"Ho, stranger! Who are you, to attack three innocent travellers who mean no harm to you?"
Held helpless by the tip of the spear against his throat, and aware that Polonius' next knife was poised, the Slav nevertheless spat at the three of them before speaking.
"Paugh! Viking pigs! I need no excuse to kill you except for your accursed birth!"
Ambrose was puzzled. "Why do you feel so ill about the Varangians? We are but peaceful traders, looking for the homestead of Bothi, of the Rus."
Once again the swarthy Slav spat his disgust at the three of them. "Know you then, that I was chief of a village an hour's ride from here. It was yer friend Bothi who seized my son for hostage and raped my daughter when I protested we were free men! When my tribesmen rose to fight the strangers who claimed we were their slaves, my entire family was slaughtered. I alone was able to escape to the safety of the forests. I have vowed revenge on all Vikings!"
Hearing these words, Ambrose gradually allowed his spear-point to sag to the earth. Polonius looked questioningly at Ambrose, awaiting the signal for life or death. Ambrose signalled Roman style, thumb up, and Polonius slipped his knife into his belt. Ambrose spoke softly.
"Go friend, and know that not all Vikings are cruel. I can only wish it had been otherwise for you and your family."
Without a backward glance, the Slav turned and limped towards the cover of the brush. As the stranger slipped from sight, both Ambrose and Polonius turned to Phillip. Polonius skilfully withdrew the arrow and cleansed the wound. Looking at the blood still flowing freely from the wound, Polonius spoke to the Saxon prince.
"Ambrose, would you please give Phillip all of our mead, and start a fire while I get Phillip comfortable. While the wound does not appear to be too deep, it is one of the mysteries of almighty God that some wounds fester and kill a strong man, while another, far more severe, will heal cleanly and neatly. I do not wish to take a chance here. I want to cauterize the wound with a red-hot knife."
At length Phillip had consumed all of their supply of mead, and the knife blade glowed a dull orange. Polonius, after carefully wrapping the handle with strips of rags, seized the knife and thrust the hot metal on the wound until both Ambrose and he could smell cooking meat. Phillip, a stoic and stalwart man, clenched his teeth mightily, and only a deep groan escaped his tortured body. When the job was done, he collapsed against the tree, and Ambrose assisted Polonius in wrapping a cloth around the Weapons-master's chest.
Surprisingly, within an hour Phillip wished to ride on, and the three companions, remembering the outlaw Slav, agreed that it would be safer if they didn't delay any longer. Phillip needed some help in mounting, but he was able to sit his horse well, and the trio soon started off at a slow pace.
Following the river trail for another hour or two, they finally found the place that they had been seeking. Before them, in a large forest clearing, were fifteen or so homes, surrounded by a stout timber palisade.
To the right of the settlement wandered a river that they knew flowed into the Dnieper not far downstream. On the river floated two smaller karves, both anchored within easy bow-shot from the palisades. A watchtower stood within the palisade, near the main gate. The appearance of the three riders caused the sentry to call out to other, unseen people.
With Ambrose leading Phillip's horse, and Polonius bringing up the rear, the two of them walked their horses towards the gate. From the fields they moved past, sullen-looking Slavic peasants measured their progress. Their expressions bespoke much for their love of their new masters, and Polonius felt a chill for the first time since he had arrived in this land. The chill slid up his backbone, augmented perhaps by the earlier words of the Slavic outlaw, as well as their long journey through the dark and seemingly endless forest. The crimson and gold forest, which had previously been something of exquisite colour and beauty, had, with the meeting of that outlaw, become somehow more sinister and vaguely confining.
Thus it was with some relief that they passed through the gate and discovered Bothi advancing, followed by many smiling subordinates. Ambrose lifted his hand in greeting and spoke to the throng and its master.
"It is with great pleasure, Bothi, that we have found your homestead, and see our old companions smiling and offering us welcome! Yet we have here an injured man, and we have need of your medicines and help."
None were strangers to wounds, as warriors often proudly exhibited various scars when, around the fires at night, each got his opportunity to tell of old battles and raids. There, at least in the memory of the teller, each was as brave as a bull, and at least as strong.
