by Swan Road
Yelkei, Wulfgar thought, you were wiser than I knew when you bid me beat Ivar to the prize. Surely, Rhowenna, princess of Usk, is a maiden fashioned by the gods or from a man's dreams— and when has Ivar ever had a care for either? Sooner will I wander the Shoreof Corpses to the barred gates of Hel than will I see her lie in his brutal arms, I swear it!
Toward dawn, he slept at last, lightly, one hand on his battle-ax, the other wrapped tentatively in Rhowenna's long, unbound hair.
* * * * *
Rhowenna awoke bewildered, not knowing at first where she was, only that she could not move for the bodies pressed close against her and for her own hands and feet, bound fast. Then, in a rush, yesterday came flooding back to her, and she remembered she was aboard the Dragon's Fire, lying upon Wulfgar's wolfskin between him and Morgen. Morgen was turned with her back to Rhowenna, but Wulfgar was facing her, his battle-ax between them, one hand tangled in her hair, the other around her slender waist, his face so close to her own that she could see the rough blond stubble of his beard, she could feel his warm breath upon her skin. Somehow, he looked younger asleep and, in the pale dawn light, not so hard and fierce as he had seemed before, when she had first beheld him on the shores of Usk, at the vanguard of the Víkingrs.
There was an intimacy, however unconscious, in the way he touched her, held her, which unsettled her; and her breath quickened, her heart beat fast when his eyes slowly opened and he did not at once release her, but lay there staring at her, in his gaze a hunger that he did not trouble to disguise and that, despite herself, sent a strange, disturbing shiver through her body. Rhowenna had never before slept beside a man, nor had she ever awakened beside a man— and, moreover, known that he desired her at that moment. It was, to her confusion, not a wholly unpleasant experience; she did not understand why she should feel so in the arms of her enemy. She wished he would let her go. But when he did, slowly and reluctantly, it seemed, a peculiar pang shot through her, as though, somehow, there should have been something more; and she found she could no longer go on meeting his eyes. He had been kind to her when he might have been cruel, she told herself; that was all. She must not forget that he was her foe.
"Good morning, lady," Wulfgar said as he untied her, his voice low, his hands seeming to linger over the task. "I hope that you are rested, although your bed was no doubt not what you are used to. If you will look after your serving woman, I will fetch you something to eat and water for washing."
"I... thank you for your consideration," Rhowenna replied gravely, still not sure she could trust him, still marveling at his behavior toward her, when she had thought him a barbarian and a heathen, and still half expected rape or some other brutality at his hands. "I slept as... well as might be expected under the circumstances."
She loosed Morgen's bonds, then got slowly to her feet, her muscles aching even worse this morning, after the night spent upon the hard deck, than they had yesterday. In her life, Rhowenna had known pain and sadness and loss; but until now, she had never truly known hardship, she realized. She had been loved, sheltered, and pampered— princess of Usk. Now her world had been suddenly and savagely turned upside down, and she had become a captive and a slave. Was it any wonder, then, she asked herself, that she should be drawn, however unwillingly, to the one man who had treated her courteously, as befitted her breeding and rank, and who had offered her protection and assistance? Her mother would have counseled her to use Wulfgar's kindness and desire for her to her advantage, to gain from him as much information as she could about the Northland, its people, and its customs— because knowledge was power. The more she knew about her enemies, the more likely it was that she would survive her ordeal among them, would perhaps even manage to escape. The Dragon's Fire was not going to remain at sea forever; and while she could not hope to sail such a large vessel alone, she and Morgen together could handle a small boat the size of a coracle, if need be. She should have thought of all this before, Rhowenna told herself, angry at her dulled wits and resolving to do better. She was princess of Usk; she ought to have been acting as such, seeing to the welfare of the other women, giving them hope and reassurance instead of cowering in the stern, worrying about her own uncertain fate.
