Brandewyne, Rebecca

by Swan Road

  "If you know that you can expect no ransom for the princess of Usk, why have you come here, Ivar?" Wulfgar slowly stood, longing fervently to comfort Rhowenna, his heart aching for her— and he not liking at all what had passed between Ivar and Morgen. From that, he knew that the danger to them all was not yet over, that Ivar and his warriors could turn upon them at any moment, a violent battle erupt in the great mead hall. "From your boasts, 'twould seem that you have the princess's dowry in your possession. So, what more do you want?"

  "The princess herself, of course, as you must surely have guessed by now— or are you blind, as well as bolder than is wont for a bastard bóndi?" Ivar turned from the two women back to Wulfgar. "It may be that Cerdic of Mercia can be persuaded of the error of his ways, or that whoever manages to rise to power from the ruin of Usk will want her to secure his claim to that kingdom's throne. Regardless, one of her rank is always valuable for coin or barter, and so Ragnar means to have her. He has ordered you to surrender her and me to bring her to him. He is your king; he will not look lightly upon your failure or my own to comply with his demand. So, do you give her up or nay, Wulfgar?"

  "Even a king may not just take what is not his, but fairly won by his jarl, unless he wishes to start a feud— or a war."

  " 'Fairly won' is debatable, since you would not have known about the princess of Usk and her dowry had not a foolish yellow bird of Ragnar's dared to chirp in a cage not her own. Still, Ragnar's raid upon Paris this summer was quite profitable. He is even now hiring an army of mercenaries. I feel certain that he, as I, would welcome a battle to test their mettle before they march upon the kingdoms of Britain."

  "Indeed? What a pity, then, that you, at least, would not be there to see it, Ivar." Wulfgar glanced pointedly around the great mead hall, where his own warriors outnumbered those of Ivar by two to one.

  "I thought that perhaps that might prove your answer," Ivar rejoined coolly, seemingly unruffled by the veiled threat to his life, although his eyes shone like blue flame and his body was suddenly as taut as a bowstring. "And since I am not so hotheaded as you, Wulfgar, I came prepared to offer you a bargain instead of the point of a blade. Bring the yellow slave from the Eastlands inside!" he called to his thegns, causing Wulfgar's nerves abruptly to tighten like thong. "Bring the spaewife, that spawn of Nidhögg, bloodsucking dragon of Náströnd!"

  Yelkei! Wulfgar had not seen her earlier, in the bailey; his fear for Rhowenna had been paramount in his mind, and Yelkei was a small woman and had ridden double, mounted behind one of Ivar's men, besides. But she was here, he saw now as she was momentarily silhouetted in the frame of the open door, the sunlight bright behind her. Then her stooped figure began slowly to shuffle toward him in such a way that he realized of a sudden, enraged, that she had been badly beaten, whipped viciously but skillfully as punishment, surely, for telling him the skáld Sigurd

  Silkbeard's tale; and he thought that with his bare hands, he would throttle Ivar in that moment.

  "Do you draw steel on me now, 'twill be without provocation, Wulfgar, after I have proposed to you a fair trade; and no man will trust you after that, and the Thing will have just cause to brand you a traitor to your king and an outlaw," Ivar warned softly, his smile mocking, disdainful. "And that, I should find a pity, indeed; for you should not be a foe worth having if your honor were lost, and then I must kill you as I would a mongrel dog instead of in battle, as I long to do and will when the time comes. Now, you've that yellow witch to tell you when that will be— for all the good it may do you— and I'll take the princess of Usk and go in peace until we meet again, when perhaps I'll slay you." Reaching down, he hauled Morgen roughly to her feet, laughing shortly as she struggled in vain against him. "A feisty wench I shall enjoy taming. Had the men of Usk had half the mettle of their princess, I should not have slaughtered them like sheep. Come!" he shouted to his warriors. "Let us ride!"— and he was gone in a flurry of dust churned up by the horses' hooves as, after striding from the great mead hall, he and his thegns thundered from the palisade.

  "Elsket, I am sorry." Wulfgar's voice was gentle as, slowly loosing the hand he had clamped down hard upon Flóki's wrist to prevent him from yanking his broadsword from its sheath and running with it after Ivar, he pulled Rhowenna to her feet and into his arms, holding her trembling body tightly but tenderly against him. "I am sorry for your loss, sorry for all the pain that has been caused you. By the gods, I would undo it if I could, I swear!"

