Brandewyne, Rebecca (14 page)

Some
primal instinct made her cling to that thought, and when Wulfgar again squatted
beside her, an unstoppered flask in his hands, she did not refuse the
bjórr
he pressed upon
her. The wine had an unfamiliar, fruity flavor and was far more potent than
that to which she was accustomed. But she was glad of the sudden warmth that
spread from her belly to the rest of her body. She had not recognized until now
how strangely cold she was,
despite the summer sun that shone brightly
overhead. At Rhowenna's greedy gulps, Wulfgar swore softly, angrily, causing
her to cringe as, fearing she intended to drain it dry, he abruptly snatched
away the flask he had held to her lips.

"You
must drink slowly, lady," he cautioned sternly, "small sips, or you
will grow drunk and violently ill, besides, once we've put out to sea. I have
seen it happen before— even to men with stout heads and strong stomachs."

Rhowenna
nodded weakly to show she understood. Even so, Wulfgar offered her no more of
the
bjórr.
The
last of the
Víkingrs
were
now approaching the beached longships, laden with the corpses of their slain
companions, with screaming, weeping, and struggling women, and with booty plundered
from the dead bodies of the Usk men and from the burning village of the
ceorls.
Many a flask was
uncorked and tilted high, spilling wine and ale down throats hoarse from the
shouts of victory and all over the triumphant
Víkingrs
themselves as
they tossed their captives and spoils into the longships, then dragged the
vessels from the sand into the sea. Rhowenna's heart ached with horror and pity
as she saw the hysterical women carelessly cast onto the decks of the
longships, battered and
bruised, half naked, their clothes ripped and begrimed, and blood staining the
thighs of those who had been maidens earlier that day. Highly valued armor and
weapons callously stripped from the dead Usk men, jewelry and cloth, tools and
utensils, and other goods stolen from the blazing huts and byres of the
ceorls
were tossed, as well, into piles soon heaped high upon the decks.
Alongside, the corpses of the reivers were ceremoniously laid out with their
arms folded across their chests and their shields placed upon them.

Rhowenna
gasped and then cried out softly as Morgen, moaning with pain and bound hand
and foot, was roughly thrown down beside her in the stern of the longship. Like
the rest of the women, Morgen had obviously been beaten and raped, perhaps even
by more than one man. Her face was bruised, her lower lip cut and bleeding; her
bare shoulders and half-exposed breasts showed the marks of brutish mauling,
and her soiled bodice and skirts were nearly torn away. For a long moment, the
wind knocked from her by the violent force with which she had struck the deck,
she lay sprawled upon its planks, unmoving.

"Morgen—"
Rhowenna whispered urgently, her voice catching on a broken sob,
for she half
feared that the serving maid was dead. "Oh, dear God, please let her be
all right! Morgen! Can you hear me? Are you all right?"

"Aye,
as well as... can be... expected, my lady," came the low response at last
as Morgen slowly raised her head and began weakly to inch her way across the
deck to where Rhowenna sat braced against one side of the longship. "At
least, I'm... alive," she continued as she struggled with difficulty into
a sitting position. "Did they... did they... hurt you, my lady?"

"Nay,
not yet, anyway. One of them... one of them recognized the circlet I wear as
princess of Usk, and so I was spared— Oh, Morgen! I am sorry, so very sorry for
what has happened to you and the others—"

"
'Tis not your fault. You are not to blame for it, my lady— and I, at least, was
no virgin." Morgen confessed this last wryly. "How I thank God for
that! Some of the rest were not so lucky; and worse lies ahead for us all, I
fear, slavery and whoredom, if the tales of the Northmen are to be believed—
and after today, who among us could doubt them? Not I."

"Nor
I," Rhowenna replied, tears stinging her eyes and a hard, painful lump
rising in her throat as she looked at all the women
ravished and
taken captive, and then back at the corpses that littered the burning village
and the ravaged shores of Usk. It was very like the Shore of Corpses the
Northman had described to her.

