Brandewyne, Rebecca (19 page)

"It
sounds like a reasonable enough request," Wulfgar agreed at last, after a
long moment of consideration. "Very well. I will allow you and the rest of
the women to remain unbound. But mark my words, lady: The first time that there
is trouble or that one of your women decides to throw herself overboard, there
will be an end to it. You will— all of you— be restrained again. Do you
understand?"

"Aye."

"Make
sure the other women do, as well."

"I
will. Th-thank you... my lord." Because Rhowenna was proud, two spots of
color stained her high cheekbones as she forced herself not only to voice her
appreciation, but also to call him by the title with which she had addressed
him so scornfully before, knowing that he was but a warrior and not deserving
of the honorific, save from a wife— or a slave.

"In
time, you will grow accustomed to naming me so, lady, I swear it," Wulfgar
said softly, an enigmatic half-smile curving his lips— although it did not
lighten his eyes, which shone dark with a determination and desire that made
her breath catch in her throat and her heart beat too fast in her breast.

"Nay,
I will not!" she insisted fiercely.

"You
are very sure of that, lady— now,
at this moment. But this, I tell you:
The day will come when you are not so certain; for the gods are mercurial, as
those who tempt them inevitably learn, and no mere mortal can change what is
written in the stars. We are, all of us, powerless against our fate, our
destiny— even princesses, lady... even you."

Rhowenna
did not answer, but thought of her dream— and knew in her heart the truth of
Wulfgar's words.

Sliesthorp

In
his time, Wulfgar had held the tiller of many a small boat, but never before
this voyage that of a mighty longship; and he knew a joy such as he had rarely
experienced in his life as, in response to the movement of his hands, he felt
the
Dragon's
Fire
rise
and plunge on the glimmering waves of the sea, her graceful, towering dragon's
neck outstretched like that of a swan, her crimson sail spread wide like wings
to catch the wind. The sea was calm, the winds were favorable, and the three
vessels sailed swiftly northward along the coast of Normandy, past the thriving
marketplace of Quentowic, which lay directly across from the Straits of Dover,
and thence along the coast toward Frisia and Jutland. Before last year, the
Víkingrs
would have put
in at the largest marketplace in all of northern Europe, the Frisian town
of Dorestad,
located at the junction of the river Lek and an arm of the river Rhine, there
to trade some of the captive women and the goods stolen from Usk. But over the
years, despite its being protected by water, stout palisades, and gates, and
being a Carolingian stronghold, Dorestad— once home to the great Charlemagne's
silver mint— had been repeatedly sacked by the Northmen. Then, last year,
massive tidal waves had overrun the sand dunes that were the sea's boundaries,
sweeping in to flood several low-lying regions of the Frankish and Germanic
kingdoms, drowning masses of people and animals, and diverting the course of
the river Rhine toward Utrecht instead of Dorestad, effectively destroying the
latter's trade and so the town itself, as well. For this reason, Wulfgar made
toward the Jutish town and marketplace of Sliesthorp instead.

Although
the longships covered the leagues swiftly, they still took several days to
reach Jutland, days that Wulfgar put to good use by slowly furthering the
ascendancy he had gained over Olaf the Sea Bull's
thegns,
accustoming them
to his authority, so that when the time came, they would think it only natural
that he assume ownership of Olaf's markland, too, and would not oppose him.
With subtle comments dropped here and
there, Wulfgar cleverly reminded the
men that, although illegitimate, he was the son of the great Ragnar Lodbrók,
their king, and of royal blood, regardless of the fact that Ragnar had never
formally acknowledged him or his claim to Ragnar's kingdom and throne. Still,
no man aboard the
Dragon's Fire
disputed Wulfgar's assertion that Ragnar
was his sire, for even without his mustache and beard, Wulfgar's resemblance to
Ivar the Boneless was still so marked that none could honestly doubt that the
two of them were brothers.