  "You have risen high, Wulfgar, since last I saw you— but not so high that you are become a god yourself, to change what is written in the stars," Yelkei croaked in her raven's voice, her black eyes shrewd as she stared hard at Rhowenna, then glittering with malicious amusement as she glanced out through the open door, where Ivar had vanished. "Although you have learned something of the gods' devious ways, I am thinking, to trick Loki's wolf, with fine-woven silk ribands— as Týr did with the chain called Gleipnir. But now, you had best beware, lest your own hand, too, be bitten off at the wrist! Haaa! How I should love to see Ivar's face when he learns what a fool you have played him for!"

  "Be silent, old woman!" Wulfgar hissed, angered, despite his gladness at seeing her and his love for her; for his love for Rhowenna was greater still. "Naught here save myself and my lady know of what you speak; nor will I risk having it babbled about in Ragnar's hof, because you could not hold your venomous serpent's tongue! 'Twas you and your prattle of power and prophesy that brought about all that has come to pass! Truly, you are lucky Ivar did not cut your tongue from your head, but only lashed you for carrying to my ears the tale told by the skáld Sigurd Silkbeard that summer's night in Ragnar's great mead hall!"

  " 'Twas not due to luck, but because of Ivar's fear of my witchery that I may still speak the truth to you, Wulfgar, thankless though you may find it. My tongue, I would not part with— and for all his bravado, Ivar did fear its curse upon him. But the beating I gladly endured for your sake, who are the child of my heart; 'twas a small price to pay, indeed, for all you have gained— and will yet achieve, Wulfgar. But, come. We may talk of all this later. Right now, your lady is ill with grief, and Flóki the Raven burns with a fire that may rage out of control if not dampened. Do you take your lady to your sleeping chamber, while I prepare a potion for her that will ease the burden of her anguish for a little while, so she may rest. Then speak you to Flóki. The woman he would have will come to no harm yet for a time at Ivar's hands; Ragnar's great longship lies at anchor in the harbor, and he will not prove so hot as Ivar to breach the maidenhead of one whose virginity he thinks may still hold value."

  "I hope that you are right, Yelkei." Wulfgar's face was grave with worry as he gazed down at Rhowenna, who wept quietly against his chest. "For she who took my lady's place was ridden hard at the battle of Usk— and mayhap even before, if I am any judge of a maiden— and so Ragnar and Ivar will learn if they seek to climb into her saddle. But you are right; I must see to my lady. Come, kjœreste. Let me put you to bed." Sweeping Rhowenna up in his arms, he carried her unprotesting figure into the sleeping chamber and laid her gently on the bed, the touch of his hand a loving caress as he brushed her hair back from her face and the tears from her cheeks. "Oh, sweeting, what I would give to have it all to do again!" he whispered fiercely, anguished by the shock and agony that filled her wide violet eyes. "I would not so much as breathe your name to Olaf the Sea Bull!"

  "And what would that change, Wulfgar, save that I, not Morgen, would now be in the cruel hands of Ragnar Lodbrók and Ivar the Boneless? Usk would still lie in ruins; my parents... my parents would still be... dead— Ivar would still have killed them—" Sobbing softly again, Rhowenna closed her eyes, feeling as though a ponderous weight were bearing down on her, crushing her, as she thought of her father and mother, images she could not put from her mind: her father, laughing in his great hall, wine cup in hand; her mother sitting before the large loom, her beautiful face illuminated by the fire and the candlelight. "Oh, Wulfgar, it hurts," s
he said, reaching instinctively for his hand, for comfort. "It hurts so bad."

  "I know, elsket, I know. So I felt when, as a lad, I lost my mother, Goscelin. Here." Gathering Rhowenna in his arms, Wulfgar lifted her a little, so she was cradled against him. "Here is Yelkei with the sleeping potion. Do you drink it down now, and try to rest."

  Obediently, Rhowenna did as he commanded, too dazed by the day's events, too grief-stricken to object. She did not care if the yellow slave, Yelkei, poisoned her; she even half hoped that it was so, although she could think of no reason why the old woman would want to do such a thing, save that Yelkei was a witch, and therefore wicked, in league with the devil. For how else could she have known that Rhowenna, not Morgen, was the princess of Usk? But when she looked up at the old woman's wrinkled moon face, into her perceptive black eyes, Rhowenna saw nothing but kindness and pity, and she felt suddenly ashamed of her suspicion.

