Page 3 of Wolf of the Nordic Seas (Valiant Vikings #2)
Le Chateau Blanc
Sunlight gleamed on the distant white limestone castle as Richard and his men approached the oceanfront village of étretat. Built on a towering cliff overlooking the Narrow Sea, two hundred feet above the sheltered inlet which harbored a fearsome fleet of drakkar warships, le Chateau Blanc was encircled by an immense outer curtain wall, with watchtowers, crenellations, and battlements, making the Viking fortress strategically situated for defense. But the recent attack by the Frankish Count of Soissons had damaged a significant portion of the protective enceinte around the castle, which Thorfinn’s men were repairing as the riders from Fécamp hailed the watchtower guard.
When the drawbridge was lowered, Richard and his men crossed the moat and entered the castle bailey. They dismounted, handed the horses to stable hands, and servants cheerfully escorted them into the Great Hall for much appreciated mugs of ale.
Richard spotted Elfi standing with several armed Viking guards near the entrance, waiting to greet him. Tall and lithe, her long, light brown hair glinted with gold, as if the Nordic goddess Sól had swept it with streaks of sunlight. Although he knew that Thorfinn’s daughter was no more than twenty winters, grief and loss had ravaged her lovely, lonely face.
“Welcome, Jarl Rikard. Thank you for coming so quickly .” She grasped his hands and kissed him warmly on each cheek. Her sorrowful eyes were steely grey, stormy as the Narrow Sea. “Please, come with me to my father’s private solar. My grandmother Oda, as well as several of our most trusted men, are waiting for us there.”
Elfi led Richard through the massive wooden entrance doors and into the vast foyer where — in an enclosed section of the Great Hall to his right — he glimpsed healers with herbs and elixirs tending wounded, bandaged men along the wall near the hearth. At the opposite end of the enormous room, his own men from Fécamp were settling down at trestle tables for a welcoming meal.
Thralls hurried about, carrying platters laden with food, serving pitchers of mead and goblets of ale. The enticing aroma of garlic, spices, and roasted meat made his mouth water and stomach growl.
“I’ve arranged for us to be served in the solar. I’m certain you must be famished after several hours in the saddle.” Elfi led Richard and his Viking chieftain Halvar across the wide vestibule, up a set of stone stairs, and down a long corridor to the chamber where Richard had previously conferred with her father Thorfinn several times in the past.
Cordial servants welcomed them into the elegant room.
Through the two open north-facing windows, Richard glimpsed thunderous waves crashing against the craggy cliffs far below the castle. The tangy brine of the sea wafted in on the soft summer breeze.
Woven tapestries with glittering threads of silver and gold adorned the elaborately engraved wooden walls, and a fire crackled in the hearth at the rear of the room. In the center of the solar, eight carved oak chairs were grouped around a magnificent table where Thorfinn’s chieftain Bjarke—one side of his grievously wounded face bandaged in white linen—sat with the warrior Varg, several guards, and Thorfinn’s mother Oda.
At the sight of Richard, the uninjured half of Bjarke’s face curved up into an exuberant, lopsided grin. “Jarl Rikard and Lord Halvar, thank the gods you have come!” he boomed, rising from the table to stride across the room and offer his hand. “Please, come in,” he said, with a magnanimous sweep of his swarthy arm.
Courteous attendants ushered them into the sunlit solar, seating them at the elegantly carved oak table and serving generous goblets of golden mead.
Bjarke placed Elfi next to Richard, then took his own seat between Varg and Oda. He bowed his head to Elfi, signifying his deference to her as chatelaine of le Chateau Blanc .
At Elfi’s signal, the awaiting thralls served sumptuous seafood and salted boar. Gratitude laced Elfi’s gracious voice. “You are my honored guests, Jarl Rikard and Lord Halvar. I hope you enjoy this humble meal.” She waited for them to sample the delectable fare before discussing the reason for her summons.
“I’m most grateful that you have come. I have also sent word to Count Sk?rde at Chateaufort, requesting reinforcements, but they have not yet arrived.” Elfi rocked in her chair, nervously smoothing the sides of her unwrinkled dress. “I’m sure my messenger informed you that Alberic, Count of Soissons, attacked le Chateau Blanc once again . He captured my father, damaged the defensive wall around the castle, and destroyed the city of étretat.” Her hand shook as she raised her engraved goblet for a bracing gulp of mead. “He now demands my hand in marriage. I am to report to the Christian church in Reims, accompanied by a dozen personal guards, on the first of October for the wedding. If I refuse, he’ll kill my father and siege the castle again.” Agitation and anger ravaged her exasperated face. “I cannot risk my father’s life. Nor can we survive another Frankish attack.” Elfi pleaded with dire, desperate eyes. “I refuse to sacrifice my faeir. And I refuse to surrender le Chateau Blanc . Jarl Rikard , without Dag and his Elven sword — how in Odin’s name do I defend étretat?”
