Beware of Jezebel

19. The epilogue

Ragnar had been chatting with Floki for hours now and had consumed an unknown number of horns of mead, when he spotted a young woman in black dress wandering between the tables and looking very out of place. Every few steps she would stop and look at the men seated, then move on. Her looks fit just right with Ivar's description, and he tilted his head towards the woman, catching Ivar's attention. He saw his son's eyes widen and Ivar stood up on his crutches as fast as he could.

"DIIITAAA!" Ivar bellowed. Benedicta's eyes found him and gathering her skirts she ran toward his table. With sinking heart Ivar realised it wasn't a simple black dress, but a funeral garment.

Benedicta halted right in front of Ivar and clasped her hands together. "When I died, I asked God to let me see you again. He allowed me to have one last feast with you," she said uncharacteristically timidly.

"Why do you look... you didn't change," he said, his gaze lingering on her young face.

Benedicta chuckled. "I asked to show up like this. I've lived to ninety years – not a pretty sight," she said, her voice slipping back to the lecturing tone he grew to love over the years, almost drowned out by voices of feasting men. He pulled her down to sit on the bench next to him.

"You look just like the first time I saw you, back in York. And if I put this," Ivar murmured and playfully threw some black cloth over her head, "you're sister Mary."

Benedicta let out her signature laugh- one exhale, that sounded like glass breaking, her shoulders heaving up once."I was worried God would punish me for breaking my vows. But he did not."

"You Christians always make everything sad," Floki grunted, observing the woman distastefully.

Benedicta nodded to the man. "And you must be Floki. Ivar told me a lot about you. And you as well, your majesty," she said, turning to Ragnar, who didn't look happy as well. At least he wasn't angry, and wore a curious expression.

"People say you didn't cry during my funeral," Ivar interjected, bringing her attention back to him.

"And thus that I've never loved you?" Benedicta said and sighed. "I... wanted to let it go as soon as possible. I've lived for fifty more summers, Ivar. To spend that, and then the eternity without you, would be..." Benedicta trailed off, her eyes meeting Ivar's. Then, she smiled at him and for a moment Ragnar could swear he saw King Ecbert's grinning face.

"Eirik will come soon," said Benedicta and crossed her legs, resting one elbow on the table. "He will tell you his stories. He was already an old man when I left."

"But if he dies of old age, will he come to Valhalla?" Ivar asked, concerned.

Benedicta chuckled.

"Oh, he won so many battles, I'm sure he will. They call him Eirik the Black-eyed," she said and leaned closer to Ivar, grabbing herself a horn of ale from the table. "They say his gaze alone kills- if he looks directly at his enemy, they die."

 Ivar curled up corner of his mouth into a smile, adjusted himself on the bench and puffed out his chest. 

"Your daughters, however, will not," said Benedicta, trying to gauge Ivar's reaction with her peripheral vision.

Ivar looked at her, his eyebrows furrowed. Benedicta didn't look him in the eyes.

"You know they took after me. And when you died, they felt it was safe to... pray to who they wanted. The oldest two are very respected ladies across Europe. Hjördis and Sigrid, princesses of Mercia and Kattegat."

Ivar nodded, his jaw tense. "Did they marry?"

"Only Dagmar, our third girl. She died very young, poor beauty. I had to raise her daughter."