Brandewyne, Rebecca

by Swan Road

  "Aye, 'tis worth trying." Rhowenna brightened at the thought, feeling that perhaps something good, after all, had come of this day.

  "I do care for you, you know." Gwydion spoke softly as his grey eyes met her violet ones steadily. "Come what may, I will always be your kinsman and your friend, Rhowenna."

  "Aye." She nodded, swallowing hard to choke back her tears and turning away to gaze once more at the far horizon, which was barren and bleak— and bloodred.

  Chapter Four

  The Festival of Eostre

  The Shores of the Skagerrak, the Northland, A.D. 865

  For some unknown reason, Ivar had told Wulfgar he could, until the midspring festival, remain in the hut he shared with Yelkei inside Ragnar's palisade. But this apparently magnanimous offer, Yelkei had strenuously urged Wulfgar to reject, reminding him that Ivar did nothing without an ulterior motive and that whatever it was in this case, it surely boded no good for Wulfgar. Remembering Yelkei's warning to him the dawn of the hunt and what had come to pass, Wulfgar had reluctantly agreed; and gathering his few belongings, he had left the relative protection of the palisade for a hut he built for himself at the edge of the forest, near the weed-grown mere, beyond the boundaries of Ragnar's markland.

  Until Wulfgar completed the hut, he slept out in the open on the ground, beneath a hastily constructed shelter of pine boughs. But for the first few nights, he hardly closed his eyes, missing the security of the palisade, the familiarity of the hut he had called his own there and Yelkei's comforting presence. He was not accustomed to being alone and regretted that Yelkei had not been able to come with him. But she was Ragnar's slave, and Wulfgar had lacked the means to purchase her freedom; nor had either Ragnar or Ivar offered to let her go, although they feared her and considered her of little use. Until he was on his own, Wulfgar had not realized how much he had depended on her. In the beginning, the sounds at night of the woods and of the heath unnerved him; he started at the hoot of an owl or the howl of a wolf, and he longed for her to chase away the shadows as she had done when he was small. More practically, he missed her skill at cooking and sewing when his first attempts at those chores produced poor results.

  But gradually, as the murky winter turned into spring, the anemones making their appearance and the thunder of islossning—the great cracking and breaking of frozen rivers, which warned of impending floods— sounding, he grew used to the calls of the night creatures, and he learned to cook and to sew in a rudimentary way. Only his loneliness was constant, although it gradually faded to a dull ache. He began to savor his freedom once he was past his feeling of being lost without his half brothers to structure his days, and he established, by trial and error, his own routine. He took pride in the hut he erected, and his talent as a hunter burgeoned now that he was able to devote so much of his time to the task. His proficiency with the weapons he had made also mounted with his ceaseless practice; and Yelkei, whenever she managed to slip away to visit him, cackled with delight when she saw him.

  "Confess, Wulfgar Bloodaxe!" she crowed in her raucous, rasping voice. "Despite all the scraps I stole for you over the years, you never ate so well at Ragnar's hearth as you do at your own. Look at you! You've become a fine figure of a man now that you've a full belly when it suits you. You were always tall, but now... now, by the gods, you've the weight for it, Wulfgar. Broad of shoulder and chest, long and strong of limb. Aye, if there were those before who doubted that you're Ragnar's own get, they'll question it no more when they see you again. Why, you're enough like Ivar the Boneless to pass for his twin even with the sun at its zenith in a summer sky!"

  Wulfgar scowled darkly at her words.

  "If you thought to find favor with me with such flattery as that, why, then, you've failed badly, old woman!" he growled, angry and offended. "What have I done that such an insult should trip from your spiteful, worthless tongue?"

  "Spiteful? Mayhap, when it suits my purpose, Wulfgar; for malice often proves a useful weapon when keenly honed and properly wielded— as your nemesis, Ivar the Boneless, could tell you, for he makes good use of it himself. But worthless? Nay, I'll not abide that— for a Mongol king of the Eastlands once offered a sackful of gold coins for this tongue of mine."

  "Aye. Aye, that I can well believe— were it cut clean from your head and delivered up on a silver plate to him!"

