by Derek, Julia
The men took a seat on either side of the first man. One of them reached for a flask inside his leather vest and drank from it. The other pulled out a featherless wood grouse from a brown sack, placed it beside the fire in the grass, and calmly began gutting it with a knife. A large scar went from one of his eyes down to his chin. I couldn’t help but stare at the ugly scar and wonder how he had gotten it. Whatever it was from, it must have been a painful experience.
I tried to push myself up into a sitting position, but my body felt so sore I soon gave up that notion. Instead, I rolled over on my side so I was facing the man in the middle, who seemed to be the one in charge.
“Who are you?” I asked. “And what am I doing here with you?”
He looked at me and gave me another of those tiny grins. “I am Thorvald of Rodmyra. And these”—he pointed at the other two—“are my brothers Ingun and Olaf. Ingun found you sleeping on the ground when he rode by and got us. We’ve been all over the woods looking for you since you took off after the trial. Lucky for us, the night is clear and the moon full or he would’ve missed you… When morning comes, we will hand you over to Ragnar. I’m certain he will reward us greatly for it. Clearly, the lad wants to see you dead.”
I stared at him, hoping that he couldn’t see how scared I was. I tried to think of something to say. Maybe, if he knew that I was innocent, he wouldn’t be so eager to hand me over… I could only hope that he was a fair man, willing to at least contemplate my side of what I was accused of. The people, especially the Thanes, typically valued the truth and honesty above all. So I said, trying my best to keep my voice steady, “I’m not guilty of my charges. Ragnar set me up. So he could have my wife.”
Thorvald looked at me for a long moment. Then he raised his chin, peering at me from beneath his helmet. “If that was so, why didn’t you say so during the trial?”
“Because I only found out myself after the Law Speaker had announced my verdict. Ragnar told me the truth himself right before I was led out of the Assembly. This is why he wants to see me dead, while the rest of his family is content with my sentence.”
“Was that what Ragnar told you when he rushed up to you?” the man with the scar, Olaf, asked. He began cutting the grouse into smaller pieces on a small plank. “I saw him come up, all mad.”
“Yes,” I replied, and as I turned to him, I was no longer able to control my voice. It became thin and pleading. “That’s just what he said! This is why I couldn’t remember ever having done anything in the first place. Or even having the urge to do it.”
“Are you saying that Ragnar killed his own sister?” the same man asked, not sounding like he believed such a scenario himself.
“I cannot say for sure if he did or not. All I know is that, if he didn’t, he at least must have seen to it that she was killed. For I didn’t kill her!”
Olaf looked at Thorvald. “If he didn’t do it, maybe we should let him go.”
“How do we know he is telling the truth?” Thorvald snorted. “We have no reason to believe that Ragnar is after his wife. No, I think he is lying to save his skin.”
“Maybe so,” Olaf said and turned to Ingun, whose face was partially covered by an amber-colored beard. He was cleaning his nails with his eating knife. “What do you think?”
Not looking up from his handiwork, Ingun shrugged. “Don’t know. But what does it matter? We will still get a reward. And if he’s telling the truth, Ragnar is sure to give us a big one.” He grinned, seeming satisfied with this logic.
“Right!” Thorvald said and grinned too, his teeth gleaming in the dark.
“I don’t know,” Olaf said. “I wouldn’t feel right about taking any silver from a man who killed his own sister. That is the action of cowardly men.”
The grin died on Thorvald’s face. He glared at his brother. “We aren’t doing anything wrong. He is lying.”
“I’m not lying, Thorvald,” I almost yelled, not caring that I must sound desperate. “You must believe me.” I tried pushing myself up again, but I only got as far as to my elbows. “Like the Law Speaker said, I had no motive. Ragnar does. Did you see my wife? She is the most beautiful girl in all of Ostergotland! Any man would want her!”
“That is true,” Olaf said and looked at Thorvald. “She is a very beautiful girl. Tall and fair.”
Thorvald looked mad. “I suppose,” he grunted. “But we still don’t know if Ragnar wants her. For all I know, he likes short, fat girls with brown hair.”
