Brandewyne, Rebecca (26 page)

As
it had ever since her abduction, Rhowenna's heart ached when she thought of her
mother and father; she wondered how they fared without her in Usk, so distant
from the Northland. Although she had been gone from her home only days, to her,
it seemed like forever, as though she had lived her years there in another life
far away and long ago— or in a dream. It was as though only the Northland
existed for her now. Earlier, she had taken off her slippers; and now she
thought that even the sand here felt different from that of the beaches of Usk,
rougher, grainier, and that the water felt colder, despite the warmth of the
summer sun. As she filled her basket with seaweed, it suddenly occurred to
Rhowenna that she had been doing something quite similar when the Northmen had
attacked Usk; and for a moment, she glanced around uneasily, half fearing that
here, too, she would face an assault. While aboard
the
Dragon's
Fire,
Wulfgar had told her that Northland feuds were infamous, with
Northmen battling one another as frequently as they did their enemies of the
Eastlands and the Southlands, and that the
Víkingrs
often hired
themselves out as mercenaries, also, to the Greeks and to the Slavic kingdoms
especially. But to her relief, she saw no one hovering near except the other
slave women and the
thegns
who guarded them.

When
the baskets were full, Rhowenna and the rest walked back to the longhouse. Upon
the wooden racks used for drying fish and fruits and vegetables, she hung the
seaweed to dry in the sun. She would make the laverbread and the hog's-head
cheese tomorrow; upon hearing her plan, Wulfgar had agreed to slaughter one of
the pigs. Having ridden out earlier on Olaf the Sea Bull's huge black horse,
which he had also confiscated for himself, Wulfgar had since returned to the
hof
from inspecting
the fields and was now busy in the palisade, overseeing the repairs he had put
into progress the day before. As she draped the strands of seaweed over the
drying racks, Rhowenna could feel his intense eyes upon her, devouring her.
Still, although his watching her unsettled her, she did not hurry at her task,
for its completion meant a return to the shadowy interior of the longhouse.
Thinking
of her father's great hall during the long, dark winter months, she could only
imagine the dreariness of the
hof
during the Northland's "murky
time," as Wulfgar called it. But surely she would be long gone by then,
she thought; surely Prince Cerdic or her father would have paid her ransom by
then, and Wulfgar would have returned her if not to Usk, at least to Mercia.

That
her current life here in the Northland was in some respects a glimpse of the
life she would spend in Mercia as a stranger in a foreign land, with unfamiliar
customs and raiment and foods, was a notion on which Rhowenna did not care to
dwell. There could be no comparison between being a slave and being a princess—
even if Wulfgar
had
allotted
her the duties of his chatelaine— and Mercia was a civilized kingdom whose
Saxon inhabitants, once barbaric heathens, had long ago converted to
Christianity, unlike these savage Northmen. Further, Prince Cerdic would be her
husband, caring and considerate, surely, as his gift to her of the gold
necklace set with amethysts had demonstrated. That even so, he, too, would want
of her what Wulfgar desired was a thought she determinedly shoved from her
mind. It would be different with Prince Cerdic, Rhowenna told herself. His
taking of her would
be properly sanctified by the Church; he himself would be kind and gentle,
understanding her maidenly fear and respecting her as his wife— not seeing her
as merely a vessel to receive his lust, as Wulfgar did, murmuring his bard-song
lies to beguile her into surrendering to him. Nor would Prince Cerdic press
upon her such kisses and caresses as Wulfgar did to arouse within her that
strange, leaping flame, that fierce, wild yearning that only a wanton would
feel. In Prince Cerdic's arms, she would be safe. Only deceit and danger,
dishonor and disillusionment lay in Wulfgar's embrace.