She
realized suddenly— stricken— that she did not even know if Gwydion was among
the dead. She had not seen him fall in battle, as she had envisioned in her
dream; and as the
Víkingrs
shoved
their longships into the sea, she clung fast to the slender thread of hope that
perhaps Gwydion was still alive, that he had somehow survived the terrible
battle, despite the fact that so much of what she had foreseen had indeed come
to pass when the tall, gilt-haired Northman had swept her up and carried her to
the vessel. Even now, she could feel his intense blue eyes upon her, and she
shivered uncontrollably, her own gaze involuntarily drawn to him. He seemed
different from all the others. Perhaps he would not use her too cruelly,
Rhowenna thought; for she had witnessed his desire for her earlier, and she
felt that despite his assurances to the contrary, it was only a matter of time
before he forced himself upon her. Why should she alone escape rape, or worse,
at the hands of these savage Northmen?

* * * * *

"Where
is Olaf the Sea Bull?" Wulfgar inquired as he and the rest of the
Víkingrs
leaped from the
lapping waves into the vessels. The oarsmen were taking their places on their
sea chests and the drummers beginning to beat the rhythm to which the oars now
rose and fell in unison to send the vessels shooting forward over the waves of
the Severn Sea.

"Chosen
this day by the Valkyries to drink forever with Odinn, in Valhöll!" One of
the men pointed to Olaf's bloody body, stretched out on the deck of the
Dragon's Fire.
"May we all
prove so fortunate as to die so gloriously in battle, to become one of the
Einheriar of Odinn!"

"Aye!"
the other men crowed loudly, laughing, drunk on wine and ale, on battle fever
and bloodlust, and on the sweet, heady taste of their victory this day.
"Aye!"

Only
Wulfgar was silent, an icy grue creeping up his spine as he stared at Olaf's
mortally wounded corpse, its sightless blue eyes gazing up unblinkingly at the
sun, its scraggly grey beard fluttering a little in the wind. Was this the
answer Yelkei had received in her casting of the rune stones? Wulfgar wondered
uneasily, half afraid that for his heeding, however reluctantly, the counsel
born of her
sorcerous meddling in what was their business only, the gods would smite him
down where he stood. Was this the knowledge she had withheld from him: that
Olaf would not survive the raid upon Usk? Yelkei had claimed she had heard
Hela's death rattle in Olaf's bones. But perhaps that had been only a lie, Wulfgar
thought; perhaps
he
was responsible for his
jarl's
death— for
surely if he had not suggested this venture, Olaf might still be alive.

Yet,
despite these fearful and guilty thoughts, Wulfgar could not still the sudden,
irrepressible thrill of excitement that coursed through his veins at the
realization that Olaf the Sea Bull was dead. Unbidden, Yelkei's vision of a man
bold enough at Olaf's death to seize his markland crept into Wulfgar's mind;
and it came to him then that he had already taken the first step in that
direction: He had without even realizing it assumed Olaf's vacant place in the
stern, at the tiller— and surprisingly, no man aboard the
Dragon's Fire
had challenged
his authority to do so. Right now, they were probably all too drunk and buoyed
up by their triumph to notice or to care who captained the longship, Wulfgar
told himself. But surely when they sobered, one or more of the
thegns
would cry foul
at his usurpation and would attempt to
take his place. He would not let that
happen, Wulfgar resolved. He
could
not— for whoever held the tiller of
the
Dragon's Fire
could also surely claim Olaf's markland, as well as
the princess of Usk; and as he gazed down at Rhowenna at his feet, Wulfgar was
suddenly determined that no matter the cost, that man would be he.

"Lady"—
he spoke quietly to her so as not to be overheard, for he did not know which,
if any, of Olaf's
thegns
might
understand the Saxon language— "my lord, Olaf the Sea Bull, lies dead
there on the deck, slain in the battle with your people. He was an old
grey-beard, grown slack and slovenly with age, and more often than not, he was
deep in his cups. But in his own way, he was a good lord to me, and it could be
that I would have had some small influence with him where you are concerned. Now,
we are both of us without his protection, and although you will doubtless not
believe it, I am afraid for you.

"There
will be those besides myself who will covet Olaf's markland— and even more who
will covet the ransom you are sure to bring from your betrothed, Prince Cerdic
of Mercia, or your father, King Pendragon of Usk. There were others besides my
lord Olaf who knew of your betrothal and dowry, and
who intended to
take you hostage, lady. They will be enraged that Olaf the Sea Bull beat them
to the prize. Foremost among them are Ragnar Lodbrók, who is a powerful king of
the Northland, and his son and heir, Ivar the Boneless. They are my bitterest
foes, and so you may be certain that upon our arrival in the Northland, they
will demand that I deliver you up to them, and that if I do not, they will
march upon me and Olaf's markland to take you by force.