  "Why, that might have been the way of it, in truth!" Yelkei admitted, and barked with laughter. "But... do you observe that no man is the richer for my tongue— save you, Wulfgar, to whom it has ever spoken the truth. If you doubt me, why, you've only to take a look at your reflection in yonder pond... or are you afraid of what you might see?" The taunt stung, as was intended.

  "Nay, I fear naught but the gods and those creatures not human."

  With that boast, Wulfgar strode to the edge of the mere and, kneeling, parted the slender yellow reeds that grew tall there, and gazed into the still water shining silver in the sunlight. To his utter shock, it was indeed the handsome bronze visage of his half brother Ivar who stared back at him, long mane of gilded hair falling about finely molded bones set with deep, sky-blue eyes, an aquiline nose, full, carnal lips framed by a silky mustache and beard, and a strong jaw with an arrogant thrust. For a long moment, Wulfgar yearned violently to claw at his face until it was unrecognizable. Then, he had another thought. Leaping to his feet, he stalked to the hut he had built and went inside, banging the door wrathfully behind him— although even that did not silence the sound of Yelkei's mirth.

  After a time, she followed him inside, and screeched with fright to see him standing there, naked to the waist, his face covered with lather, and a sharp knife in his hand.

  "Are you mad?" she cried, sidling away a little and peering at him intently in the semidarkness.

  "Nay, I had a mad desire, at first, to cut my throat," Wulfgar said curtly, indicating the blade and giving a snort of laughter at her alarm, glad to have got a bit of his own back against her. "But I've thought better of it, having no wish to wander the Shore of Corpses to the barred gates of Hel any sooner than I must."

  From the cauldron on the hearth, he had ladled steaming-hot water into a bowl, which he had set upon the hard-packed dirt floor. Now, using the water as a mirror, he hunkered down over the bowl and began carefully with the whetted edge of the knife to shave off his mustache and beard.

  "What are you doing?" Yelkei's normally inscrutable moon face, shocked and appalled, peered down at him.

  "Ridding myself of some of my unfortunate resemblance to Ivar."

  "But a mustache and beard are the mark of a man!"

  "Aye. Even so, a man may still be a man without them— and if any man is so foolish as to mistake me for less, why, then, I shall have the advantage of him and soon teach him the error of his ways."

  "Well, do as you wish and suffer the consequences," Yelkei said. Taking up a blade of her own and hitching up her leather tunic a little, she squatted on the earthen floor and deftly set to skinning and butchering a brace of fine, fat hares Wulfgar had snared earlier that morning. "Still, you will miss all that hair on your face, come next winter, I am thinking."

  "Perhaps," Wulfgar conceded as he scraped at his beard, then rinsed his soapy knife off in the bowl of hot water. "And then again, perhaps by then, I shall have gone a-víking in a mighty longship down the Swan Road, to plunder the kingdoms of the Southlands, and have carried away a lusty young Christian maid as my slave, to keep me warm beneath my blankets of a cold winter's eve— instead of a shrewish old woman who would sooner geld a man than bed him and who snores like a drunken grey-beard in a corner, disturbing my slumber!"

  "Why, it gladdens my heart to learn how you have missed me, Wulfgar." Yelkei chuckled as she tossed chunks of the hare meat into a pot and began to chop fresh greens and roots she had brought in a basket. "Still, if 'tis a flame for a Christian wench that burns between your legs, you'd have done well to spare your mustache and beard until after the midspring blót. 'Tis no jarl worth his s
alt who will be wanting to risk the wrath of Ragnar and his sons to take oath from a maiden-faced bóndi!"

  "By the four harts who bite the buds of Yggdrasill!" Wulfgar swore as he flung away the cloth he had used to wipe the lather from his now-smooth face. He jumped to his feet and began angrily to pace the hut. "So that's the way of it, is it? Well, I expected that my father and half brothers would seek to prevent my pledging oath as a thegn. But are you sure that no jarl is brave enough to accept me, Yelkei?"

  "Although he is subject to the Jutish king across the Skagerrak, Ragnar is a power to be reckoned with in the Northland, Wulfgar, and even Björn Ironside and Hasting, bold and formidable men in their own right, dare defy him only so far and then no further. But there is one who has the judgment of a fool and who drinks deep of his cups, who could be persuaded to take you as his man."

  "And who is that?"

  "Olaf the Sea Bull."