Wulfgar returned with a single bowl containing more of the dried meat and fruit and a slice of the hard bread; he gave the two women a cup of ale and one of fresh water to share as well. He also brought them a pail of seawater with which to perform their limited toilette. Clearly, his own ablutions were finished, for he had once again stripped off his leather tunic, and his hair and bare arms and chest were dripping water. But he carried a bowl of food for himself, and he hunkered down beside Rhowenna to eat, talking to her quietly during the meal.
"Lady, I will try to take the tiller again this morning. But I do not think that Knut Strongarm will easily relinquish it; for he was Olaf the Sea Bull's second-in-command aboard this vessel and so no doubt believes that its captaincy by right belongs to him now. If that is the case, I shall be forced to fight him. If I am killed, do not forget what I told you about making your true identity known at once. It may serve to protect you from Knut and the rest of these men— although not from Ragnar Lodbrók and Ivar the Boneless. So if 'tis the will of the gods that I perish this day and the time should come when you must choose between father and son, be wise and heed my advice: Cast your lot with the old wolf instead of the cub, for Ivar is cleverer and crueler than Ragnar and more like to hurt you in ways of which I shall not speak, as you are a maiden and a lady. Do you understand?"
"Aye," Rhowenna whispered, trembling, all her earlier bravery and resolve seeping from her bones at his words, leaving her weak and cold despite the warmth of the sun that had crept up over the eastern horizon, dyeing the grey fabric of the morning sky in rich shades of rose and gold and aquamarine.
In the distance, a flock of swans soared, northward bound, their long necks outstretched, their white wings spread wide, their strange, wild, forlorn cries echoing on the wind, a song as plaintive as what she now heard in her mind plucked on the strings of her heart. When, at last, Wulfgar laid aside his bowl and slowly stood, of its own volition, her hand reached out to draw him back, then instead fell back lamely at her side. His impassive bronze visage was set, determined. She knew instinctively that it would prove futile to plead with him not to embark upon a course of action that might result in his death. She was nothing to him, nor he to her. Still, somehow, Rhowenna could not refrain from saying, very low:
"Have a care, Wulfgar Bloodaxe."
Have a care, Wulfgar. The words rang eerily in his mind, sending a chill up his spine. He could hear Yelkei saying them a lifetime ago, it seemed, that morning of the roe-deer hunt, when he had slain his brother spirit, the wolf, to save Ivar's life and, in so doing, had won the chance to fulfill his own lifelong dream of becoming a Víkingr. That Rhowenna should speak those same words to him now seemed an omen, but whether good or ill, Wulfgar did not know. He stretched out one hand to her, the brush of his fingers against her skin like the kiss of the wind as he touched her cheek gently, then turned away.
"I will take the tiller now, Knut," he said, calmly enough, although his every muscle felt drawn as tight as a thong inside him, his every nerve raw; for he sensed that here and now, he would either win the chance to seize Olaf's markland for himself or lose his life— and while he was not afraid for himself, Rhowenna's pale face haunted him.
"Oh, you will, will you?" Knut snarled, in a voice both challenging and overloud, so a sudden silence fell upon the longship, and the air became thick with tension and avid anticipation. "By whose authority? I was Olaf's second-in-command, while you were naught but an oarsman, Wulfgar Bloodaxe!"
"Strange that you did not remark upon that yesterday, when I stood in the stern as steersman, because Olaf was dead— and you were too drunk on wine and ale and bloodlust to remember your duty to the Dragon's Fire and to her captain and crew!"
"A valid point, Wulfgar Bloodaxe," spoke another man, Flóki
the Raven, Wulfgar observed from the corners of his eyes, a warrior bolder and more honorable than most of Olaf's thegns. "How do you answer it, Knut Strongarm?"
"With the point of my blade in this upstart bastard's throat— and that of any other man foolish enough to think he can best me!"
"So be it, then," Wulfgar growled, drawing his battle-ax from its leather scabbard at his back and taking up his shield, "for I'll not sail under a fat-bellied old tosspot who cannot keep his wits about him and his shaft in his breeches when the battle's done and the sail's in need of hoisting!"