  "You need not fear, lady. 'Tis only a mixture of herbs and spices," Yelkei told her, as though reading her mind. "For all that Wulfgar blames me for what was the gods' decree, I wish you no harm. You will sleep now— and dream no dreams."

  And at last, it was as Yelkei had predicted: Rhowenna did sleep— and she did not dream.

  Book Three: Swan Road

  Chapter Thirteen

  Surrender the Night

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

  Now that Ivar the Boneless had ridden away with the woman he thought was the princess of Usk, Wulfgar knew he and his markland would be safe for a time from Ragnar Lodbrók and the army of mercenaries he had been amassing since his return from the Southlands. Wulfgar would have liked nothing better than to slay Ivar and the band of thegns who had accompanied him, and might have done so with few losses to his own warriors. But that would have brought Ragnar down upon him; and even while aboard the Dragon's Fire, Wulfgar had known he and his men were no match for Ragnar's larger forces. If Ragnar marched upon him, Wulfgar would be defeated and probably killed in the battle. Even so, only the thought of what Rhowenna would suffer should that prove his fate had compelled him to stay his hand against his half brother; for he would rather have wandered the Shore of Corpses to the barred gates of Hel than to have swallowed his pride and stood silently by, while Ivar had manhandled both Rhowenna and Morgen. Yet to have acted, as reckless Flóki would have done, would have been foolhardy, Wulfgar knew. Still, he felt guilty and ashamed that he had done nothing, that Rhowenna had learned in so cruel a manner of her parents' deaths, and that he had allowed Morgen to be carried away from Flóki, who so plainly loved and desired her.

  "Curse you, Wulfgar! If you balked at slaying Ivar because he is your half brother, why did you not let me do the deed?" Flóki asked angrily later. "Gladly would I have slit his throat or driven my blade through his heart— and well you know it!"

  "Aye, as would I also have done, for there is no love lost between Ivar and me—"

  "Then, why—"

  "You know why, Flóki!" Wulfgar snarled, scowling darkly. "And if you don't, you're a fool! Ivar is not just my half brother, but the son and heir of my father, the great Ragnar Lodbrók, a konungr of the Northland. Even my half brother Halfdan, who is so ambitious and hungry for power that he would gladly slay Ivar and Ubbi both to claim Ragnar's throne, does not dare to lift a hand against Ivar for fear of our father's reprisals. Are you so eager to lie in the arms of a Valkyrie that you would have Ragnar come here with his army of thegns and mercenaries to slaughter us all like sheep, as Ivar did the men of Usk?"

  "Nay, of course not. But neither would I see the princess of Usk held at Ragnar's and Ivar's mercy!" Like a caged beast, Flóki paced the floor, restless and agitated.

  "Nor would I; but there was no other choice, and so I did what I must. A jarl cannot think only of himself, Flóki, but must think of those who are bound to him, as well. Still, Yelkei has spoken truly, I believe; the princess is in no danger at the moment. Unlike Ivar, Ragnar will not be so desirous of harming one who may yet be of use to him."

  "Aye, well, I hope that you are right, lord." Flóki's reply, while grudging, was calmer at least. "For I did not like Ivar's behavior toward the princess, as though she were a common slave he might have as he pleased, and no royal maiden at all!"

  "We will get her back," Wulfgar insisted stoutly. "In the meanwhile, we must concentrate on completing the new longship, so 'twill be ready if Ragnar decides to declare war on us, or to see us all branded as outlaws by the Thing so that we are compelled to flee from the Northland."

  Together in silence, each dwelling on his own thoughts, the two men walked down to the strand, where, resting on its log rollers, the new longship that Wulfgar had ordered built was slowly taking shape. Soon, it would be completed; and as he gazed at it, his heart burst with pride stronger than any he had ever before felt. Not only was the vessel his own, but also of his own design. Eirik and his cadre of woodcarvers had outdone themselves to bring it to fruition, Wulfgar thought, as he looked up at the towering stempost and sternpost that seemed to pierce the sky. The dragon's-head stempost was long; the mouth was open, breathing wooden flames; the dragon's outstretched neck was gracefully curved and unusually notched down its length with scales that stood upright; its throat was deeply and beautifully chiseled with countless runes and other magic symbols and scenes of battle and of tales of the gods. The bow of the longship formed the beast's belly; and along the vessel's sides, Eirik and the rest had engraved a set of sweeping wings, so it appeared as though the mighty creature had folded them against her body. Also notched with upright scales, the dragon's-tail sternpost rose behind, culminating in a triangular point. Never had there been a longship so magnificent; even Ragnar's own great vessel would pale to insignificance alongside it, Wulfgar told himself. In honor of Rhowenna, he had decided to call it the Siren's Song.

