Brandewyne, Rebecca (43 page)

It
was toward the end of summer, and she was very near her time now, besides.
Yelkei thought that the child would come within the next few weeks, so Rhowenna
was especially careful to stay close to her, not only because the
Víkingrs,
believing Yelkei
a witch and a true spaewife, were afraid of her, but also because she was to
serve as Rhowenna's midwife.

Suppressing
her worries, Rhowenna tried to remain calm as the great army continued its
march southwestward, toward Cerdic's principality, which lay at the edge of the
border between Britain and Walas, separated by Offa's Dyke from Usk— so near
and yet
so far from her homeland, to which she no longer desired to return. But then
the gods, ironically in the form of a Christian priest, once more thrust a
capricious and terrible hand into her affairs.

To
Ivar's message demanding that he pay for peace or show himself at the head of
his army, Cerdic sent a short, rude reply, then massed his forces along the
walls of his stronghold, where he waited for Ivar's own troops to appear. The
ensuing battle was long and bloody, lasting for three days and nights, during
which time Ubbi was slain in a daring charge from the stronghold's gates by
Cerdic himself, much to Ivar's rage. For when Ubbi fell, his standard-bearer
was also cut down; and seeing the banner of Ubbi Lodbróksson trampled upon the
bloody ground, half of Ivar's army, believing that it was he who was dead, fled
the field. But in the end, Ivar caught and rallied them; omnipresent on his
snow-white steed, he marshaled his forces to attack with renewed vigor,
overwhelming Cerdic's troops at long last, overrunning the stronghold, and
taking Cerdic himself prisoner.

Now,
in the great hall of his royal manor, Cerdic knelt upon the rush-strewn stone
floor, his hands bound tightly, with rope, behind his back, his head laid on a
wooden
block, and, resting lightly, tauntingly, at his bared nape, Ivar's broadsword,
poised to perform the execution that was retribution for Ubbi's death. Present
to witness the delivery of Cerdic's death blow were Halfdan and Wulfgar, along
with Flóki and some of Ivar's and Cerdic's
thegns.
A dark-robed
Christian priest, clutching a wooden cross on an amber-beaded gold chain and
muttering prayers for the prince's soul, stood at Cerdic's side, and before him
knelt his sister, the princess Mathilde— tall, golden-haired, blue-eyed, and
lovely, weeping and pleading with Ivar to spare her brother's life, to no
avail.

"Only
think: If you had not been such a pinch-purse, Cerdic," Ivar drawled
dryly, "you would not now feel my blade at your neck. But then, you have
made a habit of refusing to discharge your debts, have you not? Even the
princess of Usk you would not ransom from Wulfgar Bloodaxe there, although she
was beautiful and your betrothed— and a pleasure to bed, as well I and my
brothers know, Cerdic. We all had her, you see. So, alas, she's only a whore
now, and belongs to Flóki the Raven there. But I thought that since you took
such an interest in her once, you might wish to bid her farewell; so I've
ordered her brought here."

As
he heard this frightening piece of news,

Wulfgar
started, his heart leaping to his throat, his hand reaching for his battle-ax.
But then he remembered that Cerdic had never seen Rhowenna, so would not know
her from Morgen, and that the envoys from Cerdic's court, who had met her and
so who would know her, were not likely to be present at the moment in the great
hall— being counselors, teachers, rather than earls, and thus of relatively
small importance. Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to relax.

Presently,
escorted by two of Ivar's men, Morgen appeared— wide-eyed and pale-faced, terrified
as she glanced around the great hall, instinctively searching for Flóki's
handsome bronze face. Upon finding it, she gathered her courage to walk slowly
forward as, with a languid wave of his hand, Ivar beckoned her toward him.

"Well,
Cerdic, there she stands before you, the woman who would have been your bride
had you not proved yourself so faithless and cheap a lover," Ivar jeered,
sliding his blade beneath Cerdic's chin to compel his head up, so he might gaze
upon Morgen. "Is she not as comely and charming as I remarked— if a trifle
used now?"

