Brandewyne, Rebecca (41 page)

"Well,
we shall find out shortly whether
or not you speak the truth, will we
not?" Rising, Ivar glanced sharply at Aella, continuing in the Saxon
tongue. "I have been too busy making war upon you and Osberht to explore
much of this city or of this long-house, either, else I should have known
before now of Wulfgar's presence here and looked sooner into this matter of my
father's supposed death. But now, I would see this infamous snake pit for
myself. Bring him," he commanded his brothers; and as these had been
Aella's own words to his guards regarding Ragnar, Rhowenna felt sure that Aella
thought himself imminently to receive a like death at the hands of Ragnar's
sons.

The
gardens in the courtyard were a riotous profusion of blooming flowers, whose
thickly sweet perfume hung heavy in the air, almost but not quite masking the
scent of decaying apples, which Rhowenna believed she would never forget as
long as she lived. Her stomach churned, and despite the heat of the warm day,
her hand was as cold as ice in Wulfgar's own. After Ragnar's death, Aella had
ordered the snake pit covered with a heavy wooden lid, which, at Ivar's
command, several of the
thegns
now heaved from its resting place to
reveal the cistern itself. As they did so, a foul, nauseating stench wafted up
from the dank, dark bottom of the well, and Rhowenna
swayed a little
on her feet; Wulfgar, his eyes filled with concern for her, held her close to
steady her.

"I
did not believe it. I did not
want
to believe it; but 'tis Ragnar,
in truth," Ivar said at last as he stared down into the snake pit at the
skeleton that lay there. Its long mane of hair was dark with mud; bits of flesh
still clung to its bones. Around its neck still was Ragnar's distinctive gold
torque; on its arms were his armlets and bracelets of gold and silver. Its bony
fingers still clutched the hilt of his broadsword. "Aella, no
Víkingr
worth his salt
would have slain my father in this bizarre fashion; 'twould have taken the mind
of a Saxon for it, I am thinking. So I know that 'twas you who gave the order
that he die here. Now all that remains to be sorted out to my satisfaction is
the identity of the one who pushed him in."

"
'Twas that yellow witch yonder who did that!" Aella declared hastily.
"She did bend near to him to whisper something in his ear— I know not
what— so he roared like a madman; and then she hit him hard on the back, knocking
him in."

"What
did you say to Ragnar, Yelkei?" Ivar asked, as calmly as though they
discussed the weather and not the killing of his father.

"That
is for me to know. Still, perhaps
someday I'll tell you— or mayhap
nay."

"You've
an accursed tongue that has always been as forked as a serpent's, speaking in
lies and riddles and prophecies. Perhaps today I'll cut it from your head— or
mayhap nay. Was it written in the stars that Ragnar die here, by your hand, I
wonder; or was it your own predictions and machinations that brought about his
fate, Yelkei?" The question was rhetorical, for Ivar answered it himself.
"You will say that only the gods know the answer to that, and no doubt,
that is true. That being the case, let us move on, then, to what is more obvious.
Now, since he was collared and chained like a slave when he went into the snake
pit, I know that my father had not his weapon in his hand then; so who did
throw it down to him, that he might die like the great
Víkingr
he was— in
battle against his foes?"

"I
did," Wulfgar responded quietly, although, in his bones, he felt certain
Ivar had already known the answer.

"Of
course you did— although not even for that did Ragnar speak to what was in your
heart, Wulfgar, I am thinking, but left his debt unpaid." On Ivar's face
was a peculiar expression of understanding, almost of pity, Rhowenna thought,
puzzled that Ivar should feel such for Wulfgar. After a long,
silent moment,
Ivar spoke again, addressing one of his
thegns.
"I do stand in
debt, in my father's stead, that he died not a coward's death. Fetch an armorer
or a blacksmith to strike off that slave collar from around Wulfgar's
neck."

"And
Flóki's, also," Wulfgar insisted, eyeing Ivar steadily.

