Nena

by Ann Boelter

  “Tomorrow?” Tryggr asked.

  “Is that a problem?” Jarl challenged. “You’ve done nothing but press me to attack for more than a week. Surely you would not have done so if the men were not ready.” Jarl’s eyes dared Tryggr to deny it.

  “Of course they are. It’s just...”

  “Good,” Jarl cut him off. “We’ll move at first light.”

  After the last man had filed out for the night, Jarl released her, then moved to the table to clear it for their evening meal. Nena glanced at the last map as he rolled it up.

  “Are those the last villages you will attack?” she asked, pointing to the circled marks.

  “Yes,” he said.

  “Will you capture another chief’s daughter and chain her to the pole next to me?”

  Jarl shook his head and grunted. “No. I’ve quite learned my lesson there. One chief’s daughter is plenty for a lifetime.”

  Nena had said the words in jest, hoping to cover her reaction to the last mark on the map. Though the scale of Jarl’s map was different than her father’s, the two long crooked fingers of land that jutted out into the Great Sea were unmistakable. She knew what the X marked where they joined the mainland represented. Her aunt’s tribe would be the last to fall to the Northmen’s swords. She changed the subject.

  “Your man has often regarded me strange, but tonight he seemed quite vexed. Why?” She had not mentioned Tryggr by name, but Jarl knew who she was referring to.

  “Perhaps he is entranced by your beauty and wished he had fought harder to keep you.” Jarl judged her response carefully. Many native women found the red-haired giant’s coloring irresistible; they had no such coloring here in the south, though Tryggr swore it was the legend of the size of his cock that kept them flocking to him.

  Nena sniffed with mild distaste. One edge of Jarl’s mouth twitched in a small smile, appreciating her response, before he continued.

  “More likely he is curious as to why I keep you here. I have never kept a woman in my tent.”

  “You keep Altene.”

  “Not here.”

  “Why do you keep me chained? You know that so long as I am bound to the girl, I will not escape. Why don’t you release me?”

  “I do release you.”

  “To eat. To use the latrine. To be bathed by your whore. That is not release.”

  “I release you whenever I am present…and awake. Even with the girl, I don’t trust you not to be able to find some way out—and to be quite honest, I still don’t fully trust you not to try to kill me. And I told you before, when I first put them on, you would wear the cuffs until I could trust you as I trust Altene.”

  “I’ve had multiple opportunities now to kill you and have not. Does that not show I am trustworthy?” Nena asked. “What more would it take to convince you? What if I gave you my word?”

  “I think not.” He smiled a wry smile. “I’ve learned much about the Dor, far more than I ever planned to. A Dor’s word to their enemy means nothing. And I am still your enemy. Your eyes are not as fierce, but I still see it there within them plain enough.” He paused. “You asked me what it would take to convince me? There is one way.” He grinned at her devilishly. “Share my furs willingly and you will have run of the camp any time you wish.”

  Nena scowled at him.

  “So I must assume by your refusal that you do not find your bondage so undesirable after all,” Jarl teased.

  “The only thing you can assume is that I find you even more undesirable than being a captive,” Nena retorted.

  Jarl laughed out loud. “When you change your mind, you know how to make your chains disappear.

  The second village also fell with few casualties to the Northmen. This one was larger than the last and many new prisoners were taken. It was a good start in replacing the numbers that had been lost to the Curse, Jarl thought, as he finished putting his stallion away. Perhaps they would not need to lengthen their trip after all. He was walking past Gunnar’s tent on his way to his own when Gunnar and Tryggr hailed him. “Come, Jarl, have a drink.”

  Jarl hadn’t noticed them. Though he was in a hurry to get back to his own tent and Nena, he stopped and took a seat. Tryggr handed him a cup filled with wine while Gunnar stood to retrieve something from inside his tent. He came back out carrying a sword and offered it up for both men to see. “Have you ever seen its like?” he asked.

  Jarl looked at the golden hilt encrusted with fine jewels that sparkled and winked in the sunlight. The scabbard itself even appeared to be woven from gold metal thread. He shook his head. “I have not,” he admitted.

