Lord of Falcon Ridge (13 page)

“Did Cleve love her?”

“Perhaps at first. If someone tried to kill you would you still love him?”

Chessa smiled, took another bite of porridge and said, “I don't blame Ragnor for wanting to take Utta. She is a wonderful cook.”

“Aye, when I first came to Hawkfell Island, she was but eleven years old. Her cooking kept me alive.”

“Alive? What do you mean?”

But Mirana only patted her hand. “Ah, there's a tale for a long winter's evening. I have much to do since we have so many hungry men here. You must decide what you wish to do, Chessa. Oh, have you begun your monthly flow yet?”

Chessa rolled her eyes and said nothing.

 

That evening, Chessa moved closer to Cleve when Laren, not only the mistress of Malverne but also its skald, stood before all the people to tell them a story.

“She's a female,” Ragnor said, wiping the mead from his mouth. “How can she be a skald? That is ridiculous. Where is a real skald? Where is a man?”

“Be quiet.
My lord,
” Kerek said. “They have been kind enough to allow you to remain in the longhouse, hold your tongue.” He poured him another goblet of mead. Ragnor, who recognized that insolent tone, knew that he didn't want to hear it again, thus said nothing, merely accepted the mead and drank deep.

Laren said slowly, “Let me tell you about the great king Tarokamin, who was born in a land far to the south. A land called Egypt where there is a long river called the Nile that divides the country into two parts and gives it life. You see, all else in this country is naught but desert, mile after mile of sand, empty and barren.

“For thousands of years, the kings in this country built mighty stone monuments in which they were buried with untold riches. The more powerful the king, the greater the wealth buried with him. The monuments were called pyramids. They were very large at the base then, with each level, fewer stones were used until there was but a point at the top of the monument.”

“There isn't a country like that,” Ragnor said. “A country with the name Egypt. As for these pyramids, who would want such a stupid sort of burial monument? A point at the top, you say? That is ridiculous. I am learned and I know there's nothing like anything you've described.”

“This is a story, my lord, naught more,” Laren said, smiling at him through gritted teeth. “Listen now and learn of Tarokamin. He wanted a monument greater than any king who had come before him, greater than his father's, greater than his grandfather's, whose was the greatest to be seen in the land. He ordered a Babylonian master craftsman to oversee the work. He hired hundreds of overseers. One hundred thousand slaves quarried the stone and hauled it to the site where the huge monument was to be erected.

“King Tarokamin married and had a son who was more precious to him than his wife, than his army, than all his jewels, but not more precious to him than his burial monument. He would go to the afterlife when he died, but he would still be immortal, for all who came after him would see his monument and know that he had been a great and wealthy king.

“The years passed. His son grew to manhood, a handsome, strong young man. Every day of his life he looked upon his father's monument. Tall now, taller than anything he had ever seen in his life. Two thousand men standing side by side couldn't come together around the base of the great stone pyramid so massive a structure it was. It would soon be completed, this stone mausoleum that would house his father's bones in magnificently decorated chambers, hidden in the bowels of the monument.

“The day came when his father told him he was to marry his sister. Don't be shocked. This was the custom of the land, one we find very strange, but it is what the kings did. King Tarokamin hadn't married his sister because he didn't have one. He had married a princess from a neighboring kingdom. But he knew how things were to be done.

“However, the son hated his sister, hated her with a soul-deep hatred. He told his father he wouldn't marry her. He told his father that he could never produce children by her because he hated her so much. He said she was wicked, that she had many lovers, that she was vain and grasping. No, he wouldn't marry her, not ever.

“His father told him that if he refused, he would give
her to his younger brother and he, the beloved, favored son, would be banished from the land. The son bowed his head. He knew how proud and stubborn his father was. He also knew the custom and he knew he couldn't flout it. He felt sorry for his brother, who was gentle and uncertain, not good material for a king.

“The next day he was gone, his two servants and six of the king's soldiers with him. Tarokamin was distraught. They could find no trace of his favorite son. Never was he seen again until three days after the old king had died.” Laren had lowered her voice until her final words were barely above a whisper.

There was utter silence, all the people leaning forward, all their attention on Laren, and now she smiled at them and said again, “Tell me if you can what became of the son?”

Merrik laughed. “She has done it again. I keep thinking I will come to understand her mind, but it has been five years and I still have not succeeded.”

“Wait,” Cleve said. “Laren, you said the son wasn't seen again until after the father died?”

“Aye, that's right. He wasn't seen again until three days after the old king had died.”

“Ah, then he came back with an army and overthrew his younger brother,” Chessa said. “He then took his rightful place as ruler.” Cleve nodded as did most of the people.

Laren shook her head.

Rorik said, “Perhaps the younger brother went out and found him, waiting outside the kingdom.”

