the rocky beach and scooped a handful of cool liquid from the waterfall pool to quench her thirst before entering the cave. Inside the opalescent grotto, perched upon the limestone shelf, the wooden statue that Sk?rde had sculpted for her smiled to welcome Ylva.

She arranged the trio of wildflowers on the altar at the statue’s feet, amongst the silver coins, turquoise gems, and scallop shells. The three imbued stones she had used to heal Sk?rde’s wounded leg now flanked her enchanted emerald ring, sparkling in the afternoon sun. The silver coronet she had sacrificed glistened like a halo on the sculpture’s divine head.

“Divona, I offer meadowsweet, whose fragrant blossoms I hope will please you as I ask that you heal our wounded warriors and protect Sk?rde and his crew. Rán, please accept my gift of sea lavender and grant my request. That the waters of your vast ocean guide the Sea Siren safely home. Freyja, I present rockrose—symbol of love, nature. and beauty—and pray that you will protect my husband. And send your lover, Haldor Falk, quickly to Chateaufort .” Ylva knelt before the altar, head bowed in reverence to the trio of goddesses. Her prayer complete, she rose to her feet, brushed the sand from her deep green gown, and exited the cave, back into the solar brilliance of the late summer sun.

When she returned to the castle, Ylva joined Gyda in the Great Hall. As she placed droplets of herbal tincture into a pitcher of pure water filled from the underground spring near the castle, she remembered that Sk?rde had been bathed in the icy pool for their wedding. As if he had touched her, a current of desire sparked up her spine. Smiling inwardly, Ylva bent to help one of the injured Viking warriors drink the healing tonic when Bj?rn suddenly appeared at her side.

“My lady, a longship has been sighted in the harbor. Several of our warriors from Norway recognize it as Freyja’s Falcon, Haldor Falk’s vessel. The Falcon of the Faroe Islands has arrived .”

Once the wounded warrior had finished drinking, Ylva dashed to the western bank of the river to watch the sleek Viking ship sail into the sheltered harbor of Chateaufort.

Upon the cream colored sail billowing in the summer wind, the emblem of a magnificent falcon soared with outstretched wings feathered in shades of brown, deep blue, silver, and black. Its keen eyes glimmered gold like the goddess for which the ship was named. At the prow, the carved wooden image of Freyja, clad in her raven cloak, legendary necklace Brísingamen at her majestic throat , clutched a spear in her right hand and perched a falcon upon the left, as if symbolizing her divine protection and spiritual bond with the vitki commanding the ship . Amidst shouts, cawing gulls, the clinking of oars, and the creak of the winch as the chain boom arose from the murky brackish water, the briny scent of the sea mingled with the earthy aroma of wet wood and tar from the ship’s hull as Freyja’s Falcon glided into the harbor and docked at the port.

Richard, who had been working at the mouth of the river with Sk?rde’s men fortifying the ramparts and gatehouses along the eastern wall of the harbor, came to the dock with an entourage of attendants to be formally presented to their highly anticipated guest. As the crew of Freyja’s Falcon poured from the ship onto the bustling quay, they were welcomed by Danish warriors, Norman knights, stable hands, dockworkers, and castle servants alike. Bj?rn and his men ushered the new arrivals toward the Viking bathhouse and the knights’ lodge where they would reside for the next two or three weeks.

Although she would soon arrange a welcoming feast to properly receive her honored guest, Ylva, as chatelain of the castle, went down to the dock with two maidservants to officially welcome Haldor Falk.

Her breath hitched and her pulse raced as the formidable falcon disembarked.

He was tall, though not as towering as her father or Sk?rde, with rich dark brown hair that fell past his broad, armored shoulders. A prominent nose, like the beak of a hawk, curved above his well-trimmed dark beard. Painted wings stretched across his weathered face, the brown feathers detailed with subtle shades of black, silver, and grey. And below each of his dark brown, predatory eyes, the Kaun rune—symbol of fire, power, and transformation—glowed in fiery red and orange hues.

His leather armor was a deep chestnut brown, the elongated, overlapping plates shaped like falcon feathers, embossed with intricate detailing and edged with swirls like sea and sky. Real falcon feathers were meticulously woven into the leather vambraces on his rugged forearms, the striking appearance evoking wings of his shapeshifting ability and avian magic.

Atop his stunning leather headpiece, a striking crest of feathers arose in a magnificent plume, with a carved amber image of Freyja in falcon form nestled at its base. A trio of red and gold glittering gemstones—undoubtedly imbued with powerful vitki magic—adorned the elaborate leather coif. Garnet, the deep red symbolizing Freyja’s passion and the falcon as her devoted lover. Carnelian, for courage and conviction. And pyrite, gleaming gold in the setting sun, a shining shield against evil. Haldor Falk removed the crested coif and leather gloves in humility as servants approached to formally present Richard the Fearless.

Legs shaking under her deep green gown, Ylva inhaled deeply to compose herself as attendants introduced her father to the Falcon. As the highest ranking noble and the Viking Duke of Normandy, Richard would receive the first introduction in honor of his prestigious title.