"Ah,
aye, there is still the matter of Flóki the Raven, is there not?" Ivar's
voice was lightly mocking. "A man who dared to assault his king and to
steal from him a rich prize. 'Tis hard to imagine... isn't it? All this"—
his sweeping hand encompassed all those, including himself, who stood in the
courtyard, and the snake pit, where Ragnar lay— "for love of the princess
of Usk." He stared hard at Morgen in Flóki's arms, thereby missing the
malicious light that danced in Yelkei's eyes at that, and the sudden fear that
leaped to Wulfgar's own; for surely, no truer words had ever been spoken than
those unwittingly uttered by Ivar the Boneless just now. "What shall I do
with you— all of you— for that, I wonder? I needs must think long and hard on
that."

Presently,
the armorer was brought; and after half an hour of tedious chiseling, both
Wulfgar and Flóki were freed of their iron slave collars and chains, and stood,
slowly
chafing their necks and wrists, where the heavy metal had, in the beginning,
rubbed raw, bleeding wounds, now scabbed over. In all the time it took to cut
through the iron, Ivar, silent, seemingly lost in reverie, kept everyone
standing in the sun. He himself seemed not the least perturbed by the delay, as
though he had all the time in the world and so was not in any great hurry to
get on with the business at hand— although no one present thought that when the
armorer's task was completed, Ivar would not claim retribution for his father's
killing. Still, only when the last manacle had been forced open and tossed to
the ground, did Ivar finally speak again.

"Now,
it seems to me that Ragnar's death may be laid at many a door, including his
own; for if many long years ago he had not lusted for a black-haired, yellow
princess of the Eastlands, he might not have come to this pass. Who can say but
the gods whether a man's fate is inevitable, or if he only makes it so by his
actions? But this, I know: Regardless of what led up to it, 'twas you who
ordered his death and who determined the manner of it, Aella; and for that, you
must pay the penalty exacted for the slaying of a king of the Northland."
Then, glancing toward Ubbi and Halfdan, Ivar said, "Strip him,
and tie him
facedown over the snake pit, that he may glimpse Náströnd long ere he steps
foot upon its corpse- and monster-ridden shore, there to wander for nine days
and nights to the barred gates of Hel."

Ignorant
of what Ivar intended, sensing only the excruciating pain and the horror that
would come of it, Aella struggled like a man possessed against Ubbi and
Halfdan— to no avail. In the end, Aella was forcibly stripped naked and
compelled facedown over the snake pit, spread-eagled across its gaping maw, his
hands and feet bound to short posts driven into the ground along the sides of
the crumbled wall that surrounded the cistern. When it was done, Ivar, drawing
his glittering broadsword from the scabbard at his back, slowly approached the
well, stepping up onto its low stone wall and then, like an acrobat, with
uncanny agility and grace, swinging one leg across to the other side, so he
stood with Aella directly beneath him. Then, after raising the blade high, Ivar
deliberately brought it down so the point slashed into Aella's flesh, cutting a
fine crescent-moon from Aella's shoulder to his lower back, first one side and
then the other, torturously, so Aella was unable to restrain the agonized cry
that emanated from his throat. With a mocking smile, Ivar tossed the bloodied
weapon to Wulfgar,
as though daring him to use it. But after catching it instinctively with one
hand, Wulfgar, his face grim, only lowered the broadsword to his side; and with
a low laugh, Ivar turned his attention back to Aella. With his bare hands then,
Ivar slowly peeled back Aella's skin to expose his backbone and ribs. Ivar
broke the ribs away one by one from the backbone before grasping Aella's lungs
and pulling them from his body so they lay spread like an eagle's bloody wings
upon his mutilated back.

Aella
was dead. Of course he was dead. He
must
be dead, Rhowenna told herself
dumbly— shocked, horrified. No one could have survived that terrible, inhuman
ritual. Yet it seemed that she could still hear his hoarse screams of torment
ringing in her mind as Ubbi and Halfdan, slicing through the ropes that bound
the fallen king to the short posts along the stone wall, pushed his corpse into
the snake pit, where it fell with a sickening thud on top of Ragnar's skeleton.
Lifting his outstretched hands to the heavens, so the blood ran down his arms,
Ivar threw back his head and shouted, a wild, mighty cry. "Odinn!
Odinn!" So much in that moment did he resemble Wulfgar standing on the
deck of the
Siren's
Song
that
night of the storm upon the North Sea that it was,
to Rhowenna,
like seeing her husband's other half, a dark, terrible side of him that she did
not know, did not want to know; and overcome by horror, she slipped finally,
mercifully, to the ground, in a dead faint.

