Brandewyne, Rebecca

by Swan Road

  A few days later, Flóki returned, with an escort, horses, and an ox-cart as elaborately carved as any Rhowenna had ever seen; and when she read the letter he carried from Aella, granting Wulfgar and the rest of them safe passage through Northumbria, they set off at once, leaving behind a handful of warriors to defend the Siren's Song in case of an attack. The short journey reminded Rhowenna of her voyage upon the Dragon's Fire, for Northumbria was one of the most powerful kingdoms of Britain, and as a result, there were towns and marketplaces and farms aplenty, as rich as any she had seen along the coasts of the Frankish and Germanic kingdoms and Frisia. But most wondrous of all was the city of York itself, a site of importance and authority since the time of the Romans, who had based the Sixth Legion there. It was, Rhowenna thought, even more splendid than Sliesthorp, enclosed by a vast wall, with towers that had stood from the days of the Romans, and, lining the narrow streets, a multitude of impressive buildings of timber and stone such as she had never before seen. Grandest of all was that which housed Aella's court, the huge great hall to which she and the others were escorted and that was the seat of his power. There, they could only gape at the high, raftered ceiling; at the richly embroidered tapestries and displays of weapons and shields that adorned walls lined with iron sconces into which torches were set, and windows fashioned of rare glass, which admitted the sunlight; at the ornate dais at the far end, where Aella sat upon a high-backed chair so intricately carved and detailed that it was daunting, gilded with gold and cushioned with red silk, a high seat, a throne indeed fit for a king.

  Aella himself, Rhowenna knew, was not of royal blood, but a commoner who had dared to usurp the throne, and held it not securely, but precariously; for its deposed king, Osberht, had amassed a great army and was now bent on reclaiming his lost kingdom. Aella was handsome enough, she supposed, his hair, mustache, and beard short-cropped in the current Saxon fashion; but his eyes hungry for power and disdainful mouth told her he could be cold and cruel. On his proud head, he wore a gold crown set with jewels; his hard-muscled warrior's body was accoutred in the costliest of furs and silks from the Eastlands; so important to him must elegance be that Rhowenna felt that even had they worn their finest raiment, she and Wulfgar must appear as barbarians before him. But then she reminded herself that not only was she of royal blood, the princess of Usk, but that while men such as Aella might rule great lands, it was men like Wulfgar who ruled the even greater seas. She lifted her head proudly, and although Wulfgar did not deign to kneel, but stood defiantly, head unbowed, she swept Aella a graceful, practiced curtsy that caused his eyebrows to lift in surprise and his courtiers to whisper speculatively among themselves before Wulfgar angrily yanked her to her feet and deliberately, in the Saxon tongue, so Aella would understand, warned her, "You are my wife and, as such, will kneel to no man save me!" Then, staring coolly, challengingly, at Aella, not waiting for him to speak, Wulfgar announced, "I am the Dane Wulfgar Bloodaxe, jarl of the Northland, here to speak for the yellow woman Yelkei, a princess of the Eastlands who holds captive the great King Ragnar Lodbrók of the Northland, whom she would sell to you for the price you have put upon his head."

  "So your message would have me believe." Aella's tone was haughty, and the half-smile that twisted his lips was derisive and did not quite reach his narrowed eyes that glinted as hard as stone in the sunlight that streamed in through the windows. "But a king has many enemies, and so, if he is wise, must be ever on his guard against treachery and deceit. How do I know that your prisoner"— his eyes flicked over Ragnar's chained figure— "is indeed who you say he is, that this is not some trickery of your own, Viking, to relieve me of my gold?"

  "I give you my word that 'tis not. However, if you doubt me, my lady wife, who is not of the Northland, but of the land of Walas, and so a Christian, will swear upon the holy crucifix of your priests that 'tis indeed Ragnar Lodbrók who stands prisoner before you."

  "My lady, is it true what this pagan says, that you are a Christian," Aella asked then of Rhowenna, "and prepared to swear upon the cross of the Christ and the Church that he who stands in chains before me is, in fact, Ragnar Lodbrók, knowing how you will imperil your immortal soul should you give false testament before God and these witnesses?" His hand indicated the courtiers in the great hall.

  "Aye, my lord," she answered. "How came you then to be wed to this heathen?"

  "My lord, I myself was taken captive last summer during a Viking raid upon my homeland of Usk; and what maiden, Christian or nay, would not choose to become a bride rather than a slave and a whore of her captor?"