"My
lord"— the priest spoke before Cerdic could answer, addressing him—
"I do not know what manner of strange and
cruel game this Viking barbarian
seeks to play with you, but I beg you: Do not listen to him. 'Tis some trickery
to deceive you for some purpose I know not, some mockery to make a fool of you,
to rob you of your princely dignity before you meet your Maker, in
Heaven—"

"Why,
what nonsense, what babble is this?" Ivar asked, startled, his eyes
narrowing sharply of a sudden as he brought the point of his weapon to bear at
the priest's chest. "What say you, priest? What mean you? Spit it out,
man, at once, or I'll cut your heart out where you stand, I swear!"

"But—
but... surely, you know, King Ivar," the priest insisted nervously.
"This woman is not the princess of Usk! She is only a serving maid, named
Morgen."

"So
that is what Yelkei said to Ragnar before he died!" Ivar's eyes gleamed
with sudden understanding— and then he began to howl with laughter. He was
still laughing when, with a swift and supple flick of his uncannily boned
wrist, he brought the point of his blade to rest at Wulfgar's throat, pressing
lightly until a bead of blood appeared there and Wulfgar was forced at last to
loose his hold on his battle-ax he had snatched from its scabbard at his back,
to let the weapon slide with a clatter to the floor. After a long,
taut moment,
Ivar's laughter slowly died away. Then, his eyes hard and angry, he said
softly, "Halfdan, do you go and fetch Wulfgar's lady wife, and bring her
here to me now."

The Princess of
Usk

For
a year of her life, she had feared and dreaded this moment; yet now that it was
upon her, Rhowenna found that she was strangely unafraid. She walked slowly by
Halfdan's side, and much to her surprise, he did not try to hurry her, made no
attempt to drag her ruthlessly along in his wake, as she had expected he would.
More than once, he even took her hand in his and slipped his arm about her
waist to help her over a rough patch of earth, so she did not fall.

"Why
do you show me such kindness, my lord?" she asked him.

"I
do not even myself know the answer to that, lady, save that I have always
thought you more regal than the other— and Ivar a fool, that he did not see
it," Halfdan confessed. "You are the true princess of Usk, and
Wulfgar's wife, and have made fools of
us all; and for all that, I suppose I
should wish to slay you. But the truth is, I do not. For although neither my
father nor brothers would ever own him, I have always known that Wulfgar was
Ragnar's son and my brother, as well, the same as Ivar and Ubbi; and in the
end, blood is blood, and, bastard or nay, a brother's a brother, I have always
thought. Wulfgar has outfoxed us all, but I bear him no grudge for it. In
truth, in my heart, I think he may be the greatest
Víkingr
of us all;
and I think Ivar knows it, too, and that's why he fears him."

"Does
he?"

"Oh,
aye, lady, he does," Halfdan asserted. "For at the core of his soul,
Ivar's rotten, as cold and dead as a wolf frozen on the tundra— and what's
more, he knows it. He's like an Eastlander— dark and cunning and malicious;
he'd as easily stick a blade in your back or pour poison down your throat as to
meet you face-to-face in battle— and that's not the way of a
Víkingr.
But a man cannot
change his nature, and Ivar's too proud of his to waste his evil deviousness
against less than a master opponent. In all his life, he's found no worthier
foe than Wulfgar; and I think he believes that so long as Wulfgar lives, he
will, too— inside. But once Wulfgar's dead and buried, why, then, who in the
world
will there be to give Ivar a game worth playing? So 'tis like a snake with its
tail in its mouth— a venomous circle. Ivar wants Wulfgar dead, and yet he
doesn't— and that's why he fears him."

"And
you do not?"

"Nay,
lady, I fear no man, only the gods— and my own accursed ambition," Halfdan
said, and smiled. "Like Ragnar, 'twill be the death of me in the end, I am
thinking."

They
spoke no more, for they had come at last to Cerdic's royal manor; and now, each
was alone with long thoughts, wondering what would happen inside. His hand
beneath her elbow to steady her, Halfdan escorted Rhowenna into the great hall.
Then, with an unexpected but chivalrous nod to Wulfgar to let him know that she
was unharmed, Halfdan left her standing in the center of the floor. Rhowenna's
heart turned over in her breast as her eyes found Wulfgar's, and she saw that
his hands were tied securely, with rope, behind his back, and that the point of
Ivar's broadsword lay at Wulfgar's throat and had drawn a drop of blood there.