  “And wait,” Gunnar said. He pulled the blade from its sheath.

  The light bounced and danced on the silver as Gunnar rolled it with his wrist. Jarl had never seen such a blade either. Sharpened to a razor’s edge, the steel was perfectly smooth, free of any flaw.

  “I’ve never seen such fine workmanship, not in adornment or blade,” Jarl confessed.

  “You must have a feel.” Gunnar turned the sword, holding the blade in his hands as he offered Jarl the hilt. “You would expect it to be heavy with the extra gold, but feel how light and well balanced it is.”

  Jarl took it and made several practice slashes through the air. “It is remarkable,” he concurred and handed it back to Gunnar.

  “Tryggr, would you like to have a feel?” Gunnar offered.

  “No, it’s a bit too fancy for my tastes,” Tryggr declined. “Looks like something a woman would carry.”

  “And you got this from the last village?” Jarl asked.

  “Yes, and I would keep it as part of my share. That is, of course, if you do not wish it for yourself.” Gunnar said, offering the sword back to Jarl but clearly hoping he would refuse it.

  “The sword is yours,” Jarl declined. “That was not the point of my question. I saw nothing else there today to indicate they were capable of this level of craftsmanship. I cannot imagine that they forged it, so where do you think it came from? I truly have never seen its like. If we could find its creator, a man such as that making weapons for us would be of great value.”

  “I don’t know, but I don’t think it’s anywhere near here. See this stone?” Gunnar pointed to a small olive green stone in the hilt that Jarl hadn’t noticed. This stone is from the far, far East. I have only seen it come from traders who ventured there. They call it jade. It is possible the stone was brought west and used by the maker, but more likely since we have never seen anything similar, the whole thing was made there.”

  “I thought you reserved such close inspections for women, my friend. And yet even after this battle, I see none here. Are you so enamored with this beauty that you will go to cold furs tonight?” Jarl asked with a smile.

  Gunnar flushed and nodded at the truth in Jarl’s words. “Aye, I must admit, I’ve had a hard time taking my eyes from her,” he agreed.

  “And does she have a name?” Jarl asked.

  “Not yet.”

  “Call it Maid’s Plaything,” Tryggr suggested, then laughed out loud. “That’s what it looks like to me.”

  “I would, but that name’s already taken,” Gunnar replied without a moment’s hesitation. “That’s what the men call you now, behind your back, after Jarl’s woman cut off your ear.”

  Jarl snorted into his cup, shocked at Gunnar’s boldness. He struggled to keep from laughing so as not to fan Tryggr’s fury any further, but it didn’t help. Tryggr’s face lost all trace of amusement and turned beet red.

  “Why you little fuck,” Tryggr roared. “I’ll show you a maid’s plaything.” He stood to his full towering height and glared at Gunnar. Gunnar held his ground and stood with an easy smile, his hand casually resting on the golden hilt. He was no small man himself, and he still held the sword.

  “That’s enough, you two. Save your hostility for the enemy. We’ve had great success today, and I’ll not have it spoiled with blood spilled now.” Jarl intervened without taking sides.

  Bot
h men took their seats with Trygrr still grumbling under his breath.

  “In line with Tryggr’s suggestion, I could call it Maid’s Dream, although I’d probably forever be getting it confused with my other blade that should naturally go by that name.” Gunnar grinned and took a swallow of wine.

  “No fear of that,” Tryggr disagreed. “There’s nothing so special about your tiny cock that maids would ever dream about it, unless it was the nightmare of being unsatisfied.”

  “Maid’s Dream, it is then,” Gunnar said, as he lifted the sword and scabbard once more to admire them.

  “Do you have the final tally, Tryggr?” Jarl shook his head with a smile and changed the subject.

  “Close enough.” Tryggr relayed the number of horses and prisoners they had acquired that day. It was higher than Jarl had expected. The talk of their increasing wealth improved Tryggr’s mood. “The men were getting a little worried about you, but I have to say, this success will put their minds at ease,” Tryggr confessed.

  “Worried about what?” Jarl asked.

