Norse Hearts

by Robynn Gabel

  He started speaking quickly, and Dagfinn repeated right behind him.

  “This is Mara, and she will look after you. She speaks both Angles and Norp weg. She will be teaching you our language during this journey. Listen well to her words; give her no trouble, or you will be receiving another lesson over my lord’s knees.”

  Seraphina stiffened her spine, standing taller, as another blush colored Dagfinn’s cheeks. Einar laughed, slapping the lad hard on the back. At least Dagfinn had the grace to be embarrassed by the disgusting scene of Einar’s punishment. Her backside still ached from his blows. If he thought he would get her in that position again, he was an oaf.

  Speaking to the thrall, he gestured toward Seraphina, and Mara spoke with a voice tinged with gruffness. “My lord says we all work for our keep. Even though you may be a hostage and under his care, you will help me in chores.” Her brown eyes sized up Seraphina in one quick glance.

  Seraphina glared at Einar. “I am more than willing to do my share of work. I am quite able to run a large household and land holdings. I work alongside my people. Simple tasks are no problem, Einar the Slow.” She flicked a long lock of copper-tinted hair over her shoulder. Dagfinn gasped at her impertinence, quickly murmuring to Einar.

  She watched a wicked light dance in his blue eyes, and a slow grin developed. Instead of anger, she had received a smile. This man’s moods were more confusing than a love-sick maid, she decided. Turning away, she followed Mara. Though stalwart and muscular in build, Mara moved quite gracefully. Seraphina hurried to keep up with Mara’s brisk pace as she walked over the packed mud that had become a narrow path.

  Back at the camp, Mara headed for a simple, unadorned chest that was as stout as its owner. Opening the curved top, she pulled out a plain, white, sleeveless, woolen tunic and another plain, gray underdress. Mara said, “You will need a change for work. I will clean your fine clothes when we break for the night. The Norp weg word for dress is binda.”

  Seraphina hesitated. It was a kind offer. She understood Mara’s job was to be a chaperone and keep her from running away, not to be a servant. Nodding, she held out her hands. Mara shook her head. “Repeat—binda.”

  Grimacing, Seraphina said, “Binda.” Mara nodded, walking to a copse of oak trees. Handing the clothes to Seraphina, she turned her back, keeping a lookout. Seraphina took a small leather purse from her girdle. Putting her jeweled cross within its soft folds, she pulled off her fine linen tunic by its delicately embroidered edges. Under that was a slim, close-fitting underdress of light green. She had dressed in her best for the church, but now it was all she owned. Quickly stripping, the cool spring air moved over her exposed skin. Slipping the gray underdress on, she realized it was nothing like the beautiful, blue, embroidered wedding dress she should be donning. Tears clouded her view, but she continued, noticing that the dress billowed around her, having been cut for Mara’s wider girth. Quickly, she put the rough, white tunic over it, catching it at the shoulder with pins carved from bone. After the fine girdle went about her hips, she couldn’t help but feel oddly dressed. Thralls didn’t own any finery. What did that make her? She slipped the string to the leather pouch over her head and tucked it under the dress between her breasts. Mara nodded, gathered up her discarded clothes, and put them away in the chest. Pointing to the other end, Seraphina picked it up, helping Mara move the trunk to the ship.

  Following Mara, she saw Hadley headed toward them, carrying a fur. She had changed into a Norp weg tunic, as well. Two plain, bronze brooches, so unlike Seraphina’s bone pins, held together the straps of the woolen tunic. Stopping, Seraphina murmured, “Hadley, I am so sorry.”

  Iohannes, Hadley, and Seraphina had played together as small children…until their stations in life separated them. Hadley had become her handmaiden at a tender age. Seraphina felt a stab of fury at the bruise on her cheek. Hadley’s thin face was rigid, her blue eyes stark. Avoiding Seraphina’s touch, she said bleakly, “I see you suffered not.”

  “Oh, Hadley, I wish it had been me instead.” Seraphina reached out, laying her hand on the girl’s shoulder and leaning in, whispering, “At the bend in the river where we used to tie up to visit my aunt, I am going to escape. Join me.”