Laren shook her head again. She looked at Hafter, at Entti, whose babe was sleeping on her lap, at Mirana, at all the people, one by one.

“Come, tell us, Laren,” Aslak shouted. “What did happen to the son? How was he seen three days after his father died?”

Suddenly Ragnor laughed. He rose from the bench, belched and laughed more. “You are all fools. Anyone who
is of royal blood would know the answer to her foolish puzzle.”

Everyone looked at Ragnor, many fists raised in his direction. He drank down more mead. Laren wondered how he still sat straight on the bench or managed to stand. She saw rage on Merrik's face and said quickly, “Aye, my lord? You know the answer?”

“Certainly,” Ragnor said. “Shall I tell you?”

“If you can,” Rorik said, wishing he could forget that Olric, king of the Danelaw would exact retribution were his son killed.

Merrik nodded. He rather hoped Ragnor would make an ass of himself. After all, the rest of them had.

Ragnor said to Laren, “You said he hated his sister and refused to wed with her and for this reason he was forced to leave his country and his younger brother would succeed the father when he died?”

“Aye, that's correct.”

Ragnor belched again and laughed. “You're fools, all of you. Listen to the answer. His sister hated him as much as he hated her. How could it be otherwise? Thus, he left and none ever heard of him again. When he was seen three days after his father's death, it was in the massive mausoleum that you call pyramid. Aye, he was found and all recognized his clothes and the jewels he wore, but he was naught but sand and bones. You see, the sister killed him, she avenged herself for his humiliation of her, and placed his body in the old king's hidden burial chamber. She was probably aided by this Babylonian craftsman who would know where the burial chambers were hidden. He was her lover, wasn't he?”

“By all the gods,” Laren said, staring at Ragnor of York. “You are perfectly right, my lord.”

Ragnor preened like a jackdaw. “Let me also tell you that the sister wasn't blamed for the murder. All believed the king had killed his son and placed him in the burial chamber. Since he loved him, they would be together for eternity.”

“That's right, Lord Ragnor.”

“I can't stand this,” Rorik said, got up, and left the longhouse.

Ragnor laughed and drank more mead. “I am a prince. Of course I would know the answer. Don't raise your fists at me, remember who I am, remember who my father is.”

Ragnor said, looking as if he would soon be patting Laren on her head like a puppy that has just performed well, “Perhaps I am wrong. She told a fine tale. I liked the question at the end. It holds interest for a smart man. Aye, you did well, Laren. Perhaps a female isn't such a bad skald after all.” And he pulled off his silver armlet and handed it to her.

“Thank you, my lord,” she said, stunned.

Cleve said to Chessa, “I will go join Rorik. This is too much to bear. By all the gods, I want to kill him.”

Kerek left Ragnor bragging and braying to any of his men who would listen and came to Chessa, who was watching Kiri playing with a leather ball. “You see, he isn't always stupid, though he did brag a bit too much about his superiority.”

“You're right, that was well done of him,” she said, not looking up at him.

“Don't you believe that if a man is clever, as Ragnor just proved to be, that he can be taught other things?”

“You mean like kindness, good judgment, generosity, common sense? Ah, and humility? That quality surely crowns all others. Shall I continue, Kerek?”

Kerek ground his teeth. “A man can't be everything that is to your liking. You cannot demand a god. A man must have some flaws.”

“Leave it be, Kerek,” she said, patting his arm. “Leave it be. I won't wed him and there's the end to it.”

He said nothing. Chessa sighed and took herself to the fire pit to help Mirana and Entti clear away the remaining food from the evening meal.

 

 

C
HESSA WAS SLEEPING
deeply, dreaming of Egypt, that land very far to the south, that land of endless sand and heat that seared the flesh off the bones. She remembered the feel of the heat. She remembered the trees and the delicious dates as she picked them and stuffed them into her mouth. She remembered the soft white linen she wore, the open sandals. But above all she remembered the heat.

She also remembered a woman, her voice, her softness, and she knew in her dream that it was her mother, Naphta. She moaned softly, and the sound from deep in her own throat brought her awake.

She stared up into a man's face. In the next instant, his fist landed on her jaw and she fell into blackness where there was no more sand, no more heat, just emptiness and peace.

When she awoke, she wasn't in Mirana's box bed. She was alone and her hands were bound. She shook her head. A pain seared through her jaw where the man had struck her.

She was sitting up against a bale of hay in a small hut. Light came through the cracks in the wood plank walls. Her ankles were also bound. She was still in her white linen nightshift that came to her knees.

When the small door creaked open some minutes later,
she immediately stopped trying to pull her hands loose of the rope. Kerek bent over and came into the hut. He was carrying a bowl and a hunk of bread.

“Good morning, Princess,” he said. “I hope you feel all right. By the gods, your jaw is bruised. I told that fool to go easy with you, not to hit you. He's large, he could have merely held his hand over your mouth.”