  “Worried that woman had put some kind of a spell on you. You’ve been acting like a man possessed.”

  “And they were worried about what exactly?” Jarl repeated. “My leadership?”

  “Your sanity,” Tryggr responded.

  “Were any worried enough to pick up a sword and confront me with their fears?” Jarl’s smile had faded.

  Tryggr shook his head. “No, none were quite that worried. And when you put it that way, I guess you’d call it more of an unease. I won’t deny it though, Jarl. I felt it, too. That woman has done something to you, and I don’t understand it—from all accounts you haven’t even fucked her yet.”

  Jarl’s jaw tensed. Tryggr didn’t see it but Gunnar did.

  “Pay him no mind, Jarl. Tryggr knows naught of what he speaks. He and most of the other men here only know women with their cocks, but I, too, have had a woman in my blood before, and there is no experience to match it. No victory, no treasure, nothing else compares.”

  “I didn’t know that of you, Gunnar,” Jarl said.

  “Obviously it wasn’t the same,” Tryggr interrupted. “Because Gunnar can survive without his woman; his presence here alone is a testament to that. So where is this fine woman, Gunnar?” he asked.

  “She’s dead, Tryggr, or I assure you, I would, in fact, not be here. She was killed by the Germanian chieftain, Ulther von Glossen, when I was away raiding to the west. They attacked our village, killed many, and captured others. My wife was among the dead when I returned.” Gunnar’s eyes were far away.

  “Apologies. We have fought many battles together, but I never knew,” Jarl said.

  “Did you kill the bastard?” Tryggr asked.

  “I killed all who called him family or friend, but sadly, no—Ulther escaped my sword. By the time I found him, he was already dead. They said he died slowly from an infected wound he received attacking our village. I like to think it was my Brigitta who wielded his deathblow, but I could never know. She was willful and strong. Much like your woman, I suppose.” He nodded at Jarl.

  “How did you meet her?” Jarl asked.

  “I captured her on a raid in the Baltic.” Gunnar’s eyes were soft with remembrance. “I had never seen anything like her—red hair, similar to Tryggr’s, but much darker, like the color of a spring sable.”

  “And did you take her home and baby-coddle her for months, like Jarl here, or did you get the job done in the heat of her burning village?” Tryggr asked.

  “Neither. We’d taken her village by surprise and had grabbed great spoils, but they were regrouping. I was not about to risk losing her back to them, so we retreated to the boats and returned home as quickly as we could.”

  “And then?” Tryggr prodded.

  “Yes, Tryggr. I was young and did not wait. I was like you then, and only knew women for the physical pleasure they could provide me. Though I had to do much to make up for that later.”

  “In the end, she forgave you?” Jarl asked.

  “Yes. We were married. I can only pray that one day the gods will so bless me again. To feel a woman in my blood, in my heart, as if we are one. Perhaps that’s why I’m always so active in sampling. Leave no stone unturned.” Gunnar grinned at that and raised his mug, his brief moment of melancholy passed and the roguish lieutenant returned. “I used to be sure it was not possible, but now?” He turned to Jarl. “After seeing you, of all men, so smitten with your she-wolf. Now I am hopeful again.”

  “Is that why you joined us years ago? Is that when she was killed?” Jarl often wondered what motivated men to risk their lives. For some, it was the obvious wealth, others the glory, but for still others, like Gunnar, there was more to it—a yearning for the battle itself. This explained a lot.

  “The first trip, yes.” Gunnar answered. “No one expected you to return—assumed you would die at the hands of savages. In those days, I sought to die a good warrior’s death, to be reunited with Brigitta in Valhalla as quickly as possible. The agony I endured every day after learning of her death was like a living thing, eating me from the inside. Finding Ulther dead and killing his brethren did nothing to slake its appetite. So when the opportunity arose, I joined your crew—to quiet the thing inside once and for all.” He paused. “But somehow we survived. The second trip was for more gold, and this third…I have come to know nothing else,” he admitted.

  “And the thing within? Does it finally sleep?” Jarl asked.

