by Ann Boelter
The chief raised his hand for silence and studied him with his single shrewd eye. “Nena should be here for this,” he said. “Someone find her.”
“I will go.” A tall warrior who had been in the group that met him in the canyon, volunteered, then left the tent.
“Until Nena arrives, I would hear suggestions on the manner of his death,” Meln said and looked to the crowd.
The room came alive with suggestions as to what would be the most appropriate. As a viking, Jarl was no stranger to torturous deaths, but even he was surprised by their creativity on the subject. No mention was made as to whether or not he was guilty, or even what his crime actually was, but they were all more than ready to kill him.
Lothor asserted that no matter what method was decided, it should be delivered by his own hand. Others also requested the honor. Someone suggested that Nena be allowed to kill him to avenge her captivity. Then Club suggested that he not be killed at all—that he should be mutilated, then castrated and made to serve, the most severe form of punishment known to the Dor.
That seemed to appeal to Meln, who had spoken not a word since asking for suggestions. “To live a eunuch is far more shameful than to die a man,” he concurred.
Word had spread like wildfire through the village that a Northman had been captured. There had been no alarm or report of an attack, so Nena was sure it was one of the many foot soldiers sent to probe their defenses—one who had gotten too close and would now pay heavily for it. She chose not to attend his questioning and certain death. She did not need to see it. She was still wounded from the realization of why Jarl was really there—still embarrassed by her foolishness to have ever thought he was there for her. She would not make that mistake again, and would distance herself from any further decisions pertaining to the Northmen.
Instead she sat today with several other women, preparing hides for tanning, her latest attempt to find her calling. Everyone was on edge, but work still needed to be done. It was a tedious chore, scraping off the inner layers of fat and sinewy tissue with a dull knife. And no matter how careful she was, the smelly tallow had a way of coating her dress and skin by the end of the day. But even that was better than weaving. At least here she could take her frustrations out on something. She felt one of the other women’s eyes on her and looked down at the hide she was working on. In her fervor she had come dangerously close to scraping clear through it. She moved her blade to a fresh area.
Nena tried not to dwell on the fact that this was what she had to look forward to from now on. She had yet to see Gentok to give him the news. With the arrival of the main Northman army, and the increased guard at the cliffs, he had still not returned. So when he called her name now, it startled her.
“Nena. Your father requests that you come to the council immediately.”
Nena stood at the urgency in his voice and nodded. Gentok led the way through the village in silence, his pace brisk. Her news would have to wait.
“Is it about the captured Northman?” she asked.
“Yes,” Gentok replied without slowing.
Nena couldn’t help but wonder what this Northman could have possibly said or done that would require her presence before he was killed. Did he bring a message from Jarl? It couldn’t be that. Neither her father nor brother would have honored the request of an enemy to deliver a personal message. Had he mentioned coming for the treasure? Did her father wish to confront her about her shameful disclosure and force her to confess? But it couldn’t be that either; Gentok had not looked at her with accusing eyes. She reined in her guilty thoughts. She would know soon enough.
They were just outside the council tent when she heard it, the scream that set every nerve in her body on edge. Her eyes whipped to the small group of warrior horses off to her right. There they discovered the young man attempting to hold the raging bay. Nena would have recognized the horse anywhere. The stallion screamed again.
Nena stumbled and stopped.
But that would mean….
The Northman in the tent had to be….
Her mind reeled. But how? There had been no battle for him to have been captured. And they had said a lone Northman, which implied a scout. Jarl was never a scout. Gentok shifted his weight impatiently at the entrance, a curious frown on his face. Nena struggled to regain her composure, thankful, at least, for the warning and the opportunity to do so before being blindsided by his presence in front of the council. With her insides a swirl of emotions, but her face once again as blank as she could manage, Nena nodded and followed Gentok inside.
WHEN THE TENT flap lifted and all eyes turned toward it, Jarl did the same. At first the bright sunlit backdrop only allowed him to make out that there were two figures. The first was male. He dismissed it. The second set his heart pounding. Her tall, lithe silhouette and the way she moved with supple athletic grace were unmistakable. Every step she took revealed more subtle details in the dim light. First, the hint of tan color in her leather dress. Then her hair, darker than the rest of her, that still remained in shadow. She was like a goddess stepping from the smoke. Finally he could see her. His eyes devoured her. If he was soon to die, which it appeared that he might, it would at least be with the fresh image of her in his mind to take to the afterlife. She was so breathtakingly beautiful.
Pain exploded in his head as another blow, this time closer to the original mark, slammed him face down to the dirt.
As Nena entered, she saw Jarl kneeling to her right with Baldor standing behind him. She did not acknowledge him, and walked to stand equidistant from her father only a few strides away. Using her peripheral vision, she first noted the blood trickling from the back of his neck, then his lack of armor.
How was he alone and wearing no armor? Why? Did he think he could negotiate for the treasure? No. He would know better than that. She had told him the Teclan did not negotiate. So what then? Why would he leave his army and offer himself up like a sacrifice? Unless....