Knut Strongarm was so named for the strength of his sword arm, with which he had slain many a foe; and although he had twenty years on Wulfgar, he had not lived so long by being unable to defeat a younger opponent. He was not so tall as Wulfgar, but heavier, thick-necked, and resembling a walrus— slow and ponderous, but dangerous when attacked. His left eye was drawn down by a disfiguring scar from the slash of an adversary's scramasax during some raid years ago, and scars left by other wounds from other battles were revealed when he tugged off his leather tunic. After deliberately flexing his powerful muscles to demonstrate his strength, he pulled his broadsword from its sheath and picked up his own shield. Rhowenna thought she had never seen anyone so fearsome-looking; surely, Wulfgar could not hope to prevail against such a man. Her heart went cold and sick with fear at the thought.
The other Víkingrs were scrambling about the longship, furling the sail, clearing a space on the deck for the duel and tossing the heavy iron anchor overboard from the bow to hold the vessel in place until the matter of its captaincy was decided. Shouts flew back and forth across the sea to the other two longships, and those vessels, too, lowered sail and, drawing alongside the Dragon's Fire, dropped anchor, their crews lining up to watch the combat. When all was in readiness, Wulfgar and Knut began to circle each other warily, testing nerves, evaluating skill. Then, with a sudden, jolting clash of weapons that made Rhowenna flinch and gasp, the fierce battle was joined.
It was not, for Wulfgar, a fight of thrust and parry, for the battle-ax he wielded precluded that; but as a result, it also spoiled much of Knut's swordsman's technique, as well, compelling him to engage in a like hacking and slashing attack, during which his lumbering gait left him more vulnerable than he would have been against an opponent armed with a broadsword. Still, his strength coupled with his weight was such that he drove Wulfgar back short moments after the duel had begun. Wulfgar recognized immediately that brute force alone would not win for him, that his best strategy would lie in wearing Knut down by prolonging the battle. Wulfgar concentrated on defending himself and on conserving his own strength, relying on his greater quickness and agility to elude whatever blows he could, his shield to hold firm against those he could not. Still, each mighty thwack Knut landed with his blade sent a bone-jarring tremor up Wulfgar's shield arm, making him grit his teeth to keep from crying out and bringing a malevolent grin to Knut's ugly face as he pressed his assault.
There was much to be learned about a man from a duel; and as Rhowenna watched, she discerned Wulfgar's cunning and proficiency against an opponent who, while stronger, was less clever and adept, having for so long triumphed through his brawn that he had grown smug and secure in thinking he needed nothing more. But as the sun crept higher into the sky, the conflict wore on, and as time and time again he failed to penetrate Wulfgar's guard, Knut's smile gradually faded to be replaced with a dark scowl of murderous rage, and his onslaught grew increasingly violent and reckless. His fury reminded Rhowenna of an afternoon in the bailey of her father's palisade, when she had watched Brynmawr training several young men who had been sent to Pendragon's court for fostering. One of them, finding victory elusive, had lost his temper in just such a manner, so Brynmawr had disarmed him and struck him hard with the flat of a blade, knocking him on his back before pressing the honed point to the young man's throat.
"Never let anger get the best of you in a fight, lad!" Brynmawr had chided sharply.
" 'Twill cause you to grow rash— and that is a mistake that will cost you your life!"
Anger now seemed to possess Knut Strongarm, Rhowenna observed, and perhaps, as a result, he might indeed make some fatal error. Wulfgar's eyes, although narrowed, did not blaze with wrath, but with calculation and exhilaration. He moved like a magnificent mountain cat, she thought, his tawny mane of hair streaming from his face in the wind, his hard, supple body crouching and whirling, his sealskin-booted feet dancing and springing lithely across the deck, the muscles in his naked, sweat-sheened arms, chest, and back quivering and rippling, filling her, as she watched him, with some peculiar sensation she had never felt before, a roaring of her blood in her ears, a fierce pounding of her heart.