  “It’s quiet most days. When it does awaken, it is more of a gnawing now. But I do have to agree with Tryggr and the others on one thing. A battle camp is no place for a woman. It is dangerous for her, and for you, and any men who follow you, if you allow yourself to be distracted.”

  Jarl thought about how he had chafed to stop here tonight and share a drink with his men, an act that would have been commonplace before. Had Nena changed him? Was he distracted?

  “On the other hand,” Gunnar continued. “With my own experience, I cannot, in good conscience, tell you to leave her somewhere safe. There is nowhere safer than by your side, so I have no answer for you.”

  “Perhaps you think I should retire? Maybe you could be the next leader?” Jarl asked.

  “Me?” Gunnar laughed. “No, thank you. I’m very happy with the way things are right now. I have plenty of authority and very little of the responsibility. Never have my coffers been so swelled or my fighting so successful. The gods favor you, and thus they are favoring me. Gratitude for the consideration, but I like things just the way they are.

  “Speaking of retiring though, there are more than a few men who will not be returning with us to the North. They have taken women and plan to settle here on the northeast coast of the Caspian. Their thoughts are toward building a trading community. A link between the far far East and Constantinople—and also a place for future Norse voyagers to rest, resupply, and trade for goods at a fair price. I think it an ambitious undertaking for a few, but I cannot fault them. If they succeed, it will be a good life. If I could better tolerate the heat, I might have even considered it for myself.” Gunnar paused and studied Jarl. “I am curious, though, as to your plan with this woman?” Gunnar unknowingly echoed Tryggr’s earlier question. “Do you truly think she will become affectionate toward you, simply after time remaining chained? Brigitta was my captive, but she had run of my village, and after the first, I worked very hard to win her.”

  “Nena is too resourceful to turn loose, and we are still within her lands. I do not have the luxury of having sailed her many miles away to mine. And I’m making progress,” Jarl added.

  “How long do you think that will take?”

  “I don’t know, Gunnar. Believe it or not, I’ve had a few other things on my mind. I’m still responsible for an entire raiding expedition,” Jarl responded gruffly to the perceived criticism.

  “Unbelievable.” Tryggr, who had remained silent during the interchange, could no longer hold back. “Now Gunnar thinks you
should woo her. What the hell is happening here? This is a woman we’re talking about, and a slave to boot. The fact that we’ve spent any time even discussing it at all is ridiculous. Who cares what she thinks, or likes? What’s happened to you, Jarl? Just have her and be done with it. Even Gunnar said you could satisfy yourself now and make it up to her later, if you are still so inclined. Though my coin says, once you have her, you will cease this nonsense and forget all about her.”

  “I did not say that, and I did not say woo,” Gunnar corrected. “I merely asked what Jarl thought was going to change her mind.”

  “I treat her well,” Jarl offered.

  “Do you still bring Altene to your furs?” Gunnar asked.

  Jarl nodded.

  “Thank the gods for that, at least, or I would be worried,” Tryggr muttered.

  “Though not as often as before,” Jarl admitted. “Since capturing Nena, I find the encounters with Altene less…satisfying.” He shook his head ruefully at the admission, seeming surprised by the realization itself and to be sharing the fact, even with his closest.

  “And say the situation was reversed,” Gunnar asked. “Say she was trying to entice you to her bed. Would you find her more or less appealing if she were fucking another man in front of you every night—say Tryggr here.” He nodded toward the burly second with a grin.

  Jarl’s eyes flashed with anger at the thought of Nena with anyone else.

  Tryggr bristled. “Don’t be mixing me up in this bullshit. I have no interest whatsoever in that woman, and Jarl knows it.”

  Gunnar laughed out loud at Jarl’s expression and obvious response. “It was only conjecture, Jarl, not a question meant to be answered, though I think you already have.” Gunnar shook his head and drained his mug.

  “COME.” JARL REMOVED her cuffs and made his way to the tent opening.

  “Where are you taking me?” Nena asked, remaining by the pole.

  He stopped and turned back to face her. “Would it matter? I would think any place would be an improvement from here.” He waved his hand around the tent. “But you can stay if you want.” He left the question hanging in the air.