Chapter 4

Bitter Bile

With his molding iron, hammer, and chisel, Sk?rde meticulously carved the elaborate wooden head of the formidable dragon which would soon adorn his drakkar warship for the impending voyage west into Normandy. As the reptilian creature came to fearsome life beneath his highly skilled hands, Sk?rde reflected upon the years he’d studied under the tutelage of the master craftsman Kálfr, the gentle giant who had fostered him as a boy in Norway and taught him to become an expert woodcarver. Sk?rde was immensely grateful for the solitary recreation which not only allowed him artistic self-expression, but also served as a cleansing, creative catharsis for the horrors and trauma of battle.

While he sculpted the magnificent oak beast, waves of memories from his turbulent past flowed over him like the frigid waters of the nearby fjord.

Born to one of Harald Bluetooth’s concubines in Norway—a pretty young blonde who’d died giving birth to the king’s illegitimate son—Sk?rde had been abandoned as an infant when his royal father returned to Denmark, leaving him in the care of his maternal grandmother Gyda. As a boy, like most Viking youths in Scandinavia, he’d been fostered to learn a skilled trade and simultaneously taught to wield both axe and sword. Since he’d inherited his father’s towering height and massive build, Sk?rde soon surpassed his peers and ranked among the fiercest Viking warriors of Norway. When Harald Bluetooth, the newly crowned King of Denmark, learned of his estranged son’s prowess and potential, he’d summoned sixteen year old Sk?rde—his only child and presumptive heir—to sail from Norway and join him in the Viking settlement of Heieabyr on the Jutland peninsula of his Danish kingdom.

Three years later, when Harald Bluetooth allied with Richard the Fearless to defend Normandy against the invading army of King Lothaire of West Francia, Sk?rde had fought valiantly at his father’s side. The king had been so impressed by the ferocity of his son’s sword and innate capacity to command that he’d appointed Sk?rde as leader of his entire Danish army.

And proclaimed him heir to the kingdoms of Norway and Denmark.

Yet—in the same year that Sk?rde had risen to the pinnacle of power, basking in paternal praise and confident of his role as successor to his father’s dual thrones—Harald Bluetooth had married Tova.

Who’d subsequently given birth to the king’s legitimate son.

With his half-brother Sweyn born within a royal marriage officially recognized by Harald Bluetooth’s Christian church, Sk?rde—bastard son of the Danish king—had been cast aside, revoked as his father’s designated heir.

Reduced to the position of Viking warlord.

Good for naught but battle.

Although Sk?rde knew that Sweyn was an innocent child, not responsible for the circumstances of his fortuitous birth, bitter bile still soured his stomach.

He had been abandoned by his father once again.

A thunderous knock at the front door roused Sk?rde from his acrid reverie. The elderly thrall Dagny—the slave whom Sk?rde had saved when her cruel captor had been killed in a raid five years ago—opened it to reveal the long, braided beard and weather-wizened face of Harald Bluetooth, accompanied by four of his armed royal guards.

Sk?rde rose to his feet, placing the chisel and carved dragon prow down upon the table, as his stunned grandmother rushed to welcome the unannounced king.

Harald entered the longhouse with a magnanimous royal grin. “Greetings, Gyda. You look well.” He affectionately grasped the old woman’s forearms and bent to kiss each of her crinkled cheeks.

“Thank you, my king. I am humbled by your praise.” Gyda smiled softly. Concern and curiosity shone in her wary eyes as she darted Sk?rde a quick glance, then returned her attention to Harald. “Please, be seated. We are honored by your royal visit.” She motioned for Dagny to help serve the king. “May I offer you a horn of mead, my lord?”

“ Já, takk. Gladly.” While his royal guards positioned themselves along the wall where flames flickered in the stone hearth, Harald sat down at the table and motioned for Sk?rde to join him. The king waited patiently as Gyda filled two ornately carved elk horn drinking vessels from an elaborately decorated, chiseled wooden pitcher. Serving first Harald, then Sk?rde, she set the decanter on the oak table between them. Dagny placed a stand for the elkhorns in front of each man, then slipped away in silence to wash the dinner dishes and clean the eating area.