Casting
down Ivar's broadsword, Wulfgar knelt swiftly beside her, gathering her into
his arms and cradling her against his chest, his face stricken as he glanced up
to see Ivar standing now on the edge of the snake pit, his eyes burning with a
feverish triumph and bloodlust that warned Wulfgar that his half brother's
revenge was not yet finished.

"Seize
them!" Ivar commanded; and the next thing Wulfgar knew, he was being hauled
up roughly from the ground by a group of Ivar's men. "Hold them!"

As
he had Aella's guards, like a Berserk, Wulfgar fought Ivar's
thegns.
But as Aella's
own had been, Wulfgar's struggle was in vain. Presently, he and Flóki both
stood furiously, fearfully, breathing hard, forcibly restrained by the many
strong hands that constricted them, preventing them from breaking free. Like
Aella, they were ignorant of what was to come, knowing only the dread it
inspired within them as, his mouth curving in a terrible, mocking caricature of
a smile, Ivar jumped down from the stone wall; then, like some predatory beast,
he began slowly to stalk
toward Morgen. Her eyes widened with terror, then narrowed with hate and
understanding; her nostrils flared, like those of some wild animal scenting
danger. Her fingers curled into punishing talons, she lifted one hand to claw
at Ivar's cruelly handsome visage. But he caught her wrist in a brutal grip,
then, with his fist, he backhanded her across the face before, tearing at her
clothes, he forced Morgen to the earth and ground his mouth down on her, hard.

Then,
one by one, while Wulfgar and Flóki, tears trickling from his eyes, stood and
watched helplessly, Ivar, Ubbi, and Halfdan raped her.

The Great Army

When
Rhowenna awoke, it was to the slow, rhythmic movement of an ox-cart, in which
she lay upon a pallet, and to Yelkei's wrinkled moon face bending over her,
black eyes anxious, as though the yellow woman had feared that Rhowenna would
never regain consciousness. But upon seeing Rhowenna's eyes flutter slowly
open, Yelkei nodded to herself, giving a small cackle of satisfaction. Then,
turning away, she reached into one of her many deerskin pouches and, with
crushed herbs and roots, and wine from a leather flask, she prepared in a
wooden bowl some dark potion, which she pressed to Rhowenna's lips.

"Drink,
lady," Yelkei commanded softly. "Now that you are awake at last,
'twill help to revive you and to give you strength. You have suffered a bad
shock— the ritual of the Blood Eagle was too much for you, I fear— and I would
not have you lose the child, when 'twas because of it that you were spared by
Ivar the Boneless and his brothers, I believe."

"What...
what are you talking about, Yelkei?" Rhowenna was startled to hear how
weak her voice sounded. "What has happened? Where is Wulfgar? Where are
we— and where are we going?" The questions came softly but swiftly, as
though she feared the answers.

"Shhhhh.
You must not tire yourself, lady. Drink, and I will answer as best I can."
Obediently at last, while Yelkei held the bowl, Rhowenna drank until it was
empty. Then Yelkei spoke again, responding to what was uppermost in Rhowenna's
mind. "Do not be afraid. Wulfgar is alive and well; he rides ahead of us,
with Ivar and his brothers, as does Flóki the Raven, at Ivar's command. For
although another man would have slain them outright, there is something dark
and cold in Ivar's soul that stayed his hand against them, that compelled him
instead to raise the stakes, to draw out the game a little while longer yet.
Some might call it evil, and that is a part of it, I am thinking; but I myself
would name it fear. Aye, for all that he holds him prisoner, deep down inside,
Ivar is afraid of Wulfgar. I know not why, save that they
are like
hacksilver, two halves of the same coin." Yelkei unknowingly voiced aloud
Rhowenna's own thought when she had seen Ivar poised over the snake pit,
shouting to Odinn, bloody arms upraised unto the heavens; and now, remembering,
she shivered, despite the warmth of the spring sun that stretched toward
summer.