Brandewyne, Rebecca (20 page)

Covering
a full sixty acres and laid out in a surprisingly orderly fashion, most of the
enclosed land
on which Sliesthorp had been built was crowded with huts, workshops,
storehouses, and barns and stables, although open spaces, by the three
cemeteries and along the single stream that wended its way through the center
of town, had been left for itinerant traders to pitch their tents and stalls.
Narrow wooden streets and walkways meandered past timber and wattle-and-daub
dwellings with thatched roofs, their gable-ends fronting the streets, with
barns and stables and the occasional outhouse behind. Fences enclosed the small
plots, on which there was often a well, too; and decaying animal sacrifices to
the Northland's gods hung on poles before many of the structures. At the north
end of town, instead of a wharf, a strong, curved wooden breakwater, nearly
five hundred feet long, to whose massive bollards heavy vessels could be
moored, stretched from the rampart into the sea; row-boats ferried men and
cargo to and from the anchored ships. Smaller craft landed on the beach and
were drawn up on the sand for loading, unloading, and repairs.

Rhowenna
had never before seen anything like the town— or so many people in one place.
Sliesthorp boasted a thousand inhabitants, Wulfgar told her, and their ranks
were now swollen to twice that number by the hundreds
of traders and
travelers who came to the town and marketplace during the summer months. The
streets and walkways hummed and bustled like a hive aswarm with bees, with
sweating bodies pressed close in the summer heat, and with all kinds of
activity. The air was pungent with smoke from cook fires and with spicy aromas
that, however fragrant, could not disguise the vile stench of garbage and offal
that strewed the gutters. The clamor was deafening; raucous talk and laughter,
boisterous song from the alehouses, and the shouts of the merchants and
artisans hawking their wares dinned ceaselessly in one's ears.
Víkingr,
Slavic,
and Arab slave-traders, their chained captives in tow, vied for space alongside
a multitude of traders of all nationalities, as well as potters and weavers,
metalworkers and carvers of bone and horn. All along the streets and walkways,
pelts and wool blankets spread upon the ground displayed goods from all over
the world. Pots of salt from the port of Noirmoutier, in the Frankish kingdoms,
sat beside jars of oil, bolts of cloth, wooden trays brimming with jewelry, and
heavy basalt millstones from the Germanic kingdoms. From the kingdoms of both
had come jugs of rich, costly wines; plain pottery for everyday use and
expensive, delicate glassware for special occasions— or for the wealthy, who
could afford it; and highly prized weapons and armor. Barrels of wheat, jars of
honey, bolts of woolens, and tin from the British kingdoms were arrayed
alongside baskets heaped high with amber and walrus ivory and fresh-caught
fish; stacks of pots and dishes of soapstone; mounds of woolens, hides, and
furs; and coils of ships' rigging from the Northland kingdoms. Wares imported
from the Slavic kingdoms were among the rarest and most luxurious of all: baskets
of fruits and nuts; pots of spices and jars not only of honey, but also of wax;
bolts of exquisitely woven silk, piles of furs, and open wooden caskets
spilling over with jewelry and silver. Local craftsmen showed their own goods:
garments and leather boots and slippers; fine combs, needles, flutes, and
gaming pieces of bone and horn; and glass beads that were strung on silver
necklaces, along with amber and jet, crystals and carnelians. The clanging of
hammers upon anvils reverberated as blacksmiths worked bronze and iron.

To
these last were herded various of the women who had been abducted from the
village and the fields of Usk. Iron slave collars were fastened about their
throats, marking them as those chosen to continue the journey to the Northland.
The remainder of the Usk women— like the cattle and pigs, the sheep
and goats that
were led to the marketplace to be bartered or sold to the highest bidder— were
peddled to new masters; and Rhowenna knew, with a terrible sense of outrage and
despair, that she would never see the faces of those women again. But whether
they were the lucky ones, she did not know.

"Did
you— did you have to sell them?" Her eyes shone with anger and tears as
she gazed up at Wulfgar at her side.

