by Speer, Flora
She was still thinking about her private plans the next afternoon when Erik approached her.
“Freydis, do you want some?” That, she knew, was for the benefit of the two sailors who were working nearby. Erik handed her the wooden cup of ale from which he had been drinking. Lenora accepted it and sipped at the brew. It tasted sour. She wrinkled her nose. There would be nothing better until they reached Aldeigjuborg.
Erik’s eyes scanned her sunburned face and her tangled curls. She had removed the pale silken scarf as soon as they were out of sight of Hedeby, and since then had let her hair blow free. The sun had soon burnished its natural chestnut shade with streaks of gold. Her brows and lashes were by now touched with gold too. He bent toward her.
“How I would like to lie with you,” he murmured. “I want to feel you against me. I want your arms around me.”
Lenora’s gray eyes were brimming with laughter and happiness as she looked up at him. He and Halfdan were letting their beards grow, and Erik looked strange and vaguely sinister behind the black hair newly sprouted on his chin and upper lip. Only his green eyes were the same. Seeing the intensity in them and recalling their present circumstances, she giggled, choking on the sour ale, and then sobered.
“You can’t do that,” she said demurely. “I’m your sister.”
“I haven’t forgotten,” he replied through clenched teeth, but with a spark of humor to answer her own. “It’s driving me mad.”
“Poor Erik,” she teased. “Remember, it was your idea.”
He scowled ferociously.
“Just wait until we get to Aldeigjuborg,” he said. There was a world of erotic promise in the simple statement.
“You should also remember that I am no longer your slave,” she replied sweetly.
“You want me as much as I want you.”
He was right, she did want him, more than ever now that she knew the truth about Erna. She missed their nightly lovemaking. The tension between them, unreleased during the journey from Thorkellshavn, was building up and would before long urgently demand relief. She hoped they would reach Aldeigjuborg soon.
* * *
Rodfos was a bold sailor. Where other Norse merchantmen hugged the shoreline of the Baltic Sea, fearing pirates and landing each night to make camp and to sleep, Rodfos sailed directly northeast toward the land of the Finns. He had faith in Thor, who had so far protected him and helped him to prosper, and he reasoned that pirates would lurk close to land, seeking out and pouncing upon those more timid souls who took the safer way. The open reaches of the Baltic were the place for fearless men who knew their gods were with them.
The winds were favorable, and on the tenth day they reached the flat marshland, half hidden in mist and fog, that the Finns called neva, or swamp. With a skill resulting from years of travel through this wild and empty land, Rodfos navigated his knarr up the broad, swift-flowing Neva River to Lake Ladoga. There, not on the lake itself but on a river that emptied into it at the southern shore, secure behind an earth rampart and a deep ravine, lay the trading center the Norse had named Aldeigjuborg.
Goods from the northlands and from the west of Europe were unloaded at Aldeigjuborg and exchanged for merchandise brought north along the river system from Holmgard and Kiev. Some of this merchandise had originally come from Constantinople, which the Norse called Miklagard, or from the Caspian Sea and Baghdad, far to the east.
Almost always, merchandise traveling along these routes went through the hands of a series of traders, each plying his own territory overland or his own section of a river. As the goods passed from merchant to merchant at trading posts along the way, always with a profit for the handlers, the costs rose and rose again. It was possible to make a fortune ‘working along the trade routes or, if one’s luck were bad, to lose everything including life, for these routes attracted thieves and roaming nomadic tribesmen in addition to the natural perils of flood and storm that were stoically accepted as routine hazards.
Rodfos traded regularly in Aldeigjuborg. He liked the place. It was exciting. Beyond the open market at the river’s edge and the square log houses in which the more settled traders lived were the gaily colored tents and camp fires of the men and their women who were passing through the town on their way to almost anywhere in the known world. In Aldeigjuborg there was always something new to see, someone interesting to meet.
