Sativa stiffened. What man would dare strike a lady? Not Captain Ziemo, certainly, or one of his crew. They were honourable men, or so she'd thought. She should do something. But what? She was no match for most of them, except maybe young Sam, the cabin boy. She might pretend to be Melitta, but Sativa was no warrior. She'd been taught to command men with her voice alone, for what more did a queen need?
She wet her lips, wondering what to say. What if the man was too drunk to listen, and turned on her instead?
It did not matter. No man should strike a lady.
"Leave her alone," Sativa said, or tried to. Her firm tone came out as more of a squeak.
"Who's there?" the man growled, lifting a lantern high. His other hand tightened around Nekane's arm, until the woman whimpered. "Show yourself, boy!"
Boy? Sativa seethed.
"What's the matter, Karl?" another voice asked.
Nekane's captor jerked his chin upward. "There's a boy atop the mast, Captain."
"Come down, boy, or we'll shoot you down!" the second voice boomed. It did not belong to Captain Ziemo.
Better to be obedient than dead, Sativa told herself as she descended. Her feet hadn't even touched the deck when a rough hand grabbed her arm and almost knocked her off her feet.
"What's your name, boy?" the hand's owner asked, bringing his hairy face so close to Sativa's that she could smell his breath. Not that she wanted to.
She coughed. "Sam," she said weakly.
"Want me to kill young Sam here, Captain?" Bad Breath asked. He shook Sativa until her teeth rattled.
The captain's hat cast a shadow over his face as his hulking shoulder loomed above Sativa. "Bring him along. We could do with a new cabin boy. Lost the last one, didn't we?"
The men laughed. Only now did Sativa realise there were more than three of them. There were at least a dozen – more than the crew of the Wydra – all carrying casks and chests from the ship's hold.
"You're pirates!" she cried, hating how her voice still squeaked with fear. No wonder they thought her a boy. "Stealing from Captain Ziemo – he won't stand for it!"
More laughter. "Your captain's drunk under a table, along with the rest of his crew. Strong brew they sell in the taverns hereabouts. Too strong for you. So what'll it be, boy? You can come with us or I'll cut your throat and throw you over the side. Plenty more boys who'd kill to be cabin boy on a pirate ship. More wealth than you'll ever see on a tub like this."
Pirates. So much for her wish for safety. Sativa swallowed. "I always wanted to be a pirate cabin boy," she whispered.
"Good choice. Now get them both to the boat, and see that they stay there." Someone gave Sativa a push, toward the side of the ship.
Peering over the gunwale, Sativa could just make out the boats lying in the Wydra's shadow. Below her, a bulky shape swung away from the ship and landed in the boat. The man leaned forward and dropped a bundle on the bottom of the boat. The bundle yelped.
Nekane.
Sativa couldn't leave her alone with these pirates. Summoning what courage she had left, she swung her leg over the side and felt around for the rope ladder she knew had hung there in daylight. She'd never climbed down anything so frightening in her life. Slapping against the hull of the ship, splashed by waves, until hands grabbed her around the middle and hauled her aboard a boat. But not the boat that held Nekane – another one, full of chests that left her nowhere to sit but on top of one.
Sativa drew a deep, shaky breath. This would not end well.
THIRTEEN
Reidar paced the tower, unable to stay still. He could see several ships from the windows, but he knew none of them could be hers. Not yet. His envoy would have just arrived in Kasmirus, if he hadn't met with any delays. He probably hadn't even seen King Boreslas yet. So it was too much to hope that she might be aboard one of the vessels in view.
And yet...
Reidar sighed. He'd dreamed of her last night. She'd had golden hair as a girl, the same colour as the straw that made her sneeze, so the beauty in his dreams had been blonde, too. She'd stood in the crow's nest atop the mast, her hair streaming behind her like a pennant in the breeze. As eager to glimpse him as he was to see her. Then she'd slid down that mast as lithely as any sailor, her curves hugging the wood like he wished they'd mould to him. And she'd run across the dock, her boots hammering on the timber as she flew toward him, her arms outspread like wings...
