by T S Florence
Isla could not hide her surprise in her face or her voice “You remember that?” She said, more than asked.
“I will always remember the girl I saw standing under the blacksmith’s shelter, daring me to come closer, protecting the young street boy. I admired you then and I admire you now, princess”
Isla felt her face go hot with embarrassment. “Well the men in power don’t care to protect those who need it so someone needs to.” Isla said.
“The man waiting for you in Newcastle will be lucky to have you” Ivar said, looking away.
“I will come with you, for the sake of my people. But I will escape, mark my words, Ivar the Cruel. I want no man, and no man will ever have me again. I may be your prisoner now, but I will have my freedom and I will not let you get in my way.”
Ivar
Ivar turned back, smiling, remembering the fierce girl from the smithy’s shelter. She was still in there. A little older, and a few knocks from life, but still there.
“If you can escape my grasp then you deserve your freedom, girl” Ivar said, before heading to his chambers.
Women make men weak, and weak men die. Damn you old man, haunting me from your ocean grave.
When Ivar woke the next morning, Isla was waiting for him outside his door. “The people have agreed for me to leave. I told them I am leaving of my own free will, so you would be smart not to lock me in a cage like a criminal or tie a rope around my neck like a slave. I have seen how you people treat your prisoners.” This girl has the soul of a warrior, the soul of a Viking, a shield maiden Ivar looked down at Isla’s behind as she turned and walked away, without waiting for a response.
After leaving the town, Ivar tied a rope to Isla’s waist, the other end to his waist.
“So I see you’ve resorted to treating me as a slave, now that the people of Chester are not here to witness your treatment of me?” Isla asked, flustered, as he lifted he helped her back onto her horse.
“Maybe it is I who is your slave” Ivar said to Isla, a smile playing across his lips, as he mounted his own horse, just a few feet away.
“What if your horse pulls me off?” Isla asked, ignoring Ivar.
“I trained these horses myself. They will go where I want them to go,” Ivar kicked his heels in, causing both horses to being walking again.
“How do I know you won’t simply kill me and my uncle when we get to Chester?” Isla asked, after half a days’ riding.
“You don’t” Ivar said, turning his head, scrutinising her with his gaze. There’s no fear in those eyes. There is pain, but not fear. There’s strength. Strength and pain.
Women make men weak, and weak men die. Ivar broke his gaze, looking forward. For the first time in his life, questioning his own motives. Could I take her if I wanted? Would she let me take her?
As the sun began to set, Isla wriggled in her saddle, showing her discomfort. She would not be used to riding the long distances that Ivar and his men had ridden for the last years, raiding highland forts, so Ivar decided they had made enough ground for one day, and signalled for the large band of warriors to stop.
“Ragnar, set up camp. Skald, scout the perimeter of our camp and check for any Englishmen.” He said this in English, for the sake of Isla to understand what was taking place. She looked at him, surprised at his choice of English, and gave a small smile. This pleased Ivar greatly. Men would kill to have a woman smile at them like that.
Ragnar was one of Ivar’s blood soldiers. He was known as Ragnar the bold. He was a man proud of his Norse heritage, and loved battle, much more so than Ivar. Ivar fought out of necessity. He killed out of necessity. Bjorn told him that it wasn’t a man’s love of battle that made him a great fighter, but simply his ability to understand the necessity of fighting, and in what situations a man should decide to fight. If a leader could help it, he should not fight, nor lead his men to fight battles where they might needlessly die. Reckless men are weak, and weak men die.
Ivar helped Isla off her horse, untying her at the waist, his hand brushing her rump. Her face shot up and her gaze said all the cursing she needed, without uttering a word. Ivar tried to control his emotion, but a smile stirred at the corners of his mouth, with his loins stirring in unison. “I’ll kill you before I escape if you try anything with me, Ivar the Cruel” Isla said, causing Ivar to frown. This girl is fierce.
“I should tell you that you’ll be tied to me while we sleep. Since you’ve revealed your intention to escape, I think it’s necessary that I hold myself responsible for your captivity.” Ivar said, expecting strong opposition. But he got none. She simply stared back, taking in his gaze, not betraying her inner emotion.
Isla
Isla watched Ivar as he took off his great white bear fur, removing his battle armour, and finally, his shirt. Ivar stood before her, wearing only a thin pair of pants. His body did not look like that of an Englishman. It was more muscular. His arms looked like an Englishman’s legs, thick with muscle. His legs looked like the knotted tree trunks, lean and taut. His stomach was not fat like Tomlin’s, but lean, with muscles showing that Isla did not know existed. What happened to make these men so… different?
Isla felt a stirring in her center, something she had never before experienced in her life. She felt something she never thought she would ever feel again. Longing. Longing to be held, longing to be loved. But this did not stop her protests, when he lay down beside her, to share her bed.