Rodfos stood on the deck of his knarr and watched the bustle on the waterfront. He was a happy man. It had been a good voyage. Once more he had evaded the pirates who haunted the northern sea, and he had made a nice pile of unexpected silver from his unwelcome passengers, who had proven to be much less trouble than he had feared. He turned as the passengers approached him. He thought the men were nothing remarkable, but the woman was a real beauty. She reminded him of a girl he had known once, long ago, who had been forced to marry someone else and then had died in childbirth. Rodfos sighed, remembering.
“Good-bye,” Lenora-Freydis said, holding out her hand. “Thank you for helping us, Rodfos.”
“I hope you find your uncle in good health.” Rodfos held her hand, gazing into dark gray eyes and recalling his lost youth.
“Yes. Uncle Gorm. I’m sure we will.” She smiled and gently withdrew her hand from his.
Rodfos’ eyes followed the woman’s slender figure until she and her companions disappeared behind a crowd of men bidding for Saxon slaves.
* * *
They pitched the tent Halfdan had brought with him and set up the tripod and chain to hold the cauldron over their cooking fire.
“We fit right in,” Halfdan observed. “No one would know us from any other traders.”
“Snorri can’t have followed us so quickly, can he?” Lenora looked about nervously, as though she expected to see Snorri’s bearded face materialize at any moment.
“I hope it is a long time before he gets this far,” Erik said. “It will take us a while to find a ship going back to Denmark and buy your passage on it. Then I can head for Holmgard and Kiev.”
“I am not going back to Denmark,” Lenora said flatly.
“Neither am I,” Halfdan added.
“I’ve told you before, Lenora, you cannot go to Miklagard with me. You have no idea how hard the trip is, or how dangerous.” Erik was plainly irritated at this rebellion against his carefully laid plans. “I never intended that you should come this far with me. Were it not for Rodfos, you would be on your way westward this very day, sailing from Bornholm. You will do as I say, Lenora, and return to Denmark. Halfdan, you must guard Lenora and see that she gets safely to Limfjord.”
“I don’t want to be safe, I want to go to Miklagard,” Lenora declared. “I’m not your slave any more. You can’t tell me what to do.” Lenora was hurt, and her pain sounded in her voice. She had thought all was well between herself and Erik, and now here he was, trying to get rid of her. She began to be angry. Even Halfdan’s support did nothing to calm her rising temper.
“We won’t leave you, Erik,” Halfdan said. “You are going to have company on your trip, and that is that.”
Erik ignored his friend to glare at Lenora. She looked back at him in open defiance.
“I do not want you,” Erik said slowly and clearly. “It is too dangerous for you. Go home. That is what we planned.”
“It is what you planned, so you will be free of me when you meet your precious Eirena again, isn’t that it?” In her relief about Erna, Lenora had forgotten that cursed Greek woman Erik had told her about, but now she remembered. If Erik didn’t want her with him, it must be because of Eirena.
“I don’t want to worry about you any more. I want to know you are safe in Denmark.” Erik stalked off toward the waterfront.
“We’re almost out of food,” Halfdan said. “We had better see if we can trade some of this woolen cloth for a piece of meat and a few vegetables.”
“I hate him,” Lenora ground out, her frustration and rage spilling over.
“I know. So do I. That’s
why we both want to follow him to the ends of the earth.” Halfdan’s boyish smile calmed her more effectively than anything he could have said. Halfdan understood.
When Erik returned later, Lenora had a tasty stew simmering in Halfdan’s cauldron. He ate silently and then wrapped himself in the piece of wool from Holgar’s warehouse that served him as both cloak and blanket and fell asleep.
Wrapped in her own tattered cloak, Lenora lay between Erik and the gently snoring Halfdan. So this was their first night ashore, for which, during the sea voyage, she had so yearned. She had hoped to spend it in Erik’s arms. She ached for his touch. His proximity, within the close confines of their tent, only increased her discomfort. The sky was light with dawn and the busy town was stirring into life before she finally slept.
Their argument went on for days, with only slight variations. Erik continued to search for a ship sailing to Denmark. Both Halfdan and Lenora repeatedly insisted they would not leave him. Stubbornly determined that they must go, he paid no attention to their protests.
