Viking Ecstasy (36 page)

So that's that.
Tanaka thought.

It surprised her that she wasn't bitter. Because of his responsibility—his duty—to his men, he could not allow himself to believe what she felt, because feelings must be secondary to strategy.

Tanaka placed her head on her forearms, which were still crossed on Tabor's thigh. It was a tender act, their touching, and it rather surprised her that Tabor continued to caress her hair even though his men might see him.

I'll convince him . . . somehow.
Tanaka promised herself.
I'll make him believe my prophecy, and how it can help him triumph over Ingmar.

And then another voice spoke within her.

If you do not make him believe you
, the voice warned,
Tabor will die.
Tanaka tried not to shiver with fear.

T
he survivors had buried the dead by the time Tabor arrived in the village. Some women had been spared. Some of the children had managed to flee into the woods and hide until the carnage ended. Not a single building remained undamaged, and most had been burned to smoldering cinders. Ingmar, aware that even the youngest male child would grow up and seek revenge upon him, had had all the men and boys, no matter how old or young, slaughtered.

As she walked silently through the village, wanting to help, Tanaka cried, the tears trickling down her cheeks unheeded. If anything melted Tabor's heart, it was the sight of his wife's tears. Nothing else affected him so powerfully or filled him with such rage. But there was nothing he could do to prevent her tears or to take away the cause of her suffering.

The carnage —the senseless, brutal murders—was the work of Ingmar the Savage. And as Tabor walked from one smoldering home to the next, he focused on a single new awareness: As long as Ingmar lived, more people would die.

Thus far, Tabor had been able to hit Ingmar's outlying ships quickly then disappear into the night or sail away into the fjords at a speed unsafe for Ingmar's ships. Now, once again confronted by the death and destruction that always lay in Ingmar's wake, Tabor realized he had to devise a plan, a brilliant plot to end a heinous reign of terror.

The survivors, mostly women, were given whatever blankets and food could be spared. Tabor's men acted quickly to build two large shelters to keep the women warm and dry. Ingmar's men had not bothered to burn the crops in the fields, but they had lost their geese, cattle, and sheep.

"It is all we can do . . . for now," Tabor said to Tanaka as they left the village. "Until I destroy Ingmar, tragedies like this will continue."

Tanaka made no reply. The whispered warning she had heard before stayed in her thoughts, and though her heart ached for the unfortunate women in the village whose husbands had been murdered by Ingmar the Savage, Tanaka did not want to join their ranks.

❧

The wool blanket rested lightly over them. Tabor lay on his back; Tanaka, on her side, her leg thrown loosely over his, her hand resting on his chest. It was the position they usually assumed before sleep, talking in the dark, hands straying downward.

Since their argument neither had been feeling ardent.

"I can almost hear your thoughts," Tanaka whispered, her head on his shoulder. She could hardly see his profile in the thin light, though she could tell that he was still awake.

"Ingmar must be stopped. Soon."

It was a flat statement. What remained unspoken was the death that the word "stopped" represented. The thought of more violence, more bloody warfare, appalled Tanaka, though she kept this to herself.

Then a thought struck her so forcefully she flinched as though physically hit. The idea came fully formed, instantaneously whole. She suspected its source was godly, for at last she had the final piece of information she had sought.

"What is it?" Tabor asked, feeling the change in his wife, although she had said nothing.

"I ... I had a thought." Tanaka was leery of telling Tabor what had come into her head. She waited, wondering what she should do, afraid that Tabor—with this new information —would find some convenient, safe place for her to stay. He would get her off the ship, and perhaps — probably — never come back for her.

Tabor, his arm loosely around her shoulders, gave her a little shake. "Well, out with it. You've never been shy with your thoughts before."

As long as he asked, he can't criticize me for what I think, Tanaka decided.

But even as she spoke, she realized that warfare was something she knew too little about. If she were wrong in her prediction, she would be putting her husband and all the men in his command in great peril.

"You've been telling me how inferior Ingmar's men are to your own," she began, speaking slowly and distinctly in the darkened room, her hand resting on Tabor's stomach. She reasoned that if her words made Tabor angry, his breathing would quicken and she would be able to feel it. She could stop herself then, before she stretched his patience and credulity too thin.

"They are filth," Tabor hissed venomously. "Only rats and vermin would sail under Ingmar's command!"

"And you've told me that you must find some way to crush Ingmar completely, to get at him directly."