"Are
you listening to me, lady?"

"Aye—
for all the good it may do me." Rhowenna, too, kept her voice low. "I
am powerless to defend myself even against you, much less your enemies, so what
do you hope to gain by telling me this tale— unless 'tis to terrify me into
submitting to you?"

"I
would rather have you knowing naught but a maiden's fear of her first time with
a man, and willing in my arms." The answer was blunt and made Rhowenna
flush scarlet with shame at the image he evoked in her mind. "But neither
Ragnar Lodbrók nor Ivar the Boneless is so particular; and although I doubt
that Prince Cerdic will pay ransom for a sullied bride, your father might for a
dishonored daughter."

"Nay,
he will not! Be sure of that, Northman!"

"I
cannot— nor can you be, I am thinking. Even so, I wish only to help you, lady.
By the gods, I swear it! It has come to me that the wench beside you is a
virgin no longer and, while not so beautiful as you, is much like you
physically and comely enough to pass as the princess of Usk if she were of a
mind to, with none but ourselves the wiser. We would need to keep our wits
about us, for 'twould be a dangerous game we would play. Still, in this manner
could I best keep you safe from harm, lady, for then you would be naught more
than my slave and, as such, not likely to attract the interest even of Ragnar
Lodbrók and Ivar the Boneless. But the switch must be made now, and quickly, while
the
Víkingrs
aboard
the
Dragon's
Fire
are
still drunk with wine and ale and victory, and so not likely to remember which
ebon-haired woman was first wearing that gold circlet about your head."

"Why—
why should you care what happens to me?" Rhowenna asked, bewildered by
Wulfgar's wholly unexpected offer of protection and assistance.

"Because
I have never before seen a woman such as you. You are rare and beautiful, like
a black swan, and I would not see you cruelly ravaged."

"That
is no answer. You are as barbarous as the rest of your kind. 'Twas
you
who kidnapped me
and brought me on board this vessel!"

"Would
you rather I had left you amid the battle and the corpses, where I found you,
perhaps to be raped or even killed by the Berserks or the other warriors? Nay,
I thought not. What answer will you believe, then, lady? I have no other save
what I have already told you."

"You
are a liar!"

"May
the gods strike me dead if I am."

His
blue eyes held her own violet ones steadily, and try as she might, Rhowenna could
discern nothing but earnestness in his gaze. She did not understand it, but it
represented hope and a chance for her that she was reluctant to reject.

"I—
I do not know why you should wish to— to help me, but I will— I will ask Morgen
if she will agree to the exchange," she said slowly at last, still puzzled
by his behavior toward her and half suspecting some trickery. Still, he had
sworn by his gods, and perhaps that did mean something to him, although he was
no Christian, to whom such an oath was holy. Turning to Morgen, she explained
what Wulfgar had told her.

"Do
you believe what he has said, my
lady?" Morgen queried
thoughtfully.

"I—
I don't know."

"Still,
you are yet a virgin, and afraid. But this I tell you, my lady: If your rank
will not spare you from rape before you are ransomed, your shame will be more
easily borne if it comes at the hands of one man rather than many. Although he
is a savage and a heathen, the Northman is handsome and, if he speaks truly,
perhaps not so cruel as the others." Morgen's dark eyes studied him
covertly as she considered this. "Mayhap he is indeed sorry for you, as I
am, and does, in truth, want only to help you— or perhaps he is not so kind,
and not only lusts for you, but also is greedy and thinking to win your ransom
solely for himself. Even so, I do not see what other choice you have at the
moment in this matter, my lady, but to trust him; and I am not so hard and
unfeeling that I would condemn you to endure my own fate this day. Tell the
Northman that we will go along with his plan for now— but add that if he is
bent on some treachery, we will presently discover it, and he will regret it.
Say that if such a day should come, we will reveal the deception and denounce
him to any and all who will listen as a traitor to his king and his homeland.
Say further that on that day, we will seek refuge with those who
oppose him and
will beg of them his head for his perfidy."