And then he'd woken up to realise that the hammering was not in his head, but outside, as some fisherman felt the need to mend his boat below Reidar's window.
By then, his dream bride was gone, for dreams were no more than moonbeams, and he was alone in his bed, longing for a lady he barely knew with no idea of what she even looked like now.
What would his men say, if they knew? They'd think him a fool, to be so besotted with a woman. A woman he hadn't seen in years.
Did she think of him at all, or had she forgotten him entirely? He wanted to believe she'd kept her promise, and the ring he'd given her, but his gift was likely lost among dozens of others from her many suitors, men who might be wooing her even now, while he was far away. Oh, they might be betrothed, but a woman's heart was far stronger than any childhood promise. Especially one she'd likely forgotten. If only he could stand before her and remind her.
Curse this war! Why couldn't his neighbours be content with their borders, and let him sit on his throne in peace for just a little while? A few summer raids were one thing, little more than fun and friendly rivalry between his men and theirs. But this...trying to claim his throne as their own, and his lands as well? These northerners had no idea who they were dealing with. They must think him some weak boy, easily set aside. If he was to join the war against him, they would soon learn he was as much a warrior as his father.
Reidar clapped his hands and laughed aloud. Were there anyone in earshot, they would think him mad, but he didn't care. He knew the cure for worrying about a woman. He would go to war, as his ancestors had. In the heat of battle, he'd have no cravings for a woman's warmth. Just a sword and a shield, waiting to sing a song of victory over his fallen foes. With an army at his back, of course. He might be a fool when it came to women, but not when it came to war.
FOURTEEN
The boat carrying Nekane arrived at the ship first – the very same vessel that had lain on its side for most of the day, if Sativa was not mistaken. It bobbed about in the waves as though it had taken no damage from its stranding, and now she was about to climb aboard it, Sativa certainly hoped it was as sound as Captain Ziemo's Wydra.
She glanced back, to see the Wydra still floating in its anchorage, though much higher in the water, thanks to the things the pirates had taken from her.
She'd heard that pirates sank ships, and killed all those aboard, after taking anything of value, of course. If they hadn't scuttled the Wydra and she and Nekane were still alive, perhaps these were not the sort of pirates she'd heard horrible tales about. Men of honour, maybe, who would take her to Reidar when she told them who she was.
"Take her to the captain's cabin," a voice said, carrying across the waves.
"No, no, please no..." Nekane pleaded as she was hoisted up onto the ship.
They were taking her to the best accommodations aboard, Sativa told herself. She would expect the same, once they knew she was a princess. Or even if she told them she was Lady Melitta.
"Up you go, boy," a man said, shoving her toward the ship.
Sativa stared up. This rope ladder stretched a lot higher than the one on the Wydra, but she would have to climb it, or be carried up like a sack of grain, as Nekane had. Judging by Nekane's protests, it wasn't a comfortable ride.
With one burly man above her on the ladder and another behind, at least she couldn't fall, Sativa told herself. Their weight kept the ladder from moving too much, too.
By the time Sativa hauled herself over the side of the ship and onto the deck, her arms were screaming a protest at having to work so hard. But n
one of the men complained, so she stayed silent.
Someone clapped her on the back so hard she nearly fell over.
Laughter erupted around her. "Boy's asleep on his feet. Wake up, boy. You'll get no rest until we get this cargo stowed."
Cargo? Oh, the things they'd stolen from the Wydra. Chests and casks she could not hope to lift. What had possessed her to tell them she'd be their cabin boy? Sativa should tell them the truth now.
"Captain's aboard!" The shout had all men bowing their heads as the hulking shadow stepped over the gunwale and onto the deck.
"Where's the boy?" the shadow growled.
Sativa was shoved forward again. "Here, Captain Zydrunas," someone behind her said.
A lantern was thrust toward her face, so close she feared it might burn her. Sativa cringed away.
"You ever sailed before, boy?" Captain Zydrunas demanded.