Harald dismissively eyed Gyda. “I wish to speak to my son privately.”

“Of course, my king. I shall return to my weaving.” She bowed before the monarch, then retreated to her whalebone loom and skein of woolen threads at the opposite end of Sk?rde’s abode.

Harald took a long pull of mead from his elkhorn and slid the vessel into the slot of the decorative yet functional wooden stand. “Rolf informs me that you are fully healed. Which means that we can now depart for Normandy.” The king leaned back in his chair and crossed his swarthy arms with a snide grin. “úlf boasts that he has transformed your hideous scar into a magnificent creation. Show me, that I may appreciate his artistic skill with my own eyes.”

Sk?rde smirked as he removed his woolen tunic. The gruesome gash from the Frankish enemy sword had been brilliantly transformed into a lightning bolt blazing across his chest.

“Branded by Thor’s thunder as you triumphed in battle. A glorious badge of honor from the god himself. May his divine gift always protect you.” As Harald lifted his horn of mead in tribute, Sk?rde raised his own elkhorn to bristled, smiling lips.

The swallow of mead was a warm, golden glow, welcome as his father’s rare praise.

Harald spotted the carved dragon head at Sk?rde’s side. He reached across the table and lifted the wooden sculpture, admiring the intricate detail. “You have extraordinary talent with a blade,” he remarked, running appreciative fingertips over the realistic features of the intimidating beast. “Equally skilled with both chisel and sword. As fine a woodcarver as a warrior. This is magnificent work.” He handed the ornate oaken serpent back to Sk?rde, who laid it down on the table at his side, awash in a satisfying wave of self-esteem.

“A formidable dragon for my drakkar warship. As I—Dragon of Denmark—lead your Viking army to victory against the Franks!” A boastful grin stretching across his bearded face, Sk?rde proudly downed the rest of his mead and motioned Dagny for more. “Allied with Richard the Fearless, you and I shall defend Normandy once again. And vanquish the forces of King Lothaire, just as we did seven years ago.” Sk?rde grinned at his father while Dagny promptly refilled their drinking horns and retreated to the rear of the room.

Harald tugged on his braided golden beard, contemplating the flames which danced in the hearth. When he raised his pensive gaze, Sk?rde glimpsed consternation in his father’s grave expression. “We do not sail into battle against the Franks. Our voyage to Normandy is for an entirely different reason.” The king took another long pull of mead and wiped his mustache with the sleeve of his deep blue tunic. “I wish to form a permanent alliance with Richard the Fearless. Through your royal marriage to his daughter. A Celtic Breton priestess named Ylva.”

Sk?rde shot to his feet and stared at his father in disbelief. “Marriage? Surely you jest! I am Sk?rde the Scourge, Dragon of Denmark. The invincible leader of your infallible Viking army. I have no desire whatsoever to take a wife!”

Harald imperturbably drank from his elkhorn without comment, as if waiting for Sk?rde’s anger to abate. After a few moments, the king commanded, “Sit down and listen. Save your furor for the battlefield. Marriage is a powerful political alliance.”

Sk?rde scoffed and slumped into his chair, clenching his teeth and jutting his chin in defiant compliance. He drained his elkhorn and summoned Dagny for more mead.

As she meekly obeyed, refilling both drinking vessels, Sk?rde simmered with silent rage.

“For his daughter’s dowry, Richard the Fearless is bequeathing the entire alabaster coast of Normandy—the immense white chalk cliffs and fecund plains of the Pays de Caux— from the mouth of the Seine River at Le Havre to the harbor of Le Tréport on the River Bresle.” Harald raised his regal hand to silence Sk?rde’s imminent rebuttal. “In addition to these fertile farmlands and navigable seaports, he is also conferring the fortified castle and royal demesne of Chateaufort. It’s situated in the city of Dieppe, on the mouth of the Arques River. With a deep port, perfect for harboring a fleet of drakkar ships. The limestone fortress once belonged to the Viking chieftain Rollo, great-grandfather of your betrothed.”