“I don’t think you need to have your body pressed up against my backside, do you?” Isla asked, as Ivar settled in behind her.
“If you didn’t want me keeping a close eye on you then you shouldn’t have told me you would try to escape, princess” Ivar moved his arm around, his hand landing on her stomach.
Isla rolled her body over, so she could face Ivar. “I suppose it does look a little difficult to see with scars like that across your eye.”
“Both my eyes still serve their purpose,” Ivar raised his eyebrows, as if to demonstrate.
“You didn’t have that scar when I saw you all those years ago” Isla said, the curiosity getting the better of her.
“A Scotsman tried to kill me” Ivar said, as if he was explaining what he had for breakfast that morning.
“And why was that, did you kill his wife?” Isla asked, prodding to get a deeper answer.
“No, he killed my father, and so I leaped at him in a moment of weakness. It almost ended in me losing my own life too. As you can see, I lived to see another day, and he did not.”
“You watched a man kill your father?” Isla asked, shocked at his admission.
“It is a part of the Viking life. These are the prices we choose to pay for our way of life” Ivar said, quietly.
“I’m sorry.” Isla said, realising now why he showed a hint of emotion when telling her that her own father had died.
Ivar moved his hand around, resting it on Isla’s lower back. “We have both lost our fathers. It is one small thing we can bond on, if nothing else.”
“You don’t seem so cruel” Isla looked into Ivar’s eyes, gauging his reaction to her statement. She noticed his jaw twitch at her statement.
“Norsemen call me Ivar the Clever, not Ivar the Cruel. I believe Ivar the Cruel was a name started by the Englishmen to spread hatred.”
“So you are not cruel then?” Isla asked.
“I suppose the men I have killed would think me cruel” Ivar replied.
“What would your wife think of you sharing a bed with another female?” Isla asked, feeling her face go red from her own questioning. She felt compelled to find out more about this confusing warrior.
“I suppose she would not like it, if I had one” Ivar replied.
Isla felt her chest tighten at the thought of this man before her, without a woman, lying with her in bed. A warrior who could take her if he wanted. A warrior who took a whole kingdom in a single day, yet he lies next to her, betraying his name, Ivar the Cruel.
“Sleep now, we have
a long day of travel ahead” Ivar said, closing his eyes.
But Isla could not let her feelings trick her into a false sense of security. This warrior was lying with her only because he was being rewarded with a large sum of money. If it wasn’t for her uncle and Ivar, Tomlin would still be alive, and she would still be getting mistreated by him. But now, this warrior intended to sell her off to the highest bidder. I must fool Ivar into a false sense of security, and escape.
Ivar
After a restless sleep, Ivar awoke to Isla sleeping soundly in his arms. He felt himself harden at the realisation, as his cobwebs from the night’s sleep were brushed away. She looked delicate when asleep, all of the ferocity she has when protecting those who need it sleeping with her. He rose quietly, going down to the stream to wash. When he arrived back at the camp, Isla was already awake, boiling water over the fire, and cutting food for breakfast.
“What happened to escaping?” Ivar moved next to her, stretching out his aching muscles from the day before.
“I have decided that escape is not worth it. My next husband surely couldn’t be worse than Tomlin, so I will go with you willingly” Isla said. Ivar was known for being clever amongst his men for his ability to determine the next move of the enemy. But he did not anticipate Isla deciding on this. Women make men weak, and weak men die. Ivar had gotten too close, already. Frustrated at his own weakness, Ivar turned around, walking to Skald.
“I will need you to keep a close eye on the girl today” Ivar kicked Skald’s sleeping body, causing him to acknowledge the command.
Isla
Isla watched Ivar from behind, as he navigated his horse through the thick woods. A warrior called Skald, tall and lean, with a bow on his back, rode closely to Isla.
“You watch him like a hawk watches their prey” Skald turned to Isla, weighing her with his cold calculating eyes.
“Don’t tell me a band of warriors is really worried about a female,” Isla said hiding her discomfort she felt by his cold eyes.
“Ivar has not let a girl get close to him before, and you are one of these fancy English women who courts rich men and makes them believe every word you say. I can see your games, even if Ivar cannot.” Skald said, turning to look ahead.
The huge man who held Isla in the castle while Ivar killed Tomlin rode his horse between Skald and Isla, interrupting the conversation. “Pay no mind to Skald, he does not wish to feel any emotion whatsoever. He is a ruthless warrior, with a heart for no man or woman,” he turned, beaming a broad smile at her.
“Well thank you, I will try my best” Isla said, surprised at this warrior’s easy smile and charm. “Your English is very fine, you even sound like you have a slight accent, how did you manage this?” Isla asked, curious.
“I married an English woman,” Magnus said, a smiling at his own admission.
He married an English woman? Now Isla was truly shocked. Her father had told her once that she should not judge these men so readily, simply because they are fearless fighters, but instead look to what they are like outside of battle. Maybe there was more wisdom in his words than she once thought.
