Destiny (Varangian Book 4)

Book summary

In the mid-11th century, Harald Sigurdsson's reign as King of Norway is challenged when the exiled Tostig Godwinson seeks to manipulate him into claiming the English throne. Meanwhile, a desperate pursuit across Central Europe unfolds as Nikolias races to save his love, Leoni, from the clutches of a vengeful rival. The final installment of Stuart G. Yates's Varangian series intertwines love, betrayal, and war, culminating in a fierce battle for England's fate.

Excerpt from Destiny (Varangian Book 4)

A Woman’s Tale

It began that bright day when I, together with the novice Antony, tramped across the downs towards the village of Much Winton. Several elders had come to the Priory of St Anselm’s to beg our service. At first sceptical over what they recounted, such was their frenzy that Father Grenwald, our prior, at last, agreed and, well-resourced with various herbs and concoctions, sent us on our way. We arrived some three days later, the fresh sea air invading our nostrils and fortifying our spirits.

Ominously, perhaps, no sooner had we passed through the village entrance than the sky blackened, and rain pounded down upon our heads.

“We’ll put you up in Stephen’s barn if that is to your liking,” said Beadwof, the elder who had led us there.

“Stephen be a Norman name,” muttered Antony.

Beadwof’s hard stare settled upon my young companion. The novice wilted under its fury.

“Norman travellers came here and built that barn.” A gnarled finger pointed towards where we were to rest. “It’s as fine a building as any of us have ever seen.”

“I meant no criticism,” said Antony quickly. Blinking, he turned to me for support. “Merely an observation.”

I smiled, unsure why Beadwof should take such exception to Antony's words. “Let us go and make ourselves comfortable.” My gaze locked on Beadwof’s. “We shall then speak with the woman.”

Later, having shaken out the worst of the water from our habits, we prayed for divine guidance. Emerging into a squall, I doubted our pleas had been answered.

“This does not bode well,” grumbled Antony.

“If this is the only obstacle we have to navigate, we will be well-blessed, rest assured.” I smiled reassuringly. “Have faith.”

Catching sight of Beadwof standing in the entrance to a sagging hovel, beckoning for us to approach, we threw our cowls over our heads and ran bent double towards him. Even with my head down I could not fail but see, in the village square, a man bound and locked within a cell of iron. He sat huddled within himself. Having no roof, the cell could provide no shelter as the rainwater poured down upon his head. Black eyes peered towards me, and it seemed to me that he had taken a beating before his incarceration. I shuddered at the sight and continued towards the hovel.

Inside, a tiny crackling fire gave off an inviting orange glow. There were several villagers crouched around it. Beyond them, set against the far wall, a woman lay upon a moss-stuffed truckle bed. Her eyes were wide open, and she was shivering, surprising given how warm the interior proved to be.

“She’s been like that for the past four days or so,” explained Beadwof. “She left to go to market over at Seaforth ten days ago and when she finally returned, she was like this. We can’t get a word out of her.”

I nodded towards Antony. “Boil water,” I said. “Add three spoonfuls of Asian spice and two of ground ginger. We may increase the ginger as necessary.”

Bowing, the novice went to find a bowl and do my bidding.

“We thought it was a death-fever,” said Beadwof, “so one of the old women prescribed Moonflowers.”

The times I have come across this sort of uneducated dabbling in medicine are countless. I bunched up my fists for I was furious. “You are a fool for following baseless advice. Where is this crone that offered up this nonsense? She should be flogged for dabbling in such sorcery.”

The man wilted under my assault and backed off, head lowered, his previous aloofness swept away in an instant. “She is nought but an old woman, Father. She knows well the ways of the earth.”

“I’ll not have devilry here,” I hissed, rounding on the others assembled there. They shrank away from my words. “This is nothing but ancient myth and hearsay. I’ll not have it, not in my presence!” I took a large breath. “Get out, all of you!”

It took but a moment for them to retreat, leaving myself and Antony alone to deal with the stricken woman.

We administered the brew I’d ordered to be made. Supporting the back of her head, she took tiny sips from the wooden goblet I held to her lips.

As I knew it would, the colour returned to her cheeks, her eyes grew bright, and her body relaxed. I lay her gently back to a resting position.

“Can you tell us what happened?”

With a little effort, she turned her head to face me. The tears welled up under the bottom lids of her eyes. “Oh Holy Father,” she said, voice brittle, wavering. She reached out a hand to the wooden crucifix dangling from my neck. Its touch seemed to give her renewed strength.

I curled my hand around hers. “Be reassured, my child, the Lord will guide you. Speak.”

“I was at market,” she said and swallowed hard. I nodded in encouragement. “I saw him from a distance, his face so … handsome, it has to be said. He smiled and, may God forgive me, I felt a thrill race through me. He was a thegn, dressed in fine woollen clothing, hair well combed, shoes stout and fine. A man of wealth. Privilege. For such a man to show me favour was undreamt of.”

With her slow but relentless recovery, it was clear for all to see that she was comely, her skin lustrous, cheekbones so prominent. A beauty.