Several warriors immediately ran to Phillip's horse and helped him dismount. Clucking at the dried blood which still stained what was left of his woollen under-garment, they helped him to the main lodge while one of their number ran to get him more mead; the one medicine which they knew could kill all pain if taken in sufficient quantities.
"Come you in', stated Bothi to Ambrose and Polonius, once Phillip had been helped over to the lodge. 'Tell us what happened to our friend Phillip here, and then perhaps you could tell us of the news from Holmgard, for we are eager to know how goes the settlement!"
Inside, comfortably seated on bear and wolf-skins, they talked of all that had transpired in the new Varangian realms. Ambrose and Polonius told of the captains who had sent word back to Rurik and the Novgorod settlement of how their conquests were advancing. They told of the occasional resistance of villages, but how most had succumbed peacefully enough to the new rulers when they had seen the Viking skjaldborg approach their villages; backed by Slav allies and karves cruising the waterways. They told of their own interests; of how agents had been sent south to other Varangian trading forts, spreading the news about the new Rus holdings being carved out in the midst of the vast northern forests. Polonius informed them that many of the bachelors were marrying native Slavs, thus tying the Slavs and their new rulers together with bonds of matrimony.
Most important, they told of the development of Holmgard, and the defences that, when complete, would render it immune from either Slav or nomad raiders.
Ambrose spoke to the assembled warriors. "To that effect, Bothi, Rurik had asked for you to send a report of how your own military preparedness is coming along. The jarl wants to know how many Slavs you have trained, and with what weapons. When the raiders ride this way again, Rurik wants to be able to counter with both fixed defences and also a mobile and strong military force capable of quick movement by ship.
Never again, he has sworn, shall an attacker find defenceless villages abandoned while the peasants hide in the woods. Never again, if Rurik has his way, shall long lines of Slav captives from this territory wend their way south, to fill slave bazaars from Samarkand to Miklagard. This is the dream of Rurik."
CHAPTER 18.
A Rus is Killed, and Bothi Retaliates.
With Phillip recuperating from his wound, Ambrose and Polonius joined Bothi and his comrades on various hunting expeditions into the surrounding forests. The hunters rode in large groups, and the hunting was excellent. Within days Ambrose and Polonius had killed their share of wild boar, deer, and even a bear. Once, indeed, Bothi ordered the hunting of a slave woman who had fled the settlement. Bothi gave the girl's bedclothes to his two giant dogs to sniff.
Originally bred to be capable of catching and pulling down wolves, they whined in their eagerness to run. The handlers released them, and Bothi and a mounted escort thundered off on her trail. Ambrose and Polonius, while understanding the pragmatic need for discipline to be enforced when the Viking masters were so vastly outnumbered, yet felt the hunt was needlessly cruel, and declined to ride on that particular hunt. While mother Church taught that each person had his or her place in God's hierarchy and should accept it with humility, yet Ambrose vividly remembered his own personal experience with slavery.
The hunters returned within less than an hour. A Slav led the two dogs on leashes. Bothi saw Ambrose, and grinned down at him from his horse.
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br /> "You missed the excitement, Canute's son! The dogs treed the girl, and then jumped almost twice the height of a man! They were able to drag her right out of the tree! We managed to catch up just before they reached her. By Odin's beard, there was never a prettier sight than that wench's face when the dogs reached her high in the tree!"
Thus time passed. One full moon waned and was replaced by a new one. On the very next day, one of Bothi's lieutenants rode in, leading a horse with a body tied across it. He drew his mount to a halt directly in front of Bothi's house and called out angrily for his master.
"Bothi, it is I, Ragnar! Come and see the answer from the southern village! They sent you an iron dagger as tribute, Bothi! They put it in your messenger!"
Bothi led an avalanche of men out from his Great Hall. When his emissary had been cut down and laid out on the ground, the warriors circled about the body and stared in silence. The man, one of their companion Rus, had had his right hand cut off, and his beard had been singed.