"He is afraid," Tabor said, flatly. Ingmar was afraid, but he was still a deadly foe.

"He nearly destroyed you because he knew that you do not like fighting. He called you to Hedeby to talk, to negotiate a peace. And when you went there, your forces were divided; and through this deception, he was able to gain an advantage."

"There is no need to remind me of failings in myself that I have not forgotten for a moment since that cursed time."

"What if you should use the same tactic against Ingmar?"

She felt Tabor's pulse quicken, and she knew it was not because he thought she was a madwoman. No, it was the possibility of dealing a fatal blow to his enemy that excited Tabor.

"Explain yourself. I do not understand," Tabor said. Only to Tanaka would he ever admit to puzzlement.

"What if you were to take all your men to see Ingmar, using an advance guard to inform him that you wanted to talk, to see if it is possible to have some sort of peace?"

Tabor guffawed. "Ingmar would laugh at such a suggestion. He will not rest until he destroys me, just as I will not rest until I destroy him. I am a Viking, and that is the way of the Vikings."

"Yes . . . but what if you pretended to be acting irrationally because you have fallen in love with an Egyptian high priestess and she has you under a spell? What if she convinced you that you could be peaceful with Ingmar the Savage?"

Tabor chortled. "Wife, you could never, ever convince me that I could believe anything Ingmar has to say."

"I know that and you know that. . . . but Ingmar does not know that."

"Hmmm . . ."

"And what if, when you and all your men are in the heart of Ingmar's camp, the sun gets eaten whole by the moon? You and your men would be prepared for it, and it would not confuse you. But Ingmar and his men would not know what it was or that it would not last long. They would be frightened . . . confused and scared; and their fear and confusion would give you the advantage you need."

"As much as I would like to believe there is a way of getting past Ingmar's defenses to destroy him, I cannot allow myself to believe such a plan is possible. If the sun does not turn to night, my men and I will be surrounded. Ingmar will slaughter us just as he has slaughtered everyone who has ever stood in his way."

"But the moon will be eaten by the sun," Tanaka continued, knowing well she was entering dangerous waters with her husband. But she was driven by the fear that if Ingmar were not destroyed soon, Tabor would be. "It will happen six days from now, when the sun is high and bright. A voice has told me this is so, and I believe the voice."

"What makes you so sure of this?" Tabor asked.

In the dim light of the small room, Tanaka merely looked into Tabor's eyes; and, with that look, she conveyed to him her conviction.

Tabor rolled his eyes.

"You really believe this . . . this voice?" he scoffed.

"Yes, I do." Tanaka looked straight at Tabor. She could not be intimidated by him as so many other people were. "It will happen, just as I say it will; and if you are to stop the beating heart of the monster called Ingmar the Savage, then you must be near the heart of that monster."

Tabor stared at the ceiling. He found logic easier when he wasn't looking at Tanaka, his sense of reason dulled by her beauty, muted by his love and passion for her.

"Do you believe that what I tell you is the truth?" Tanaka asked softly.

Tabor's reply was ambiguous. "I believe that you believe. More than that, I cannot say."

❧

A full day had passed since Tanaka had told Tabor of her vision of the eclipse. During the day, she had questioned herself a thousand times, searching for a flaw in her analysis. But her conviction grew stronger, not weaker, with further scrutiny.

And, with certainty, she understood that if she did not act upon this singular knowledge Tabor would die. Eventually, Ingmar men would trap Tabor in a cove; and, once surrounded, Tabor's hundred good men would stand no chance against barbaric Northmen who killed for sport, destroying everyone and everything they touched.

Time was fleeing faster than a thief pursued by the pharaoh's own soldiers, and nothing Tanaka could say or do would slow its pace. If she did nothing at all—if she simply let Tabor fight his war against Ingmar in his own fashion, at his own pace —she knew her husband's luck and skill would have to run out. But if she could convince Tabor that her vision of the future was correct, then he had a chance for victory . . . providing her vision was accurate. If it weren't she would be leading her husband directly into the jaws of a beast that would hungrily devour him.

What was she to do? What could she do?

The questions never left her, not even for a moment, and it wasn't until she found herself searching for Jafar, the Egyptian warrior who had assisted her in stowing away on the warship, that she knew what course of action she would take.