Richard drained his chalice and leaned back in his chair for a thrall to clear away the empty trencher and refill his goblet of mead. “I have no intention of allowing Alberic of Soissons to marry you or acquire this castle,” he said calmly. “A Frankish count in the heart of the Pays de Caux would pose an intolerable threat to the entire dukedom of Normandy.” He reached across the table and squeezed Elfi’s cold hand. “I have sent word to my ally Harald Bluetooth—the king of Norway and Denmark — requesting reinforcements for le Chateau Blanc and the walled city of étretat.” A glimmer of hope brightened Elfi’s fallen face as she looked expectantly at her grandmother, then at Bjarke and Varg, before returning her gaze to Richard. “I have also asked Harald to send his finest Danish jarl to lead them. And to marry you, Elfi. As the Heiress of étretat.”
Richard glimpsed frustration, rage, and horror in Elfi’s widened eyes and agape mouth as he hastened to explain his reasoning. “A Viking husband for you. A Viking chieftain for étretat. And an allied Viking army to defend the alabaster coast of the Pays de Caux.” He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his armored chest. “We shall demand that the Count of Soissons release your father, relinquish his claim to your hand in marriage, and recognize your betrothal to the Danish jarl. Or face the combined Viking forces of Denmark, Norway, and Normandy. He has no choice but to comply.”
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Elfi stared at the scarred, bearded face of the fearless Duke of Normandy. The long, braided blond hair of her father’s respected friend and revered jarl was now streaked with silver, and deep wrinkles warred with battle scars that marred his savage visage. Although he was nearly fifty winters, Jarl Rikard still bore the broad shoulders and massive strength of a vigorous Viking brute.
He well understood the necessity of personal sacrifice for political alliance through marriage, Elfi mused, as she compared her own pitiful plight to the Duke of Normandy’s painful past. Jarl Rikard had been forced to abandon his more danico— the Breton wife Lova whom he deeply loved—to marry Emma, daughter of Hugh the Great, the puissant Count of Paris. By renouncing a pagan and marrying a Christian, Richard the Fearless had aligned himself with Parisian power, forcing King Lothaire of West Francia to officially proclaim him as Richard I, the reigning Duke of Normandy.
Elfi seethed in silent rage at the injustice of her fate. According to the archaic Frankish law called la loi salique, I cannot rule in my own right. Nor can I wield my sword to defend this castle as a shield maiden warrior. I am as skilled with a blade as the Viking brother who trained me. Yet, as a woman, I must sacrifice myself through marriage.
She exhaled in grim, bitter resignation. When Dag died defending étretat, I vowed to avenge his death and reclaim Galadir from the vile Count of Soissons. I want to honor my brother with a proper Viking burial and place his beloved Ljósálfar blade with his body in the sacred grove near our castle. If a Danish jarl becomes my husband, I will have the strength of his formidable Viking army to force Alberic of Soissons to free my father and relinquish my brother’s Elven sword. I’ll fortify this castle, rebuild étretat, and defend the white chalk cliffs of the Pays de Caux. Since I must marry, it is far better for my betrothed to be a valorous Viking jarl than a perfidious Frankish count.
Richard’s resonant voice interrupted her dismal reverie and reverberated across the room. “I’ll send a messenger to the Count of Soissons, reminding him that the Treaty of Saint-Clair-Sur-Epte grants me, as Duke of Normandy, sovereignty over the entire coast of the Pays de Caux . Including this castle and the walled city of étretat.” He eyed Bjarke, Varg, and her father’s guards with a confident, commanding glare. “I shall inform Soissons that he — a vassal of the Frankish king Lothaire — has violated the terms of the treaty by twice attacking le Chateau Blanc, killing your brother Dag , and abducting Lord Thorfinn, one of my most esteemed Norman nobles. I’ll insist that the Count of Soissons bring your father—unharmed and in good health — and relinquish Lord Thorfinn and the sword Galadir to me at the Christian church of Reims on the first of October. Furthermore, I shall inform Soissons that I irrevocably refuse his offer for your hand in marriage. For you are betrothed to a Danish jarl and will be wedded at le Chateau Blanc during the Nordic Yule. Finally, I shall stipulate that if Alberic of Soissons — vassal of the Frankish King Lothaire — does not conform to these explicit demands of the reigning Duke of Normandy, I shall consider the Treaty of Saint-Clair-sur-Epte invalid. And sail up the Seine to siege Paris on l’ ?le de la Cité.”
An elated and exuberant Bjarke expounded on Jarl Rikard’s superb stratagem. “With Normandy fortified by an alliance of Viking armies, Soissons would never risk subjecting his king to a naval attack on Paris. He’ll release Lord Thorfinn, return Galadir— and adhere to the terms of the treaty by halting any further attacks on étretat.” He grinned profusely, despite the visible discomfort to his injured cheek. “Once Lord Thorfinn has safely returned to Chateau Blanc , we’ll feast to victory — and Lady Elfi’s betrothal—at the Haustblót Fall Festival. And celebrate her Viking wedding with a glorious Nordic Yule.”
While everyone else cheered the joyous prospect of her upcoming marriage to Harald Bluetooth’s Danish jarl, Elfi silently sipped her golden mead and inwardly cursed her impending doom.