“Why are you two fighting about this?” Ingun said, having finished cleaning his nails, and had now proceeded to clean his yellow teeth with the knife instead. “I say we just hand him over and be done with it. He’s just a damned darky anyway. And we could use that silver.”
Olaf skewered pieces of grouse on long birch spits. “We should make sure he did it before we hand him over.” He gave Ingun and Thorvald a spit each.
Sticking his spit above the crackling flames, Thorvald no longer looked as certain about what to do. He looked from Olaf to Ingun to me, then back to Olaf again. “Well, we cannot do anything until tomorrow. Let’s sleep on it, and then we decide what to do with him.” He turned to Ingun. “Tie up his hands and feet.”
8
I was lying in the same spot, on a bed of pine needles and wet leaves, feeling far from rested, when morning came. Considering that I was unable to move and freezing so much my teeth chattered, I was surprised that I had fallen asleep at all. It was overcast again and rain hung in the air. I turned my head and glanced around, cold, sharp grass cutting the skin on my face. A few steps away, Ingun was sleeping in a half sitting position, his back against the trunk of an elm. He had pulled his helmet down over his face. Thorvald and Olaf were both awake and sitting cross-legged around the quietly burning fire, staring as if hypnotized by the swirling flames.
I have to convince them to let me go. But what could I say or do to prove my innocence? Sadly, it appeared only Olaf cared to even consider this possibility. My stomach growled loudly then, and I realized that I was both hungry and thirsty, so thirsty in fact that my mouth was parched. I looked at Olaf, who seemed to be the kinder of the two. “Can I have some water?”
He jerked at my sudden question, clearly not expecting me to be awake yet. But he got to his feet and came over to me. Without a word, he squatted down and untied my hands and feet. I moved my hands in circles, glad to have blood in them again. Unfortunately, I felt too weak and disoriented to dare attacking him in an attempt to escape now that my limbs were no longer bound. And even if I succeeded taking Olaf down, it wouldn’t take long until the others were over me anyway.
“Where are you taking him?” Thorvald demanded to know from behind Olaf’s back.
“To the creek,” Olaf replied. “Don’t worry; I’ll make sure he won’t escape.” He looked at me. “Stand up.”
My body had turned stiff from having slept with my arms and legs in the same position for so long, making it even more painful to push myself up than the first time I had tried. But I had to get some water, so I pushed through it.
“Tie his hands behind his back before you go,” Thorvald ordered.
“Of course,” Olaf said and turned me around. “Put your hands behind your back.”
I did as I was told and felt how Olaf tied my hands tightly together with some of the same rope he had just untied. Holding onto my arm, he gave me a light push forward when he was done. “Start walking.”
We walked behind a couple of tall firs and continued away from the fire and the other men. We kept walking for a while before I could hear the sound of a creek gurgling forth somewhere. We passed a few more trees and then I saw the water. The creek could be no more than three steps wide and surely no more than a foot deep, but the water was fast-moving and so clear I could see tiny fish zip by. I licked my dry lips.
We stopped in front of the water.
“Get down on your knees and drink,” Olaf said curtly.
Doing just that, I leaned forward unt
il my face was down in the water, and then I sucked in the cool liquid. It tasted better than the most delicious cup of mead, even though at least a couple of tadpoles found themselves into my mouth, along with some grass.
I drank and drank until there was no room for more in my stomach. All the while, I contemplated whether I should try to break loose from Olaf or convince him to let me go. I doubted I would get a better opportunity to escape, us being so far away from the others at the moment. I decided that my safest bet was to go with the first option; while Olaf didn’t seem opposed to let me go, he knew he wasn’t in the majority. Also, now that I had drunk, I suddenly felt much better and my senses were at their peak ability. Yes, I better try to break loose. But how would I do that with my hands tied back? Maybe I could knock him out with the back of my head as I stood up. Yes, that could work. If I moved fast enough and he came close enough with his head to mine.