  The girl looked down; her fingers picked at the soft fur she carried. “It matters not now.” She sighed and moved off, continuing down the path. Mara paused, calling over her shoulder to Seraphina, “Come on—no lagging.” When they reached the ship they set Mara’s chest beside a pile of good yet to be loaded. Then they headed back up the path.

  Casting about the campsite, the women grabbed the last of the leather bags filled with the camp supplies, and Seraphina followed Mara back to the ship again. She sucked her bottom lip between her teeth; thoughts tumbling in guilt and anger. Why was Einar moving on? Why didn’t he stay here until Cecil or her father came to ransom her? She had to get Hadley to go with her when she escaped.

  Mara reached the ramp, jarring Seraphina from her thoughts. “Rest a moment. Then we will load everything.” Glancing up, Seraphina saw Einar’s bemused expression as he watched Mara use her forearm to sweep her face, taking the glistening sweat with it. Suddenly, he jumped lightly to the ground beside Seraphina, and she gasped, moving away. He chuckled, and, grabbing both ends of Mara’s chest, he nudged a slack-jawed Mara aside, carrying the chest easily up the ramp.

  Following him, Seraphina’s gaze swept over his shirt. Sleeveless, and a soft tan color, it had an embroidered slit at his chest that gaped slightly, showing a smattering of hair. Silver armbands adorned both upper arms while wide leather arm bracers covered his forearms. A sparkle at his waist caught her eye. A wide belt had linked silver panels in foreign designs. She stopped as he stowed the chest and turned with a flourish and a bow. A huge, beard-splitting grin greeted her when he stood, and she felt anger bubble up. The cold warrior of the night before, who had slayed innocents, now acted foolish. A loud snort sounded as Dagfinn strolled up beside him.

  “See, my ladye—even heathens can have courtly manners,” Dagfinn said drily.

  Einar’s brows lowered, but the frown didn’t cover the laughter in his eyes as he reached out and thumped Dagfinn on the back.

  Angry tears threatened to rise as Seraphina turned at the sound of squawking. She watched two men struggle up the ramp with a crate that seemed to have a mind of its own. Six large geese tried opening their wings in the crowded space and honked over their imprisonment. A sleek head snaked out, and a large orange beak snapped at the man in the front, causing a curse to foul the air. In a rush of confusing emotions, she wiped at her eyes and finally broke down snickering, seeing two men nervous over a snapping gander.

  The last chest was aboard the crowded ship. Glancing toward Gunnar’s ship, she caught sight of Iohannes, his hands gripping an oar. Along with two black eyes, his nose was swollen and purplish. He caught her gaze and nodded at her, an encouraging smile crossing his battered features. Iohannes had always been like a big brother to her. He didn’t take to being a blacksmith like his father and brothers. It didn’t surprise Seraphina when he sought the scholarly life of a monk. Now it seemed as if his dreams were in shambles as well.

  Einar’s light mood had left him, and now he barked out, “To the river.” Gunnar shouted the same command, and Iohannes and the other oarsmen bent from their waists, pulling back on the oars.

  Seraphina turned to calm the tethered stallion. He shuffled his feet at the sudden movement of the boat under him. She murmured, smoothing a hand down his neck, offering him another dried apple slice. She understood his fear, being taken from his home and put into an unnatural situation. He ducked his nose and then suddenly swung his head up attentively, watching a marsh bird take flight.

  The ship slipped into the main current smoothly. A fresh breeze grabbed at Seraphina’s long copper-tinted tresses, pulling strands across her face. With closed eyes, she listened as the ship spoke with a groan of the mast, and a halyard line tapped loosely against the gunwale. The v
essel felt alive under her feet, shifting and absorbing the buffeting current and going faster than any horse could gallop.

  Opening her eyes, she felt trapped by Einar’s gaze from where he stood in the bow. His mood seemed light, the corners of his mouth tipping up into a crescent of a smile, and he turned to look out over the river. Anger seeped back into her soul, chasing any other feeling away. She had planned long for this day, and instead of gazing into Cecil’s handsome face and speaking vows of love, she was a prisoner of this heathen.