Further,
now that he saw the chance of an honest day's hard work's being justly
rewarded, Flóki the Raven showed himself more than willing to deliver it,
proving an able second-in-command, a staunch supporter of Wulfgar, helping him
to whip the crew into shape. There were, of course, those
Víkingrs—
most of them
grey-beards who had served Olaf the Sea Bull for years— who grumbled churlishly
about the changes Wulfgar instituted. But there were also many more— younger,
stronger, more daring men, like Flóki the Raven— who welcomed the fact that
Wulfgar was a stern but capable and fair taskmaster, a bold, powerful leader
who commanded and earned respect. Here was a man to whom a warrior could be
proud to swear allegiance, to go
a-víking
with, and to
follow into
battle; a man who bore the blood of the mighty Ragnar Lodbrók and so might
someday even become a king of the Northland, a man who, should he ever sit upon
a throne, would want his own
thegns
as his
jarlar.
Under
Wulfgar's captaincy, the
Dragon's Fire
vibrated with a level of activity
and excitement she had not known for many a year. Even the other two longships,
captained by minor
jarlar
who had sailed with Olaf the Sea Bull, seemed
to catch the fervor aboard the
Dragon's Fire;
and as the days passed, no
man again sought to challenge Wulfgar.

For
that, Rhowenna was grateful; for astutely, she recognized that the stronger
Wulfgar's position among the
Víkingrs,
the more secure
her own. No man accosted her but, heeding Wulfgar's orders, kept away from her
and Morgen both. Only Flóki the Raven spoke to them when necessary, having
learned that Rhowenna could understand him, after a fashion. On his huge
wolfskin, Wulfgar continued to bed down protectively beside them in the stern
at night, with Flóki at the tiller, not only steering the longship, but also
standing guard, so Wulfgar slept more deeply— although always with half an ear
cocked, even so. In all his life, he had trusted only his mother and Yelkei,
the better
to ensure his survival and well-being. It was a hard habit to break; and so it
was only slowly that he permitted himself to rely on Flóki, a reliance tempered
with wry amusement as Wulfgar came gradually to realize that the support of his
second-in-command was due in part to the fact that Flóki was enchanted by
Morgen. In his spare moments, Flóki was doing his best to teach the
"princess" of Usk to speak the language of the Northland, and it was
he who, from his sea chest, produced a chessboard so Morgen and Rhowenna could
entertain themselves to help relieve the boredom of their days. Other than
their meals and brief wash each morning and evening, there was little for them to
do except to sit in the stern and to keep out of the way. To Rhowenna and the
rest of the women, who were accustomed to busying themselves with their daily
tasks, the tedium was difficult to bear.

Still,
she would not be honest with herself, Rhowenna knew, if she did not admit that
despite all she must endure, she experienced a certain sense of adventure and
excitement during the voyage; for she had never in her life been farther than
the boundaries of Usk. Her eyes grew wide at the sight of Quentowic in the
distance. Even from afar, she could tell how large a town and marketplace it
was. In
her father's kingdom, there was no place like it; and for the first time, it
dawned on her how small Usk was in the vast scheme of the world. Until now, Usk
was the
only
world she had ever known, and she realized what a
sheltered, limited world it had been. Wulfgar, observing how she gaped at the
Frankish town, smiled secretly to himself. There were some things, it seemed,
that could astonish even a princess, he thought, and he took pride in the
knowledge that despite his low rank, he was more worldly than she. At least
over the years, he had been to the towns and marketplaces of the Northland,
most often to Kaupang, the summer marketplace on the western shore of the Oslofjorden,
near the Vestfold. Soapstone-crafters, weavers, and metalworkers plied their
trades there, and from there, too, eiderdown was shipped to the kingdoms of the
Eastlands and the Southlands. But Kaupang was quite small compared to
Sliesthorp, which was the largest town and marketplace in the Northland,
boasting even a mint. Slaves and imported wares brought good prices there, so
the plunder from Usk was bound to fetch coins aplenty for him and the rest of
the
Víkingrs
to share between them.

Wulfgar's
only real worry as he stood upon the deck of the
Dragon's Fire
was that he
would at any moment spy Ivar's mighty longship
bearing down upon him— for
surely by now, Ivar had set sail from the Northland, heading toward Walas.
Wulfgar did not want to be forced into a confrontation with Ivar at sea. He
could only hope that from the Northland, Ivar had sailed west to follow the
coast of Britain south and west to Walas; for if Ivar had chosen instead to
strike south along the shores of Jutland, Frisia, and Normandy, he would
shortly be upon them. But to Wulfgar's relief, his luck held; and presently,
the
Dragon's Fire
lay at anchor in the river harbor of Hollingstedt,
without his having set eyes on Ivar's distinctive red-and-blue-striped sail.

