Brandewyne, Rebecca (42 page)

"Having
conquered all of Northumbria and been paid to go in peace by what ealdormen who
still remain, Ivar now departs," Yelkei continued, "leaving behind a
puppet to rule in his name— Egbert, an earl of Northumbria who was exiled from
Britain and sought refuge in the Northland, as Ragnar's
thegn.
'Tis southwest
we travel, to march now on the kingdom of Mercia. For, like his father, Ragnar,
before him, Ivar means to conquer all of Britain, to rule as Bretwalda over all
the Saxons and Angles and Jutes who are its peoples."

At
the thought of being taken into Mercia, home of Prince Cerdic, Rhowenna
shuddered again violently, filled of a sudden with a terrible foreboding. For
the thousandth time, she cursed herself for a fool for not reading Aella's
letter to Wulfgar more carefully, more closely; for if she had, they would
never have stayed in his royal manor to be imprisoned by him; they would not
now be at the mercy
of Ivar the Boneless and his brothers.

"Yelkei,
what happened after I fainted?" Rhowenna asked slowly after a moment,
sensing somehow that there was still something more, something Yelkei had held
back, had not told her. But when Yelkei did not reply, her lids hooding her
fathomless black eyes, her glance flicking away, Rhowenna became aware of
Morgen huddled in a corner of the ox-cart, trembling and rocking herself, her
arms wrapped tightly about her knees; and instinctively, Rhowenna knew then
what had occurred. "Oh, God," she breathed, tears starting in her
eyes. "Oh, God... Morgen. Morgen..." Then, somehow, Morgen was in her
arms, and Rhowenna was holding her tight, stroking her hair and crooning to her
as the two women rocked each other, Morgen weeping hard but quietly against
Rhowenna's comforting breast. "I'm sorry. I am so sorry, Morgen,"
Rhowenna whispered.

"I
only wanted... to go home," Morgen said, sobbing softly. "I didn't
want to stay in the Northland! I didn't want to fall in love with Flóki the
Raven! But he made me love him, and now— and now— Oh, Rhowenna! Ivar and his
brothers... they forced Flóki— they forced him to watch, while they— while they
took me— God, how Flóki must hate me now! Every time he looks at me now,
he'll remember.
He'll remember what they did to me, and he'll think of me as their whore, and
he'll never love me again— Oh, Rhowenna! That's what hurts! I could live with
the other. 'Tis losing Flóki that hurts so much that I just wish I were
dead!"

"Hush!
Hush! Don't say that! 'Tisn't true— and I don't believe that of Flóki, either!
A man who loves you as much as Flóki does isn't going to turn away from you
because of this terrible thing that has happened to you, through no fault of
your own. He is more likely to murder Ivar, Ubbi, and Halfdan in their beds!"

"And
be killed himself for his trouble— for they'll be expecting that, won't they?
They'll be on their guards against him, always sleeping with one eye
open," Morgen insisted, quieter now as she brushed away her tears, as
though angry and ashamed at having given way to them.

"Wulfgar
will be watching, too, Morgen. Trust me. He won't let Flóki do anything rash, I
promise you— and somehow, some way, we'll get through this, all of us,
together. By the Christ and Wulfgar's gods, I swear it!"

* * * * *

It
was apparent from the massive size of the Northland army and the range of its
re-
sources that Ragnar Lodbrók had planned his campaign well, and perhaps would
have survived to lead it to victory over all of Britain had he not flown into
such a wild rage at Wulfgar and Flóki, and gone chasing after them, sending his
sons on to Britain, with his great army. Still, Ivar himself was an equally
capable leader, as was proved by his taking of Northumbria. Now as, toward
sundown, they halted their march for the night, Rhowenna observed from the
ox-cart that in addition to horses and other supplies, Ivar had also
confiscated a number of pavilions from the Saxon kings and ealdormen. Being so
well-sheltered as a result, he allotted to Wulfgar and Flóki each a small hide
tent such as were used by the Lapps of the northern tundra, which his army had
brought from the Northland. Once these were erected, Wulfgar and Flóki came to
the ox-cart, having been prevented from doing so before then.