Harald’s booming voice and commanding tone became wistful. “You are my eldest son. But because of the circumstances of your birth, the Christian Church does not recognize you as my legitimate heir. By procuring this marriage to the daughter of the reigning Duke of Normandy, I can provide you with a title of nobility and a Viking sovereignty. Richard will appoint you as Count of the Pays de Caux . And you shall rule over the Land of the White Chalk Cliffs.”

Harald rose from his chair, indicating his intent to depart, prompting Gyda to abandon her embroidery and rush forward to bid the king farewell. Bending to place a regal kiss on each of her two cheeks, he said softly, “Sk?rde and I set sail for Normandy in three days.” He took hold of her two gnarled hands, his large thumbs gently caressing the wrinkled skin. “You are welcome to join us for the voyage, if you wish. And relocate—to live with Sk?rde in his new domain.” He raised Gyda’s knotted knuckles to his bearded lips.” You have cared for my son his entire life. If now, in your advanced years, you prefer to remain here in Heieabyr , I shall provide for you—as you have always done for him. I leave the choice up to you.”

Gyda’s eyes filled with grateful tears as she smiled lovingly at Sk?rde. “Of course I shall sail with you both. My place will always be at my grandson’s side.”

The king nodded in hearty approval, then turned to address his scowling son. “We shall sail with a fleet of a hundred vessels, providing warships for your coastal defense. You’ll have five thousand men for your army, with skilled craftsmen to establish new villages and settlements along the coast of the Pays de Caux . Carpenters, wainwrights, farmers, and fishermen, with livestock and tools for the tradesmen.”

He clasped Sk?rde firmly on the shoulders. “The men are anxious for land to till. And wives to bear them heirs . This voyage will provide both. For them—and for you .” A magnanimous grin stretched across his bearded face, revealing his eponymous blue tooth. “Prepare to set sail in three days. The sea voyage will take two weeks, depending on the wind and tides. We shall arrive with plenty of time to unload the vessels, establish camps on the grounds around the castle, and prepare for the traditional Viking marriage rituals. We’ll celebrate the Nordic festival of Sólmánueur. And your Summer Solstice wedding to Ylva Rikardsdóttir, Celtic daughter of the Duke of Normandy.”

As Harald headed toward the door, prepared to depart, the glint of fine silver upon the wall caught his keen warrior eye. He strode across the room to the hearth and lifted Sk?rde’s pilfered prize. “Is this the Frankish blade which branded you with Thor’s thunder?” The king unsheathed the polished sword, admiring the dazzling sapphire in the hilt as he hefted the superbly crafted weapon. With a wolfish grin, he quipped, “The perfect wedding gift to present to your bride in the ritual exchange of swords.”

Harald sheathed the priceless blade and leaned it back against the wall near the fireplace as he spoke to Sk?rde. “I look forward to our voyage to the Pays de Caux. And our crucial alliance with the Vikings of Normandy.” With a majestic nod and a smug regal smile, he bid everyone goodnight. And—as Sk?rde, Gyda, and Dagny bowed before the retiring monarch—the royal guards ushered the king out the door.

Sk?rde dropped into his seat at the table and stared morosely into his mug of mead. I was born to be a warrior. I’ve trained hard my entire wretched life. Proven my worth in countless battles and profitable raids. I’m Sk?rde the Scourge. Dragon of Denmark. Infallible leader of the victorious Viking army. He drained his mead, slammed the elkhorn into the stand, and scoffed in disgust . Yet, here I am—banished to the distant land of Normandy. Forced to marry a Breton bride and become a feeble farmer. I’m naught but a political pawn to be sacrificed for my father’s alliance with Richard the Fearless. A mirthless laugh escaped his downturned lips. By removing me—the bastard son who poses a potential threat to the throne—my father is ensuring the safety of his legitimate heir.