“Who was that man?”

“One of Ragnor's men. I couldn't come for you because I'm being watched too closely. I will make Ottar pay for this, the clumsy bastard. Does your jaw hurt?”

“Of course it hurts. Why did you have me taken?”

“Come, you know why.”

She sighed. “Untie me, Kerek, and take me back to the longhouse.”

“Nay, after you've eaten I will take you to the warship. Even now Ragnor is gathering the men together.”

“Oh? Are there enough men who want to return to York with him? It isn't just you?”

“He is promising them more silver if they return with him.”

“Do they realize he's lying to them?”

“You won't speak like that of your future husband, Princess, and he will very shortly be your husband. I will ensure it. I promised the queen.”

“You, Kerek, you will ensure that Ragnor keeps his word and gives them more silver?”

“No, I will ensure that you marry him.”

“Listen to me, Kerek. Your loyalty to him is—I don't know what it is. Let me go, else I swear to you that your wretched master will be very unhappy if you force me back to York.”

“We will see about that. Why did you tell everyone that Ragnor raped you? I have wondered and wondered and come up with no answer. Ragnor believes it is simply a sign that you want him, thus your compliance. He is wrong, of course. Why did you do it?”

She said nothing, merely looked at the bowl of porridge
in Kerek's large hand. He untied the ropes around her wrists, then rubbed the feeling back into them. She began to eat Utta's wonderful porridge, laced through with honey.

She said at last, “It was Ragnor who said he'd raped me. I merely agreed with him.”

“Why?”

“I don't wish to marry William of Normandy either. It seemed an excellent way to make him break the marriage contract.”

“There's more to it than that,” Kerek said. “I didn't want to believe it, but I've seen you looking at Cleve. His face is ugly as a monster's. He isn't handsome like Ragnor. Why do you look upon him the way you do?”

“He isn't ugly. He's beautiful. I've finished the porridge. Let me go now, Kerek.”

“I can't, Princess.” He leaned over her and stuffed a cloth in her mouth. Before she could spit it out, he tied another cloth over her mouth, knotting it at the back of her head. He quickly tied her hands. He said to her as he wrapped her completely in a thick wool blanket and lifted her over his shoulder, “I'm sorry about your discomfort, Princess, but I couldn't take you to the warship earlier. The palisade gates are well guarded. They wouldn't have let me pass, not carrying something over my shoulder. Now all Ragnor's men are carrying their belongings to the warship. No one will question me.”

He opened the small door, looked both ways, then strode with her over his shoulder, well hidden in the blanket, toward the palisade gates. The gates were wide open, men, women, children, goats, chickens, and cows all milling about. Men were climbing back up from the dock, others carrying foodstuff or clothing down to store on the warship.

Kerek whistled as he walked down the long path to the beach below. There was a lot of activity. It appeared that many of Ragnor's men did believe he would pay them more silver. He wondered if Ragnor really would. Probably not. He didn't care.

“You've got her?” Ragnor said staring at the fat woolen
blanket over Kerek's shoulder.

“Aye, I only had to stuff a cloth in her mouth and tie her hands. I will speak to Ottar. He had no right to strike her. He hurt her. I didn't even like tying her up but I knew she wouldn't come with me willingly.”

“I told him to strike her if he needed to, so speak not to him, Kerek,” Ragnor said, then he turned away, saying over his shoulder, “I must return to the longhouse. I will be back shortly. Have everyone ready on the warship and at their oars.”

Kerek stared after Ragnor, wondering what he'd left at the longhouse, wanting to strike him for ordering Ottar to hit Chessa if he wished to, which he had. He carried Chessa on board and beneath a new leather tarp that covered the few goods that had survived the storm. He laid her gently on the wooden planks and unwrapped her. She looked up at him, her eyes deadly with anger. He quickly tied her wrists a bit tighter and rose. “I am sorry, Princess, but it must be.” She made a furious gurgling sound. He just shook his head and sighed. He stayed with her a few more minutes, saw that she was breathing more easily and then went out to the men. There were only thirteen men there to row them to York. He would row as well, and he hoped that even Ragnor would take his turn at the oars. They would have to row as quickly as they could for Kerek had no idea how long it would be before Chessa was missed and a hunt was mounted.

They had to hurry. He said to Torric, who was propped up against the rudder, his leg stuck out in front of him, “Why did Lord Ragnor return to the longhouse?”

Torric rolled his eyes. “You'll not believe it, Kerek.”

“Believe what?”

Then he heard a yell, looked up to see Ragnor running as fast as he could down the path, the girl Utta slung over his shoulder, unconscious. Kerek could only stare. Torric was right, he couldn't believe it. That stupid bastard. He'd told Ottar to mould a blanket in Chessa's shape in the box bed so anyone looking in would think she still slept. It
would have bought them time. But now that ass Ragnor had ruined everything. He'd simply grabbed Utta and carried her off.