Picking
up her empty basket and turning to go into the longhouse, Rhowenna's attention
was caught by the return of some of the freedmen who had gone out earlier to
the forest. They drove an ox-drawn sledge to which numerous logs were roped;
here was the wood with which to begin building the furniture she wanted. Despite
herself, she felt a tiny thrill of anticipation at the sight. She would soon
have the
hof
at
least
looking
as
though it were inhabited by civilized men instead of barbarians, even if it
were not. Carrying her basket against her hip, she went to speak again to
Eirik, the chief woodcarver, still not certain he grasped what she had in mind.
After a few minutes of struggling
conversation in which Rhowenna
addressed him in the Saxon tongue and Eirik responded in the language of the
Northland, Wulfgar materialized at her side to translate. More than once during
their dialogue, Rhowenna heard the Northland word
seng
but was not
certain of its meaning; it was not, she thought, a term she had heard
previously— and was not table
bord
in the Northland tongue, and bench,
benk?
Confused, she wondered if even Wulfgar had understood what she meant by
furniture.

"Aye,"
he said in answer to her question, his voice dry, "I may be a 'heathen'
and a 'savage,' as you have called me, lady. But I am not so ignorant that I
have mistaken your meaning. Even if Olaf the Sea Bull possessed none, I have
many times over the years seen tables and benches and other furniture at the
hof
of Ragnar
Lodbrók. But most are used only on special occasions, such as feast days, we
Northmen not being so soft and needful of luxuries as the warriors of the
Eastlands and the Southlands— which is why we will someday rule them all, lady,
as we already rule the seas.

"Even
now, we have footholds in the Slavic, the Germanic, and the Frankish kingdoms,
as well as in Frisia, Caledonia, and Erin. 'Tis only a matter of time before we
conquer Britain
and Walas, too. This summer, Ragnar sailed up the river Seine to sack Paris
again, for plunder with which to support an army. If he gets it, he and his
sons will hire mercenaries and, like a horde of flies upon honey, will descend
on the kingdoms of Britain; for 'tis Ragnar's burning ambition in life to be
overking of all of Britain, subject no longer to the Jutish king across the
Skagerrak, to whom he must pay tribute and homage in the Northland. So you see,
lady, 'tis not just a ransom worth your weight in gold that you will represent
to Ragnar, but also perhaps a stronghold from which he may launch his campaign
to subjugate the kingdoms of Britain and to place the Saxons firmly beneath his
booted heel, Prince Cerdic of Mercia among them!"

"I—
I don't understand." Rhowenna was puzzled and somehow frightened by
Wulfgar's words. "What— what do you mean, my lord?"

"Only
this: Despite your father's betrothing you to Prince Cerdic, Usk and Mercia
will never be aught save uneasy allies at best; for between the Celts and the
Saxons, there has ever been enmity. It may be, then, that in exchange for your
honor and— Ragnar will take pains to convince him— your life, your father will
find it wiser in the end to
strike a bargain with Ragnar; for allies are often
born of expedience and friends made of those with common foes. Ragnar has three
legitimate sons, none of whom would scruple at setting aside their wives and
marrying you if it served their ambition and purpose. Then would your Usk
become Ragnar's stepstone into Britain— although once the old wolf and his cubs
had devoured the sheep, they would no doubt turn on the shepherd who let them
into the fold, I am thinking."

"A
fact my father will be wise enough to grasp," Rhowenna declared, not
without pride. "Besides, my father fears the Christian priests and so
would never barter me to a heathen!"

"Perhaps,
lady. But I tell you that there are Northmen who are not so fearful of your
priests or of your God and who would swear oath to worship Him if such would
win for them what Ragnar hopes to attain."

To
Rhowenna, this was a terrible blasphemy. Yet from what she herself had seen of
the
Víkingrs,
she
could not doubt that Wulfgar spoke the truth. She shuddered at the thought; for
as, unbidden, Father Cadwyr's fanatical image stole into her mind, she knew
that the priest would view the conversion of a heathen to Christianity as God's
most highly esteemed work and would
counsel Pendragon accordingly should
the opportunity arise, urging him to join forces with the Northmen against the
Saxons— and allaying his suspicions that the Northmen would, after consuming
Britain, also swallow the whole of Walas.

