Brandewyne, Rebecca (39 page)

"
'Twill be all right, my lord, my love, I promise you," she reassured him
softly after she had told him the news and they lay in bed, basking in the
sweet afterglow of their lovemaking. "I am strong, and you are stronger
yet. Together, we will manage somehow."

"Oh,
Rhowenna,
kjœreste!"
he
whispered fiercely, his hands tightening on her slender hips, his face buried
against the softness of her naked belly, where their babe grew within her. His
lips kissed her feverishly there. "I do not know what I ever did that the
gods should have blessed me with you! I love you! Gods, how I love you...."

Once
more together then, they lay, breast to breast, thigh to thigh, no space
between or in their hearts for any other; nor would
there ever be.
His hands were beneath her hips, lifting her to meet his own until the rapturous
flame that burned between them was more brilliant than the Northern Lights that
scintillated gloriously in the night sky of the Northland, more beautiful than
the boundless sea that swept in upon the bold and wild strands.

* * * * *

It
could not last. In her heart, Rhowenna knew that the winter was but an
interlude in their lives, a moment out of time. Spring would come, and did, the
snow that had enwrapped them like a white silk-spun cocoon melting away, the
world once more intruding. The repairs to the
Siren's Song
were finished;
and finally, when the new green shoots budded across the land, Wulfgar could no
longer delay sending a messenger to York, to Aella, king of Northumbria. They
could not keep Ragnar a prisoner, chained up forever; they dared not simply
abandon him— not only because of Wulfgar's promise to Yelkei, but also because
if Ragnar were somehow to get free, he would hunt them to the ends of the
earth. So it was that one morning, the
thegns
dragged the
longship into the sea, and then, with Wulfgar at the tiller, the vessel sailed
slowly up the river Humber until it reached the river Ouse. There, they dropped
anchor;
and dressed in his best and mounted upon a fine steed Wulfgar had gained in
trade at a nearby village, Flóki the Raven galloped away toward York. In a
leather pouch at his waist was the missive Rhowenna had written in the Saxon
tongue to Aella and sealed with wax into which she had pressed Wulfgar's seal.

A
few days later, Flóki returned, with an escort, horses, and an ox-cart as elaborately
carved as any Rhowenna had ever seen; and when she read the letter he carried
from Aella, granting Wulfgar and the rest of them safe passage through
Northumbria, they set off at once, leaving behind a handful of warriors to
defend the
Siren's
Song
in
case of an attack. The short journey reminded Rhowenna of her voyage upon the
Dragon's Fire,
for Northumbria
was one of the most powerful kingdoms of Britain, and as a result, there were
towns and marketplaces and farms aplenty, as rich as any she had seen along the
coasts of the Frankish and Germanic kingdoms and Frisia. But most wondrous of
all was the city of York itself, a site of importance and authority since the
time of the Romans, who had based the Sixth Legion there. It was, Rhowenna
thought, even more splendid than Sliesthorp, enclosed by a vast wall, with
towers that had stood from the days of the Romans,
and, lining the
narrow streets, a multitude of impressive buildings of timber and stone such as
she had never before seen. Grandest of all was that which housed Aella's court,
the huge great hall to which she and the others were escorted and that was the
seat of his power. There, they could only gape at the high, raftered ceiling;
at the richly embroidered tapestries and displays of weapons and shields that
adorned walls lined with iron sconces into which torches were set, and windows
fashioned of rare glass, which admitted the sunlight; at the ornate dais at the
far end, where Aella sat upon a high-backed chair so intricately carved and
detailed that it was daunting, gilded with gold and cushioned with red silk, a
high seat, a throne indeed fit for a king.