"N-no," Sativa stammered. "This was my first time."
"Can you lift a cask?"
Sativa wanted to say no, but some darkness in his tone gave her pause. Instead, she knelt and tried to lift the nearest barrel. She managed to tip it a little toward her, before she overbalanced and went down with the cask on top of her.
The laughter was louder this time as the crew took their time rescuing her from the heavy barrel.
"Take him below decks, and show him where he can sleep. Maybe he'll be more useful in the morning," Captain Zydrunas said.
Someone hustled Sativa down the steps below the deck, into a room that stretched from one side of the ship to the other. She had to duck her head to enter, and couldn't straighten once she was in, for the ceiling was too low. She bumped into something cold and hard, as high as her waist. Moonlight streamed through a gap in the wall, revealing the object to be a cannon, its mouth pointed through the hole. There was a whole row of cannons on each side, muzzles extended outward like gargoyles, or guard dogs ready to bite. Above them hung hammocks, stretched between the posts holding up the ceiling.
"That one's free, boy," a strange voice said. It sounded older than the others, and a whole lot friendlier. An arm extended from a hammock in the corner, pointing at the opposite corner. Sure enough, there was no sea chest below that one, like there were under the others.
"Thank you," she mumbled, picking her way carefully over the clutter of cannonballs, chests and other assorted things she never knew lurked below decks. It took her a few tries to get herself into the hammock, but when she finally managed it, she found the hanging bed surprisingly comfortable. Better than a straw pallet like the sailors on the Wydra slept on, too, for it didn't make her sneeze.
Sativa closed her eyes and settled herself for sleep.
"NOOOOOOOO!"
A piecing scream tore the air above her.
Sativa thrashed, floundered, and fell out of her hammock onto the floor. "What in heaven's name is that?" she cried.
But the building dread in her heart whispered an answer she didn't want to believe.
The old man in the corner piped up, "The captain's new bedwarmer, I expect. They all scream like that until he's broken them in. Sometimes, when he's done with her, he lets the crew have a woman for a while. You ever had a woman, boy?"
Nekane's screams seemed to reach inside Sativa and slice through her heart. Right above her, the captain was raping that poor widow. A lady. And when he was finished, he'd give her to the crew. So that they might do the same. Like she was some sort of whore.
Sativa shivered. Part of her wanted to try to save the woman, but she knew it was no use. She wasn't strong enough to lift a barrel, let alone fight the whole crew of a pirate ship. And if they found out she was a woman...then what? If she couldn't save Nekane, Sativa would be next.
No. If Sativa lay with another man before she married Reidar, even unwillingly, there would be no wedding. Bile rose in her throat at the thought of her own cowardice as Sativa huddled in her hammock, wishing the screaming would stop.
"A smart woman would take her own life before letting herself be taken aboard a pirate ship, eh, boy?" the old man cackled. "But most women aren't smart. Too soft to take a dagger to their breast. But their softness is the best bit."
The screaming continued long into the night, as Sativa cried silent tears, cursing her own stupidity for landing her in such a situation. Then her thoughts turned to Nekane, and what the other woman must be suffering, and Sativa got no sleep at all.
FIFTEEN
By morning, Sativa's horror-filled mind had only one goal: to be the best, most convincing cabin boy she could be until the ship approached shore...and then she would escape as fast as her feet could sprint. She soon learned that the old man who'd helped her the previous night was the ship's cook, and his culinary skills made the food she'd eaten on the Wydra seem like ambrosia.
After this journey was over, she swore, she'd never take fruit or fresh-baked bread for granted again.
The best provisions the pirates had stolen from their victims belonged to the captain's table alone. Sativa thought of the horrible price Nekane had to pay to sup at that table, and shuddered. She could subsist on hardtack, dried fish and endless pickled cabbage for a little while, if it meant not having to share the captain's cabin.
After that first night, Nekane's screams had fallen silent, and Sativa hadn't heard her make a sound since. Not a sob, a complaint...nothing. The widow hadn't come out of the cabin, either, though she was certainly still there. In the absence of screaming, Sativa could hear the regular beat of the captain rutting in the bed above her hammock every night.
