Brandewyne, Rebecca

by Swan Road

"In time, you will grow accustomed to naming me so, lady, I swear it," Wulfgar said softly, an enigmatic half-smile curving his lips— although it did not lighten his eyes, which shone dark with a determination and desire that made her breath catch in her throat and her heart beat too fast in her breast.

  "Nay, I will not!" she insisted fiercely.

  "You are very sure of that, lady— now, at this moment. But this, I tell you: The day will come when you are not so certain; for the gods are mercurial, as those who tempt them inevitably learn, and no mere mortal can change what is written in the stars. We are, all of us, powerless against our fate, our destiny— even princesses, lady... even you."

  Rhowenna did not answer, but thought of her dream— and knew in her heart the truth of Wulfgar's words.

  Chapter Eight

  Sliesthorp

  In his time, Wulfgar had held the tiller of many a small boat, but never before this voyage that of a mighty longship; and he knew a joy such as he had rarely experienced in his life as, in response to the movement of his hands, he felt the Dragon's Fire rise and plunge on the glimmering waves of the sea, her graceful, towering dragon's neck outstretched like that of a swan, her crimson sail spread wide like wings to catch the wind. The sea was calm, the winds were favorable, and the three vessels sailed swiftly northward along the coast of Normandy, past the thriving marketplace of Quentowic, which lay directly across from the Straits of Dover, and thence along the coast toward Frisia and Jutland. Before last year, the Víkingrs would have put in at the largest marketplace in all of northern Europe, the Frisian town of Dorestad, located at the junction of the river Lek and an arm of the river Rhine, there to trade some of the captive women and the goods stolen from Usk. But over the years, despite its being protected by water, stout palisades, and gates, and being a Carolingian stronghold, Dorestad— once home to the great Charlemagne's silver mint— had been repeatedly sacked by the Northmen. Then, last year, massive tidal waves had overrun the sand dunes that were the sea's boundaries, sweeping in to flood several low-lying regions of the Frankish and Germanic kingdoms, drowning masses of people and animals, and diverting the course of the river Rhine toward Utrecht instead of Dorestad, effectively destroying the latter's trade and so the town itself, as well. For this reason, Wulfgar made toward the Jutish town and marketplace of Sliesthorp instead.

  Although the longships covered the leagues swiftly, they still took several days to reach Jutland, days that Wulfgar put to good use by slowly furthering the ascendancy he had gained over Olaf the Sea Bull's thegns, accustoming them to his authority, so that when the time came, they would think it only natural that he assume ownership of Olaf's markland, too, and would not oppose him. With subtle comments dropped here and there, Wulfgar cleverly reminded the men that, although illegitimate, he was the son of the great Ragnar Lodbrók, their king, and of royal blood, regardless of the fact that Ragnar had never formally acknowledged him or his claim to Ragnar's kingdom and throne. Still, no man aboard the Dragon's Fire disputed Wulfgar's assertion that Ragnar was his sire, for even without his mustache and beard, Wulfgar's resemblance to Ivar the Boneless was still so marked that none could honestly doubt that the two of them were brothers.

  Further, now that he saw the chance of an honest day's hard work's being justly rewarded, Flóki the Raven showed himself more than willing to deliver it, proving an able second-in-command, a staunch supporter of Wulfgar, helping him to whip the crew into shape. There were, of course, those Víkingrs— most of them grey-beards who had served Olaf the Sea Bull for years— who grumbled churlishly about the changes Wulfgar instituted. But there were also many more— younger, stronger, more daring men, like Flóki the Raven— who welcomed the fact that Wulfgar was a stern but capable and fair taskmaster, a bold, powerful leader who commanded and earned respect. Here was a man to whom a warrior could be proud to swear allegiance, to go a-víking with, and to follow into battle; a man who bore the blood of the mighty Ragnar Lodbrók and so might someday even become a king of the Northland, a man who, should he ever sit upon a throne, would want his own thegns as his jarlar. Under Wulfgar's captaincy, the Dragon's Fire vibrated with a level of activity and excitement she had not known for many a year. Even the other two longships, captained by minor jarlar who had sailed with Olaf the Sea Bull, seemed to catch the fervor aboard the Dragon's Fire; and as the days passed, no man again sought to challenge Wulfgar.