  "That foul, mead-swilling old—"

  "Aye, he is all that you say, and more, Wulfgar. But listen to me, and heed my counsel"— Yelkei's voice was stern and sharp now— "remembering that to you alone, my tongue has always spoken truly. Did I not warn you the morn of the hunt that that day, you would decide your destiny? And did you not that day do so by slaying your brother spirit, the wolf, who sought to protect you by killing Ivar the Boneless?" Rising from the fire where she had put the stew to cook, she gestured to Wulfgar to stand with her on the great wolfskin spread upon the floor. Then she laid one yellow hand upon his arm, her bony fingers digging like talons into his bare flesh. "Listen to me, Wulfgar," she exhorted again. "Olaf the Sea Bull is no great jarl, 'tis true. But his beard has been grey for many long, dark winters now, and during the murky time just past, I heard Hela's death rattle in his bones. His thegns are brutes, grown as soft and slovenly and slack as their lord. But with a strong leader at the rudder of Olaf's Dragon's Fire, they could be turned to account once more. The Sea Bull's sons have all been carried home on their shields, slain in battle; his wife is long dead; and the husbands of his daughters have the spines of jellyfish. There is no one to follow in Olaf's footsteps, Wulfgar; and so when the old Sea Bull dies, a man who is quick and daring and clever enough may seize Olaf's markland for himself and claim the right of jarl over it all!"

  "Aye." Wulfgar nodded slowly, as though carefully considering the matter, although his heart leaped with excitement at Yelkei's words. "It could be that you are right. I will think hard on what you have said."

  * * * * *

  Until Yelkei had spoken to him of Olaf the Sea Bull, Wulfgar had had in his mind some vague notion of building a longship of his own, although he had known how impossible that would be when he had neither the men nor the oxen, the sledges, the cattle, nor the sheep required for such a massive undertaking. Preparing for the day when he would have those essentials, he went out into the forest with men who did. He watched them seek out the tallest and the strongest of the oak trees to chop down with stout iron axes. He observed how they cut off the tops and boughs of the felled oaks and stripped off the bark, then strapped the great trunks to sledges pulled by several teams of oxen to be hauled to the shores of the Skagerrak. There, upon the fjord-riddled sands, log rollers were already in place for the building of the longships that had made the Víkingrs the scourge of the seas for over two centuries.

  Large enough to rival a whale, measuring approximately one hundred feet in length, twenty feet wide at the beam, and over six feet deep from the upper edge of each side to the bottom of the keel, the longships were built from the outside in. Each massive, true keel, which formed the longship's backbone and gave it its vast superiority over enemy vessels, was fashioned from the trunk of a single oak and deliberately bowed amidships, so that in battle, the longship could be spun about practically on her own axis, providing incredible maneuverability. The stempost and the sternpost were also made from a single piece of timber, often intricately carved into a dragon's head and tail on war boats, a snake or swan on ceremonial vessels, of the kind used at the midspring festival. From a metal rod attached to the prow would hang a gilt-bronzed wind vane.

  The shell, thickest at the bottom and gradually thinning toward the water line, was composed of overlapping planks bent by hand and affixed to the stempost and the sternpost, working from the keel up. Once in place, the strakes were caulked with moss or tarred rope or animal hair and fastened together with iron rivets; then ribs of naturally bowed oak limbs were set into the shell, and the strakes were lashed with spruce-root withies to the ribs, all of which resulted in a hull capable of flexing in rough seas and still maintaining a watertight seal. A leather covering, made from the hides of tens of head of cattle, could be stretched from side to side and secured for protection when the longship encountered stormy seas or rode at anchor.

  Crossbeams, attached with wooden knees to the sides, bridged the hull above each rib to provide lateral reinforcement, and upon these, the deck planks were laid in such a way as to rise at the stern, forming a slight poop for the steersman to stand upon and which boasted a small roof against bad weather. At the heart of the hull, beneath the deck planks, was the "old woman" or keelson, a huge oak-block base into which the mammoth spruce take-down mast was set, and atop this block, upon the deck planks, was yet another block, shaped like a fish and so called the mast fish, which supported the mast. Three Y-shaped trestles or crutches standing upright from bow to stern held the yard, spars, or sail when the longship was being rowed. At the starboard stern was the rudder, also cut from a single plank of oak and attached by a spruce root to the wart. A thick rope of osiers running through a cramp in the rudder's paddle allowed it to be immediately hoisted in shallow or rocky waters.