Wulfgar's
eyes were haunted by shadows that filled Rhowenna with pain when she saw him,
and as he lifted her from the vehicle, embracing her tight, she clung to him
ardently, returning his hot, feverish kisses in equal measure. But Morgen
huddled in the ox-cart, hiding her face in shame, not looking at Flóki until he
compelled her chin up and kissed her full on the mouth— deeply,
fiercely. After
that, crying out, she flung her arms about his neck, clutching him desperately,
holding on for dear life as he swung her down from the vehicle, then carried
her wordlessly to their tent, letting the flap fall shut behind them.

"She
thought that he would not want her," Rhowenna remarked quietly as she and
Wulfgar stood, watching the two lovers disappear. "She thought that he
would hate her, that he would never love her again, but would think of her only
as the whore of his enemies."

"He
hates what was done to her, aye," Wulfgar acknowledged soberly. "But
Morgen herself, Flóki only loves all the more. How could he not? Because they
took their revenge on him as they did, with his woman, while they forced him to
watch, my half brothers spared his life. So Morgen's sacrifice was not in vain,
Rhowenna; had she not been there, they would have killed him. They may yet.
They may kill us all in the end." Wulfgar's voice was raw and desperate.
"Still, I cannot, at the moment, see any way out of this for us,
elsket.
It amuses Ivar,
in his mockery, to treat us as his honored guests— providing horses for me and
Flóki, the ox-cart for you and Morgen and Yelkei, Lapland tents for us. As you
can see, Ivar has even returned my battle-ax and Flóki's broadsword. But we
are prisoners
just the same, all of us; for Ivar knows that neither I nor Flóki will make any
foolhardy attempt to fight our way free of this ravening horde and ride off,
endangering the lives of you and Morgen and Yelkei in the process or leaving
you behind to the mercy of my half brothers. Yet, as he did of old, Ivar
taunted me all day, hoping to provoke me into some reckless act." Wulfgar
laughed shortly, harshly. "He even informed me that he sent some of his
men to seize my Dragon Ship, and that it does even now lie off the coast of
East Anglia, with his own, waiting for me."

"Then
if we could escape—"

"Nay,
we cannot, sweeting." Wulfgar shook his head. "At least, not right
now— and even if somehow we could, 'twill be time soon for your lying-in"—
he laid his hand gently upon her full, round belly, where their child grew
within her— "and you'll not be able to travel. Nay, we must wait and play
for a while this strange and deadly game that Ivar directs. But our chance will
come, I promise you. 'Tis only a matter of time, I am thinking. So, enough of
this. Come. Yelkei will have supper hot on the fire by now, waiting for us; and
after we are done eating, I would lie with you and make love to you,
kj
œ
reste,
while
I still can. For soon now, al- though such is my desire for you that I loathe
even the thought of doing so, I know I must stop, lest I risk doing some injury
to you or the babe."

Darkness
fell as they ate by the fire; and afterward, in the way that lovers do,
Rhowenna and Wulfgar made another kind of fire between them, and of the crude
Lapland tent that was their shelter, a magic place, a cocoon spun of the moon,
the stars, and the night wind that soughed across the sweeping moors of
Northumbria, bringing with it the scent of the distant sea. He held her on her
side, wrapping himself about her so they fitted together like the few rare
spoons she had seen at the supper table in Aella's great hall, and entering her
so gently that his passage into her was like the long, deep sigh of pleasure
that escaped from her lips. His mouth upon her nape, his hands upon her
breasts, her burgeoning belly, he thrust into her, slowly but strongly until he
could feel how she opened to him, her thighs parting even farther, her nether
lips ripe and swollen, bursting with her sweet berry juices, mellifluous as he
moved inside her. One of her arms rested above her head, her hand tangling and
tightening in his long mane of golden hair as she cried out, soft and low with
rapture, and then turned her face so her mouth found
his, yielding,
opening to receive his tongue as she received him, trembling hard and sweet
with passion as, at last, he spilled himself inside her.

In
the quiet afterglow, they lay together as they had when making love, Wulfgar
stroking Rhowenna's belly tenderly, tracing tiny patterns there and thinking
how much he loved her, that if ever he should not have her, the very light
would go out of his life forever and he would surely die— and be glad of it.
But even such a love as his was not enough to hold at bay the sounds of the
ribald revelry of the
Víkingrs
preying
upon their captive Saxon women, which echoed through the night to intrude upon
him and Rhowenna; and as he lay beside her, Wulfgar could sense the long
thoughts on which she dwelled in her mind, and feel the tremor of her heart in
her soft white breast. For that, he cursed and damned Ivar to Hel, that she
should lie in her husband's arms and fear being forced to lie in Ivar's.

