by T S Florence
Ivar reached for his sword, which was not there.
“I moved it, Ivar, but I’m happy to see you would kill me so readily,” She said.
“You would be wise to believe it,” Ivar said, his voice a growl.
“Get up, and don’t make any sudden moves,” Isla said, her hand shaking lightly as she kept the blade against his neck.
She doesn’t know that we train for situations like this since we are young boys? Ivar was amused at the situation, but curiosity of what Isla had planned got the better of him. He knew that if things got out of hand, he could disarm her with relative ease, and if she wanted to kill him, she would have done it while he slept.
“Tell me, princess, where are my loyal guards that I had watching you?” Ivar asked.
“Don’t question their loyalty. You saw me serve their drinks, you fell prey to my trap the same as they did,” Isla said.
“What trap?” Ivar asked.
“I put sleeping herbs in everyone’s ale, and because the ale you all drink tastes so terrible, nobody could notice a difference with the bitter herbs mixed into their drink” Isla said, pride in her voice.
“Well played, very clever, pretty girl. Your bravery and cunning continues to surprise me” Ivar said, trying his best to sound sarcastic, but the truth was, he was genuinely impressed.
“Of course, nobody is as impressive and cunning as you, are they, Ivar the Clever?” Isla asked, her voice becoming heated.
“You can drop the blade, princess, I will do as you say,” Ivar replied, ignoring the barbed comment.
“Walk towards the woods,” Isla said.
Ivar walked, his mind conscious of ever slight movement of the blade that was now pointed in the center of his back, every noise, and every step he took.
“You know, no-one who has ever held a blade to me in a challenge such as this has lived,” Ivar said to Isla.
“My uncle will kill me if not you, Viking” Isla answered.
What has gotten into this girl, where did this come from? They walked into the nearby forest, the foliage and trees blocking out any noise that the soldiers may have heard had they stayed by the camp.
Ivar turned around, his back against a tree, Isla holding the knife against his throat again, with her body far too close to his. A warrior would know not to hold their body so close, for it would give too many vulnerabilities to their opponent. But a princess is not trained in the way of blades, Ivar thought to himself, amusedly.
“So what is it you wish to do, princess? Talk to me, kill me, or fuck me? Maybe all three?” Ivar asked.
“I would never sleep with you again” Isla said, her voice hitching at the words, full of emotion.
Ivar’s throat tightened at the recognition of her sadness. He wanted to hold her. Care for her. Tell her that he would not let any harm come to her. But how could she believe that, when he was taking her to her uncle, who wished to kill her in a brutal fashion?
“I want to know the truth” Isla asked.
“The truth of what?” Ivar responded.
“Did you always know my uncle intended to kill me, was the words about my marriage a lie?”
Well technically, I can tell the truth here. “Yes, I know he intended to kill you. Likely in the same way he kills all of his adversaries, by false accusations and a public hanging,” Ivar said.
Isla’s hand shook at this information, “And you knew this, yet you took me to bed, you humiliated me in front of all of your men, toying with me like a fox would with its prey” Isla’s voice laced with anger and accusation.
“I did.” Ivar said.
“I hate you,” Isla said, looking into his eyes, now having adjusted to the darkest of the forest.
“You were always going to hate me princess. I hope one day, you can find it in your heart to understand what I did. What I’m doing now. I did it all for you,” he said.
“You speak in riddles to me, yet you are too cowardly to tell me the truth”, she said, lowering the blade, just for a second.
Ivar grabbed the back of the blade, twisting it in her hand, causing her to let go, and sliding it into the back of his pants.
“That’s not fair,” Isla fumed.
“What, taking the knife you threatened me with is not fair?” Ivar said, amusement in his voice.
“This was my turn to kidnap you, you horrible man,” Isla said, sounding frustrated.
“If only you knew, princess. If only you knew.” Ivar picker her up, throwing her over his shoulder, walking back towards the camp. Isla thumped on his back, exasperated.
“Put me down, put me down!” She breathed hard.
When they arrived back at camp, Ivar threw his knife onto the ground, and lay Isla on her back, on his furs. She kicked up at his face, barely missing, before he pinned her down.
“You have a spirit few of my men possess, I would wish for a hundred soldiers with your heart, princess” Ivar said, lying down on top of her.
“Look at them all, sleeping peacefully. You probably did them a favour, giving them a good night’s rest.” Ivar said, feeling amused at the whole situation. A princess, of all people, outwitting himself and all his closest blood warriors.
“I would never fight for a man like you,” Isla said.
“No, I believe it would still be me, fighting for you” Ivar said, noticing the irony in her statement.
She continued to struggle, until he let his weight hold her down, and then let go of her hands. He knew now she had the opportunity to scratch, eye gouge, or do any manner of things to cause pain. But she did not. And then he lifted his weight, and she lay still. He pulled a blanked over them, protecting them from the night’s chill air.