A terrible look crossed Bothi's face, making his savagely handsome face distorted and evil looking. "By the teeth of mighty Odin,' he shouted, 'they will pay for this!"
All around him his men growled fierce assent. Ambrose asked what had happened, and Bothi angrily replied.
"We sent this man, Canuteson, to a village a few hours south of here, along the tributary river. He went carrying a white shield, as my emissary. His instructions were to demand tribute and women, as the village falls within my domain. You see my answer!"
Ambrose listened to the furious Bothi. It was clear that the Varangian leader did not like the answer he had got.
All night long the warriors sang and drank, and were entertained by dancing girls. By dawn their anger had worked itself into a fever pitch. At Bothi's slurred command, all of the forty-odd warriors seized their weapons and ordered their horses saddled. Each warrior's Slav protégé ran to get their own weapons and armour. In total, the two groups made a formidable array of almost seventy men, including Ambrose and Polonius. This was a debt of honour, and all tribesmen were bound to ride to avenge the terrible deed. Ambrose well knew that even the most barbaric of the Northmen generally respected the sanctity of an emissary, for it may well be that they themselves would have need of such a one. Ambrose knew too, that Bothi would pay wergeld to the family of the dead man, but that the Slav village would supply it, and much more, for their reckless deed.
Riding single file, the war party made a large loop that was intended to bring them out on the other side of the village. Two of Bothi's Slav scouts led the band by little frequented trails. The few people who saw them go by stood silent and bowed submissively, or ran to the cover of the deep forest.
None, however, ran to warn the village. The farmers and forest dwellers were not of the same clan as the inhabitants of the southern village, and therefore felt they owed its people no special loyalty. Most of all, none wished to endure the wrath of these blond giants, about whom terrible rumours had filtered down even to those deep in the forest.
After several hour's ride, the scouts signalled with hand signs that all were to dismount and leave their horses. The men, slowly sobering, slipped into military discipline. They quickly obeyed the silent signals. The men didn't seem to be at all unhappy about leaving their mounts behind, for, as Ambrose had discovered some time before, like his own people, the Vikings preferred to fight on foot, and used horses mainly for quick transportation to a battle site.
All weapons that might clank together were carefully wrapped, for these trader-warriors were no strangers to raiding and war. The horses were left in the small dell where the men had dismounted. Several of the oldest men remained to act as guards. The rest split into two combat groups. The scouts explained, in whispers, the location of the village, and suggested that they could lead half of the men to the other side.
Like a pack of wolves closing for the kill, the men followed the scouts through forest and dense brush, until the Varangians were spaced out around the village and its fields. Because all crops had been harvested, there were few peasants out of the village. The exception was a few wood-gatherers. Like giant lynxes, Varangian hunters crept up and dispatched the unlucky Slavs. Bothi had ordered that no warning was to be given until he ordered his signaller to blow two long notes on the hunting horn. Then the cordon would tighten; until all of the villagers were forced into the village centre.
As the mournful notes of the horn sounded, the men broke cover and charged madly for the flimsy palisades. Taken totally by surprise, the villagers ran for their homes rather than to the defensive positions that would have given them some chance against the onrushing foe. Only a brave few made a stand at the open gates, and within seconds the only barrier that could have prevented Viking success had fallen. The Varangians flowed through the gates like a rising tide.
When the gates were secured, the warriors fanned out along the palisade walls, and then moved inward, driving the helpless villagers before them towards the central square. Like cattle, the people cringed before the snapping of whips and the flashing of swords. They struggled with one another to be first to the central square. Only in isolated instances were men armed and willing to fight. In ones and twos, they provided no serious obstacle, and the brave were quickly cut down.
At last, when all the surviving villagers were gathered in a dense knot, and a circle of Viking steel kept them all captive, Bothi's interpreter broke the ominous silence of the Varangians. His words echoed through the crowd.
"Let your leader and his family stand before my master!"
After a moment's hesitation, a man, tall for a Slav, and dark, stepped forth. He was followed by a woman of similar age, a young man whose facial hair was just starting to sprout, a boy, and a young maiden. Once again Bothi's voice, and then its meaning was heard by the captive crowd.
