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*
The girl, Aethelflaed had caught a glimpses of when she had been allowed outside of her cell, had swaggered into her cell and thrown her an apple nonchalantly as if they had known each other for years and she was paying her best friend a visit.
She could not have been much older than 13 she thought but she wore breeches, like the men and carried many a knife on her belt, more than one should really need in their own fortress.
“So my uncle seems to like you.” She said, kohl-lined eyes watching her like a fox might a rabbit as she took a bite out of her own fruit.
“I’m afraid I don’t know who your uncle would be.” Aethelflaed opted for politeness and turned the red apple over in her hands to avoid the sharp gaze of the girl.
The teen snorted. “Uncle Erik. He’s always been soft, father says.”
Aethelflaed blinked. “You’re Sigefrid’s daughter?”
Standing to her full height of perhaps 5 feet, the girl shot her a feral grin that she must have inherited from her father.
“What do you want?”
The girl shrugged. “I like my uncle. I don’t want him dead for some Saxon bitch who tricks him so she can escape.”
Aethelflaed saw her fingers stroking over the throwing knives on her belt.
“I don’t want him dead either.” She said, carefully. “I care for your uncle a great deal.”
The girl nodded like that was all she had needed to hear. “I will cut your throat if you hurt him.” She said and planted herself on a bale of straw next to the door. A challenge?
“I will let you.” Aethelflaed softly admitted, unsure what to do and so raising the apple to take a bite.
The girl watched her closely and it made her nervous which was silly. This was a child. She should not be able to rattle her like this. But then, she was a danish child. Everything about them seemed different.
“You’re married.”
“Yes.”
“How does that work for Christians?”
She did not know how to answer that but her face must have given her away because the girl snorted, laughing.
***
She had been persistent, the little heathen. She would come visit almost as often as her uncle and kept asking questions, questions about what it was like to be a princess, if Aethelflaed knew how to handle a sword, how to throw knives, did she have a favourite weapon?
A few times, Erik would catch her when she stayed long enough. He did not seem to mind, just grabbed her by the scruff of her tunic and gently shoved her out, sometimes wrestling with her if she did not duck out of his grip quick enough.
“Her mother dropped her on my brother’s doorstep when she was perhaps three years old. Some woman he had tangled with for a few months. She told us her name and that she was sent there to find her father. She was a little shield-maiden even back then and hid on the longboat when we left for Mercia this time.” He told Aethelflaed as they lay huddled together on her cot.
“She’s never even told me her name.” She commented, idly twirling his beard between her fingers.
“Toril.” He grinned and she could tell that the love his niece had for him was returned in equal measures.
“She told me she would kill me if I hurt you.” It was lightly said and indeed made him chuckle.
“I knew you two would get on well.”
She could not help the giggle and ended up smothering it in his chest.
“My brother is not a particularly compassionate father.” He eventually confessed, the words coming haltingly. “I try to help but she is… she needs…”
“Another woman to talk to?”
He ducked down to kiss her forehead. “Do you think it’s too late to make her into a lady?”
“Probably.” She curled herself around him even tighter. “But what do I know? I’m not a very good one, it would seem.”
***
Toril was a curious thing. She was inquisitive and soaked up new knowledge like a sponge but there was also that darker side of her, the part that wanted to impress her father by emulating his bloodthirstiness.
Aethelflaed did not think her naturally cruel. Her uncle’s influence showed itself too. She had watched her cut one of the men because he had torn the dress off a woman as she had been working. Even Haesten seemed to respect the slip of a girl, at least he feared crossing her and with her interest in their hostage, it seemed Sigefrid also mellowed towards her a little.
He ignored the grumblings about how much freedom Erik was granting her, about how much time he spent by her side. In fact, he shut down anyone who dared gossip about his brother.
Only then her father’s envoy arrived along with her husband and she watched as even Erik lost his temper with the weasel she was still bound to.
Toril had asked her how she could stay with a man who would do these things to her and she had tried to explain but the girl had not understood. She was, at heart, still a child like her sister Aethelgifu and did not see how life was not like the storybooks.