He could see her face clearly now, her pale skin an orange tint, illuminated by the flames raging in the nearby fire, her eyes matching the intensity of the roaring flames.
He leaned forward, pressing his lips lightly against hers, before pulling his head back. Suddenly, feeling urges he hadn’t felt in days, he kissed her again, this time harder. Until he felt the pain of a slap on his cheek.
“I didn’t put your men to sleep and kidnap you so you could sleep with me” Isla said, her face defiant, but her heavy breathing and fast heartbeat told Ivar her body wanted something her mind didn’t.
“You call that a kidnapping?” Ivar said, amused.
“I do. And now I will go to sleep. Good night.” Isla turned her back to him, and wiggled her body to get comfortable, which did not help considering his hard shaft was pushed up against her behind.
13
Isla
“How much longer will my men be asleep?” Ivar said looking at Isla. They lay, wrapped tightly in the animal furs, as the sun began to rise in over the forest trees.
“They should wake soon, from the light, but they will be groggy until midday” Isla said, a smirk on her face.
“Very well.” Ivar said, looking at them, before turning his head back. “We will be meeting your uncle tomorrow. A few of his trusted men will be coming to see that I have you in my captivity today.”
Isla felt pain in her heart. It was truly happening. Ivar was intending to trade her to her uncle for gold. And again, he tried to take her in his bed just last night. He does not respect me. He is no better than Tomlin. He may not hit me like Tomlin did, but he hurt my soul, which is a far more egregious crime to my person than Tomlin ever committed.
“I still hate you, Ivar the cruel. I will hate you until my last breath,” Isla said, pushing off his chest as she rose to her feet, stamping away to prepare some food for the sleeping soldiers. Even in her last hours of life, she could not help but care for the men who held her captive.
Ivar approached Isla just before they took their lunch that day, his face hard, his scar pink and menacing. He grabbed her by her face with one hand, looking into her eyes.
“I think the world will be better without you” Ivar said, looking down at his feet, pausing, before he continued “I will be glad to finally be rid of
you. I have grown tired of your games, and I blame you for Magnus’ death” He looked at her, his face impossible to read.
Isla felt her heart break. What had caused him to come and say this, and for what? Why did he need to use such cruel words? Isla felt her heart grow cold. She had been mistreated by Tomlin, but she felt no love for him. She knew that was his nature. But Ivar? This was different. He pushed and pulled, hot and cold. But now, just cold. Cold and cruel.
Tears welled at the corners of her eyes, as she looked down at the ground, attempting to walk around him. Before he grabbed her shoulders and made her stand in front of him.
“Do you hear that men, I tell you this in front of everyone, Isla. I never cared for you. I did this for fun. Your uncle and I are friends, and I am glad to hand him over to you.” She watched his jaw flexing, his teeth grinding as he stood silently before her. Her heart shattered into a million pieces, for all the men to see. Ivar’s stony face judging her response, his eyes not betraying a single thought.
Only minutes later, her uncle’s men arrived. Men she had only seen before in passing. Men that once were loyal to her father. They approached her, inspecting her as if a piece of cattle.
“Go run and tell my coward uncle that he has got what he always wanted. But when he is old and frail he will die alone, with nobody” Isla spat, her anger boiling over, everything suddenly feeling overwhelming.
The men looked amused at her outburst, but nodded to each other and spoke in hushed tones, before turning around and leaving. She noticed Ivar, at that moment, looking at her, his face showing sadness. What is wrong with this man?
The seer’s words began echoing in Isla’s mind. Love, heartbreak, death and betrayal. Another thing Ivar misled her on. He told her not to believe the words, but now it seemed all the words were turning to prophecy. To have your heart broken, first you must love. Isla could not lie to herself, her heart felt broken. Shattered into a million pieces, like delicate glass, never to be repaired to its original form. Death. Her friend Magnus. Ivar’s blood warrior. Her own life. More deaths than she could count, Freya’s men, all because of her. Betrayal. Could she call Ivar’s act betrayal, or had she betrayed him, by escaping, by causing the death of Magnus’ men?
Isla felt exhausted, collapsing to the ground, looking up at the clouds as her world went dark.
Ivar
Ivar watched Isla fall to the ground, his body jerked forwards, his instinct compelling him to go to her, but he couldn’t. Not in front of her uncle’s men, he could not show affection, not now, not after everything, not after the words he had said to her. For it to all mean nothing, would make his efforts and Magnus’ death for nothing.
Her uncle’s men laughed, causing rage to pump through Ivar’s veins. He struggled to control his anger, wanting to reach out and tear their throats from their necks and watch their blood spill over the ground, like slaughtered pigs.