There was nothing he could do. He yelled, “Everyone prepare to row until your hearts burst, else you'll be food for the fish.”

When Ragnor reached the warship, Kerek yelled, “Drop her, Ragnor, leave her, else they'll come after us and kill us all.”

“Nay, she will make me mead and let me bed her. You've seen how she looks at me. She wants me. She won't mind that I can't wed her. You'll see. When I bed her, she'll scream my name. Think you I should demand that when she screams, she screams Prince Ragnor or Lord Ragnor?”

“Damn you, you idiot, drop her on the beach!”

Ragnor raised her off his shoulder and tossed her to one of his men, his mightiest warrior, Olya, who caught her against him as if she were naught but a small child. He looked at Kerek and just shrugged. Ragnor yelled even as he jumped onto the warship, “Row, damn you all, row!”

But it was too late. Kerek watched helplessly as men swept down the path yelling at the top of their lungs, carrying swords, axes, knives. Some had even picked up rocks beside the path. At their head was Haakon, Utta's husband. Had Ragnor grabbed her right out of her bed? Had her husband still been beside her?

Behind him were Rorik, Merrik, and Cleve. Kerek would die for this fool of a man, all of them would die.

He said to Torric, “Tell Olya to throw the girl Utta back onto the beach. Do it or we'll be butchered.”

Ragnor screamed, “Row!”

They obeyed Ragnor, muscles straining, they rowed, but still it wasn't enough. Haakon and two dozen warriors splashed through the waves and climbed over the side of the warship. The fighting began.

Torric tried to rise, but Rorik merely frowned at him and brought the flat of his sword down on his head. Torric
collapsed and fell beneath the rudder. As for Olya, he dropped Utta on the center wooden plank, drew his sword and fought with all his strength and skill. He got a sword through his belly, another through his chest. Because they were Vikings, because they were trained warriors who would never surrender, most died. Three were groaning, helpless, when it was over.

Kerek, as had been his vow to the queen, had protected his prince. He now stood at the stem of the warship, waiting to be slashed apart. The men had stayed away from him until the others were either dead or helpless. Now it was his turn. He expected no less. Ragnor was behind him, the bloody coward. Suddenly Ragnor raced around Kerek, grabbed up Utta and pulled her upright in front of him. He pulled the knife from his belt. He screamed at Rorik, “Keep them back or the girl dies. I care not though she makes the best mead I've ever drunk.”

There was instant silence. The boat swayed and rocked in the waves, for they were still close to shore. Slowly, all the Malverne men and the Hawkfell men fell in behind Rorik, staring at Ragnor, and the still-unconscious Utta held in front of him like a shield.

Though his hand shook, Cleve said in his calm diplomat's voice, “My lord Ragnor, it is over for you. If you wish to live, you will at once release Utta. You will lay her down very gently. You will not so much as make a shadow on her throat with that knife. Do you understand me?”

Ragnor didn't know what to do. It was all Kerek's fault. If only he'd captured Utta instead of that arrogant Chessa, who looked at him as if he were naught but a worm, even after he'd solved the skald's riddle. He called out, “ Haakon, I will buy her from you.”

Kerek saw Cleve gently touch Haakon's arm. “No, don't move.” To Ragnor, he said in that same calm voice, “ Release Utta now. You, Kerek, and Captain Torric will survive if you do as I tell you. Mirana will tend those men's wounds.”

“You're nothing but a slave, Cleve, you're ugly with
that scar sliced up your face. I don't know why Chessa thinks you so manly and beautiful. She must have a squint. You've no right to even speak to me. Go away, all of you.”

Suddenly there was a moan, a woman's moan. All the men looked toward the small covered cargo space to see Chessa on her hands and knees, her mouth tied with a rag, trying to crawl through the opening.

“You damned bastard,” Cleve yelled, all his diplomat's calm vanished, and ran right at Ragnor. “I don't care who you are or what your damned father may do. You'll die now, you gutless worm!” The ship rocked wildly, throwing Ragnor to the side. At that moment, Utta awoke, shook her head to clear it, saw her husband's white face in front of her, and sent her elbow back into a soft stomach.

Ragnor yowled. She was free. She rolled aside just as Cleve leapt upon Ragnor. He dragged him down else they'd both have gone flying over the side of the warship. He pounded Ragnor's head against the center plank, the thud sounding loud and painful.

“Kill the damned bastard,” Haakon yelled out, grabbing Utta and holding her steady.

“Wring his fool's neck,” Hafter said. “Slice off his mangy parts.”

“Please, Cleve,” Kerek begged. But this time Rorik held him back and said, “If Cleve wishes to kill him, let him. He is responsible for the death of all of these good men.”