  "Yet in the eyes of the Church and the Law, you are both."

  "In the eyes of the Northland, she is neither." Wulfgar spoke softly but in a voice so savage that it sent a shiver up the spines of all who heard it, on his face a murderous expression. "And you shall not call her such again, lest you would feel the bite of my blade at your neck."

  An audible, collective gasp rose from the courtiers at that; and Aella, gripping the arms of his chair so tightly that his knuckles shone white, half rose, as though he would strike Wulfgar down. But then, much to Rhowenna's surprise, after a long, tense moment, Aella chose to be amused and slowly settled back onto his seat, giving a low laugh, his eyes gleaming.

  "For all that you are a pagan, you are a bold warrior, Wulfgar Bloodaxe; and I have pledged you safe conduct, besides. Being a Christian, I'll not risk my soul by breaking my bond, for I've no wish to burn in Hel forever— as your... lady wife will burn, I promise you, if she swears to a lie upon the crucifix." Then, turning to the elderly priest who stood at his side, Aella said, "Father Wynfrith, do you the honors, and let us see if the maid is indeed a Christian and speaks the truth."

  The priest stepped forward, motioning Rhowenna to kneel before him. For a moment, remembering what Wulfgar had told her, she hesitated. Then, insisting firmly, "I kneel to no man, but to the Christ, my lord and husband, as is the way of my people," she sank to the floor, bowing her head and clasping her hands before her, responding quietly but surely to the questions put to her by Father Wynfrith, and then to his prayers. Finally, her hand laid upon the plain wooden cross he held out to her, she swore that their prisoner was indeed Ragnar Lodbrók, then kissed the crucifix and crossed herself as the priest gave her his blessing.

  "I am satisfied, my lord," Father Wynfrith declared, turning to Aella, "that the lady is both Christian and honest, and that the man who wears the iron slave collar is, in fact, Ragnar Lodbrók, the accursed Viking who has plagued these shores of Britain for more years than I like to remember, and who will be justly served by a death sentence for his crimes, my lord."

  "Aye, so he will." Aella nodded. Then, addressing Ragnar, he continued, "Ragnar Lodbrók, you are a king of the Northland and a mighty warrior. But verily do I say unto you that now, you shall die at the hands of a man who is an even greater king and warrior than you; and on the lips of bards far and wide, for all time, will be the tale of how I slew you and sent your soul straight to everlasting Hel!"

  "I am no Christian, Aella of Northumbria, but the greatest Víkingr in all the Northland." Ragnar spoke for the first time, seeming unperturbed by the other's boast. "So much as you may wish it, when I die, I'll not go down to wander the Shore of Corpses to the barred gates of Hel, but be borne by a golden Valkyrie to Valhöll, Odinn's great mead Hall of the Slain, in Asgard, where I shall drink and whore and spit in the eye of your Christian God, who is weak and so whom I do not fear."

  "By God!" Aella roared at that, leaping to his feet, his eyes blazing. "You shall learn His strength and to fear Him before you die, Ragnar Lodbrók, I promise you! You shall learn as they learned in the Garden of Eden, from the mouth of the serpent who was all-evil! Seize him!" he cried abruptly to his guards. "Bring him!" Then, his robes flapping, Aella strode, enraged, from the great hall, leaving the rest to follow.

  To an enclosed courtyard filled with gardens abloom with spring flowers, he led them, to the place at its heart where, beneath
an apple tree, lay what Rhowenna realized was a huge, deep, circular cistern that must have been built during the time of the Romans, so ancient and crumbled was the low stone wall that surrounded it. The well had long since gone dry. But as she neared the edge and looked down into the shadowy abyss, she saw that the recent spring rains had left a muddy puddle of water in the bottom, from which rose the pungent, sweet-sour stench of apples long rotted and fermented. But what filled her with utter horror was the fact that the core of the cistern was so infested with snakes that it seemed alive, coiling and crawling and creeping. Even Ragnar's face turned pale, and his eyes bulged at the sight. Only Yelkei's yellow face was still, emotionless; her eyes were as fathomless as the writhing black depths of the well.

  "Do you fear the Christian God now, Ragnar Lodbrók?" Aella asked in the taut, terrible silence that had fallen as all recognized what he intended. "Or must you needs feel the fangs of His wicked servants pierce your flesh before you are enlightened as to His strength?"

  "Even then, I shall not fear Him," came the brave reply.