  For that, Rhowenna was grateful; for astutely, she recognized that the stronger Wulfgar's position among the Víkingrs, the more secure her own. No man accosted her but, heeding Wulfgar's orders, kept away from her and Morgen both. Only Flóki the Raven spoke to them when necessary, having learned that Rhowenna could understand him, after a fashion. On his huge wolfskin, Wulfgar continued to bed down protectively beside them in the stern at night, with Flóki at the tiller, not only steering the longship, but also standing guard, so Wulfgar slept more deeply— although always with half an ear cocked, even so. In all his life, he had trusted only his mother and Yelkei, the better to ensure his survival and well-being. It was a hard habit to break; and so it was only slowly that he permitted himself to rely on Flóki, a reliance tempered with wry amusement as Wulfgar came gradually to realize that the support of his second-in-command was due in part to the fact that Flóki was enchanted by Morgen. In his spare moments, Flóki was doing his best to teach the "princess" of Usk to speak the language of the Northland, and it was he who, from his sea chest, produced a chessboard so Morgen and Rhowenna could entertain themselves to help relieve the boredom of their days. Other than their meals and brief wash each morning and evening, there was little for them to do except to sit in the stern and to keep out of the way. To Rhowenna and the rest of the women, who were accustomed to busying themselves with their daily tasks, the tedium was difficult to bear.

  Still, she would not be honest with herself, Rhowenna knew, if she did not admit that despite all she must endure, she experienced a certain sense of adventure and excitement during the voyage; for she had never in her life been farther than the boundaries of Usk. Her eyes grew wide at the sight of Quentowic in the distance. Even from afar, she could tell how large a town and marketplace it was. In her father's kingdom, there was no place like it; and for the first time, it dawned on her how small Usk was in the vast scheme of the world. Until now, Usk was the only world she had ever known, and she realized what a sheltered, limited world it had been. Wulfgar, observing how she gaped at the Frankish town, smiled secretly to himself. There were some things, it seemed, that could astonish even a princess, he thought, and he took pride in the knowledge that despite his low rank, he was more worldly than she. At least over the years, he had been to the towns and marketplaces of the Northland, most often to Kaupang, the summer marketplace on the western shore of the Oslofjorden, near the Vestfold. Soapstone-crafters, weavers, and metalworkers plied their trades there, and from there, too, eiderdown was shipped to the kingdoms of the Eastlands and the Southlands. But Kaupang was quite small compared to Sliesthorp, which was the largest town and marketplace in the Northland, boasting even a mint. Slaves and imported wares brought good prices there, so the plunder from Usk was bound to fetch coins aplenty for him and the rest of the Víkingrs to share between them.

  Wulfgar's only real worry as he stood upon the deck of the Dragon's Fire was that he would at any moment spy Ivar's mighty longship bearing down upon him— for surely by now, Ivar had set sail from the Northland, heading toward Walas. Wulfgar did not want to be forced into a confrontation with Ivar at sea. He could only hope that from the Northland, Ivar had sailed west to follow the coast of Britain south and west to Walas; for if Ivar had chosen instead to strike south along the shores of Jutland, Frisia, and Normandy, he would shortly be upon them. But to Wulfgar's relief, his luck held; and presently, the Dragon's Fire lay at anchor in the river harbor of Hollingstedt, without his having set eyes on Ivar's distinctive red-and-blue-striped sail.

  Sliesthorp itself lay on the east coast of Jutland,
at the head of the Schlei, a narrow but navigable fjord at the western tip of the Baltic Sea. To reach the town and marketplace from the west, it was necessary, from the North Sea, to sail up the rivers Eider and Trene to put in to the tiny port of Hollingstedt, and thence to travel ten miles by ox-cart to Sliesthorp. For this overland journey, Rhowenna and the other women not only had their hands bound tightly behind their backs once more, but also, to her anger and shame, suffered the additional indignity of having ropes tied around their necks, so they could be led about like animals. In this fashion were they taken to be herded like cattle or sheep into the waiting ox-carts; and as Rhowenna felt the curious and appraising stares of passersby upon her, her cheeks flamed with humiliation, and she unwittingly stumbled against Wulfgar, who held the end of her tether.

  "I am sorry. I go too fast for you, lady." He realized suddenly the difficulty she was having, keeping pace with his long stride.

  " 'Tis not just that, but the fact that you would leash me like a dog! No man has ever dared to treat me so! Nor am I accustomed to being stared at so rudely, so— so—" She broke off abruptly, biting her lower lip hard to hold back the heated words, the ragged sob that threatened to erupt from her throat.