And abandoning me once again.

Gyda’s loving grip massaged his tensed, taut shoulders. “What did Harald mean about an alliance?”

Irritated and irascible, Sk?rde shrugged off her soothing touch and rose from the table. “He has arranged for me to marry a Celtic priestess. The Breton daughter of Richard the Fearless. My father wishes to form a permanent political alliance between the Vikings of Normandy and Denmark.” He strode over to the hearth, pacing in front of the flames that mirrored his fiery rage. “My betrothed’s dowry includes a fortified castle, a deep seaport, and the entire Norman coastline of the Pays de Caux. I shall be appointed the Count of the White Chalk Cliffs, where my royal father expects me to establish a vast new Viking colony. With five thousand of our Danish men from Heieabyr , anxious for farmland and fertile wives.”

Sk?rde stared at his bewildered, beloved grandmother. The gentle, patient woman who had raised him like a son. His anger abated as he gazed into her loving, limpid eyes. Unlike my father, you have never forsaken me. You’ve always been at my side. I’m grateful that you are coming to Normandy with me. And that I am not forced to leave you behind. Tenderness tempered his tone. “ I have no desire to marry. But I do understand the importance of this alliance. King Lothaire of West Francia is anxious to reclaim Normandy for the Frankish crown. By establishing new Viking colonies in the Pays de Caux, Richard reinforces the defense of his dukedom, and Lothaire is kept in check with powerful Viking armies on either side of Paris.”

Sk?rde approached his pensive grandmother, seated at the table near the welcoming hearth. Wisdom shone in her shrewd eyes as she firmly held his gaze. “Anvarr will undoubtedly replace me as the Danish warlord. But he is rash and reckless in battle. It troubles me greatly that he will be in charge of defending Heieabyr —with far fewer warships and warriors to defend against the Franks. In the absence of King Harald Bluetooth and Sk?rde the Scourge, Dragon of Denmark, it would be the opportune moment for our enemies to strike. It does not bode well, Amma,” he said, using the Nordic term of endearment for grandmother. “I am filled with apprehension at this untimely voyage.”

Gyda rose to her feet and rested a gnarled hand upon his thundering heart. When she looked up at him, Sk?rde swam in the endless depths of maternal love and steadfast strength. “You have recently defeated the Franks and defended Heieabyr, You drove the invading army all the way back to Frisia. Denmark will be safe until your father’s return. And you, min kj?re , as Count of the Pays de Caux , will be a vital ally for both your father, the King of Norway and Denmark, and the sire of your betrothed, the powerful Duke of Normandy.” She reached up to stroke his bearded cheek and smiled softly. “Perhaps—Freyja willing—you might even come to love your Breton wife. For she, like you, was born to a fierce Nordic ruler. And Viking blood flows in her Celtic veins.”

Dagny approached and spoke quietly. “The dishes are done, my lady, and the kitchen is clean. With your permission, I’ll retire now.”

Gyda took hold of the younger woman’s hands and gave them an affectionate squeeze. Although many of the wealthier Vikings in Heieabyr kept thralls, Dagny served Sk?rde and Gyda more as a respected worker and friend than a baseborn slave. “Of course you may. Thank you, Dagny.” She smiled at the gentle servant. “In three days, we’ll be setting sail for Normandy. King Harald has arranged for Sk?rde to marry the daughter of Richard the Fearless. We’re relocating to the Pays de Caux . The Land of the White Chalk Cliffs.”

Gyda beamed at Sk?rde. her papery cheeks crinkled with joy and pride. “Sk?rde will rule a new Viking settlement as Count of the Pays de Caux !” Gyda wrapped her arms around the stunned servant, hugging her tight. “We’ll live in a castle, Dagny! Can you imagine? What a marvelous adventure it will be!” Gyda kissed Dagny’s soft, silvery hair. “Tomorrow, we begin packing. But tonight, we celebrate Sk?rde’s betrothal. With goblets of golden mead!”