Captive Of The Viking. Juliet Landon

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СКАЧАТЬ it was the last thing she wanted to do, she obeyed, knowing that she was in danger of falling off without him to hold on to. But now she was close against his broad back, feeling his warmth, breathing in his male scent, moving as he moved and clinging to him as she had never wanted to cling to any man, particularly not this one. She grasped his silver belt buckle, her other hand clasping the harp in its bag, making it impossible to wave to the two kindly women whose concerns meant so much to her. Taking a last look at the great hall as they passed through the gates, she saw that Earl Thored had appeared just inside the doorway, his face crumpled as if to avoid the low glare of the sun. Except that the sun was setting the sky aflame behind them like a portent of more burning villages in the future.

      Several times on the ride through Jorvik’s empty streets, Fearn looked behind her towards Haesel, but could see only one arm of her holding the rider’s waist. She recalled Haesel’s foretelling and now knew it to mean that there was no way of escaping her destiny, even if they had known it would be decided by Danish Vikings.

      There were, however, some details Haesel had not been shown—for instance, the sheer size and scale of the four Viking longships tied up against the wharf at Jorvik. Neither she nor Fearn had seen anything like them, the merchants’ vessels being about half their length and ugly by comparison. These long, sleek craft were like predatory sea monsters with fierce dragons’ heads carved on prow and stern, and with more men on one ship than they had ever thought possible. No wonder, Fearn thought, that the Earl did not want to engage the Danes in battle when his own trained warriors would be so outnumbered.

      A small crowd of Jorvik men, many of them of Danish ancestry, had gathered to watch the ships being loaded with sacks of silver, to see how quickly the men took their oars and settled into their respective positions once the mighty oars were in place. Some of the crowd were brave enough to shout their disapproval of Fearn’s presence there, but Aric made sure she was given no chance to exchange words with them by lifting her down off the horse, making his ownership quite obvious by keeping her close to him and demanding the promise of good behaviour he had not yet been given. ‘It’s up to you, lady,’ he said. ‘Either I have your word, or I have you trussed up like a chicken. It’s not a comfortable way to travel.’

      ‘If you mean, shall I throw myself overboard or try to seduce your men, you have my word I shall do neither. But don’t expect me to look as if I’m enjoying this, Dane,’ she said, haughtily. ‘I have no liking for your company.’

      ‘It was not for your company I’ve taken you from the Earl,’ he replied. ‘Your likes and dislikes don’t concern me. Come. This one is my ship. Walk on up the plank. We need to get moving.’

      Looking back on this, as she did many times, it was more like a dream than reality to step down into the wide belly of this monster and to feel the instant rocking motion as men moved about, many of whom would take over the oars as the first rowers tired. The deck thudded and vibrated beneath their feet as she and Haesel were hustled past them to a slightly raised platform in the vee-shaped prow where they would be out of the way. A kind of shelter had been erected for them from a heavy double-thickness wool smeared with tar and foul-smelling fat to resist the water, stretched across the space. Open at the front, this gave them a view of the rowers’ backs, though the men were denied the luxury afforded to the two passengers of a pile of furs to sit on. So far, they could not grumble about the comfort, but the strong winds of Haesel’s vision were not very far from their minds as they sat cross-legged and subdued, aware of the utter helplessness of their predicament. Fearn placed her arms around her maid, who was visibly shaking and close to tears. It was a new experience for her, too, as were the stares of men who had not seen their wives for two years. ‘Where are they taking us?’ she whispered, clinging like a limpet.

      ‘To Denmark, eventually,’ said Fearn, ‘but first they’ll have to row down the river to reach the sea. Don’t ask me how far, how long. I have no idea. They’ll want to keep us alive, though, or we’re no use to them.’

      ‘What use?’ whispered Haesel.

      Fearn merely sighed. They wriggled into the furs and watched the wharf move away, taking the crowd of Jorvik men off into the distance along with the thatched rooftops, the outline of St. Peter’s church and the few territorial dogs that yapped at the longships with dipping oars like the legs of a centipede. They felt the powerful rhythmic lurch as the oarsmen pulled in unison and heard through the oak timbers the rush of water. They noticed the change of smell as they moved through the smoky fug of the city, then the appearance of alder and willow along the banks, the affronted squawk of ducks protecting their new downy progeny.

      The oar master shouted a command and immediately the oars were suspended over the water as the acrid smell of smouldering thatch and mud walls reached their nostrils, just before the devastation came into view. A blackened ruined village sent clouds of grey ash into the evening sky, slowly passing them by, peopled only by a few miserable owners who rooted about for possessions or burnt remains of food. In a moment, Fearn was at the side of the ship leaning out to see if there was anyone she recognised, shading her eyes against the glare of the water, but unable to offer them the slightest comfort.

      ‘Sit down!’ The unmistakable sound of Aric’s deep voice was not to be argued with.

      She turned to him, her face reflecting her anguish. ‘I know those people,’ she said. ‘You’ve destroyed their houses and taken their food. How will they live?’

      ‘That’s their problem,’ he said, callously. ‘My problem was to feed my men. I solved it. So will they—one way or another. Now sit down. We shall be stopping as soon as the light goes, then we’ll eat and move on again at dawn.’

      She would like to have told him to keep his food, stolen property, but realised that she had not eaten since morning. Much as she rebelled at the thought of eating the villagers’ food, she hoped they would forgive her for it, for Haesel’s sight had not suggested that they, too, were in danger of starving. She also knew that there was some truth in Aric’s uncaring words that, one way or another, they would find something to eat from the hedgerows or in Jorvik itself, where kindly people would help them to rebuild.

      Watching him walk through his men to the other end of the ship, she could not help another comparison of the Jarl to the wretch who had been her husband, who had shamefully betrayed her foster father’s trust by abusing a woman who was fleeing from the very danger he was meant to be assessing. By association, she felt tainted by his baseness. People would point to her as the wife of a rapist who, to all women, was the lowest of the low. Perhaps it was as well, she thought, that she would be out of sight for a year, especially of the Lady Hilda and Catla who would never believe the worst of her son. But what would that year be like in the company of this man who appeared to get whatever he wanted?

      * * *

      The same question, by coincidence, was occupying the mind of the man himself as he joined his two most trusted companions. Oskar, a year older than Aric and as experienced in warfare, was from Lindholm where his young wife and infant son waited for his return. As he smiled at the wound on Aric’s thumb, his comment was typically unsympathetic. ‘Fought you, did she? Lovely set of tooth-marks, though. Quite a trophy.’

      Aric looked at it, huffing with annoyance that he was the only man to have been injured and then by a woman. ‘Still bleeding like a stuck pig,’ he muttered. ‘I must have lost my wits, Oskar. I was supposed to have brought the lad away. I can imagine what they’ll have to say when I get home with that one in tow.’

      Oskar’s grin widened. ‘Probably send you back to get him. Come over here. I’ll bind it up for you before we stop for the night. We don’t want your blood on the bread.’ No ship ever set off on this kind of expedition without being prepared for wounds of some sort, СКАЧАТЬ