"Learn now, the terrible wrath of the Vikings!"
With that, Bothi had the head man trussed securely to a post; his hands tied above his head. At a signal from Bothi, four grinning warriors grabbed his wife, flung her to the ground and held her down directly in front of her husband. Bothi stepped forth and slowly drew his bright jewel-encrusted sax. He placed it at the woman's throat until a moan came from her. Her eyes, totally dilated, darted about like a trapped doe's. Then, reversing the blade, Bothi slowly sliced the clothing from the woman's body. At last she lay naked on the ground. Her breasts were flattened by gravity, but they had enough mass that they jutted slightly upwards. The men grinned again as Bothi, on his knees, began a slow caressing movement, starting from her neck, and gradually working down her body, until she was squirming helplessly. Slowly, gently, he let his hands slide, until they had slid down her belly and were between her legs. She writhed, and her husband looked away, helpless in his shame and anger. Finally, Bothi snapped. "Enough! Spread her legs!"
With that, the two men who were pinning her feet pulled them apart, leaving her helpless and fully exposed. Calmly, Bothi dropped his trousers to expose an erection, and then he slipped between her legs. As the urge came stronger upon him, he began to thrust at her more and more strongly. At last, he was finished with her, and he looked down at her lying helpless and in pain. Hitching up his trousers and climbing to his feet, Bothi spoke again.
"Tie her next to her husband. She will be used again tonight."
At that he dramatically pointed his finger at the young man. The Varangian warriors dragged him forward. "Strip him', ordered Bothi. When the young man was naked and helpless, Bothi walked over and gently fingered the young man's testicles.
'I think he would make a good gelding for some Byzantine who can't trust his concubines," laughed Bothi. As he made as to cut the unfortunate youth's genitals, the father cried out. "Mercy, lord! Let it be me!"
Bothi laughed horribly. "Your turn is yet to come, old man!"
At once the laughter left his voice, and his voice thundered. 'This youth will be sold at auction to the highest bidder in Holmgard, if he survives the c
astration. The younger boy will remain with me as hostage for the future obedience of your village! His blood will answer for any further disobedience on your part!"
Once again his mood vacillated. He grinned again. "Now bring to me the flower of the family, that we may inspect her petals!"
The girl was roughly seized and dragged forth. She looked imploringly from her father to her mother, but their eyes dropped. They could offer her no silent reassurance.
"Strip!" ordered Bothi, echoed by his interpreter. When she hesitated, Bothi signalled a warrior near the two parents, and a whip cracked loudly, leaving a streak across the stomach of her now securely trussed mother. The stroke drew an anguished cry from the mother.
"Strip!" roared Bothi again.
Slowly, with what grace and dignity she could muster, the girl stripped off her clothes. The villagers looked at the ground, but the Varangian and Slav warriors leered appreciatively. Shamed beyond anything she had ever known, the girl blushed and attempted to hide as much of herself from view as she could. Laughing loudly, Bothi strode up to her, and drew her hands behind her. He forced her to slowly rotate, so that all could see her lovely small breasts, and the darkish triangle of pubic hair that hid her genitals.
Suddenly tiring of the game, Bothi let her go. "Tie her with her parents, and use her tonight!"
At this Ambrose could stand it no longer. He stepped forward from the circle of warriors.
"Bothi, I would buy this girl from you. What would you ask for her?"
Surprised, Bothi seemed thoughtful for awhile. "What would you offer me, Canuteson?"
Ambrose retorted hotly. "A one-twentieth share of my year's profits."
"Nay. She's a virgin, and worth much more.' Laughing, he reached over and caressed one of her small, pearl-white breasts. 'She'd bring a fancy price in the Miklagard slave market! . . . Still, make it one-fifth and we will call it a deal!"
"Bothi, you treat a friend poorly. I will offer you one-tenth."
Bothi laughed. "Done, Canuteson! I will trust you to send me the exact amount, but you make me question your skill as a trader. I suspect that you would have been able to buy a dozen girls for that big a share of your profits!"
Ambrose, Prince of Wessex; Trader of Kiev. Page 15