  She leaned against Odinørindi’s warm shoulder and watched the oarsmen. There were twelve on each side, pulling at the sculls; the muscles on their arms corded with the effort. In the stern’s small triangle, a bear hide was stretched, making a small, shaded space underneath. It provided a sleeping area, and Dagfinn and one other lay there, resting from their night patrols.

  Mara bumped her shoulder, her calloused hands holding out a piece of flatbread and salted fish to break the morning fast. She motioned toward the square chest that Einar had put on the ship for them. Seraphina sat down, eating quickly.

  “Ladye, Einar says we are to stay away from the crew and keep close to the bow. We will share this chest. Being between these two crates, it will give us privacy.” Seraphina nodded, not overly concerned. She wouldn’t be aboard that long.

  The current caught the ships and eagerly pulled them along to the sea. Blacktoft drifted by, and people near the straits waved at them. The Ouse River broadened, taking on the added waters from the Trent, and opening into a wide waterway becoming the Humber. It meandered between farmsteads, forests of ash, oak, walnut, and brush-crowded banks. The helmsman leaned on the rudder, and the ship quickly found the main current. A signal from Einar and the oars scraped as the men pulled them in. During this break, Seraphina helped Mara hand out salted fish and water skins to the young stableman captured in the raid, and he scrambled over cargo and rigging, passing it on to the seated oarsmen.

  The morning passed by quietly as they floated downstream. Seraphina watched, waiting for the curve in the river where the water slowed, and a large pool of quiet water lapped against the bank, creating a natural cove. Her plan was daring, but she felt she had the upper hand, knowing the area well. Living upstream from Grimsby, her aunt and uncle owned a large holding, enough for a very good living. She had spent several summers there as a child.

  Either she would reach the bank with Odinørindi’s hooves pounding beneath her, or she would swim. Either way, she was going to escape.

  6

  Escape

  “It can be expected that a man who has a lot on his mind will not always be careful enough.”

  Seraphina worked alongside Mara. Her hands moved quickly, pounding and then rolling the rounded pin of wood over the dried stockfish, breaking up the tough flesh. A fresh breeze moved off the cool water, lifting her long, red-gold tresses.

  The vessel shuddered beneath her feet. She glanced ahead, noticing the current’s shift as they neared a bend. Up in the bow, she saw Einar signal the helmsman, and another tremor accompanied the squeak and groan of the timber hull as it sought the main current.

  Nonchalantly, Seraphina wiped her hands on the apron she had put over the simple tunic. “I need to check on the horse.”

  The stout woman nodded. Seraphina’s heartbeat steadily increased until it was thundering, sweat beading on her neck. Walking by a large bag of cracked corn, she leaned down and let the kernels sift through her hand. She peeked up through her lashes, seeing that some of the crew were sleeping, a few were eating; others talked among themselves, unaware of her actions. Grabbing a handful of corn, she moved over to the wood crate that held the geese. Six pairs of little, round eyes focused on her. They had tucked their feet under them to rest. Their graceful necks curved, watching all the movement around them. She scattered the corn on the bottom of the cage, and they scrambled to their feet. She quickly twisted the leather that held the door closed.

  Surely, they could all hear her pounding heart and see the trembling in her hands. Stepping to the mast, she leaned against it as if enjoying the breeze, her hand quickly working the rope knot that held the stallion in place. There was a drumming in her temple as she built up her courage. Ducking around the side of the horse, he turned his head to her, checking for treats. She slipped him an apple slice and then threw the end of the rope over his neck, quickly working a knot under the rope halter on his head. Glancing around, she saw no one was watching.

  There was a sudden outburst of squawking.

  Flapping white wings and vicious snapping beaks created a scene of chaos. Men leaped up to grab the birds, and a mad scramble was on. She slipped onto the back of the nervous horse, his feet shuffling under him and eyes wide at the flurry of wings. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed the gander heading for Einar, his wings beating furiously and head snaking low. She heard Einar growl as he crouched low, holding his arms wide. He wrestled the struggling bird into a bear hug as the powerful wings buffeted around his head.

  Seraphina’s focus shifted to the wild-eyed stallion. Snorting, he reared; her hands fisted in his mane, legs straining to hold on.

  Einar roared at the clambering men. She couldn’t understand the words he used, nor did she know he was instructing the men not to crowd the stallion for fear it would escalate his nervousness. Seraphina was depending on the uproar for just that reason.