❧

Tabor surveyed the encampment, a tingle of apprehension in the pit of his stomach though all seemed peaceful. Once again he checked the position of the guards —one near the craggy bluff overlooking the water, the other on the highest point of land to the south. From these vantage points they could prevent a surprise attack from either land or sea. Only two campfires remained burning, and almost all of the men were asleep.

So why didn't the tickle in Tabor's stomach fade away? Why, when everything around him seemed at peace?

A movement to his right caught his attention, and Tabor's hand tightened around the haft of his sword. A moment later, out of the midnight darkness, he recognized Jafar and relaxed. He had seen Jafar in two brief skirmishes against Ingmar's men and knew him to be a brave and fierce warrior. Among the Egyptians, he was one of the ablest, and that placed him in an elite league of men.

"Hail, Jafar, my friend," Tabor called out.

He did not dispense titular compliments lightly, and, despite their cultural differences, Jafar recognized the praise.

"Sleep eludes you?" Tabor asked.

He motioned for Jafar to sit on the ground beside him. With their backs against the same Norwegian pine, so they were shoulder to shoulder. The Egyptians had a habit of standing much closer than the Danish when talking, and Tabor had learned to circumvent this by seating the Egyptian sailors before talking to them at length.

Jafar did not speak until he was seated, looking out at the ocean. He cleared his throat and spoke slowly and precisely in his native tongue, using that language because Tabor was more fluent in Egyptian than Jafar was in Danish.

"I am here to deliver a message from Tanaka. She-"

"Why doesn't she deliver this message herself?" Tabor demanded, turning instantly to face Jafar.

"She has gone—"

Tabor's hands lashed out in a heartbeat, taking Jafar by the shirtfront, pulling him so close their noses nearly touched. Suddenly, the source of Tabor's uneasiness become clear; fear for Tanaka's safety made him violent.

"Where has she gone? Why have you let her go?"

Tabor was much larger and more powerful than Jafar; and, though the smaller man tried hard to present a brave facade, the traces of fear showed in the corners of his eyes.

"She has given me a message to give to you. Hurting me will not help you or her."

"Speak! Tell me!" Tabor said sharply, thinly controlled panic rising rapidly within his breast. His wife, he knew from experience, was capable of any behavior.

"She has gone to the enemy —to Ingmar."

Tabor's hands went from Jafar's shirtfront to the man's throat. Anger and fear vied for prominence, and though his large hands surrounded Jafar's throat, he did not squeeze.

"She wanted me to tell you that when the sun is at its highest, two days hence, it will be swallowed by the moon. She is with Ingmar, telling him that you wish a council for peace. If you are there with her and Ingmar when the sun disappears, she says you will be able to defeat Ingmar. His men will be frightened. We will not."

Jafar looked, unflinching, into Tabor's eyes. He had tried hard to convince Tanaka, his high priestess, to change her mind. Then, when it was obvious that she was determined to go straight to Ingmar's camp, he had begged to be the one to travel with her as her bodyguard. She refused him that, too. Tanaka knew her husband well; and if there were to be any chance at all of Tabor's believing what she had done, it must come from an Egyptian he held in high esteem.

"You should have stopped her," Tabor said, close to defeat.

"I tried. She said this was something she must do if we are to live in peace." Jafar looked away for only a second. "We will fight with greater strength and courage than any soldiers ever have," he said, indicating himself and the other Egyptians sailing with Tabor. "She is your wife, but she is our high priestess. To us, her life is more important than our own."

Tabor's warrior instincts urged him to take his revenge out on the Egyptian. After all, this instinct whispered, if Jafar were as concerned with Tanaka's welfare as he professed, he would have stopped her instead of acting in complicity with the dangerous, foolhardy plan.

But another voice spoke to Tabor as well, a voice he heard had more and more since Tanaka had entered his life, particularly since they had exchanged marriage vows. This voice —that of reason and compassion—reminded Tabor that no one in the world could love Tanaka more than he did, and even he — Tabor, Son of Thor, leader of men and Tanaka's husband—-was unable to make her do something she did not want to do or stop her from doing something she was determined to do.

"It is not your fault," Tabor said. "I do not hold you responsible for my wife's foolish behavior. Tell me everything all over again, and this time I will listen with a clear mind. I want to know all that Tanaka said; and, together, we will do what we must do."

Jafar breathed an audible sigh of relief when Tabor relaxed the hands at his throat. Then, from the very beginning, he told Tabor of Tanaka's plan to destroy Ingmar the Savage.