But that couldn’t be. She had spent the last days convincing herself of her foolishness for harboring such thoughts. She was loathe to go there again. But it was the only explanation. He had not come for the treasure. He had come for her. In a move as bold as fighting the gods for her when she was dying, he had come for her!
Knowing the why also made the how of his presence crystal clear to her. She knew him. He had probed their defenses and had run out of time as she had known he would. When he could find no acceptably safe way in, he had not risked the lives of his men. She felt his eyes on her—felt her body respond to his presence, even with the distance that separated them and the humbling position he was in. She reveled in the feel of the connection between them—until Baldor clubbed him to the floor.
It took all of Nena’s training and self control to deny the sudden protective rage that engulfed her. To not scream and fly across the room and rip the club from Baldor’s hands before using it to bash his head in. Jarl lay unmoving on the floor. Was he dead? Nena wanted to run to him, but knew she dare not. The rush of mixed emotions, so strong and unexpected, left her shaken and confused. But one thing she remained sure of. To every other soul in this room, Jarl was their enemy—possibly their worst enemy. To show anything but coldness toward him now would be unacceptable and dangerous for them both.
“That will teach you not to lay your lustful eyes on her, northern dog,” Baldor gloated.
For many seconds, Jarl could not move. Altene’s words echoed in his mind. “The Teclan respect bravery and courage above all else. Show no fear.” He struggled to get back to his knees, the pain in his head having long since replaced any fear he might have had. Nena had turned from her father and was looking at Club now.
“And to which warrior goes the honor of such a bold capture?” she asked.
“It was I,” crowed Club.
“It must be a great warrior’s tale to have avoided all sentries in the dead of night and returned unscathed with a Northman prisoner. It had to have been in the dead of night, was
it not? That is, of course, the only time he would have been without weapons and wearing no armor. Did you sneak past their guards and put a knife to his throat as he slept, or did you kill them first?” Nena challenged, knowing it was neither.
“No. The coward surrendered himself to me.” Baldor turned to the crowd and tried to win them back. “He saw how fearful we were and surrendered without a fight.”
“He left his camp and surrendered to you, with no weapons and wearing no armor? What a great feat. Hopefully it wasn’t too difficult for you. You must be sure to mark that on your arm.” Nena turned back to her father, satisfied she had discredited him and knowing that would hurt him as much as any physical blow she could have delivered. “What is it my father asks of me?” Nena asked, bowing her head slightly, while the crowd snickered and Baldor gurgled with rage.
“Perhaps his capture was not worthy of recording, but his death will be!” Baldor shouted.
Nena spun back in time to see Baldor raise his club for the final blow. Her words had so incited him, Baldor was going to kill Jarl!
“Stop, Baldor!” She heard her father command, but it was too late; Baldor’s club had already begun its descent. Nena could only watch with helpless horrified dread as the club reached the back of Jarl’s neck. A blur tackled Baldor in mid body. The club still struck, but was deflected and did not hit with full force. Jarl fell limp as Baldor and his attacker tumbled to the dirt floor.
The tent erupted in chaos. Jarl remained still.
“How dare you!” Lothor raged from on top of Baldor, his dagger blade held tight against Baldor’s throat. “How dare you try to steal my rightful honor? I could kill you for the insult.”
Nena prayed he would do it. Prayed he would do what she wanted so desperately to do, but could not.
“Enough!” Meln roared as he stood and pounded the dais with his staff. “You will cease this madness immediately!” His entire face was beet red, and his fresh scars now had a purplish hue. “Anyone who cannot conduct themselves with honor will lose the privilege to be here. Do I make myself clear?” Meln shouted.
The room grew eerily quiet as all faces turned to him. Lothor withdrew the blade from Baldor’s neck and both men stood. Meln looked around the council tent, meeting the eyes of each member for emphasis, then took a deep breath to compose himself before resuming his seat. “Does the Northman yet live?” he asked.
Before anyone else could respond, Nena sprang to Jarl’s side and felt his neck for a pulse. His heart still beat, even and strong.
“Yes, Father,” she said, trying to disguise her relief.
“Take him to the cell and guard him closely,” Meln commanded. “Not you,” he said to Nena as he saw her preparing to ask others for aid. “Not any of you three.” He waved to Lothor and Baldor.
Gentok stepped forward and knelt across from her, preparing to grip Jarl’s shoulder. When Nena did not vacate his other side for someone else to do the same, their eyes met and locked over Jarl’s prone body. Gentok’s gaze was curious as he studied her. Nena stood and stepped aside, wondering what he had seen. Everything had happened so fast. Her feelings were so tumultuous and confused, she had no idea what her eyes had revealed to him. She watched as Jarl was lifted by his shoulders between the two men, then dragged from the tent, the toes of his boots leaving twin trails in the dust.
The trio stood before Meln with their heads bowed. “Your behavior and utter lack of restraint is a disgrace. You dishonor yourselves and you dishonor me.” He turned his attention to Lothor. “You shame me with a brawl in my own council tent? I had thought to soon turn the mantle of chief over to you, but your rage so consumes you, I fear I can no longer trust your judgment. Your display here today only deepens my doubt.”