Richard’s booming voice welcomed the famed Falcon. “Greetings, Haldor Falk.” He shook the viki’s scarred, sinewy hand. “May I present my daughter Ylva, chatelain of Ch?teaufort and Countess of the Pays de Caux . ”

Ylva inclined her head in homage. Her voice quavered in the Falcon’s intimidating presence. “Greetings, Lord Falk. Welcome to Chateaufort. Thank you for answering úlvhild’s call. She will join us this evening in the private solar, where my father will explain the purpose of your summons. For now, please allow my servants to escort you to the guest quarters we have prepared in your honor. I’ll have water heated for your bath and send a platter of fresh fruit, cheese, and bread to your chambers. With an ewer of pure water from our underground springs and a pitcher of sweet honeyed mead.” She smiled warmly despite the chill in her shivering limbs. “Tonight, my father and I will welcome you and your men with a festive feast. Until then, may my castle attendants serve and refresh you after your long, arduous voyage.”

Haldor Falk gallantly bent to kiss Ylva’s trembling hand. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Lady Ylva. Thank you for your gracious hospitality. I look forward to this evening’s feast and the pleasure of your fine company.” His resonant voice was as mellow as a lyre.

As Ylva prepared to return to the castle and organize the welcoming feast, Richard said to her, “I’ll join you this evening in the solar. I want to finish the fortifications along the eastern wall.”

“Of course, Faeir . See you tonight.” She kissed her father’s cheek. “Good day, Lord Falk. Until this evening, at the feast.” Ylva smiled politely and started up the hill with her two maidservants as the Falcon fisted his chest in fealty and bowed before Richard. “ Jarl Rikard ,” he said, using the Old Norse title of respect for her father. “ á kveldi. Until tonight.”

****

Ylva glanced around the oak table where Bj?rn, several high-ranking knights, Richard’s man Enguerran, and Haldor Falk sat with Gyda, Maeve, and úlvhild in the castle solar. Outdoors, in the light of the rising moon, Haldor Falk’s men feasted with the knights of Chateaufort at tables set up under the canopy of beech trees along the castle wall. Here in the private parlor, Ylva and her guests had just finished a sumptuous meal of roast pheasant and grilled salmon, fresh vegetables from the garden, fruits and cheese, with apple tart, fresh cream, and mulled wine for dessert. Now that the welcoming feast was finished, Richard was discussing his plans to visit Paris, fortify the Norman coastline, and prepare for the siege of Fécamp. As he sipped his mulled wine, the spicy scent of cloves wafted in the cool evening breeze.

“The Foire de Saint-Denis is the annual autumn fair in the heart of Paris that begins on the ninth of October and continues for several weeks. With dozens of merchant ships docking along la Rive Droite , hundreds of people milling about, buying and selling goods, it will be the perfect opportunity for us to smuggle the boy out of the royal palace and up the Seine River on a Frisian ship.” Richard eyed the intrigued Falcon and leaned back in his carved wooden chair.

Haldor Falk had washed the falcon paint and runes from his bearded face. Without his ominous leather armor and crested coif, he was indeed handsome in a grey tunic edged in dark blue with black linen trousers and a braided leather belt. Around his neck, a thick silver torque etched with Nordic runes glistened in the candlelight. Suspended at the bottom, carved in amber, was the same image of Freyja as a falcon that Ylva had glimpsed in the crest of his leather coif. Haldor’ s velvety voice was deep, rich, and smooth. “You’ll need to obtain the proper documentation and permission to sell wares at the fair.”

“The perfect legitimate excuse to visit my former brother-in-law, Hugh Capet. As the Count of Paris, he’ll be able to provide the necessary licensing, stamps, and approval for us to set up a stall under the guise of selling Frisian wool at the autumn fair. While I finalize the formalities with Hugh in our upcoming visit to Paris, you’ll have the opportunity to fly into the towers of the Royal Palace and discover precisely where Harald’s son is being imprisoned. When you rejoin Hugh and me with this vital information, we’ll formalize a plan to rescue Sweyn during the Foire de Saint-Denis .” Richard raised his silver chalice, which an attendant promptly refilled with more mulled wine. “After next week’s visit with Hugh, you and I will sail back here, equipped with the necessary documents to participate in the fair. So that when Sk?rde returns from Denmark, you and he will sail the Frisian ship to Paris and implement Hugh’s plan to recuse Sweyn and bring him safely to Chateaufort . ”

A somber Richard spoke solemnly to Ylva. “You must keep the boy safe here until after the siege of Fécamp. If we prevail, Sk?rde can reunite Sweyn with his father. And if we fail, then you must find a way to bring the heir of Denmark and Norway home to Harald.”

Ylva held her father’s resolute gaze. “I promised Sk?rde that I would. And I give you my word as Lady of Chateaufort and Countess of the Pays de Caux .”

Bj?rn’s blond brows furrowed in concentration and concern. “It will take several days to sail to Paris. And the same for the return voyage. If you and the Falcon depart tomorrow, you won’t be back until mid-September. We need to set up armies to cut off any attempts by the Franks to reinforce Fécamp.”