  A basket in hand, she and several of the other slave women had come down to the beach from the longhouse, to catch fish and to gather seaweed in preparation for the mørketiden, the long, dark winter that would soon be upon them. Already, the days had grown cool and shorter; the leaves had begun to turn on the deciduous trees of the dark forests; and snow had fallen in upper reaches of the mountains. Presently, winter would spread its white mantle over the heaths, the meres, and even the strands. Before then, cattle, sheep, pigs, and chickens must be butchered; game from the woods must be hunted and killed; and fish must be speared or netted, all to be preserved by being dried and smoked, salted, or pickled, and sealed in barrels or jars so there would be food enough to last through the long months of winter and none on the markland would go hungry. Vegetables, fruits, and grains, too, must be prepared and hoarded.

  Now, as Wulfgar watched Rhowenna at her work, he thought that even had he not loved and desired her, he would have been a fool not to have kept her with him; for truly, he could not have accomplished half so much or managed the markland half so well without her guidance. The knowledge and training she had received as the princess of Usk had proved invaluable to him, and he had not hesitated to make use of it. As, with his stern but fair authority, he had won the hearts of his people, so she had won them with her goodness and gentleness and grace; and if she were at times proud, stubborn, and defiant, well, were not those faults his own, also? Aye, he had chosen well, he thought. He and she were like what the Víkingrs called hacksilver, two halves of the same coin. If only Rhowenna would come to see that, would agree to be his wife, and would yield to him in bed, gladly would he go down to the barred gates of Hel at his death, having known on earth the blessings of Odinn's Valhöll.

  Sensing Wulfgar's eyes upon her, Rhowenna glanced up from where she waded in the seawater off the shore, her long skirts drawn up and tucked into a belt she had borrowed from his coffer and fastened about her hips. She shivered as she looked at him, but it was not from the cold water that lapped about her bare legs, and not with the fear of him that she had felt in the beginning, but with an ache that deep down inside, she knew was both
love and longing for him. If she were honest with herself, she could no longer deny that. Despite everything, Wulfgar had found his way into her heart, and she could not now imagine her life without him. Over and over, she had told herself that she was vulnerable because of her deep grief at the deaths of her parents, that she had become like a coracle adrift upon madding seas— blown off course, lost, and alone— and he was like a haven in the storm. But in her heart of hearts, Rhowenna knew that it was more than that. Still, she withheld herself from him, anguished and afraid. Wulfgar was her enemy, her captor. How could she have forgotten that? How could she have fallen in love with him?

  He was nothing at all like Gwydion, nothing at all like any man she had ever before known, able to swing a warrior's battle-ax at one moment and to sing a bard's song the next. Despite herself, the juxtaposition intrigued her, as the man himself fascinated her. Surreptitiously, through the ebony strands of hair that had come loose from her braid, she studied him, her eyes drinking him in. Tall, fair, and handsome, he stood with his head thrown back, his long mane of hair gleaming golden in the sun and rippling like wheat in the wind, as the hard muscles in his strong, supple body rippled with his every movement, speaking to something within her that yearned wistfully to answer, a slow, swooning sensation that made her feel as though she were melting inside, trickling down into one of the quiet pools of the Northland forests. His blue eyes shone with pride and excitement at the longship of which he would soon be master. The vessel was nearly finished. The hard work was done; the rest was simply a race against time now, until winter fell.

  Winter. Rhowenna could hardly believe that so much time had passed since Wulfgar had abducted her from her home. Once, she had prayed desperately to go back to Usk, and he had had no longship in which to take her. Now that he would soon have a vessel, she had no home to return to. Ivar the Boneless had destroyed it. The first messenger Wulfgar had sent to Usk had not come back; perhaps he had been killed in the melee when Ivar had descended upon the small kingdom. After Ivar had taken Morgen away, Wulfgar had dispatched another messenger to Usk, in an attempt to discover if anyone or anything had survived the battle with Ivar. But there had not yet been enough time for the messenger to get there and back; and Rhowenna held out little hope that when he did return, his report would contradict Ivar's story. All she had cared for, all that had mattered to her was gone; she had no one and nothing save Wulfgar.