“And you.” Meln turned to Nena. “You are not without fault. You insult a fellow warrior in front of his brothers? In front of me?” His voice rose again at the thought of her ridiculing verbal assault on Baldor. Meln paused to take another deep breath. “Do you recognize the Northman?” he asked her.
Did she recognize him? In every way possible. By sight, by sound, by scent—by touch. She would know him anywhere. “Yes. His name is Jarl. He is the leader of the Northmen.”
A murmur rippled through the council tent. “Their leader?” Meln said, and sat back as he contemplated the significance of her words.
Nena did not speak. She knew he was thinking that Jarl must have come to negotiate something important. She couldn’t tell him, that like the Teclan, the Northmen negotiated with their swords, not their words. Thankfully her father didn’t ask her what she thought it might be. Instead, he turned his attention to Baldor.
“Perhaps you can tell me why the leader of the Northmen is here, Baldor, since I can hardly question a man who is not conscious. Did he come here to negotiate? Did he come to make offer of something? You must know the answers, or you would not have dared to dispatch him. So tell me, why is he here?”
Baldor shook his head and remained staring at the floor.
“You respond to insult with rage, like some novice warrior with no training. Then you take it upon yourself to make sentence on my prisoner and execute it as if you were chief? Remove yourself from my sight. I will let you know your punishment later. You are fortunate the cell is occupied or you would find yourself there this night.”
Meln leaned back and brought his fingertips together under his chin, then turned to address the other council warriors. “I will delay my decision on the manner of his death until I hear what the Northman has to say. Send word to me as soon as he awakens. In the meantime, I will consult the gods. This council is adjourned.” He stood on the dais and dismissed the meeting.
Nena stood in the trees for many minutes, staring at the cell. The lone clay and thatch hut in the center of the clearing was a forbidden place for children, though she’d been in it twice as a child to satisfy a dare. Ruga and Lothor had each spent a night there in chains, on her father’s orders, to show them what imprisonment would be like if they were ever captured. In an uncharacteristic soft decision, he had not ordered Nena to also experience it, but the looks on both of her brothers’ faces when they returned had made a significant impression on her. Even now she felt the fingers of apprehension squeezing her stomach, though it was nothing compared to the apprehension she felt to face who was inside.
Nena took a deep breath and stepped out of the trees to walk the last distance. A guard stepped out of the shadows as she drew near. It was Gentok.
“I have brought water for the prisoner,” she said, without meeting his eyes.
“Set it down. I will give it to him later.”
“Is he awake?” she asked.
“I don’t know. I’ve heard no sounds and have not looked inside since we brought him here.”
“My father has expressed his wishes to be notified as soon as he awakens. I would check on him,” Nena said.
Gentok did not move from in front of the door.
“My father did not order no access to the prisoner, Gentok,” she asserted, and wondered if he would be so reluctant to allow anyone else to pass.
“He said ‘guard carefully’. It was implied,” Gentok responded.
“Do you think I would try to free him?”
“Of course not,” he said as if the idea was ridiculous and had not crossed his mind. “He may try to harm you.”
“I know him. I will come to no harm at his hands.”
Gentok’s expression hardened.
“Gentok, this man saved my life. I would have words with him.”
His face grew hopeful. She knew he took her words as explanation for any feelings he had seen in her eyes before. Owing a life was an acceptable excuse. He took a deep breath, and Nena could see he was wavering.
“You’ll be right here,” she coaxed. “If I need any assistance, I will call you.”
“Very well.” He pushed open the door and stepped aside.
As Nena entered the cell, she was relieved to find Jarl si
tting up, leaned against the center roof support pole that he was shackled to. She glanced around the room quickly to familiarize herself with it. There were no windows. The only furniture was a chair and small table near the doorway. She knew Jarl’s chain would not allow him to reach either. They were not put there for the comfort of the prisoners, but for their interrogators. She moved forward with the waterskin to offer him a drink.
“You are the last person I expected to see,” Jarl gasped, after he had drained half of the waterskin without taking a breath.
“No one else will tend you,” she murmured.
“Are they afraid? You can assure them I am quite secure.” Jarl held up his bonds. “So what happens to me now?” he asked.
“I don’t know. My father consults the gods.”
“Will you put in a good word for me?” he teased.
“It would not matter,” she murmured. “You should not have followed me.”
“You should not have run.”
Nena did not respond, only offered him the waterskin again.
He took it, then chuckled when he had finished drinking the rest of it.
“What could you possibly find amusing?” she asked.
“I was just considering the irony of my being chained to a pole as your prisoner, much as you were mine.”
“It is not at all the same. Both cases were brought about by your own actions. I did not capture you and bring you here.”
“No, you did not,” he agreed. “I came of my own free will, but make no mistake, you have captured me in other ways, and that makes it no less your fault.”
She wondered how much of the exchange Gentok could overhear. The walls were thick with a solid wood cage frame underneath. The clay and grass plaster mixture between the bars should muffle most sounds, but the door was only made of thin slat wood.
She held up her finger to her lips and nodded toward the door, but Jarl shook his head. “Let him hear. Let them all hear, and know why I’ve come. If I have my way, they will all know soon enough.” He paused. “You could release me, you know.”