  Odinørindi came down, the commotion causing him to dance in place, swinging his head as he searched for a way out. She stiffened, pressuring him with her legs.

  “Seraphina!” Einar shouted, rage deepening his voice.

  It was now or never. With a sharp jab of her heels, the stallion kicked out. Her feet struck him again, and gathering his hind end underneath himself, he leaped forward and cleared the polished gunwale.

  With a huge splash, they landed in the water, sinking for a moment. Odinørindi struggled against the current. Over the murmur of the moving water, she heard Einar roar out guttural words, directing the crew.

  The stallion found his rhythm with powerful strokes and headed for the cove. Glancing back over her shoulder, she watched Einar run back to the helmsman, shouting at the rowers. Seraphina shifted on the back of the horse, leaning low over his neck and thumping her heels into his side again. She felt another surge of power in his strokes as he responded.

  Einar hollered, and the vessel’s great bow swung sharply right. Coming up behind was Gunnar’s snake-headed ship. Hadley had swung one leg over the gunwale, her violet-blue eyes staring wildly at Seraphina.

  “Jump, Hadley! Now! Jump!” Seraphina yelled. Hadley screamed as Gunnar yanked her back by her hair, his snarling curses drowning out her sobs.

  “Hadley!” Seraphina cried out, and Odinørindi surged forward again.

  Einar’s ship was swiftly narrowing the gap between her and the swimming stallion. Narrow, light, and with a shallow draft hull designed for speed, this ship could be navigated from either end or rowed on one one side or the other, allowing the vessel to turn quickly. She had not planned for this, assuming all ships were like the Anglican fishing boats, which were clumsy and heavily bowed.

  Kicking hard, she fervently prayed to God they would reach the shore ahead of the ships. Odinørindi lunged and quickly found his footing on the shallow shoreline. She heard Einar shout her name again, mixed with some guttural words, and knew it was a curse of some sort.

  Fear kept all other thoughts at bay. Escape was her sole focus. Seraphina didn’t look back as the stallion crashed through the brush. She was grateful for the apron she had put on while working with the fish. Having hiked up the underdress and tunic to sit astride the horse in a very unladylike fashion, she scooted a length of the apron under her to give her some purchase on the slick horsehair. Earlier, when she had untied the rope from the mast, she had knotted it under the rope halter, forming primitive reins.

  A shudder went through her. All she wanted now was distance between them. Finally, Odinørindi�
�s breath labored, and she slowed him with a tug on the reins. Obediently, he responded, coming into a walk. A small stream gurgled through the forest. She reined him into the clear water, covering their tracks as they splashed upstream. For a while, only the chatter of squirrels and the twitter of the birds broke the silence. Mepern, head of her father’s stable, had also taught her a lot of forest lore, including how to track as well as how to cover her tracks. She was grateful now for her rebellious ways as a young girl.

  The little cove where her father would come ashore was a bit of distance from her aunt’s house, and back country roads were dangerous for an unchaperoned girl. Would it be better to go on to Grimsby and alert the magistrate rather than risk bringing the Norp weg to her aunt and uncle’s doorstep? Grimsby also had its drawbacks. Dressed as a thrall, riding a stallion, no weapon, no food, and no chaperone made her a target for many things.

  She sucked in her bottom lip, worrying it with her teeth.

  When Odinørindi had cooled and his flanks no longer heaved, she guided him out of the stream. She stopped, listening. There were no sounds of pursuit, but would they really come after her? Was she worth that much to them? She pushed once more for a gallop. So the rhythm was set for a while. Walking, covering tracks in deep brush or stream bed, and then galloping in any open area. Again and again, she remembered the fear on Hadley’s face. She prayed now that her friend had not come to more harm. I will rescue her; I will. These Norp wegs will pay for all they have done.

  Finally reaching the top of a ridge, she looked out over the valley and forested hills on the other side, searching for the main road. She had hoped to go over the ridge and save time. But there would be no crossing here; the descent was filled with rock and crevices Seraphina doubted even a goat could clamber down. She decided to angle down the side of the ridge to find the path that went around the ridge.