"What
would you have had me do, lady? Keep them all? I could not. They were not all
suited to a life of slavery in the Northland. Those I sold were too old or
frail or sickly; they would not have survived the first winter on the shores of
the Skagerrak— for our winters are hard, lady. They are long and dark and
bitterly cold. So 'twas a kindness in a way to those women and better for me to
barter them away for goods and coins to share among the men aboard the
Dragon's Fire,
who might have
cried foul at their portions of the profit otherwise. This is the way of the
Víkingrs.
For two hundred
years, those of the Eastlands and the Southlands have been our enemies, and we
have raided and battled them. But commerce and war are a man's business, lady,
and so I do not expect you to understand them. Come."

The
tug upon the tether around Rhowenna's
throat was gentle; still, the rope
chafed her tender skin, burning her. She could only imagine how a heavy iron
slave collar would feel, weighing against her collarbones, cutting into her
flesh. To her relief, she and Morgen— who was guarded by Flóki the Raven— had
been spared that indignity at least. Despite the fact that they were captives,
the princess of Usk and her waiting woman were entitled to some privileges, it
seemed— at least until it was learned whether Prince Cerdic or King Pendragon
would pay the ransom that would be demanded for Rhowenna's safe return.

With
Morgen and Flóki trailing behind, Wulfgar led Rhowenna to several of the
stalls, where he bought a change of clothing for both her and Morgen, a pair of
leather boots each, and lovely combs carved from reindeer antlers. Then he took
the two women to a bathhouse, where, for the first time in days, Rhowenna was
able to have a proper bath, in a real tub filled with steaming-hot fresh water
instead of cold seawater. After she had entered through the low doorway,
stepping down onto the sunken, hard-packed earth floor inside, and her eyes had
adjusted to the relative darkness within after the brightness of the day, she
saw by the flicker of the rushlights burning in clay bowls placed
all around that
the crude, wattle-and-daub hut contained just one room, which was full of steam
that rose from an iron cauldron of boiling water set upon the fire blazing at
the heart of the stone hearth in one corner. Nearby sat empty wooden buckets
and a large, iron-hooped wooden tub, beside which were baskets filled with
thick woolen cloths and bars of soap. Wulfgar spoke briefly to the stooped old
man and frail old woman who were the proprietors of the bathhouse, then handed
them a few coins. With the wooden pails, the old man began slowly to fill the
tub, while the old woman bent over the baskets, removing some of the folded
cloths and a single bar of soap, which she laid upon a low stool by the tub.
Turning back to Rhowenna, Wulfgar said:

"You
and Morgen will bathe here and clothe yourselves in your new garments. Nay, do
not trouble to thank me for this, lady, for 'tis not the kindness you believe
it to be, but the law of the Northland that a master must provide for his
slaves. And right now, I
am
your master, lady, no matter that you
are loath to call me such." He untied the tether around Rhowenna's neck,
then, drawing the scramasax at his waist, cut the rope that bound her hands
behind her back, while Flóki the Raven did the same
for Morgen.
"Lady"— Wulfgar's voice, although pleasant as he continued, also held
a note of warning—"do not be so foolish as to think that because we have
loosed your bonds, the two of you can escape. As you can see, this hut has no
windows, and Flóki and I will be waiting just outside the only door."

This
last at least relieved Rhowenna's mind of the fear that he and Flóki intended
to stay and to watch her and Morgen at their toilette—or even to join them; for
the
Víkingrs
appeared
to have little regard or desire for privacy, no matter the activity. She had
thought of Wulfgar stripping himself, and then her, and then pulling her with
him into the tub that was surely big enough for two to share, and she had felt
a strange, unsettling shiver run through her, as though she were growing
feverish, coming down with an ague. Now the feeling dissipated, leaving behind
only a sense of welcome expectation and pleasure as she gazed at the tub and
thought of being really clean for the first time in days.