Richard nodded vigorously as he swallowed a hearty gulp of spiced wine. “The Count of Anjou has allocated one hundred knights and three hundred foot soldiers, which we will position to the east. My cousin Adelaide—who just happens to be the wife of Hugh Capet, the Count of Paris we plan to visit next week—” Richard flashed a sly grin at Haldor Falk, “—is the daughter of the powerful Duke of Aquitaine, William Towhead, who has assigned two hundred knights and five hundred men-at-arms to fortify our position south of Fécamp.” Her father’s warrior eyes blazed with brilliant blue fire. “And my longtime ally Conan I, the Duke of Brittany, has committed not only one hundred knights and five hundred foot soldiers, but two trebuchets, three siege towers, and a battering ram. They are being disassembled and transported by land as we speak. I expect his men to arrive in three weeks.”

“William Towhead’s army will take a month to arrive from Aquitaine. Possibly five or six weeks. We should position some of our own men to the south until his reinforcements arrive.” Bj?rn tugged on his long blond beard, contemplating military strategy.

“Agreed. You and Enguerran will coordinate with Geoffroy’s men—setting up tents, distributing weapons and supplies. I have mobilized garrisons of knights from both Rouen and Bayeux. I’ve also summoned soldiers and equipment from Caen, and sent for skilled craftsmen to reconstruct the siege towers and trebuchets. Once Haldor and I return from Paris, we’ll join you in preparing for the attack. Which take place after the Foire de Saint-Denis , once Sk?rde and the Falcon have freed the boy.” Richard turned to Ylva. “They will bring him here to you, then join me in attacking Fécamp. Bj?rn and the knights of Ch?teaufort will remain here to defend you here during the siege until—Odin willing—victory is ours.”

“Tomorrow, when you and Haldor set sail for Paris, we priestesses will chant a vardlokkur to bless your voyage and safe return.” úlvhild smiled at Ylva and Maeve, sitting beside her at the table, as she addressed Richard. “During your absence—while the knights prepare with military strategy for the upcoming siege—we will imbue charms, bones, and gems with galdr magic, so that your army will have protective talismans to shield them during battle.” úlvhild’s golden eyes glowed like her cat Kól’s as she cast a contented feline smile at Haldor Falk. “Thank you for answering my summons. I am grateful you heeded my call.”

Haldor inclined his head in unspoken response, his penetrating gaze feral and fierce. A crackling current sizzled between the vitki and the v?lva, igniting Ylva’s curiosity.

Were úlvhild and the Falcon once lovers? Perhaps that’s how she was able to reach him. Through the magic shared between them.

Richard leaned forward to address Haldor. “We’ll depart tomorrow morning with a crew of twenty. Ten knights from my personal guard will also join us, with their armor and weapons concealed under cloaks.” His shrewd eyes shone above his blond braided beard. “We’ll sail one of the two Frisian shipping vessels that Sk?rde seized in a raid on the Frankish port of Dorestad. I commissioned a new banner for the ship—and a ram’s head carved from yew for the prow. Disguised as wool shipping merchants, sailing a Frisian knarr trading vessel, we won’t attract any unwanted attention from King Lothaire’s spies when sail up the Seine into Paris.” Richard raised his arms overhead and stretched out his back, stifling a yawn. With ducal grandeur, he swept back his red velvet robe and arose from the table, signaling an end to the evening. His men stood in unison as a sign of respect. “For those who wish to join the revelry, there is music, mead, and dancing around the bonfire in the courtyard. I plan to retire for the evening, for we sail at first light.” He firmly shook Haldor’s hand. “Again, I bid you welcome and thank you for coming to our aid.” Richard cast his regal gaze at the valiant Vikings gathered around the table. “Goodnight, men. Until tomorrow.”

As the knights and Viking warriors filed out of the private solar, Ylva spoke to úlvhild and Maeve, who were spending the night at the castle. “Goodnight. I’ll see you both in the morning.” She kissed their cheeks, and Richard—who had dismissed the men and now stood at Ylva’s side—bowed his head gallantly to the two weary priestesses.

“ Bonne nuit, mesdames,” he murmured as úlvhild and Maeve followed servants down the hall to the guest quarters they shared.

While Dagny waited patiently to usher Gyda to bed, Ylva kissed the old woman’s soft, wrinkled cheek. “See you tomorrow.”

Richard kissed Gyda’s cheek as well, smiling as Sk?rde’s grandmother left the solar with her faithful servant. He turned to Ylva, admiration shining in his paternal eyes. “You make me proud, Ylva. You’re a gifted Celtic healer, like your mother. You’re a Nordic priestess, with galdr and Ljósálfar magic. You rule Chateaufort and the Pays de Caux like a glorious Viking queen.” He kissed her cheek and whispered in her ear. “ Bonne nuit, ma fille. Je t’aime .” Smiling softly, he watched as Norhild and Eydis escorted an emotional Ylva from the solar.

Her attendants unplaited her hair, dressed her in a soft chemise, and helped her into the empty bed where she yearned every night for Sk?rde.

Throat constricted with a blend of longing, loss, and love, Ylva gazed at the opalescent moon through her open window and smiled through her tears.

For the first time in ten long, lonely years, her father had said that he loved her.