Straightening my upper body a tad, I arranged my legs so that I could stand up very fast without having to use my hands. Then I mumbled something deliberately unintelligible.
“What was that?” Olaf asked from where he had remained behind me.
Again, I mumbled something unintelligible.
“What are you saying?” I could hear him lean in closer. Almost. Just bend over a little more and I will break your nose, I thought. Knock you out. I mumbled a third time when I felt a hand grab me by the shoulder and Olaf come closer. I tensed my muscles. Come just a little bit closer…
“Speak up, you buffoon!” I could feel his warm breath against my neck.
Before I could second-guess my decision, I exploded into a standing position. I felt the back of my head violently knock into something hard and sharp. A crunching sound was followed by an agonizing cry. I swiveled around and took a leap away from the creek and Olaf. I didn’t get far, however, for Olaf soon flew on top of me. Unable to defend myself with my tied hands, we both crashed to the forest ground, me first and face-down.
I could feel him straddle my back, still groaning from the pain I had caused him. He grabbed me by the hair, lifted my head, and slammed my forehead hard to the ground. The pain was so intense I nearly fainted.
“How did that feel, huh?” he asked in a strange, lisping voice. “And I who was gonna tell my brothers to let you go. Well, now I cannot wait to see Ragnar’s face when he sees what we have for him!”
He stood up and grabbed me by the collar, pulling me to my feet. As he turned me around so that I faced him, I saw that his nose seemed intact but that blood trickled from the sides of his mouth and down over his chin.
“Move,” he screamed, displaying two missing front teeth and a broken third one. Walking behind me, he pushed me in front of him. Soon, he had brought me back to the other two. Ingun was awake now, and he and Thorvald were standing by the fire, talking. Thorvald turned to us and asked, “What took you so long?” His eyes widened then. “What happened to you?” Ingun and he both stared at Olaf. Looking like he had never seen anything funnier, Thorvald said, “Don’t tell me he clocked you…”
Olaf’s angry grunt was apparently sufficient answer, for his brothers started to laugh so hard they had to support themselves on each other so as not to fall. Ingun was the first to recuperate. “You still think we should let him go, Olaf?”
The comment made Thorvald laugh even harder.
“Be quiet!” Olaf tried to roar, but it sounded more like the lisp of an angry child with missing baby teeth. He spat a glob of red that landed right in front of the fire and wiped at the blood on his chin with the hand that wasn’t holding onto my arm. “Let’s head home and give him to Ragnar. The sooner we get rid of this scoundrel, the better!”
“That sounds fine by me,” Ingun said and turned to Thorvald. Together, the two went to get their horses. Thorvald brought back a pale gray Fjording stallion and the dark brown, unusually large palfrey I had seen him on yesterday. He stopped in front of us.
“I or Ingun better take him,” he said. “You should get some moss to stop the blood flow.”
Without a word, Olaf shoved me so hard I nearly fell, but Thorvald caught me by the arm just in time. He and Ingun threw me over the palfrey’s back so I ended up facing the horse’s belly, and then Thorvald mounted the horse himself, positioning himself behind me. He dug his heels into the palfrey’s flank and it started trotting.
My head still hurt from when Olaf had smashed it into the ground, but all I could think was why, why, why had I not tried to reason with him before trying to break loose. Based on what he had yelled, it seemed that he might have let me go. And even if he hadn’t, had I head-butted him while facing him, surely I would have managed to knock him out instead of merely hurting him then. Now I was stuck. Even if I succeeded in wriggling off Thorvald’s horse, I would never be able to outrun the three brothers with my hands tied behind my back.
When I had tired of beating myself up for failing to escape, Ragnar’s screaming red face appeared in my mind. A powerful fury rushed through my blood, making me tremble where I lay over the horse’s back. The more I pondered what he had blurted out in the court square, the more it all made sense to me now. It finally explained Ragnar’s ornery behavior lately, beginning with my wedding feast.