Wulfgar,
Flóki, and the old man, who had finished filling the tub, left the bathhouse;
but the old woman stayed, just cracking the door a little to bring in
additional buckets of water that the old man drew from the well outside and
left on the stoop. Not knowing which, if any, of the other
Víkingrs
might
make use of the
hut and so feeling that wisdom dictated prudence, Rhowenna turned to Morgen and
spoke to her in the language of Usk.

"Our
dark coloring is not common among these Northmen, Morgen, so 'tis likely that
this old woman will remember us; and I do not know what tales she may tell
about us later, or to whom. For that reason, you will bathe first, and I will
assist you, as though I were, in truth, your waiting woman and you, the
princess of Usk."

"If
that is your wish, my lady. However, 'tis my own feeling that now is the ideal
time to attempt our escape— for we may not get another chance so good!"
Morgen's voice held a note of impatience and excitement. "Old women are
sometimes stronger than they look; but between us, we can surely overpower this
one who has been left to guard us. We can hit her over the head— with one of
those hearth stones— tie her up with the ropes the Northmen were so foolish as
to leave behind, and lose ourselves in the crowds outside. If we are fortunate,
we will find a trader from Britain or perhaps even Walas to help us!"

"Nay,
we would not even get past the door, before which Wulfgar Bloodaxe and Flóki
the Raven stand even now, if Wulfgar spoke truly
to me— and I see no reason to
doubt that he did. I do not mean to pass up any opportunity to escape, Morgen.
But at the moment, 'tis futile to try. Get in the tub."

When
her own turn in the wooden tub finally came, Rhowenna sank gratefully into the
water, which was still wonderfully warm, kept so by the old woman's dropping
hot hearth stones into it now and then, and removing those that had grown cold.
This practice produced additional steam that Rhowenna found exhilarating. She
longed to linger in the tub, to soak herself for hours. But she knew that at
any moment, Wulfgar and Flóki could reappear; so, taking up the bar of soap,
she began to lave herself vigorously and to wash her hair. When she had
finished rinsing herself— with pails of the well water, which was so
unexpectedly cold that she gasped from the shock of it— she stepped out onto
one of the woolen cloths and toweled herself off with another, her body
tingling, invigorated by the steam and the hot water followed by the cold.
After that, she dressed in the plain, workaday gown of undyed wool that Wulfgar
had bought for her. Then she and Morgen combed and braided each other's hair.

"Perhaps
there is another way we could gain our freedom, my lady," Morgen re-
marked slowly
as she worked at the tangles in Rhowenna's tresses. "Flóki the Raven is...
interested in me. He looks at me... well... in the way that Wulfgar Bloodaxe
looks at you, my lady. 'Tis a look I know well— and understand. If I were...
nice to Flóki, perhaps I could persuade him to let us go, to help us to
escape."

"And
perhaps he would only take what he desired— and then put a slave's iron collar
around your neck, Morgen! Nay, I cannot permit you to sacrifice yourself in
such a manner. We must bide awhile yet. My father will surely ransom us if
Prince Cerdic will not; and in the meantime, we can best serve Usk by learning
all we can about these Northmen, so we can better defend ourselves against them
in the future."

"Of
course, you are right, my lady. 'Tis only that I have always been like a wild
thing, who must live free or die, and this captivity weighs heavily upon
me."

"In
that, you are not alone, Morgen. Perhaps I chafe less strongly against it only
because my own freedom has always been limited by my duty to Usk. I have often
wondered what my life would be like if I were not a princess. I have sometimes
wished I could just run away and be nobody," Rhowenna confessed, thinking
of Gwydion
and how she had yearned to go away with him somewhere, anywhere— if only he had
asked her.
If
only...
Those were the two saddest words in the
world, she thought. Even so, she discovered to her surprise that the ache in
her heart at the memory of Gwydion had now lessened, faded to a dull hurt, like
an old wound long healed, with only a scar and an occasional twinge left to
remind one of it.

"How
strange to hear you say that, my lady." Morgen's face bore a rueful smile.
"For I frequently have longed to be a princess— and now, in an odd way,
what we both wished for has come to pass. Well, the priests do say that God
works in mysterious ways."