Erik also tried to find a party of traders traveling to Holmgard and on to Kiev, but in this quest, too, he was unsuccessful. The traders who had come to Aldeigjuborg were there to stay until their goods were sold and new cargo bought. Most were waiting for the ice to break up on the rivers that were the roads to the interior of Gardariki. This year the spring thaw was late. Until the ice was gone and the floods had subsided enough to make travel safe, the traders were forced to remain where they were.
Erik grew more and more irritable and restless, and Lenora responded in kind. With Halfdan sharing their tiny tent, the intimacy that might have resolved their quarrel was impossible. Their tempers grew ever shorter with each other.
“It’s your Greek woman, your precious Eirena,” Lenora stormed at him for the hundredth time, humiliated by the realization that although she cared for him deeply and wanted him badly, Erik apparently no longer wanted her.
“I am weary of you, Lenora. I grow more tired every day of your sharp tongue and your stubbornness. I want to be free.”
“Then go, and I will stay here,” she retorted.
“You wouldn’t last long. These traders are rough men, and they know a nice piece of merchandise when they see one. You have been safe so far only because Halfdan and I are here to protect you.”
“How I despise you,” she cried, stung by an argument she knew was true.
He laughed at her insults and refused to argue further.
One midday, when their supply of food was nearly used up and Erik and Halfdan had gone off to talk to a trader from Kiev, Lenora set out by herself for the market. She was fascinated by the variety of goods to be had there, and stopped several times to look at silks and furs and gold jewelry, but she avoided the area where slaves were sold. She did not want to be reminded of her recent past.
She had just begun to bargain for some turnips and a particularly fine cabbage when she looked toward the edge of the market area and a man caught her eye. Her heart skipped several beats.
It was Sven the Dark. No one else could be so very tall and thin, or have such thick, pale blond hair. He turned his head and she was certain. Where Sven was, his son-in-law Snorri could not be far behind.
She had to hide before he saw her. Lenora looked around the crowded waterfront in frantic haste, searching for a safe place. There was none.
She left the baffled vegetable seller and hurried in the opposite direction from Sven. She dared not glance over her shoulder for fear he would see her face and recognize her. She noticed with surprise that Rodfos’ knarr was only a short distance away. She had thought he had sailed back to Hedeby, but there sat the knarr, looking to Lenora like a place of refuge. Rodfos himself stood on the dock next to his ship, talking to another man. As Lenora watched, the man walked away, leaving Rodfos alone. She hurried forward.
“Freydis, what are you doing here?” Rodfos’ deep voice boomed out. Lenora was certain Sven must have heard him on the opposite side of the market.
“I need your help,” Lenora said, putting one hand on his muscular arm. “I’m in danger.”
“Are you? Someone here?” Rodfos looked about the waterfront. “Where is he?”
“It’s the man who wants to marry me,” Lenora lied. “He has followed my brother Erik and me from Denmark. I just saw him. Will you hide me? It’s only for a little while, just until he goes away.”
“I’m glad you came to me.” Rodfos hurried her up the gangplank onto his ship. “You will be safe here. I’m the only one on board. All my men have gone ashore. Come under the rear deck.”
Rodfos led her to a part of the ship where she had never set foot. She had spent most of the trip from Denmark confined to the ship’s forward deck.
“These are my quarters,” Rodfos said, pulling aside a red woolen curtain that hid a cozy alcove. “No one will look for you here.”
The space held only a carved wooden chest and a bed made of piled-up furs on a wooden shelf. Rodfos went out and Lenora sank down on the bed. She was still trembling with the shock of seeing Sven. As soon as it was safe, as soon as Sven had left the marketplace, she must find Erik and Halfdan and warn them. She hoped Sven would not find them first.
Rodfos returned with a large pitcher and a beautiful silver cup filled with mead. He handed it to her and she drank. He sat beside her on the fur-piled bed.
“Now tell me the truth,” he said.
“I have told you the truth,” Lenora lied between sips of mead. “Sven wants to marry me, but I do not want him. Our father died, and now my brother Erik must protect me from Sven.”
“What about your Uncle Gorm, the merchant who lives here in Aldeigjuborg? Can’t he make this Sven stay away from you?”