“Many must have fallen under your spell,” said Antony.

I shot him a vexed look. “There are no spells here, Antony.”

“It is but a saying, Father.”

“An unfitting one. Remember your place.”

He bowed and shuffled off into the corner.

I returned to her. “What is your name, child?”

“Claennis.”

“Tell me what occurred, Claennis.”

“I am afraid, Father. What if I am judged a harlot?”

“God is our only judge, Claennis.”

“I am ashamed.”

“Tell it.”

She closed her eyes for a moment as if gathering herself. “He spoke to me. Such kind and gentle words. He told me he was the king’s brother and that he would give me a life unlike any I could imagine.”

I slowly drew in a breath. “The king’s brother? He said that?”

“Yes. Tostig was his name. Such bearing, such command. I felt honoured, Father that such a man as he should show me favour.”

“You lay with him?”

Her eyes closed again. “Lord forgive me, yes, I did. Many times. I have never …”

“But you are married?”

“Was, Father. My husband died last winter. I have been alone since.”

The burning sensation around my jawline developed. Despite anticipating such a confession, her words still came as a shock. I am not worldly in such matters and although many a monk has partaken of carnal pleasures, I have always resisted.

“Such was the intensity of his love, I felt as if I were being carried away to heaven. I’m sorry.” Her grip on the crucifix tightened.

My tongue grew large in my mouth. “Heaven?”

“It was divine, Father. His body, so close to mine, the things he did. I never knew I could experience such sensations. It was so pleasurable, I screamed, Father and that is when the soldiers came. They burst into the little barn he’d taken me to, half expecting to find a murder taking place, I shouldn’t wonder. There were furious words before Tostig managed to send them away. He was laughing out loud, head thrown back, and he stood over me, confident of his magnificent body. I was thrilled at the sight of him. He put his fists on his naked hips, licked his lips, and said, ‘How would you like to come away with me? I’ll love you every night and every morn and you will be so filled you will never wish to leave.’ I am ashamed to say, I consented.”

“It was as if you were drugged,” said Antony from the corner.

This time I did not admonish him. His words were exactly what I myself was thinking.

“Yes. I was. Drugged by him, his ardour. I could not resist. So, he took me down to the port and introduced me to his crew. They were a fearful lot, but Tostig had such command over them that none dared approach me. Set off-centre stood a little covered shelter and it was into this that he put me, supplying me with numerous fur skins and woollen blankets. I did not know what was to become of me but so consumed was I by his insatiable loving that I cared not. He took me there and then, ravishing me repeatedly. Afterwards, he stepped outside. I heard his great booming voice calling the men to their oars and soon we set off.”

“The king has banished Tostig from these shores,” I explained. My throat tight with her retelling. “No good can come from any liaison with him.”

“I know that now, Father. But what could I do at the time? I was lost to him.”

“It is the absence of his love-making that gives you fever?” asked Antony.

“You carry his child?” I gasped, dreading her answer. If she bore Tostig’s child, King Harold would seek her out and put her to death. There could be no doubt about that.

She shook her head. “Dear Lord, no! I cannot, Father. I am barren.”

“And there you have it!”

It was Beadwof, bursting into the hovel, face alive with fury. Clearly, he had been listening outside the door.

“How dare you interrupt my meeting,” I snapped, getting to my feet.

Antony stepped forward, to block Beadwof’s approach. Without a thought, the big villager swatted him away like a fly with a swinging, back-handed blow, sending my novice crashing to the ground.

Breathing hard, barely able to control himself, Beadwof railed like someone possessed, “I knew it! Barren. That’s God’s punishment on this whore, Father! I thought perhaps she was possessed, that was why I came for you, to banish the demon inside her. But now I know the truth of it, so help me. Leave us now, Father. Your prayers have no use here. She is a whore, and we shall deal with her in our own way.” He drew a knife from his belt. “Step aside, Father.”

“I shall not,” I said, my words sounding stronger and more assured than the twisting and rolling sensations in my guts made me feel. I saw the look on Beadwof’s face and was sorely afraid.

“So help me, Father, I’ll take you with her if needs be.”

He brandished the knife.

I stood my ground whilst behind me, Claennis struggled to her feet.

All at once, Antony reared up and landed the quarterstaff he’d managed to find in a corner with bone-crushing force across the back of Beadwof’s head, knocking him face-first to the ground. He lay there making no sound as the blood plumed around his inert form.

I got down next to him to check for any life signs. I froze in horror, rocked backwards, and made the sign of the cross. I slowly raised my head to look deeply into Antony’s face. “He’s dead,” I said.

Claennis, crumpling, wailed and Antony, the staff falling from his fingers, staggered backwards, his face at first ashen. Shortly, however, he rallied himself and grew defensive. “Better it is he who is dead rather than you, Father.” He showed no remorse, his face tense, hard.

We had come to this bedraggled place to give aid to a poor, confused girl. Instead, we had committed murder and now must face the consequences.