Aella
himself, Rhowenna knew, was not of royal blood, but a commoner who had dared to
usurp the throne, and held it not securely, but precariously; for its deposed
king, Osberht, had amassed a great army and was now bent on reclaiming his lost
kingdom. Aella was handsome enough, she supposed, his hair, mustache, and beard
short-cropped in the current Saxon fashion; but his eyes hungry for power and
disdainful mouth told her he could be cold and cruel. On his proud head, he
wore a gold crown set with jewels;
his hard-muscled warrior's body was
accoutred in the costliest of furs and silks from the Eastlands; so important
to him must elegance be that Rhowenna felt that even had they worn their finest
raiment, she and Wulfgar must appear as barbarians before him. But then she
reminded herself that not only was she of royal blood, the princess of Usk, but
that while men such as Aella might rule great lands, it was men like Wulfgar
who ruled the even greater seas. She lifted her head proudly, and although
Wulfgar did not deign to kneel, but stood defiantly, head unbowed, she swept
Aella a graceful, practiced curtsy that caused his eyebrows to lift in surprise
and his courtiers to whisper speculatively among themselves before Wulfgar
angrily yanked her to her feet and deliberately, in the Saxon tongue, so Aella
would understand, warned her, "You are my wife and, as such, will kneel to
no man save me!" Then, staring coolly, challengingly, at Aella, not
waiting for him to speak, Wulfgar announced, "I am the Dane Wulfgar
Bloodaxe,
jarl
of the Northland, here to speak for the yellow woman
Yelkei, a princess of the Eastlands who holds captive the great King Ragnar
Lodbrók of the Northland, whom she would sell to you for the price you have put
upon his head."

"So
your message would have me believe." Aella's tone was haughty, and the
half-smile that twisted his lips was derisive and did not quite reach his
narrowed eyes that glinted as hard as stone in the sunlight that streamed in
through the windows. "But a king has many enemies, and so, if he is wise,
must be ever on his guard against treachery and deceit. How do I know that your
prisoner"— his eyes flicked over Ragnar's chained figure— "is indeed
who you say he is, that this is not some trickery of your own, Viking, to
relieve me of my gold?"

"I
give you my word that 'tis not. However, if you doubt me, my lady wife, who is
not of the Northland, but of the land of Walas, and so a Christian, will swear
upon the holy crucifix of your priests that 'tis indeed Ragnar Lodbrók who
stands prisoner before you."

"My
lady, is it true what this pagan says, that you are a Christian," Aella
asked then of Rhowenna, "and prepared to swear upon the cross of the
Christ and the Church that he who stands in chains before me is, in fact,
Ragnar Lodbrók, knowing how you will imperil your immortal soul should you give
false testament before God and these witnesses?" His hand indicated the
courtiers in the great hall.

"Aye,
my lord," she answered. "How came you then to be wed to this
heathen?"

"My
lord, I myself was taken captive last summer during a Viking raid upon my
homeland of Usk; and what maiden, Christian or nay, would not choose to become
a bride rather than a slave and a whore of her captor?"

"Yet
in the eyes of the Church and the Law, you are both."

"In
the eyes of the Northland, she is neither." Wulfgar spoke softly but in a
voice so savage that it sent a shiver up the spines of all who heard it, on his
face a murderous expression. "And you shall not call her such again, lest
you would feel the bite of my blade at your neck."

An
audible, collective gasp rose from the courtiers at that; and Aella, gripping
the arms of his chair so tightly that his knuckles shone white, half rose, as
though he would strike Wulfgar down. But then, much to Rhowenna's surprise,
after a long, tense moment, Aella chose to be amused and slowly settled back
onto his seat, giving a low laugh, his eyes gleaming.

"For
all that you are a pagan, you are a bold warrior, Wulfgar Bloodaxe; and I have
pledged you safe conduct, besides. Being
a Christian, I'll not risk my soul by
breaking my bond, for I've no wish to burn in Hel forever— as your... lady wife
will burn, I promise you, if she swears to a lie upon the crucifix." Then,
turning to the elderly priest who stood at his side, Aella said, "Father
Wynfrith, do you the honors, and let us see if the maid is indeed a Christian
and speaks the truth."

The
priest stepped forward, motioning Rhowenna to kneel before him. For a moment,
remembering what Wulfgar had told her, she hesitated. Then, insisting firmly,
"I kneel to no man, but to the Christ, my lord and husband, as is the way
of my people," she sank to the floor, bowing her head and clasping her
hands before her, responding quietly but surely to the questions put to her by
Father Wynfrith, and then to his prayers. Finally, her hand laid upon the plain
wooden cross he held out to her, she swore that their prisoner was indeed
Ragnar Lodbrók, then kissed the crucifix and crossed herself as the priest gave
her his blessing.