"Wulfgar,"
she whispered at last, "if ever Ivar—"

"He
won't. Don't even think about it. I would slay him first."

"Flóki
could not." Her voice was low, tremulous.

"I
am not Flóki."

"You
are a man—one man—just as he is, not a god. I must know, Wulfgar. Somehow, I
need to hear you say it... that you would still love me if—"

"Oh,
elsket,
how
can you even wonder?" he asked, his heart aching that she would doubt him,
if even only a little. "I would still love you! I will always love you!
You are the other half of my heart, my mind, my soul! Don't you know
that?"

"Aye...
for you are mine, my love. Make love to me again, so I can pretend we are back
in our
hof
on
your markland, in the bed you had made for me and where you first showed me
what it was to love a man— to love you— then and always. In my dreams, I am
there now, with you beside me. Take me home... home to the Northland, Wulfgar—
if only for a little while...."

"Home,
kjœreste?
Once,
you said that you would never call it that."

"I
did not know then what I wanted, what I needed."

"And
what is that?"

"You,
Wulfgar... only and forever you."

Like
the night mist twining itself about the hills and hollows of the land, he
enfolded her then, his mouth softly fierce upon her lips, her breasts, her
belly as he led her up a wending mountain path of the Northland, past fairy
rings and elfin
trees to a place where Thor's hammer, Mjöllnir, split the heavens asunder, and
Rhowenna knew she soared higher than the gods in Asgard before floating gently
back to earth, to drift like a swan upon a wild Northland mere.

* * * * *

The
great army marched on, warring and killing, maiming and burning, ravaging and
raping their way down Northumbria and into Mercia, terrifying all in their
path. Burgred, the king of Mercia, who had wed the sister of Aethelred, the
king of Wessex, sent a message to his brother by marriage, entreating the help
of the West Saxons against the
Víkingrs.
Between
Aethelred and his brother, Alfred, the West Saxons marshaled their own army and,
departing Wessex, marched to join Burgred's own forces, meeting outside of
Nottingham. Meanwhile in Northumbria, the Saxons had revolted against Ivar's
puppet ruler, Egbert; compelled into exile again, he had this time sought
refuge with Burgred, in Mercia. The Northumbrians had chosen another Saxon,
Ricsige, as their king; and for the time being, the
Víkingrs
had lost control
of the kingdom. So, initially, they declined to engage Burgred's army and
accepted payment to go in peace from Mercia, back to York, to reclaim
Northumbria.

But
then, hearing that Burgred sheltered the traitorous Egbert, Ivar grew so
enraged that he swept down on Burgred's troops, decisively routing them, so
Burgred was then himself forced into exile, in Rome. After his victory, Ivar
appointed one of Burgred's earls, Ceolwulf, as the tributary king of Mercia,
provided that Ceolwulf hold himself and his kingdom ready and willing to serve
Ivar, Ubbi, Halfdan, and any other
Víkingr
kings or
jarlar
who dared to
follow them into Britain. This binding pledge upon Ceolwulf, Ivar secured with
both oaths and hostages, learning from the mistake he had made with Egbert.
Carrying away his hostages to ensure Ceolwulf s loyalty, Ivar then marched on
that portion of Mercia that was the holding of Prince Cerdic— for Cerdic alone
of all the Mercian royalty had refused to pay his share of what, in later
years, was to come to be known as danegeld.

When
she discovered, to her horror, where they were headed, Rhowenna was terrified;
for it seemed to her that everything since her first dream of Wulfgar— the
attack upon her father, the attack upon Usk, everything— had been leading up to
this point in her life. No matter how she tried, she could not shake off her
deep sense of foreboding, her fear of exposure. There were men at Cerdic's
court who would
recognize her, who could identify her, the envoys he had sent to teach her the
Saxon tongue and customs. Still, there was no reason to think that she would
ever even see the inside of Cerdic's royal manor, his great hall, that she
would be anywhere other than in the ox-cart or in the Lapland tent when the
battle, if it came, took place. Always, if there was a conflict, Wulfgar made
sure that she was well back from the front lines, where he and Flóki— ever
alert lest they get a scramasax in the back from one or another of the three
brothers— were compelled to fight alongside Ivar, Ubbi, and Halfdan.