“Go put her on the fur cart so we can keep moving” Ivar spat at his men, his hands shaking.
Go tell your Duke his princess niece will arrive on the morrow.
“What about food and drink, will you not entertain your guests?” The men said, expecting some lofty treatment.
“Fuck off, before I take your heads from your shoulders” Ivar said. Ivar was not a man to swear, but in this moment, his rage was boiling over. The men jumped on their horses, not saying another word, and galloped back to their master like good little pups.
His men grumbled at having to skip lunch, but Ivar paid no heed. Skald rode up to him, pulling his horse in close.
“You seem in better spirits today, was it the talk you had with the princess that cheered you?” Skald asked.
Ivar laughed a bitter laugh. “So, you didn’t drink the spiked ale?” Ivar asked.
“I have not fallen prey to the princess tricks and traps, unlike some,” Skald said, with a smirk.
“Thank you.” Ivar said.
“For what?” Skald asked.
“For pulling my head out of my own ass. You were right. I cannot grieve forever, there are more important tasks at hand,” Ivar said.
“Sometimes a man just needs to hit something.” Skald said.
“You’re not as bad as everyone says,” Ivar said.
“I didn’t know people said I was bad? It was simply necessary, anyway” Skald clipped, as he pulled the horse’s reins to the left, scouting into the woods, ensuring no trap was being set by the Duke Alfred, Isla’s uncle.
The Fathers
5 years earlier
Duke Henry
Duke Henry rode his horse to along a high hill, near the kingdom of Berwick, where the Vikings and his men fount viciously. Bjorn the fearless, they called their leader. Not only a great warlord, but also cunning as a fox. His exploits had drawn the attention of all the northern kingdoms, requiring unification of otherwise quarrelling houses and kingdoms. And there he was, in the middle of the fighting, swinging his great sword, taking two or three of his men at a time.
He watched a younger warrior by the great warlord’s side, smaller in stature, but tall, a young man who was yet to grow into his own body. He wore a great white fur. It looked like a large beast, but Henry could not tell what, from such a distance. A beast from their own lands, perhaps.
A cold sweat broke on the back of his neck. If he did not do something to stop this man, he would take the whole of England, he feared. And what would happen to his young daughter, just 15 years old? These men would surely steal her away, taking her to the highest bidder. For there were not many women in the whole of England who would match her beauty when she came of age.
“We must kill them all, send more men! Send all the men you have!” Alfred said to Henry. You fool, can you not see beyond the battle? The only way to reach any level of success is by bargaining. But how? What could they want that they cannot already take? What do they value, if anything?
Henry did not trust Alfred. His brother was too ambitious for his own good, and it would end with his own death one day, Henry knew that for sure.
“Raise the white flag,” Henry Said to Alfred.
“That’s pure idiocy,” Alfred fumed.
“You watch your damn mouth man. Being my brother does not grant you the right to speak to me like an equal, for we are not. Raise the damn flag or I’ll cut you down, man,” Henry ordered, riding to the battle.
Bjorn the Fearless
“They are surrendering, father” Ivar said to his father, a broad smile on his face. Bjorn looked at his son with affection, despite the fact they had just laid waste to countless men. Bjorn knew that his boy, like him, did not relish battle. It was a necessity of their way of life, it was the culture they were born into. Their land was too cold and unforgiving, and so fate dictated to them to come to this land with rich fields and plentiful gold. The land already inhabited by Englishmen.
But Bjorn also knew that it was the men who disliked killing that were the most effective at it, for they could judge the difference between those who must be killed, and simply killing for pleasure. Too many Vikings killed for pleasure.
“What do you think we should do, boy?” Bjorn said.
“We should make a deal. We should ask to share the land. There is so much land here father, you could find a new wife. Maybe you could give me a baby sister” he said, looking up at him. Bjorn laughed. His own son, still skinny and growing into his own body, yet still able to strike fear into thousands of hard men, his face covered in blood, his great white bear fur that he killed all by himself, which made him look twice his size.
This boy wanted the same things as Bjorn, but Bjorn still needed to harden the boy, make him weary of the things in life that could bring a man undone. For loving a woman would leave a man to make careless mistakes. But finding the right woman? Like finding a diamond in the earth, was rare. But when found, she would bring more strength to a man than any army could.
“Women make men weak, and weak men die. Remember that, my son” he said, hoping that
one day, Ivar would understand what he meant. He knew that if Ivar found the right girl, he would make the right decision. He was smart. Smarter than his father, that’s for damn sure.
Bjorn rode to meet the Duke, a huge man for an English man. He had who he guessed was his brother by his side, a man with a more cunning face, a cruel smile on his lips. The kind of man Bjorn hated. He could tell the man had no honor by looking at him.
“You see that man next to Duke Henry?” Bjorn asked Ivar.