"I
am satisfied, my lord," Father Wynfrith declared, turning to Aella,
"that the lady is both Christian and honest, and that the man who wears the
iron slave collar is, in fact, Ragnar Lodbrók, the accursed Viking who has
plagued these shores of Britain for more
years than I like to remember, and who
will be justly served by a death sentence for his crimes, my lord."

"Aye,
so he will." Aella nodded. Then, addressing Ragnar, he continued,
"Ragnar Lodbrók, you are a king of the Northland and a mighty warrior. But
verily do I say unto you that now, you shall die at the hands of a man who is
an even greater king and warrior than you; and on the lips of bards far and
wide, for all time, will be the tale of how I slew you and sent your soul
straight to everlasting Hel!"

"I
am no Christian, Aella of Northumbria, but the greatest
Víkingr
in all the
Northland." Ragnar spoke for the first time, seeming unperturbed by the
other's boast. "So much as you may wish it, when I die, I'll not go down
to wander the Shore of Corpses to the barred gates of Hel, but be borne by a
golden Valkyrie to Valhöll, Odinn's great mead Hall of the Slain, in Asgard,
where I shall drink and whore and spit in the eye of your Christian God, who is
weak and so whom I do not fear."

"By
God!" Aella roared at that, leaping to his feet, his eyes blazing.
"You shall learn His strength and to fear Him before you die, Ragnar
Lodbrók, I promise you! You shall learn as they learned in the Garden of Eden,
from the mouth
of the serpent who was all-evil! Seize him!" he cried abruptly to his
guards. "Bring him!" Then, his robes flapping, Aella strode, enraged,
from the great hall, leaving the rest to follow.

To
an enclosed courtyard filled with gardens abloom with spring flowers, he led
them, to the place at its heart where, beneath an apple tree, lay what Rhowenna
realized was a huge, deep, circular cistern that must have been built during
the time of the Romans, so ancient and crumbled was the low stone wall that
surrounded it. The well had long since gone dry. But as she neared the edge and
looked down into the shadowy abyss, she saw that the recent spring rains had
left a muddy puddle of water in the bottom, from which rose the pungent,
sweet-sour stench of apples long rotted and fermented. But what filled her with
utter horror was the fact that the core of the cistern was so infested with
snakes that it seemed alive, coiling and crawling and creeping. Even Ragnar's
face turned pale, and his eyes bulged at the sight. Only Yelkei's yellow face
was still, emotionless; her eyes were as fathomless as the writhing black
depths of the well.

"Do
you fear the Christian God now, Ragnar Lodbrók?" Aella asked in the taut,
terrible silence that had fallen as all recognized
what he
intended. "Or must you needs feel the fangs of His wicked servants pierce
your flesh before you are enlightened as to His strength?"

"Even
then, I shall not fear Him," came the brave reply.

"Lower
him down!" Aella ordered tersely.

"Wait!"
Yelkei cried of a sudden, a raven's shriek; and although the guards did not
understand the foreign word she had uttered, they instinctively drew back a
little from Ragnar's figure. "I would speak with him first." When
Wulfgar had translated what she had said and Aella had nodded his permission,
Yelkei slowly approached Ragnar. " 'Tis your fate to meet your death here
this day, in this land you once thought to conquer for your own," she croaked.
"But before you die, there is something I want you to know." Then she
bent very close to him and whispered in his ear; and at that, from Ragnar's
throat erupted a long, terrible shout that seemed to echo forever as, without
warning, Yelkei struck him hard between the shoulder blades, shoving him into
the snake pit.

The
chain that dangled from his iron slave collar clanking and whipping against the
stone wall of the cistern, he fell, landing heavily, with a hideous squishing
sound, in the midst of the mucky water, the decaying apples, and
the slithering
serpents. Instantly, at least two of the snakes struck, their fangs sinking
deep; and as, groaning now with pain, his head bleeding profusely, Ragnar
slowly staggered to his feet, Rhowenna observed, ill and horrified, that a
serpent had fastened itself to his cheek. With a vicious curse and a violent
jerk, Ragnar tore the creature loose and flung it away, then began to swing the
chain and to kick with his booted feet at the rest, so they hissed and curled
up, their heads raised high, bobbing and weaving before striking.