  "Although you are my captive and my slave, lady," Wulfgar began, frowning now, "I have shown you far more courtesy and consideration than is wont for a man of my ilk, a warrior and a Víkingr. Yet, like a high-spirited filly you still chafe against the bit and your master. You are princess of Usk no longer, lady, and you must learn your place— lest you be the death of us both! Would you have me endanger us both by favoring you to the point where 'tis said of me that I am besotted by you, so other men will think me weak, easy prey, to be ruled by a woman, and Ragnar Lodbrók and Ivar the Boneless will seek to hurt me by wresting you from me and using you ill?"

  "Nay, I— I was wroth and embarrassed, and I— I did not think...."

  " 'Tis good, then, that I did, isn't it?" he observed coolly, so, however unwillingly, she felt chastened, as he had intended. "Lady, you do not know the Northland— and I do. Besides that I would not have it said that I favor you overmuch, Sliesthorp is crowded with traders from all over the world— and many of them are rough, dangerous men; for Víkingrs are not the only warriors and pirates to sail the seas. Much as you loathe it, this rope around your neck is as much for your own protection as 'tis to prevent you from running away from me. It marks you as my property and lets other men know that they will have to do battle with me if they would claim you for their own. Now, if you would not be stared at, do you get inside the oxcart."

  His hands strong about her slender waist, Wulfgar lifted Rhowenna up and settled her as comfortably as was possible in the vehicle. Then he instructed the driver to get under way, and with a crack of the driver's whip and a sudden lurch as the previously placid oxen started in response, the ox-cart lumbered forward. The road between Hollingstedt and Sliesthorp was well traveled and maintained, and heavily defended, being girded to the south by the vast system of earthworks known collectively as the Danevirke and which was similar to Offa's Dyke, Rhowenna saw. Flower-filled meadows and reed-grown swamps abounded along the road; and Sliesthorp rose in the distance, protected to the north, west, and south by an extensive, semicircular rampart topped by a stout palisade and bounded on its outer edge by a deep moat. To the east, defense was provided by the shallow waters of the Haddeby Nor cove. The town was divided into three sections by road tunnels with gateways piercing the rampart, and it was through the western gate that the ox-cart carrying Wulfgar and Rhowenna entered, wheels clattering over the bridge across the moat, and then beneath the tall wooden watchtower. It was cool and semi-dark in the road's tunnel portion, which was six feet wide, wedge-shaped, and planked, the roadway beneath paved with stones. Then the vehicle was through the passage, back into the sunlight; and the town unfolded before the ox-cart.

  Covering a full sixty acres and laid out in a surprisingly orderly fashion, most of the enclosed land on which Sliesthorp had been built was crowded with huts, workshops, storehouses, and barns and stables, although open spaces, by the three cemeteries and along the single stream that wended its way through the center of town, had been left for itinerant traders to pitch their tents and stalls. Narrow wooden streets and walkways meandered past timber and wattle-and-daub dwellings with thatched roofs, their gable-ends fronting the streets, with barns and stables and the occasional outhouse behind. Fences enclosed the small plots, on which there was often a well, too; and decaying animal sacrifices to the Northland's gods hung on poles before many of the structures. At the north end of town, instead of a wharf, a strong, curved wooden breakwater, nearly five hundred feet long, to whose massive bollards heavy vessels could be moored, stretched from the rampart into the sea; row-boats ferried men and cargo to and from the anchored ships. Smaller craft landed on the beach and were drawn up on the sand for loading, unloading, and repairs.