Some of the other men took this as a hint to pleasure themselves in their hammocks, a mentality that made Sativa feel even sicker. That one man could take pleasure in forcing an unwilling woman was one thing...but a whole crew who got excited at the mere idea of it? It was enough to keep her shuddering in her bunk for the rest of the voyage. Yet she could not stay below decks – as cabin boy, she had work to do.
Cook made her fetch and carry things up from the hold that he wanted. At first, it was just ordinary staples for the crew's meals, but then he started sending her down for the captain's special stores. Soon, she knew where everything was kept, and she began to plan. She set aside something each day – a skin of wine here, a dried sausage there – in a small cask behind the enormous tun of pickled cabbage.
As soon as they were within sight of shore, she'd wait until nightfall, load her supplies into a boat, and head for land. The one thing she hadn't found yet was coin – she'd need money to reach Reidar and she'd left all hers aboard the Wydra. Would it truly be stealing if she took coin from pirates who'd in all likelihood stolen hers when they took everything else?
Or perhaps she could call it fair payment. After all, cabin boys got paid, didn't they? She had no idea how much, but if she took more than she should, the pirates could come find her in Reidar's castle, and she would gladly pay her debt. Right after she saw Zydrunas punished for what he'd done to Nekane.
Nekane. She'd need to save her, if she could, too. Somehow smuggle her out of the captain's cabin and into the boat. Once they reached shore, if Nekane was too weak to travel, she would find someone willing to care for her until she could return. That would mean more coin, but Sativa didn't care. What Zydrunas owed Nekane was far more than money. No price was too high.
SIXTEEN
Another mug of ale, Reidar judged, and he'd have well and truly drowned out the pain in his arm. Today he'd met his first berserker, an experience he didn't want to repeat. The madman had run at him, screaming, then buried his axe so deep in Reidar's shield he'd cleaved the buckler in two, nearly breaking Reidar's arm in the process. Reidar's answering blow had sliced deep into the berserker's shoulder, at the base of his neck. The man had fallen to his knees, gurgling, before he died a noisy death at Reidar's feet. Reidar had only been dimly aware of it at the time, of course, because he'd had another foe to face, but now the battle was over, the man was once again on his mind.
The berserker had claimed to
be the bastard son of either his father or his grandfather, Reidar wasn't sure, which he'd believed meant the throne Reidar occupied rightly belonged to him, and all of Viken's people would come to his way of thinking once Reidar was dead.
Except Reidar wasn't dead and the bastard's blood now fertilised the field, which didn't care whose son he was. Nor did Reidar care, not truly, for the man's claim died with him. What remained of his raiding party melted away across the border, either to join other armies or head home. Or to die of their injuries along the way, for his men had been particularly ruthless today. Perhaps it made a difference that instead of just fighting for their country, today they were also fighting for their king.
It was a heady thought. He'd fought alongside these men for weeks now, weeks he'd fought as fiercely as any of them, knowing that he fought for them as much as the land they stood upon, but this was the first time he'd understood what that meant.
They would die for him, just as he would fight for them. He was their king, and they were his men. He owned the hearts and souls and bodies of free, fighting men. Reidar only hoped that one day he would truly deserve the honour they did him. Until then, he would draw his sword alongside them, to defend what was theirs.
Now he understood how his father had died on a battlefield. It was the duty of a king to live and die for his people.
Reidar tipped up his cup, but it was empty. Sighing, he headed for the barrel to get some more ale.
"I must see the king!" an insistent voice shouted. A voice Reidar didn't recognise.
The man rode into their circle, reining his horse in so close to the fire that its hooves kicked up sparks. He slid from his mount's back with practiced ease, then planted his feet before the fire like a man staking a claim.
Reidar edged closer, carrying his full cup. Most of the men present were deep in their cups, but they loosened swords and daggers in their sheaths, ready to take this new man down if their king commanded it.
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