The Kings of the Sea (The Saga of Hasting the Avenger Book 3) by C.J. Adrien

Author:C.J. Adrien [Adrien, C.J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: historical, sailing, medieval, vikings, norse, viking, viking epic, viking age, viking battles, viking culture
Publisher: Runestone Books
Published: 2021-05-07T05:00:00+00:00

10

Salomon the Usurper

In the aftermath of the plague, we burned the bodies of the dead. It took days to burn them all. Though it shattered my heart into a thousand pieces, I found the strength to carry Skírlaug and Ulfrùna to the pyres. My memory of Asa’s pyre roared back into my mind and flashed before my eyes. I had to ask Bjarki to keep the others away while I wept. Once alone, I fell to my knees and watched the smoke columns reach for the heavens. Nearly all I‘d held dear had left me. As Loànn had insisted, I was a rich man. Rich, yes, but in material wealth only.

For some men, the agony I’d lived through might have proved too much. Something did change in me that day. My whole life, I had waged a war within myself, as if the worlds of the Danes and the Celts battled within my heart. Yet, I had made it work, and though many disapproved, I understood that no matter how much I veered in one direction, the other side would harken back to me.

As the bodies burned, I could not help but confront the impermanence of all life and all things. I realized that much of the suffering in my wake had to do with my seeking approval from one side or the other, one person or another. It would never work. Instead, I had to look inward and ask if I could ever approve of myself. If I genuinely wished to walk the path the gods had set out for me, I had to be the man who all along was meant to fulfill this destiny. That man would never again look outside himself for acceptance.

My monastery felt cold and empty. The only company I had at night when the ship captains returned to their homes was the thin and frail Agathe. She had lost everything, too. What a powerful king I had become, alone in a far-off monastery with a single, sickly servant.

She and I spent much time together in the days before my departure for Salomon’s court. Wounded souls have a way of finding each other in the darkest of times. Other servants from the village helped her prepare our meals, clean the chambers, and wash my clothes. One night, after everyone had left and the village servants had prepared a warm bath for me in front of the hearth, Agathe sat beside the tub—a bronze import from the empire—with a cloth to scrub my back. She noticed my scars and began tracing them with her fingers.

“You have had a hard life,” she said.

“The world is a cruel place.”

“I heard you were a slave once.”

“I was.”

She followed the path of each scar down my back. It felt good, so I allowed her to continue.

When she touched the water, she pulled back and said, “It’s getting cold. I will fetch more hot water.”

She stood to leave, but her hand lingered on the tub’s rim. I surrendered to my impulses and grasped her wrist.

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