Lenora met his eyes unwillingly. She tried to look honest, but she wasn’t sure she was succeeding. The mead, taken on an empty stomach, was confusing her.
“We have no Uncle Gorm,” she said, tossing him a small bone of truth. “That was a story we made up. We were afraid you would refuse to take us aboard your ship, and Sven was after us.”
“I thought as much. And this Halfdan fellow, is he your lover?”
“Oh, no.” This time Lenora could meet Rodfos’ gaze with perfect sincerity. “Halfdan wants someone else. A woman back in Denmark.”
“I see. Drink some more mead, Freydis. You are still trembling. Are you really so afraid of this Sven?”
“He is a terrible man,” Lenora said with great seriousness. “He beats women.”
“You think he would beat you?” Rodfos was sympathetic.
“Probably.” Lenora knew Sven would do worse than beat her if he ever caught her. She trembled again at the thought.
“I won’t let him hurt you.” Rodfos’ big hand rested on her shoulder. He was staring at her in an odd way, as though he saw someone other than Lenora-Freydis sitting in her place. “You don’t look very much like her, but you are alike. It’s the way you hold your head, and your voice.”
“Who?”
“Someone I knew once, long ago, when I was too young and foolish to fight for what I wanted. She had to marry someone she feared. She’s dead now. I won’t let that happen to you, not if I can help you.”
Lenora was suddenly ashamed of the lies she had told him. Inside this big, gruff half-pirate there was tenderness and a kind heart. Impulsively, she threw her arms around his neck, nearly spilling the cup of mead she was still holding.
“You are a good man, Rodfos.”
“It’s been years since anyone called me that. Here, now, take your arms away or I’ll forget you are young enough to be my daughter. Not that that has ever stopped me before. Still, you are so much like her, I’d not harm you. You should save yourself for some lucky fellow your own age. Youth with youth.” Rodfos disengaged himself and stepped to the other side of the tiny cabin, keeping his back to Lenora. “I know I’ll regret this tomorrow, when I remember how sweet you felt, cuddled against me like that. Now. Let us talk seriously about thi
s Sven.”
“I hope he has gone from the market. I have to find Erik and warn him.”
“If Sven has come such a long distance searching for you,” Rodfos said, “you may be certain he’s not alone. He may be hoping to kill your brother and his friend and take you away with him and marry you by force. Freydis, I will try to help you, but you must be honest with me. What are your brother’s plans?”
“Erik wants to go to Kiev,” Lenora said, carefully not adding that Erik did not want her to go with him, “but he can’t find anyone who is traveling there in the next few days, and he says it is too dangerous to travel alone.”
“He’s right about that. Yes, if you get out of Aldeigjuborg and away to the south, Sven might lose your trail. I’ll see what I can arrange for you. I know a few people here in Aldeigjuborg. This is what you must do. Find your brother and his friend and stay at your tent until I come to you. Just be sure Sven doesn’t see you.”
“I will. But, Rodfos, you don’t know where we’ve camped.”
“Yes, I do. I’ve been keeping my eye on you, Freydis. I’ll find you. Now, run along. I have to locate an old acquaintance of mine.”
That evening Rodfos brought a man to their tent. Lenora had told Erik and Halfdan about seeing Sven.
“Now that Sven is here,” Halfdan said to Erik, “and surely Snorri with him, we can’t waste any more time looking for a ship to Denmark for Lenora and me. We must all leave for Kiev as soon as possible.”
Erik did not respond to this, though he looked worried. Lenora, hopeful in spite of her terror of both Sven and Snorri, had had sense enough not to press Erik. Instead, she silently occupied herself with preparing and then cleaning up their dinner.
“This is Torgard,” Rodfos told them, striding boldly into their camp. “He is taking two boatloads of goods to Holmgard and then to Kiev. I think you can arrange something agreeable to everyone.”
Torgard was a nondescript man, of medium height and medium build with lackluster brown hair, but his pale blue eyes were bright with intelligence, and as they all learned later, with cupidity. He made his living transporting goods from Kiev to Holmgard to Aldeigjuborg and back again.