Sliesthorp
itself lay on the east coast of Jutland, at the head of the Schlei, a narrow
but navigable fjord at the western tip of the Baltic Sea. To reach the town and
marketplace from the west, it was necessary, from the North Sea, to sail up the
rivers Eider and Trene to put in to the tiny port of Hollingstedt, and thence
to travel ten miles by ox-cart to Sliesthorp. For this overland journey,
Rhowenna and the other women not only had their hands bound tightly behind
their backs once more, but also, to her anger and shame, suffered the
additional indignity of having ropes tied around their necks, so they could be
led about like animals. In this fashion were
they taken to be herded like cattle or
sheep into the waiting ox-carts; and as Rhowenna felt the curious and
appraising stares of passersby upon her, her cheeks flamed with humiliation,
and she unwittingly stumbled against Wulfgar, who held the end of her tether.

"I
am sorry. I go too fast for you, lady." He realized suddenly the
difficulty she was having, keeping pace with his long stride.

"
'Tis not just that, but the fact that you would leash me like a dog! No man has
ever dared to treat me so! Nor am I accustomed to being stared at so rudely,
so— so—" She broke off abruptly, biting her lower lip hard to hold back
the heated words, the ragged sob that threatened to erupt from her throat.

"Although
you are my captive and my slave, lady," Wulfgar began, frowning now,
"I have shown you far more courtesy and consideration than is wont for a
man of my ilk, a warrior and a
Víkingr.
Yet, like a
high-spirited filly you still chafe against the bit and your master. You are
princess of Usk no longer, lady, and you must learn your place— lest you be the
death of us both! Would you have me endanger us both by favoring you to the
point where 'tis said of me that I am besotted by you, so other men will think
me weak, easy
prey, to be ruled by a woman, and Ragnar Lodbrók and Ivar the Boneless will
seek to hurt me by wresting you from me and using you ill?"

"Nay,
I— I was wroth and embarrassed, and I— I did not think...."

"
'Tis good, then, that I did, isn't it?" he observed coolly, so, however
unwillingly, she felt chastened, as he had intended. "Lady, you do not
know the Northland— and I do. Besides that I would not have it said that I favor
you overmuch, Sliesthorp is crowded with traders from all over the world— and
many of them are rough, dangerous men; for
Víkingrs
are not the only
warriors and pirates to sail the seas. Much as you loathe it, this rope around
your neck is as much for your own protection as 'tis to prevent you from
running away from me. It marks you as my property and lets other men know that
they will have to do battle with me if they would claim you for their own. Now,
if you would not be stared at, do you get inside the oxcart."

His
hands strong about her slender waist, Wulfgar lifted Rhowenna up and settled
her as comfortably as was possible in the vehicle. Then he instructed the
driver to get under way, and with a crack of the driver's whip and a sudden
lurch as the previously placid
oxen started in response, the ox-cart lumbered
forward. The road between Hollingstedt and Sliesthorp was well traveled and
maintained, and heavily defended, being girded to the south by the vast system
of earthworks known collectively as the Danevirke and which was similar to
Offa's Dyke, Rhowenna saw. Flower-filled meadows and reed-grown swamps abounded
along the road; and Sliesthorp rose in the distance, protected to the north,
west, and south by an extensive, semicircular rampart topped by a stout
palisade and bounded on its outer edge by a deep moat. To the east, defense was
provided by the shallow waters of the Haddeby Nor cove. The town was divided
into three sections by road tunnels with gateways piercing the rampart, and it
was through the western gate that the ox-cart carrying Wulfgar and Rhowenna
entered, wheels clattering over the bridge across the moat, and then beneath
the tall wooden watchtower. It was cool and semi-dark in the road's tunnel
portion, which was six feet wide, wedge-shaped, and planked, the roadway
beneath paved with stones. Then the vehicle was through the passage, back into
the sunlight; and the town unfolded before the ox-cart.