"Now
you know why, above all else, Ragnar Lodbrók and his sons will come for you,
lady, why I sought to have Morgen take your place as the princess of Usk."
Wulfgar's voice was grim. "A father whose daughter has been dishonored and
is heavy with child, besides, is more often than not a man determined to see
her wed to her seducer and so a man, also, with whom a bargain may be more
easily struck. Believe me, lady: If Ragnar should somehow learn your true
identity and succeed in wresting you from me, if your father should balk at
paying what I suspect will prove Ragnar's ransom demand, Ragnar will force you
himself or turn you over to his son Ivar the Boneless for sport; and if
afterward they cannot get you as a bride, and a stronghold in Usk as your
dowry, you will wind up their slave and their whore. Doubt that not, lady. I
know them, down to their bones. Father and sons are all hungry for power and
ruthless in their pursuit of it— and you are but a woman and a maiden, whose
feelings will mean nothing, less than
nothing, to them."

"But
if all you say is true, how can I permit Morgen to fall into their
clutches?"

"She
is no virgin," Wulfgar stated bluntly, shrugging. "Her fate at their
hands will be no worse than what it would have been in my slave pens, as she
must have guessed. So there is, in truth, little risk to her. As long as she
commits no crime, neither Ragnar nor Ivar will kill her. As I told you in
Sliesthorp, there are laws here in the Northland that govern how a slave must
be treated. Besides, 'twas Morgen's own choice to trade places with you, and
she made it freely. By doing so, she proved herself both bold and clever; and I
will do what I can to protect her as I protect you, lady. And perhaps the
messengers I have dispatched this morning to Prince Cerdic and to your father
will return to the Northland before Ragnar Lodbrók and Ivar the Boneless sail
their longships homeward. But if the gods decree otherwise, I will not
sacrifice you to spare Morgen, lady. There is too much at stake for that. It
would avail her naught and bring you a certain and grievous ruin— to say
nothing of the formidable weapon it would place in Ragnar's grasping
hands."

For
a long moment, there was silence between them, each pondering the shared
knowledge of
what Wulfgar would allow Morgen to endure if it would save Rhowenna from a like
fate. Tears stung Rhowenna's eyes at the realization, for with it came the
understanding that Wulfgar, too, could be hard and remorseless when he chose.
Had she not seen evidence of that once before, when he had beheaded Knut
Strongarm? Even so, she could not fault Wulfgar's reasoning; it was all too
obvious that he had thought things through very clearly. At last, her voice
throbbing with emotion, she spoke.

"You—you
are right, of course. I— I must think of Usk. Without me, Ragnar Lodbrók cannot
compel my father to accede to his demands, and so Usk and its people will be
safe. That is enough; that is all that is important."

"Have
you no thought for yourself, Rhowenna?" Wulfgar inquired gently, his voice
holding a curious note as he gazed at her searchingly. "For your own
needs? In your place, another woman would think only of herself."

"I
am a princess, and I know my duty."

"You
are also a woman— with feelings— are you not?"

"Aye.
But I have learned over the years that sometimes 'tis necessary for a princess
to deny her own emotions for the sake of
her obligations to kingdom and
crown."

"Is
that what you did when your father betrothed you to Prince Cerdic? Is that why
you agreed to the match? For do not tell me that you wished to wed him when I
know that you did not!"

"Nay,
I did not want to marry him, 'tis true— but only because I— because I... loved
another, my kinsman Gwydion." Rhowenna's face softened with sadness and
regret as she spoke Gwydion's name, and her eyes glowed with a faraway light
that filled Wulfgar with anger, jealousy, and a terrible fear, of a sudden,
that he could never win her heart, that she had given it away to another and so
had nothing left for him. He had never once thought that she might be in love,
that some man other than he had embraced her, had tasted her sweet mouth,
drinking long and deep of its nectar, and had caressed her milk-white throat
and breasts.

"Lady,
your words are a blade in my heart," he said, his voice low, rough with
emotion. "Why do you seek to wound me with this revelation of your love
for another when you know how much I love and desire you, that I would have
made you my queen instead of my slave, and would still? Have you so little
care, then, for my feelings? Or are you as fickle and faithless as any other
woman? By the
gods, I had not thought so. But why else would you lie in my arms and kiss me
as you did last night if your heart belongs to your kinsman?"