“How did you meet the woman?” Isla asked.
“I killed her husband by accident when taking some of his cattle. She hated me at first, but I stayed with her for a winter and kept her and her children alive. I guess she came to enjoy my company. She is a good woman” Magnus said.
“And now you raise her children like your own?” Isla asked, this man continuing to make her feel more and more amazed by the second.
“Yes, they took a little longer to grow to like me, but they were young when they sadly lost their father, so it was an adjustment they could make.” Magnus said.
“Are you not afraid that she might be wishing to kill you one day, for killing her husband?” Isla asked.
“Oh, her husband was a drunk, and she did try to kill me several times. She got close once, when she stabbed me in my chest with my own eating knife, but then she patched up the wound and nursed me back to health over several weeks out of guilt. After that I asked her to marry me and this is how we came to be.” Magnus told his story with such joy that was not befitting for a man of such size and terror.
Skald spoke to Magnus in their native tongue, and although Isla could not understand the words, she could understand the tone. He was chastising Magnus for telling Isla so much of his story. Magnus spoke back to Skald in the same jovial tone that he had spoken to Isla in, and then stopped paying Skald any attention whatsoever.
Ivar
Although Ivar could not see Isla, he could hear her talking to both Skald and Magnus. A strange feeling took over, a feeling he had not felt before. Something he could not describe.
He was annoyed at himself for his own decision to order Skald to escort her for the day, he was annoyed that Magnus seemed so happy to be talking to her, and he was annoyed that he was not a part of the conversation. At least Magnus already has an English woman, Ivar thought to himself, bitterly. Is this what it’s like for a woman to make a man weak, is this what my father spoke of?
They stopped for a rest after the sun had passed the center of the sky, stopping at the edge of a thick wooded area, by a stream that led to long grassy fields, with a singular well-trodden dirt path leading through it.
Norsemen love water. Norsemen really love cold water. It didn’t take long for the warriors to take off their clothes and get into the water. Ivar stayed out of the water, watching Isla. She sat by the bank, watching the men swim. Did she admire their bodies? Did she want to lay with one of them and not with him? Cut your stupid thoughts out man.
Ivar walked over to Isla “Go and get yourself some food from the food wagon so you are not slowing us down when we leave.” Ivar said, his tone harsh.
Isla looked at him uncertainly as she rose to her feet, before nodding, and turning around to get food. Ivar turned back, looking at the men, envious that they could live in the moment, enjoy the cold water, and not think about how they would get through the winters. Ignorant men are weak, and weak men die. Since Bjorn’s death, Ivar could not afford to be weak. Too many people depended on him.
Ivar turned back, to see the back of Isla’s cloak spread in the air like wings behind her, as her horse galloped up the well-trodden path that wound through the grassy fields. She was escaping. Ivar had taken his eyes from her for less than two minutes, and she had capitalised on the opportunity and escaped. He looked to the shallow part of the river. She had used her horse to drag the food wagon to the middle of the stream, slowing down anyone who would pursue her.
Ivar grabbed a rope from the wagon containing ropes, climbed onto his horse, and began the pursuit. Isla was light, so her horse would be faster, but he doubted she would out ride him. This was more an inconvenience than a problem. He kicked his heels hard into his horse, causing it to leap forwards. The food wagon left sitting in the river had only slowed him down by a small amount, but it had slowed him nonetheless.
“Get out of the damn river and prepare for the afternoon ride. And get that gods cursed cart out of the river” Ivar bellowed at his men as he rode into the grassy fields.
Isla
It was a small opportunity, but it was an opportunity. Doubt was already beginning to attack Isla’s conscience, for she knew that if she did not get away now, then it would be unlikely she would get another chance. The horse that the food cart was tied to was not meant for speed, but it was the only one she had access to, and it provided the opportunity to leave an obstacle for her pursuers.
The horse took long, slow gallops along the dirt path, its heavy breathing an indication that it was definitely not used to such riding. Isla heard shouting from behind, and looked from the top of the hill, to see Ivar yelling at his men, as he took to the field on his own horse. A horse built for speed. For battle. A horse built for pursuit. A horse with Ivar riding it. Isla’s heart quickened at the thought of Ivar capturing her.
She kicked her heels in, getting the horse to r
un on, knowing that her chances of escape were now slim to none. A sob broke out, as hopelessness overcame her. She had almost made it to a new thick wooded area by the time Ivar had reached her. He slowed his horse, pulling up next to hers, and tied a rope to its neck, causing their horses slowed to a walk.
“Are you stupid, girl?” Ivar said, his voice laced with anger.
“Stupid that I want to escape you savages?” Isla said, her chest heaving with sobs. Ivar’s face changed at her reply, his expression of anger changing to something that made her feel guilt at her choice of words.