  Rhowenna had never before seen anything like the town— or so many people in one place. Sliesthorp boasted a thousand inhabitants, Wulfgar told her, and their ranks were now swollen to twice that number by the hundreds of traders and travelers who came to the town and marketplace during the summer months. The streets and walkways hummed and bustled like a hive aswarm with bees, with sweating bodies pressed close in the summer heat, and with all kinds of activity. The air was pungent with smoke from cook fires and with spicy aromas that, however fragrant, could not disguise the vile stench of garbage and offal that strewed the gutters. The clamor was deafening; raucous talk and laughter, boisterous song from the alehouses, and the shouts of the merchants and artisans hawking their wares dinned ceaselessly in one's ears. Víkingr, Slavic, and Arab slave-traders, their chained captives in tow, vied for space alongside a multitude of traders of all nationalities, as well as potters and weavers, metalworkers and carvers of bone and horn. All along the streets and walkways, pelts and wool blankets spread upon the ground displayed goods from all over the world. Pots of salt from the port of Noirmoutier, in the Frankish kingdoms, sat beside jars of oil, bolts of cloth, wooden trays brimming with jewelry, and heavy basalt millstones from the Germanic kingdoms. From the kingdoms of both had come jugs of rich, costly wines; plain pottery for everyday use and expensive, delicate glassware for special occasions— or for the wealthy, who could afford it; and highly prized weapons and armor. Barrels of wheat, jars of honey, bolts of woolens, and tin from the British kingdoms were arrayed alongside baskets heaped high with amber and walrus ivory and fresh-caught fish; stacks of pots and dishes of soapstone; mounds of woolens, hides, and furs; and coils of ships' rigging from the Northland kingdoms. Wares imported from the Slavic kingdoms were among the rarest and most luxurious of all: baskets of fruits and nuts; pots of spices and jars not only of honey, but also of wax; bolts of exquisitely woven silk, piles of furs, and open wooden caskets spilling over with jewelry and silver. Local craftsmen showed their own goods: garments and leather boots and slippers; fine combs, needles, flutes, and gaming pieces of bone and horn; and glass beads that were strung on silver necklaces, along with amber and jet, crystals and carnelians. The clanging of hammers upon anvils reverberated as blacksmiths worked bronze and iron.

  To these last were herded various of the women who had been abducted from the village and the fields of Usk. Iron slave collars were fastened about their throats, marking them as those chosen to continue the journey to the Northland. The remainder of the Usk women— like the cattle and pigs, the sheep and goats that were led to the marketplace to be bartered or sold to the highest bidder— were peddled to new masters; and Rhowenna knew, with a terrible sense of outrage and despair, that she would never see the faces of those women again. But whether they were the lucky ones, she did not know.

  "Did you— did you have to sell them?" Her eyes shone with anger and tears as she gazed up at Wulfgar at her side.

  "What would you have had me do, lady? Keep them all? I could not. They were not all suited to a life of slavery in the Northla
nd. Those I sold were too old or frail or sickly; they would not have survived the first winter on the shores of the Skagerrak— for our winters are hard, lady. They are long and dark and bitterly cold. So 'twas a kindness in a way to those women and better for me to barter them away for goods and coins to share among the men aboard the Dragon's Fire, who might have cried foul at their portions of the profit otherwise. This is the way of the Víkingrs. For two hundred years, those of the Eastlands and the Southlands have been our enemies, and we have raided and battled them. But commerce and war are a man's business, lady, and so I do not expect you to understand them. Come."

  The tug upon the tether around Rhowenna's throat was gentle; still, the rope chafed her tender skin, burning her. She could only imagine how a heavy iron slave collar would feel, weighing against her collarbones, cutting into her flesh. To her relief, she and Morgen— who was guarded by Flóki the Raven— had been spared that indignity at least. Despite the fact that they were captives, the princess of Usk and her waiting woman were entitled to some privileges, it seemed— at least until it was learned whether Prince Cerdic or King Pendragon would pay the ransom that would be demanded for Rhowenna's safe return.

  With Morgen and Flóki trailing behind, Wulfgar led Rhowenna to several of the stalls, where he bought a change of clothing for both her and Morgen, a pair of leather boots each, and lovely combs carved from reindeer antlers. Then he took the two women to a bathhouse, where, for the first time in days, Rhowenna was able to have a proper bath, in a real tub filled with steaming-hot fresh water instead of cold seawater. After she had entered through the low doorway, stepping down onto the sunken, hard-packed earth floor inside, and her eyes had adjusted to the relative darkness within after the brightness of the day, she saw by the flicker of the rushlights burning in clay bowls placed all around that the crude, wattle-and-daub hut contained just one room, which was full of steam that rose from an iron cauldron of boiling water set upon the fire blazing at the heart of the stone hearth in one corner. Nearby sat empty wooden buckets and a large, iron-hooped wooden tub, beside which were baskets filled with thick woolen cloths and bars of soap. Wulfgar spoke briefly to the stooped old man and frail old woman who were the proprietors of the bathhouse, then handed them a few coins. With the wooden pails, the old man began slowly to fill the tub, while the old woman bent over the baskets, removing some of the folded cloths and a single bar of soap, which she laid upon a low stool by the tub. Turning back to Rhowenna, Wulfgar said: