Nena

by Ann Boelter

  She envied the young girls who had the job of beating the fleece with long forked paddles to separate the fibers for spinning. Even though it was a lower status job, at least they were moving and doing something. Standing still for hours was torture in itself, but worse was that she could not control her wandering thoughts.

  How could her life that had seemed so full, so complete and on track before, feel so hollow? Her warrior days were over, or practically over, and the prospect of life as a tribal woman extended out before her now as interminable monotony. She would be expected to bear children, and many of them, and while the idea of remaining in the village rearing children had never sounded exciting to her before, now, after this time with Jarl, it seemed absolutely dismal. She found herself wondering if she could find the herb. She would recognize it now if she saw it growing. Altene always had a ready supply, so it had to grow freely.

  Do not dare to think such things! The gods will be furious. You should want to have children with a Teclan warrior. It is natural.

  Natural or not, Nena did not feel it. Altene’s words echoed in her mind. “While you are lying with your Dor husband with club hands, I’ll be enjoying his touch.” When Altene had first said it, Nena had thought the idea ridiculous. Now when she thought of Jarl’s tenderness, of their passionate connection, then imagined herself with a stone-faced Teclan man, her stomach convulsed.

  You could have such a relationship with Gentok. You do not know how he is in the privacy of his tent. Maybe he is sensitive and playful, too, after sharing furs. None of the other Northmen would have believed how Jarl was with you in private—that their strict warrior leader could have a side like that. You don’t know—Gentok could be the same.

  But Nena did know. Before her capture, she had listened to the women of her village talk in the baths about their private time with their men. Not one had ever described a man like Jarl. Nena closed her eyes and tried to will herself to clear her mind of the troubling thoughts and focus back on her task.

  Fast approaching pounding hooves interrupted her deliberation. An outrider slid his lathered horse to a stop in front of her father’s tent, its hooves leaving deep furrows in the soft ground. She watched the man leap from his horse, shout something through the tent opening, then hurry inside. His urgency was strange. Her father and the outrider exited together shortly thereafter and made their way to the council tent where another messenger was dispatched. Soon warriors from all over the village were joining them inside.

  Nena knew she could still enter the council tent as a warrior, and though she was beyond curious, she didn’t join the others she saw on their way. She would not hold that position for long; there was no sense becoming involved in that capacity now. She would choose Gentok today—would have chosen him already if he had not been on guard duty at the gates. She reminded herself this was the natural order of things, and that she needed to concern herself with more feminine pursuits from now on. She tried to ignore the excited activity, but the mysterious events unfolding inside the council tent beckoned her with far more appeal than the tedious task in front of her.

  “There are Northmen at the cliff gates.” A young man made the breathless announcement to the women in the weaving area.

  “How many?” Jalla asked.

  “Only a small scouting party,” he replied.

  “What are they doing? Are they trying to enter?” A woman holding a newborn baby asked nervously, her face tense with worry.

  “No one knows why they are there. They have not yet tried to pass. They seem to be setting up camp there, just outside.”

  Nena’s heart lurched. Jarl. She felt a sudden crazy urge to find a horse and race to join the cliff guards so that maybe she could catch a glimpse of him—to know for sure if it was he who was there. But what would be the point? Nothing had changed. Even if he had tracked her here, so what? He wouldn’t be able to pursue her any further, and he would not be able to stay. Once he saw she was inside the gates, surely he would go.

  Only dimly aware of the questions flying around her, Nena hung the thread shuttle on its hook on the side of the loom frame and walked toward the council tent. Feminine pursuits would have to wait. Lifting the flap to the council tent, she stepped inside. She heard her brother talking before she could see him. The excitement in his voice was unmistakable.

  “What are we waiting for?” Lothor demanded. “We can easily wipe them out. I’ll gather a group of warriors and we’ll ride out right now and finish them.”

  “You will do no such thing,” her father said.

  “Why not? They are but few.”

  “You will send out scouting parties in all directions to confirm the Northmen’s numbers, and to verify there are not more waiting somewhere else. This is not like them—more like one would expect from a trap.”

  “Yes, Father,” Lothor deferred, but Nena could tell it took great effort for him to do so.

  “Once we have that information, I’ll make a decision.” Her father paused, having seen her enter. “Good, your sister is present,” he said. “Perhaps she can explain their actions.”

  “If it is a small group. I would assume it to be a scouting party sent to track me. I told you I feared pursuit when we escaped.”

  “But you said they were near the Great Sea. Why would they travel so far to retrieve two escaped prisoners?” Lothor asked.

  “They knew I held a great ransom value. They were probably hoping to recapture us before we made it here.”

  Everyone nodded in agreement. It made sense.

  “Once they see I have returned safely home, they should not stay.”

  “Then why are they setting up camp?”

  “Our pace was very hurried. They will need to rest and gather supplies. After that is done, I would expect them to leave and return to the others. I often heard them discussing their trip back to their home in the north. They travel by rivers and must make it back through all of them before they freeze. Otherwise they will be trapped somewhere along the way. They were still ahead of schedule when I escaped, but every day that passes now, is precious time lost. They will have to leave soon or risk not making it home at all.”

  The first foraging parties brought back good news to the small Northman camp. The lands surrounding them were rich with game and wild vegetables. The river that trickled out of the canyon created lush meadows and thick stands of trees for miles until it reached the great plains. Such land could sustain even their full force for months, and with just the few of them, indefinitely.

  Jarl concentrated on his primary order of business—to find a way in. He sent scouting parties to examine the Teclan defenses in both directions, then rode out himself to make his own observations and try to come up with a strategy. He knew they were too small a force to fight their way in through the cliff gates. Besides, if the legends were correct, that tactic hadn’t proven successful for anyone with larger forces in the past. He needed a plan—an alternate route, a diversion, or some way to sneak past the guards. None was forthcoming. Every day the scouts returned with reports that mirrored the information he noted on his own forays. The jagged cliffs extended for miles in both directions. The mountain was an impenetrable fortress.

  “How long are we going to stay here?” Tryggr asked one night after they had finished their meal of roasted grouse, steamed grains, and tender cattail shoots dug from the nearby muddy marsh. “Not that I’m in any hurry to leave,” he added. “I must admit, since we stopped that insane pace, this has become an extremely pleasant respite for me. The food is plentiful. The work is easy and the nights are...relaxing.” Tryggr leaned back and stretched. “If only we had some ale,” he sighed. “Or some mead.”

  “You were the one in charge of packing,” Jarl reminded him as Altene removed their empty plates.

  “Your orders were to travel light. That usually doesn’t mean ale.”

  “A lot of good that did,” Jarl grumbled. “What did she beat us here by? A week?”

  Tryggr didn�
��t respond to Jarl’s exaggeration. “Back to my original question. How long are we going to stay?”

  “Until I get her back.”

  Tryggr nodded and pulled at his beard as he digested that information. “Well, we’ll have to move camp or start sending scouts on longer trips to probe their defenses further away. They’re dug in pretty tight here, and we’ve found no weak spot for miles in either direction. Maybe further around to the southwest,” he suggested. “Or northwest, who knows.” He shrugged. “It’s just not going to be here.” When there was no acknowledgment from Jarl verifying the wisdom of such a move, he continued. “Or do you have another plan? Perhaps you are hoping that by some miracle, out of that whole mountain she knows you are here and will take pity on you? Or is so in love with you that she will suddenly change her mind and come back?”

  “She knows I am here,” Jarl said.

  “If you are certain of that, then…um…not to point out the obvious, but she isn’t coming out, Jarl. That, when combined with how she ran here without pause to escape you in the first place—to me, might indicate she doesn’t wish to see you. But perhaps you see it as a sign of something else?” Tryggr asked.

  Jarl did not respond.

  Tryggr scratched his head. “Do you intend to camp here and hope until you are gray? What has happened to you?” he asked his voice softer. “Look at yourself, man. You’re acting completely irrational. This is not you. I’ve been your friend for a long time, and I’m speaking to you now in that capacity. I cannot say I understand what you are feeling, because honestly I don’t have an inkling, but one thing is clear to me—she’s not coming back to you. You must see that. Whatever you think you had with her, it was false.

  “Look at the facts. At the first opportunity she left you. Then she rode so fast, even the gods themselves would have had a hard time keeping up with her. Those are not the actions of a woman who is unsure of purpose. She is lost to you, my friend. And all the hoping and waiting in the world isn’t going to change that, nor is it going to reduce the number of warriors lining that ridge.”

  “Gratitude, Tryggr, for your counsel and for your loyalty. Know that I do hear you, but you are wrong about one important thing. She is not lost to me until she is dead—or I am—and maybe not even then.”

  Tryggr shook his head.

  Nena stared up at the loom. Every morning she approached it with the same dread as one would approach a torture rack. She was sure the mental torture she endured throughout the day was no less than any physical torture she could imagine from its war counterpart. Nena glanced enviously again at the young women thrashing the fleece. They were sweating and exerting—and getting to pound something. She longed for a physical release. Every day the Northman camp remained outside the gates, the tension only built inside her. Every day she remained bound to this hated loom allowed no escape from her painful reveries. It had been hard enough to keep Jarl from her mind before, but now with Northmen being the only thing anyone talked about, it was impossible. It may have been easier, had she been able to choose Gentok as she had planned, but with the arrival of the Northmen outside the gates, he had yet to return.

  Perhaps tonight she would take the mare for a long ride. She imagined herself galloping down a moonlit trail, far from the cliff gates where she might catch a glimpse of him—because she was sure now, it was Jarl who was there. Had it only been trackers who needed to rest, they would have left already.

  So why didn’t he go? Why did he linger? What did he hope to gain? He had to know by now he could not make it through their defenses—and that he was in danger. The Northmen force was small and in an indefensible position. Even a poor strategist could see that, and Jarl was a master. The longer he remained camped there, the greater the chance Lothor would win over her father—or worse, disobey him.

  But Nena knew her desire for Jarl to leave was not based solely on fear for his safety. She needed him to leave and take her doubts with him. Doubts about her decision. Doubts about her future. Once she had returned home, all was to have been clear and right—as it was before, but that hadn’t happened. Jarl needed to go to put an end to the inner turmoil and constant seesaw of her thoughts and emotions. So why did he not?

  Her thoughts wandered down a new path. Did the memories of their time together choke Jarl’s spirit as they threatened to choke hers? In many ways the idea appealed to her. It validated and almost excused her own embarrassing unacceptable feelings. It meant she wasn’t weak. Jarl was strong enough to fight the gods, and yet he, too, was possibly having difficulty fighting this. The longer he stayed the stronger his feelings must be.

  Or was there another explanation? A dark terrible explanation. Something she had never allowed herself to consider before—something that filled her with a deep uneasiness as she considered it now. What if Jarl had truly been the gods’ choice for her? What if she had denied them and was being punished? It would explain the discontent she felt with her life and her future. What if he had come now and still remained because the gods had sent him for her? The idea was ridiculous of course, but what if....

  “Some women were just not meant to weave,” Jalla’s resigned voice startled her from her thoughts. “I thought it would come naturally to you, because of your mother...” Her voice trailed off as she stood frowning at Nena’s haphazardly loose excuse for a carpet. “But clearly it does not. You should not waste any more time here. Your calling clearly lies somewhere else.”

  “A large force is coming from the northeast, sir,” the breathless scout announced as he burst into Jarl’s fire ring area.

  “The northeast?” Jarl asked as he stood. The Teclan cliffs were due west. “How many?”

  “I don’t know for sure. Many. Their dust extends for miles.”

  “Dust—so they’re traveling fast.” Jarl thought out loud. Was this some trick of Meln’s to try to take them unaware? Would he assume their focus was on the gates and they would leave their flank unguarded? But why would he go to the trouble to send a large force whose movement would alert them? Jarl’s men were few. If Meln wanted to kill them in a sneak attack from the opposite direction, he would not need to bring so many. But if not Meln, then who? Jarl knew of no other force of size in the area.

  “Eskil went closer to see if he could identify them,” the scout continued. “He shouldn’t be long behind me. We split up, and I came straight here. We thought you’d want to know right away.”

  “Good work,” Jarl acknowledged.

  Jarl didn’t wait for the second scout to return before giving the command to douse the fires and ready the camp’s defenses as best they could. Maybe it was an army on its way somewhere else and would pass unnoticed. With the Bloodcliffs and Teclan warriors at his back, there was no retreat to the west. Until he knew who they were, he wasn’t about to run further south. He had to see for himself. Jarl grabbed his scope and went to saddle his stallion. Tryggr soon joined him, and the the two men mounted and headed northeast toward the plains.

  “What the hell?” Jarl swore as he lowered the scope from his eye.

  “What is it? Whose banners are they?” Tryggr asked.

  “They’re ours,” Jarl muttered.

  “Ours?” Tryggr asked bewildered. “How?”

  “We’re about to find out.” Jarl kicked his stallion into a gallop.

  As Jarl and Tryggr descended from the hillside, Gunnar’s sorrel broke away from the front of the long line of dusty troops to meet them. His blond hair was unmistakable.

  “We’re not too late, are we?” Gunnar called out to them. “Haven’t missed the battle yet, I hope?” His voice was cheerful, but the weariness of a long double-time march was evident on his face as he rode closer.

  “What are you doing here?” Jarl asked. “I gave orders for you to proceed to the port. Did you not get the message?”

  “Yes, I got it, but I focused more on the part where you put me in charge in your absence.” Gunnar grinned.

  “Where are the prisoners and who i
s guarding them?” Jarl demanded.

  “Relax. Halvard was able to find new trading partners for everything at half again more than our original expected price. We are all rich men, and Piltor is probably standing with cock in hand at this very moment wondering what happened. It is done. The payment is loaded securely on the ships and a contingent of men left behind to guard it. When I learned you were in need of assistance, and there was sport to be had, I hastened the time frame a bit.”

  “I appreciate the gesture, but this is not a fight I would ask another man to bleed for.”

  Gunnar shook his head, suddenly serious. “We all know the prize, and there is no man here who did not volunteer. We have followed you into worse....” He glanced at the imposing red cliffs in the distance and raised his eyebrows. “Well, perhaps not worse situations before, but we are not about to change now. If you are willing to risk your own life, then so are we. The gods have always favored you. ”

  “Speaking of the gods, please tell me you brought some ale,” Tryggr interrupted him. “I have prayed to them for some every day.”

  “Ale? Of course I brought ale—and wine and mead. What kind of party would it be without those?” Gunnar laughed and slapped Tryggr on the shoulder.

  Nena was just leaving the bath hut with Exanthia when the messenger came running up. “More Northmen have arrived outside the canyon walls,” the messenger panted. “Your father requests your presence right away.”

  Nena handed her bath supplies to Exanthia. “Take these back to the tent for me. I will come back as soon as I am finished. Everything is alright.” Nena smiled to reassure her, then stroked the back of Exanthia’s wet hair. As soon as the girl moved away, Nena turned back to the messenger and nodded, her expression serious. He picked up a jog, and Nena matched his pace back to the council tent. She slowed her breathing as she followed him inside.