  Along the elaborately painted sides of the longship were the oar holes, which could be plugged when the longship was under sail, and over each of which could be hung two shields, each shield overlapping the next to form a continuous, decorative line from bow to stern when the longship was in harbor or was to be used for the burial of its jarl. The oars themselves were of pine, twenty pairs strong, and made in successive lengths so they would all strike the water in unison, the freeboard's being slightly higher at bow and stern than that amidships. To demonstrate his bravery and agility, a daring jarl would sometimes hoist himself over the side of the long-ship and leap from oar to oar while they were moving. There being no thwarts, each oarsman sat upon his own sea chest when rowing; and along with the sounder, a drummer stood in the bow and beat the rhythm upon a hide-covered drum. A spruce- wood gangway provided the men access to and from the longship when the vessel was moored to a wharf.

  The square sail that caught the breath of the wind was woven of coarse wool two layers thick, and usually dyed red. Occasionally, a pattern of alternating red-and-blue or red-and-white stripes, squares, or diamonds was chosen by a jarl who wished his longship to be instantly recognized by friends and foes alike. When wet, the sail was heavy and, especially during capricious winds or storms, so difficult to manage that even a strong warrior could be knocked overboard by a swinging yard— his own or that of another longship sailing close alongside. Still, with her magnificent square sail, a longship could sail not only across the wind, but also well into it, giving her an additional advantage against her enemies and making her hard to catch. The sail's rigging was fashioned of tough whale, walrus, or seal hide, measured in ells and so strong that it could not be pulled apart by a tug-of-war among more than fifty men.

  Like the beat of a longship's drummer upon his drum, Wulfgar's heart pounded with exhilaration as he watched the longships take shape and counted the days to the midspring blót, when the longships would be named. During that time, he practiced with his weapons for even longer hours to ready himself for the games that would be held at the festival; and he made it his business, as well, to learn everything he could about Olaf the Sea Bull— although it was hard to find much to that jarl's credit. Olaf's situation was indeed as Yelkei had said; and although the Sea Bull looked healthy enough
for a grey-bearded drunkard, Wulfgar could not help but recall Yelkei's insistence that she had that past winter heard Hela's death rattle in Olaf's bones, and he shivered at the thought that the spaewife could foretell a man's doom, which was only for the gods to know.

  Then, at long last, the morning of the vernal equinox (and so also of the midspring blót, the wild, promiscuous rite of spring) dawned, the sun's tongues of flame setting the sky ablaze, burning away the last of the night's mist that had swept in from the sea to linger over the land; and in the harbor that gleamed as blue as an aquamarine in the sunlight, a herd of sea dragons rode the combers, breathing crimson fire until square sails were furled and heavy iron anchors cast overboard to chain the dragons where they lay. From far and wide, the Víkingrs had come to Ragnar's vast domain to celebrate the goddess of spring, Eostre— old grey-beards who had ravaged the Eastlands and the Southlands for nearly half a century, and callow youths with faces as silk-smooth as Wulfgar's own and who, like him, had yet to stand upon the deck of a longship and to feel the sea swell and ebb beneath their sealskin-booted feet. With them came their wives and sweethearts and daughters, gay ribands woven through their long braids and wearing long, flowing woolen gowns, brightly dyed in a multitude of colors and fastened with ornate round brooches above each breast. Much to Wulfgar's surprise and pleasure, he observed that despite his lack of mustache and beard— or perhaps because of it— the eyes of more than one female strayed toward him and many an inviting smile was cast in his direction. The maidens he flirted with gladly, knowing that later that night, after the day's wassailing, there would be even more drunken reveling, wild dancing to the savage, rhythmic strains of flutes and drums, and frenetic coupling in the Sacred Grove, beneath the moon; Wulfgar was as eager as the next man for the feel of a lusty wench moaning and writhing beneath him. But the married women he assiduously avoided; for the crime of adultery, an unfaithful wife and her paramour were punished by being sold into slavery, severely flogged, or beheaded. Wulfgar had no wish to suffer any of those penalties for a fleeting night's dalliance, no matter how beautiful and desirable the woman.