"Lady,"
Ivar addressed her, "I commanded Halfdan to bring you here, because I have
just now heard a fantastic tale, in which yon wench"— he indicated Morgen—
"was said to be naught save a serving maid, which can
only leave you
as the princess of Usk."

"Where
is the
skáld
who
has sung you this strange and incredible song, lord?" Rhowenna asked,
slightly startled to hear how calm and collected she sounded, as though, now
that her true identity was revealed, she was become again the proud princess
she had once been. Tossing her head, she stared haughtily at Ivar. "Was he
wounded in the battle, and is he now delirious with fever, or is he merely
drunk on
bjórr
or
nabid,
this
skáld?"

"Neither,
lady, and no
skáld
of
the Northland, either, but a priest of Christendom, and so an honest teller of
tales, I am thinking. There stands he, and since you are a Christian lady, do
you go and swear upon his crucifix that he has lied to me, and I'll trouble you
no more."

"That,
she cannot do, lord." The priest spoke, drawing Rhowenna's attention for
the first time; and as he slowly lowered his hood from his face, she gasped
with shock, as though she had been struck a mortal blow.

"Father
Cadwyr!"

"Aye,
my lady, 'tis indeed I— once your confessor and of whose ear and blessing you
must stand again in need from the look of you!" The burning black eyes she
remembered with horror raked her deliberately, eyeing her swollen belly
pointedly.

"Then
'tis true!" Flóki the Raven burst out suddenly, accusingly. "She
is
the princess of
Usk! Gods, you bastard!" he spat heatedly to Wulfgar. "You knew! You
knew
that Morgen was
not the princess, and still, you stood there and watched and kept silent, while
your half brothers raped her, you whoreson!"

"In
my place, Flóki, would you not have done the same? Were you not willing to
strike down Ragnar, your king, for your own love?" Wulfgar queried
quietly, so Flóki's eyes fell, and he hung his head with shame. "I am the
only man Rhowenna has ever known; she carries my child, Flóki! And Morgen was
no virgin, as you must have guessed when first you took her."

"Aye,
but I thought... I thought 'twas you who—"

"Nay,
'twas not."

"Flóki,
'twould seem from your words that you knew naught of this deception, but were
Wulfgar's unwitting dupe," Ivar observed. "Therefore, I give you
leave to depart, taking with you the maid Morgen, if you wish. But do you go in
peace, and swear never again to raise your blade against me or mine, so I may
consider the score between us settled."

"That
sounds fair enough to me, lord," Flóki confessed, after a long moment,
"and so I shall do, if Wulfgar Bloodaxe, my
jarl,
will give me
leave to do so."

"I
will," Wulfgar said.

"By
the gods, then," Flóki pledged his oath, "I do so swear never to take
up arms against you or yours again, Ivar the Boneless, so long as I may
live."

"Then
I've no more interest in you, and you are free to go," Ivar declared.
Flóki took Morgen's hand, and with a last, anguished glance back at Wulfgar and
Rhowenna, who were truly alone now in all the world, save for Yelkei, the
spaewife, he led her from the great hall. "Now, then, Wulfgar," Ivar
continued softly, reaching out— the point of his broadsword still at Wulfgar's
throat— to seize Rhowenna and to draw her slowly toward him, "as you've
won your way from a mere
bóndi
to a mighty
jarl
of the
Northland, played us all for fools, and dared to claim a princess as your wife,
who may guess how much higher still you will seek to climb? I would serve
myself well, I am thinking, if I simply struck off your head and had done with
it, as I intend to do with Cerdic. But then our game would be ended, and as
I've none so interesting a foe as you, I am loath to see that happen, I'll
admit. So here is what I'm going to do instead: I'm going to let you live, in
exchange for which I'll kill your child when 'tis born, and then put one of my
own
into your wife's belly!"