If only I had realized the depth of Ragnar’s feelings, I might have anticipated what he was up to... I might have been able to stop him. I sighed, despair filling me. How could I not have suspected anything sooner? By Thor, his jealousy had been obvious! Now it was too late, and here I was on my way to a sure death. After losing control of himself both inside and outside of the Assembly, spurring on all those men to come after me, Ragnar would have no choice but to kill me himself the moment he laid eyes on me.
9
Two months earlier
“Leif, you lucky, lucky scoundrel,” Ragnar said where he sat beside me, his breath reeking from mead and beer. “You’ve landed the most beautiful girl in the entire province.” He rose and proposed a toast. By then, the rest of the many males seated around my wedding table were too drunk, too tired, or plain fed up with toasting this matter over and over they didn’t even bother to raise their cups.
Unaffected, Ragnar moved his cup to his lips and swallowed its contents. He raked a hand through his mane of strawberry blond hair and fixed me with his gleaming eyes. “Who the hell would have thought a darky like you would have succeeded with that?” Sitting down again, he wiped away the mead drops that had spilled onto his chin with his sleeve. He sighed and continued, “By Thor, how I wish I were you tomorrow. I can only imagine what fun you’ll have throwing that wench around in the next few nights.” Ragnar wiggled his eyebrows and jutted his chin toward the table where Thora sat. Then he slapped me hard on the back and let out a thunderous laugh.
My cheeks burned. It became more and more difficult to hide the anger I felt each time Ragnar uttered another disrespectful comment about my new wife. Oh well, I calmed myself. A certain amount of folly was to be expected from Ragnar, for Ragnar was drunk and I was well aware that his crudeness worsened with drink. I had hoped, though, that he would leave Thora alone now that we were married.
“First you’ll have her to the right, then to the left, under, over, on the floor, upside down…” singsonged Ragnar.
“I haven’t kept up with the drinking tonight, Ragnar,” I said in an attempt to change the subject. “You’re far ahead of me, my friend. How much mead have you had?”
Ragnar brought his thick eyebrows together. The eyes underneath adopted a faraway expression as he counted his alcohol intake on stubby fingers. At last he said, “Fifteen. No, sixteen. Maybe even seventeen… And I have drunk plenty of beer, too.”
“That was what I thought. I’ve only had eight or nine horns of mead.”
“I’m not surprised. You were never good with the drink, my brother!”
Outrage filled me, even though I knew that Ragnar was right. Not that I would ever admit such a thing out loud, of course, so I just calmly said, “I am as good a drinker as
you are, Ragnar.”
“Oh, by Thor! You’ve never beaten me in a mead contest. Everyone knows that.” He chuckled derisively. “But that’s fine. The only ones who really know how to drink are us Jarlabankes. We have developed a special resistance. We can endure dozens of barrels of mead or beer or ale.”
I struggled not to glare at him. “Is that so? Well, the next time we’re at the mead house, I’ll show you who can handle more drink. And we’ll keep careful track of each cup. Not like tonight when we don’t know how much the other has had.”
“With pleasure, my brother. Now, let’s have another horn of mead.” Ragnar stood up and stretched his short arms across the narrow wooden table to where a maid had dropped off a decanter filled with mead to its very edge. While Ragnar poured golden liquid into horns, I turned my head and looked at Thora. She sat far apart from me, her new husband, like tradition demanded, surrounded by her mother and sisters and their closest friends. An elderly woman opposite her said something and Thora laughed.
I wondered how it was possible to feel so strongly for someone as I felt for this statuesque girl. The first time I laid eyes on her, I knew I was lost. I could picture the way she looked that day anytime I wanted. It had been as though an aura of light had surrounded her, making me think that maybe my friends and I were standing in front of the fertility goddess Freja instead of a mere mortal. Thora’s gleaming blond hair cascaded down to her waist and her pale skin glowed of health. Her cornflower gaze had rendered me immobile, and I had stuttered when I told her my name. She wore a calf-long shift and a shapeless overdress, a cloak partly covering the overdress, all of which, instead of hiding, enhanced her plump bosom and round behind.