When Uthred had replied to the question of if Aethelred spoke for her father in the negative, she had expected her husband to get humiliated by her captors. Instead there was a dull thud and she gasped to see an arrow stick out of his back.
Everyone looked up to where the attack could have come from as Aethelred slumped to his knees in front of the two viking warlords.
Up on the roof of the hall stood Toril, bow still in hand and grinning from ear to ear. She called something that sounded like an insult in her mothertongue before slinging the weapon over her slim shoulder and nimbly climbing down from her perch.
“Easy! Lower your weapons!” Aethelflaed looked back to find Erik trying to placate the Saxon party. “No one else will attack anyone here. We’re still negotiating.”
Toril was suddenly beside her. “Solved your problem, auntie.” She squeezed her shoulder like she had not just shot a negotiator in the back and sidled up to her father.
“I should have you whipped for this, child.” Sigefrid told her but the amused expression on his face showed that he would not follow through.
“Did you really want to listen to more of this? He was all puffed up like a peacock and now you’re rid of the Lord of Mercia.” She asked, looking a little wary of what he might do.
The warlord took her in a little longer, then grabbed her roughly into what looked like more of a headlock than a hug and turned back to the envoy. “It seems we have some talking to do.” He told them, chuckling at the looks they both received.
Behind him, Aethelred wheezed a breath and fell over completely.
She dared meet Erik’s eyes then for a brief moment. Neither of them had expected this to happen.
“Take the pig’s arse and get him cleaned up. He’s not dead yet.” He eventually said, leaving the envoy from Mercia room to pick up their wounded Lord. “We’ll talk in the hall.”
***
“He might not be dead yet, but he’s not going to see another moon.” Toril looked far too pleased with herself as she stood in front of her father and uncle. Both had had plenty to say to her but it had seemed to glide off her like water off greased leathers. “I dragged the arrow’s tip through the latrines. The fever’s going to take him sooner or later.”
This time Sigefrid did get up, took two long steps and back-handed her.
Aethelflaed was still present in a corner and Erik’s eyes flickered towards her as she flinched at the sound.
Toril wiped at her bleeding lip, licked it and looked up at her father with annoyance. “You wanted to do it yourself. I know you did. Why am I being punished?”
“The Gods have given you a child who is too much like yourself, brother.” Erik spoke up before Sigefrid’s temper could get the better of him again.
“What do we do now? You heard them! They cannot guarantee the ransom will be paid now that we killed a lord.”
“They don’t know we killed him. Any wound can get infected. Especially an arrow.”
- “Hold your tongue, girl or I swear I will -“
“Ask them to give you Mercia.”
It was only when all eyes were on her, that Aethelflaed realised she had spoken out loud.
“What?” Sigefrid squinted at her, hand still clutching his daughter’s collar.
“You killed the Lord of Mercia, by right of conquest, the land is now yours.” She somehow managed, and, straightening her back, she prayed for the courage to say what she hoped was now within her reach.
“You don’t need the ransom. I am the Lady of Mercia. I can legitimise your claim.” Somehow she managed to lock eyes with Erik. “Offer peace terms to my father. I will stay with you in good faith. If it’s land you want, you have it now.”
The hall was silent. Haesten made to speak up in protest but it was Sigefrid who shut him up with a gesture. He scrutinised Aethelflaed. “This will work?”
She nodded, not daring to break eye-contact with the wilder of the two brothers. “I can make it happen. But you must not attack Wessex. You must accept to divide up only Mercia between you.”
“I will have Mercia.” Sigefrid grinned at her. “My brother can have you.” He looked at Erik who was watching him warily. “You’ve humped her enough. You might as well keep her.”
“And where shall I live, brother?”
Sigefrid shrugged. “I’ll give you a hall and lands somewhere. Who knows, I’ll probably get bored and find myself new lands to raid. You’re the one who wanted to settle down eventually.”
Toril was watching them barely hiding her glee and when Aethelflaed met her eyes, the girl grinned with bloodied teeth. Apparently she had been plotting this all this time. Perhaps she had more of her uncle’s mind than her father’s.
If God was good, perhaps she would make a good ally in these uncertain times.
*