  "Lower him down!" Aella ordered tersely.

  "Wait!" Yelkei cried of a sudden, a raven's shriek; and although the guards did not understand the foreign word she had uttered, they instinctively drew back a little from Ragnar's figure. "I would speak with him first." When Wulfgar had translated what she had said and Aella had nodded his permission, Yelkei slowly approached Ragnar. " 'Tis your fate to meet your death here this day, in this land you once thought to conquer for your own," she croaked. "But before you die, there is something I want you to know." Then she bent very close to him and whispered in his ear; and at that, from Ragnar's throat erupted a long, terrible shout that seemed to echo forever as, without warning, Yelkei struck him hard between the shoulder blades, shoving him into the snake pit.

  The chain that dangled from his iron slave collar clanking and whipping against the stone wall of the cistern, he fell, landing heavily, with a hideous squishing sound, in the midst of the mucky water, the decaying apples, and the slithering serpents. Instantly, at least two of the snakes struck, their fangs sinking deep; and as, groaning now with pain, his head bleeding profusely, Ragnar slowly staggered to his feet, Rhowenna observed, ill and horrified, that a serpent had fastened itself to his cheek. With a vicious curse and a violent jerk, Ragnar tore the creature loose and flung it away, then began to swing the chain and to kick with his booted feet at the rest, so they hissed and curled up, their heads raised high, bobbing and weaving before striking.

  "Ah, gods!" Wulfgar muttered sickly at Rhowenna's side. "Whatever else he is, Ragnar is Odinn's warrior and deserves to die as one— in battle!" And with that, he brought forth the gleaming broadsword he had taken away from his father when Ragnar had been hooked and hauled aboard the Siren's Song, and now, with a mighty heave, threw it down into the well, at Ragnar's feet. "Because you are my father— whether either of us wishes it so or nay," Wulfgar called down, "that much, I owe you!"

  "And I owe you more, no doubt; but 'tis a debt I'll not pay— nor would I have, you miserable, ill-gotten bastard!" Ragnar yelled as he bent to snatch up the weapon and began to slash furiously at the snakes that assailed him. "I do curse the day I ever laid eyes and a hand on that bloody Saxon bitch, Goscelin, your mother! I'd curse you, too, Wulfgar, with my last, dying breath, if I didn't know in my heart that 'twould be a waste of time and air, that that yellow witch of the Eastlands would lift it somehow and turn it back upon my own. So I'll say naught, save that sooner or later, a man who dares to aim higher than gods shall surely suffer a great fall."

  "That, you would know better than I," Wulfgar declared, with a mocking smile, so only Rhowenna and Yelkei guessed at the pain that twisted inside him, thrashing like the serpents in the cistern, that his father should hate him to the bitter end. "Die well, Ragnar Lodbrók."

  "As I lived, Wulfgar Bloodaxe."

  The broadsword flashed silvery in the sunlight as it rose and fell ever more slowly, the shimmering runes along its length little by little blotted out by the venom and blood that dripped from the blade. Ragnar's face and limbs grew discolored and puffed and swollen with poison; at last, he sank to his knees, retching, then crumpled over, his body racked by violent convulsions that caused him to flail wildly about the well, slinging the vomit, the muddy water, the rotten apples, and the slimy, hacked pieces of the dead snakes so hard in every direction that the spectators shrank back in alarm. Then, finally, he was stilled by the onslaught of paralysis. After a short while, his breathing stopped; and he lay faceup, his blue eyes staring blindly into the sun, nearly lost amid the turgid folds of his grotesque, bloated corpse.

  Wulfgar's own eyes stared skyward, as well, where in his mind, he watched the winged, snow-white charger that galloped forth from the clouds, on its back a gilt-haired, silver-mailed Valkyrie, singing gloriously, come to carry his slain father home.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The Blood Eagle

  They were standing again in Aella's great hall. Of how they had come to be there, Rhowenna had only a dim recollection. She had felt so dizzy and ill at the vile manner of Ragnar's death that she had thought she would faint; and only the look upon Wulfgar's face, the understanding that he needed her desperately in that moment, had kept her on her feet, clinging to him as he had clung to her, so it had seemed they had held each other upright. Aella sat once more upon his throne, laughing, a gold-chased wine goblet filled to overflowing in his hand, raised high to toast his victory over the great Ragnar Lodbrók, once a king of the Northland and now a corpse in a snake pit. Slightly startled, Rhowenna realized dully that she, too, was holding a cup of wine, as was Wulfgar; but neither of them drank to Aella's triumph, only to Ragnar's death, as was the way of the Víkingrs. Then Wulfgar said:

  "I'll trouble you now for the price on Ragnar's head, due the princess Yelkei, if you please, King Aella. Then we'll go, and haunt your shores no more, for our way lies south, and we've a long journey ahead of us."

