Rescued By The Viking. Meriel Fuller

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СКАЧАТЬ his arms, wrinkling the supple leather of his jerkin. ‘Because you’ll receive no coin from me if you don’t!’

      Some of the other workers slowed their movements, glancing over at Gisela. Colour rose in her cheeks. The last thing she wanted to do was draw attention to herself. ‘No, no, I’ll do it!’ she said, grabbing the rope handles of her buckets. Up until now this job had been physically hard, hefting the pails of brine to the sheds where it was boiled down to form the precious salt. The work was arduous, boring, but there had been no danger. But now? Now, in order to quash her rising fear at the thought of going out on the mudflats, she had to remember her real purpose for doing this job. To earn enough money to pay for the ferry across to the north. And to find Richard.

      * * *

      With a practised eye, Ragnar Svendson ran his gaze along the undulating shore of the river, searching for a safe spot where the boats could draw up. Jumping down from the prow, bracing his long legs against the gentle pitch and roll of the ship, he strode along the middle of the ship, through the men working the oars, towards his friend leaning against the gunwale.

      ‘What do you think?’ Eirik asked, glancing up as Ragnar joined him.

      Ragnar turned his lean, tanned face to glance across the jumbled roofs of Bertune. ‘I think it will do for tonight,’ he replied. ‘The men are tired; they need to rest.’ He flexed his fingers over the smooth wood of the gunwale, rolling his shoulders forward. The journey had been easy and quick from Ribe, the North Sea mercifully flat for once, with light breezes speeding them across the waves to the north-east coast of England.

      ‘’Tis a pity that we cannot land on the north side, but the tide is too low.’ Eirik smiled. ‘Do you think this small town is ready for us?’

      Ragnar stuck one hand through his hair; the vigorous strands fired to white-gold in the light of the setting sun. He laughed. ‘Who knows? We’ve come to help them after all; they should welcome us with open arms.’ He glanced back into the belly of the longship, at the coxswain beating time on a small drum to the forty men on the oars. Each man sat on a chest: wooden boxes that contained their scant possessions for the journey to England. And behind this ship, three more identical vessels followed them up the narrow channel.

      ‘We can cross on the morrow.’ Eirik smoothed his palm along the polished prow. The curved wood rose up into a figurehead: a dragon’s head with prominent eyes, a tongue of wooden fire. ‘My brother won’t arrive with his fleet for another day or two.’

      ‘And then you can march together to meet with Edgar Aethling in Jorvik. The city is directly north from here, across the water.’ Ragnar glanced at the far side of the vast, wide river where stiff, dull-yellow reeds bisected oozing, creaking domes of mud. Seabirds wheeled in the limpid sky above, mewling and squawking: lonesome, plaintive sounds cutting the air.

      Eirik nodded. As the eldest son of Sweyn, the Danish king, he had been sent to help the deposed Anglo-Saxon king in his fight against the Norman invasion. ‘In that case, this place is perfect,’ he said, clapping a large hand on Ragnar’s shoulder, ‘and you and I and the rest of the men can have some fun! I’ve heard these Saxon maidens can be very comely!’

      Ragnar shook his head: a swift, brutal movement. ‘Nay, Eirik, I’ve not come here for that.’ His eyes pinched to emerald slits; a muscle twitched in his jaw.

      ‘I hadn’t forgotten.’ Eirik’s face fell. ‘But you’ll be with us until tomorrow, will you not? It will soon be too dark to travel. Why not have some fun this night, while you can, eh?’ He pushed his knuckles against Ragnar’s jaw, a teasing punch. ‘Besides, what fair maiden could resist that clean-shaven face?’

      ‘The weather’s too hot for a beard,’ Ragnar said. ‘It’s much better this way.’

      ‘If you say so,’ replied Eirik, ‘but I swear your mother had something to do with it. Is she trying to turn you into a Norman?’

      Ragnar grinned, his teeth white and even in his tanned face. ‘Thor’s hammer, Eirik, what do you take me for? Of course she’s not!’

      ‘If you say so.’ Eirik chuckled, raising his black eyebrows in mock surprise. ‘Well, I still think you should take advantage of this town’s hospitality.’

      ‘I might.’ Ragnar threw his friend a non-committal smile, reluctance slicing through him. As the shallow-drafted longships approached the shoreline, he gazed across the jumble of thatched, earth-walled huts that made up the town of Bertune. Trickles of woodsmoke rose vertically, hazing the air; figures moved on the shoreline, people stopping and pointing as they watched the vessels approach. He had no idea how long his journey north would take. All he knew was that he had to find the man who had wrecked his sister’s life. Who had turned the happy, confident figure of his sister into a listless, silent wraith. She had not spoken a word since she had been carried off the ship at Ribe.

      ‘How will you find him anyway?’

      Ragnar shrugged his massive shoulders. ‘All I know is that he’s a Norman lord, given lands to the north of Jorvik by the Conqueror. That’s all I have at the moment.’

      ‘How will you get close to him? These Normans guard themselves well, especially in this hostile part of the country.’

      ‘I have no idea, Eirik. But once I do, I will find out what happened to Gyda after she was abducted.’ Guilt jabbed through him. ‘We’ve tried everything else.’

      He had been the one to encourage her in the first place, told her to travel to England with the man she loved. He narrowed his eyes. For helvede, he had even lifted her on board the ship! He remembered his sister’s delighted laugh as he swung her up and over the gunwale, up to the grinning boy who wished to marry her. Now her betrothed was a dead man and Gyda, when she eventually returned, had changed beyond all recognition.

      Eirik peered at him, sensing his friend’s distraction. ‘Are you set on this idea, Ragnar? I hope you deal with him quickly, for I will miss you at my side if there’s any fighting to be done.’ He grinned, a wolfish glint in his eyes.

      ‘Eirik, if you’re involved, then there will be fighting.’ Ragnar laughed, shaking off the pall of remorse that cloaked his shoulders. Now was not the time for self-recrimination or brooding. That time was done. It was time for action. He owed it to his sister to track down the man who had wrenched her from her lover’s side. To find out what had happened to her.

      ‘It’s the only thing I live for,’ Eirik replied, turning down the corners of his mouth in mocking sadness.

      ‘As well as Bodil and the children,’ Ragnar added. ‘Don’t forget them.’ His firm lips quirked with humour. Although Eirik was a warrior, he was also a devoted husband and father who liked nothing better than cradling his latest son against his chest and crooning out the old Norse songs into the poor baby’s ear. Ragnar often stayed with Eirik as he and his family lived nearer to the port at Ribe and so he had witnessed his friend’s softer side on several occasions.

      ‘And Bodil and the children, too.’ Eirik agreed enthusiastically. ‘That goes without saying.’ He peered over into the water as the ship slowly altered its course towards the shore. ‘Ah, good, it’s not muddy here,’ he said. ‘I can see the bottom. We can haul the ships straight up and keep our boots clean.’

      At his words, the wooden hulls scraped gently against the stones and sand; oars were drawn in through the holes cut into the wooden sides, secured for the night. Men leapt out, lithe and long-legged, bracing their cloaked СКАЧАТЬ