Both combatants were covered with blood from minor wounds inflicted; the broadsword and battle-ax that earlier had gleamed in the rising sun now were dulled with red; the wooden shields were cracked and broken from forceful blows and now impatiently tossed aside as hindrances. Rhowenna feared greatly for Wulfgar then, for surely Knut's broadsword was the superior weapon, quicker, more flexible, less unwieldy. But then, she had never before seen a battle-ax wielded as, now, since casting away his shield, Wulfgar suddenly began to employ his as though it were not only a battle-ax, but also a staff. Deftly he twirled it through his fingers, holding its long haft raised and lengthwise to block Knut's increasingly slower, wilder downward swings; abruptly, Wulfgar reversed it and jammed the end of its leather-wrapped grip into Knut's stomach, doubling him over.
Knut's breath came in hard rasps now— through his mouth. Elation rose within Wulfgar at the sight, for a man who breathed so was not getting enough air into his lungs and was exhausted, too, ripe for defeat. Now Wulfgar began to press his own attack furiously, permitting Knut to become aware that he had only been toyed with before as a deliberate ploy to tire him. At the realization, Knut became even more infuriated, his blows more brazen, those of a man desperate, sensing he was but minutes from death. Eyes glowing with bloodlust, the Víkingrs were on their feet, cheering and yelling grisly, bloodthirsty exhortations. The women cringed on the deck, forgotten for the moment by their captors. Only Rhowenna stood upright, her eyes wide and dark, her face pale, her hands clenched so tightly at her sides that her knuckles shone white, her nails dug into her palms. In moments, not only Wulfgar's fate, but perhaps also her own would be determined. She would not meet her destiny cowering, but as bravely as Wulfgar had dared to seek it out, knowing what it might mean to them both.
Broadsword and battle-ax sang, a song of death, savage and discordant, punctuated by sharp rings and whacks as iron-hooped barrels and the Y-shaped trestles that rose from the deck and, once, even the mast were struck by the blades, sending wooden shards sailing. The planks were slick and scarlet with the blood that had trickled from the combatants' wounds. Now Knut lunged forward, sliding in the blood, his broadsword thrusting to stab viciously into Wulfgar's belly, only to be knocked aside at the last instant, struck hard by the blade of Wulfgar's battle-ax. Metal scraped upon metal, colliding in such a way that the hilt of Knut's broadsword was caught and jerked from his grasp, his weapon sent flying upward in a silvery arc that flashed in the sun against the blue of the sky before the blade swooped like a falcon to plunge into the sea. Wulfgar sidestepped and pivoted with a macabre gracefulness, the haft of his battle-ax hitting Knut in the back, driving him to his knees. Then Wulfgar caught the leather-wrapped grip, and the blade swung high, up and around, glittering, poised in the air for a moment before descending to bury itself in Knut's nape, decapitating him. Rhowenna cried out, horrified, as, seeming to move in slow motion, Knut's head flew from his torso to bounce upon and then to roll across the deck, and blood spurted and spewed from his neck, spraying Wulfgar's handsome face and broad chest. For an eternity, it seemed, Knut's body remained kneeling on the planks before gradually crumpling to sprawl upon the deck.
Breathing hard, Wulfgar stood there in the sudden silence, battle-ax in his blood-cove
red hands, and looking, Rhowenna thought, involuntarily shrinking from him, like some wild, savage predator as his eyes, burning with triumph, found hers. As he watched her cringe from him, his gaze hardened, growing distant and wintry, and a muscle pulsed in his set jaw, so that she knew she had angered him by recoiling from him instead of exulting in his victory. For all his previous kindness and gentleness toward her, she now knew he could be as brutal and deadly as the rest of the Víkingrs, a dangerous man to cross; and she shuddered and cast down her eyes, afraid that in his rage, he would strike her, or, worse, would suddenly seize her and rape her as was a man's wont toward a woman when he was filled with bloodlust. Perhaps he would even withdraw his protection of her.
But instead, he turned, and his voice rang out harshly, authoritatively, in the stillness.
"Is there another man among you who would seek to challenge my captaincy of this vessel? If so, let him come forward now and make his claim— or else hold his peace until this voyage is done!"