  "But you cannot leave now," Aella insisted, smiling, his tongue darting forth to lick his wine-soaked lips, in a manner that reminded Rhowenna unpleasantly of the serpents in the snake pit. "The hour is late, and the roads across the moors are rife with brigands in these uncertain times. I cannot keep my word and guarantee you safe passage if you would set out when 'tis nigh on dusk. Nay, Wulfgar Bloodaxe, you and your companions must stay and have supper with me and spend the night beneath my roof. Far better that than some villager's shabby lodgings, some peasant's dungy byre along the wayside, you must agree. In the morning will be time enough to settle our account and for you to continue on your way."

  This was all said politely enough. Still, Rhowenna recognized, as Wulfgar did, that Aella, for whatever his true reason, did not mean to let them depart just yet and that if they pressed the issue, they were as likely to wind up his prisoners as his guests.

  "Very well." Wulfgar spoke at last. "We shall partake of your hospitality, then, and make an early start tomorrow; for I should not like to leave my Dragon Ship too long at anchor in your harbor, King Aella, lest my army of thegns grow restless and forget that we came here for trading instead of raiding." This threat was as courteously veiled as Aella's own had been.

  Yet, despite this warning, they were not to depart from York, after all; for in the morning, Aella showed his true colors by having Wulfgar and Flóki thrown into a dank, barred cell and Rhowenna, Morgen, and Yelkei locked up in a tower. When assaulted by Aella's guards, Wulfgar and Flóki fought wildly, savagely, like maddened Berserks, killing several of their attackers and wounding many more. But in the end, by the sheer weight of numbers, Aella's men overwhelmed them, and they were taken captive and stripped naked to the waist; then iron slave collars were fastened about their necks, each with a long chain at the throat that ended in manacles that were clamped shut around their wrists. The women were treated more gently, their hands bound, with ropes, behind their backs. Then all were herded before Aella in his great hall, who laughed mo
ckingly at Wulfgar's struggles against both his captors and his bonds, his expression murderous as he glared at Aella.

  "What is the meaning of this, you treacherous whoreson?" Wulfgar demanded, his breathing harsh and labored from his futile attempt to free himself. "Is this how you would keep your word to us that we might come and go in peace?"

  "If you had read my missive more carefully, you would have grasped that it was worded in such a way that my guarantee to you of safe passage was good for yesterday only," Aella sneered, stroking his beard absently. "Today, I may slay you if I please, and my conscience will be clear. However, fortunately for you, that is not my pleasure. I am greatly in need of a scapegoat, you see, and you will serve most admirably for my purpose. My God!" Aella burst out suddenly, rising from his throne and pacing the dais before them. "I could not credit it when I received your message, telling me that you bore Ragnar Lodbrók captive in your train! I feared that it must be some sly trickery indeed devised by Ragnar and his sons to conquer all of my kingdom of Northumbria. But then I realized that however you came by him, you honestly did not know—"

  "Know what?" Wulfgar's voice was sharp, his eyes so intense, so searching that Rhowenna could almost see the wheels turning in his mind as he swiftly considered and rejected one possible explanation after another until, at last, his body abruptly tensed as though he expected to receive a mortal blow.

  "Why, that late this past autumn, a great army of Vikings landed in East Anglia, led by the sons of Ragnar Lodbrók," Aella elucidated, each word falling lethally into the sudden silence. "They are even now marching toward York; and while I thought it prudent to execute Ragnar, lest he somehow escape to ride at their vanguard, I now needs must find someone else to blame for the evil deed, someone whom I may use to my advantage to barter with Ragnar's sons, if necessary."

  "So that is what we are to be, is it? Coins at your bargaining table?" Wulfgar's eyes blazed with fury and fear for Rhowenna at the thought that surely now, they would all be undone. "Damn you to Hel, you filthy bastard! Listen to me! I've known Ragnar's sons all my life. They haven't come here to barter, you fool, but to conquer all of Britain; and to do it, they'll kill you and every other Saxon king who stands in their way."