by Kris Tualla
With a shout of fury, the crew began to fight in earnest. Rydar swung his sword until his arm burned. He grabbed the dagger from his boot, and with a weapon in each hand, finished every man he managed to skewer. Blood ran in his eyes, and he knew it was his.
The sailors weren’t skilled fighters, but they attacked with anything they could find. Their efforts were rough and fueled by blind anger and fear.
Rydar kept his back to the railing so none could get at him from behind. Drew’s assumption that surprise would befuddle the thieves—rendering their initial defense ineffective—proved correct for the most part. In spite of the imbalance of numbers, Rydar believed that he and the knight could prevail.
Drew was locked in battle with a man furiously wielding two short swords. Rydar slit open the belly of the only man still standing near him, and turned to give Drew a hand.
He saw the oar coming.
Rydar threw his dagger at the sailor aiming the broad blade at Drew. The knife sunk into the man’s arm, but didn’t slow his progress.
Rydar lifted his bow and yanked an arrow from his quiver.
The oar came down and to the side, slamming into Drew’s shoulder.
Rydar nocked the arrow and aimed, loosing the string and sending the arrow into the man’s neck.
Drew stumbled backward, knocked off balance by the blow.
Rydar quickly set another arrow and shot, hitting the man brandishing the two swords squarely in the chest.
Drew hit the railing. He teetered backward.
Rydar grabbed a third arrow.
The knight tumbled backward and disappeared from the deck. A splash followed.
Rydar’s third arrow buried itself deep into the man’s eye. He crumpled to the deck in a bloody heap.
Rydar spun in a circle, searching for any remaining threats. Only a pair of young boys—twelve or thirteen years old at most—remained.
Both raised their hands in surrender.
“Are there any more sailors?” he shouted. “Tell me the truth!”
The boys’ heads shook in tandem, and one of them began to whimper.
Before Rydar could say anything else, a deep, desperate cry pulled his attention over the edge of the deck and to the dark water below.
Drew was thrashing in the water and Rydar realized of a sudden that the knight couldn’t swim.
He dropped his weapons on the wooden deck, yanked off his boots, and jumped from the ship into the frigid waters of the North Sea fjord.
***
Drew fought against panic as hard as his arms and legs fought against the water. He wasn’t aware of Rydar’s presence in the sea until the man was on top of him.
The Viking came around behind him, grabbed the back of Drew’s tunic, and began to tug at him.
“Kick your feet!” he yelled. “Turn on your back!”
Drew obeyed as best he could. He gulped mouthfuls of bitter salt water. His boots felt like anchors, pulling his legs toward the depths.
“Boots—” he managed to yelp.
Rydar spat water. “Kick them off!”
Drew bent a knee and concentrated on working the boot from that foot, holding his breath to keep from inhaling the water when his face went under.
Once he succeeded, he lifted his chin to the sky and gasped a deep breath. He held it, and set to work on the other boot.
Drew had been through enough battles to know that panic was his worse enemy. He concentrated on pushing his heavy boot from his foot, growling underwater at the fear which was more deadly than the sea.
He knew Rydar was kicking and moving his free arm, but had no idea if the Viking was dragging him to safety, or merely keeping them both afloat. Either way, he trusted Rydar would not let go of him.
When the second boot fell away, Drew began to kick his legs as well. Freed from the heavy encumbrance, his limbs moved with purpose, and he realized that they were inching through the water.
Rydar’s movements stopped when Drew’s head hit the skiff. Drew rolled in the water and grabbed onto the edge of the little boat.
“I go to the other side,” Rydar panted. “We climb in at same time, aye?”
“Aye,” Drew grunted. His arms felt like wet rope and he wondered if he had the strength to hoist himself up.
“Ready?” Rydar called from the other side.
“Aye.”
“Now!”
Drew pulled with more strength than he believed he possessed. He rested his chest on the rim of the skiff and watched Rydar.
The Viking’s waist was bent over the side. He offered Drew a hand. “We pull. You first.”
Drew bounced a quick nod, then used Rydar’s weight as a counterbalance. Kicking his feet, he managed to get his torso over the edge of the boat.
Rydar kept his grip firm, pulling himself into the skiff. He let go of Drew’s hand, clambered around to face him, and grasped his shoulders.
Drew held onto the boat’s bench and pulled himself into the skiff with Rydar’s help. He slumped on his back, weak as a newborn kitten.
“Ye didna say ye no’ swim,” Rydar chastised.
Drew answered by vomiting sea water over his savior’s feet.
***
Rydar climbed back onto the ship while Drew rested, intent on having a conversation with the two young Swedes.
He was relieved to find his sword and bow where he dropped them. The boys sat in a corner, both unmoving and with eyes wide.
Rydar collected his paraphernalia as he spoke. “I’ll not hurt you. Do you understand me?”
They nodded.
“How long have you been on this ship?”
The boys—who Rydar realized must be brothers—glanced at each other. “Our father sold us at the end of winter,” one ventured.
Indentured, then.
Rydar straightened. “This ship will be sailed to Áslo, with the thieves aboard. Dead or alive.”
The boys nodded again. “What will happen to us?” the same boy asked.
“That will be King Haakon’s decision.” Rydar shrugged. “I suppose he might send you home.”
They gave a third dual nod of understanding. All heads swiveled when Drew appeared at the railing. He climbed aboard and staggered slightly before achieving a solid stance.
He considered the carnage—eleven bodies on the deck. Eight dead and three wounded, one mortally. He gave Rydar a determined look.
“What now, Viking?”
***
Rydar checked the anchor and, finding it solidly placed, declared that the ship was secure. The bodies of the dead sailors were carried into the low-ceilinged cargo area below the deck and neatly piled under a tarp.
“We’ll take the three injured men ashore, as well as the two boys,” Drew stated.
“Aye,” Rydar agreed. “And we get men from barn.”
Drew nodded, “On the morrow we’ll assemble the crew to sail to Áslo.”
“Good.” Rydar gestured to the boys and spoke to them in Norsk.
“I start with two hurt men,” he said to Drew. “One helps me row. One helps you here.”
Drew felt his face heating. There was no reason for him to feel embarrassed because he couldn’t swim. Few men could. The only reason Rydar could swim was because he had spent his entire life on the edge of the sea.
“Unless ye want to go first on boat?” Rydar asked.
Judging by the look on his face, the Viking was sincere. Drew knew well that facing down a fear was critical to overcoming it.
“Aye. I will take the first turn on the skiff.” Drew climbed back over the edge of the railing. “That man”—he pointed at the nearest survivor—“can climb down on his own. Once we are in place, you can lower the next man to us.”
One side of Rydar’s mouth curled upward. “Aye. Is good plan.”
Drew pulled a deep breath and scrambled back down the rope web to the water below.
Chapter Eighteen
June 19, 1359
The Swedish ship set sail for
Áslo two days later. Grier did what she could for the injured men, but the one thief with the leg wound was beyond help. The leg had already turned gangrenous, so the only option was to cut it off and hope he survived the amputation.
The man refused to let them do so, and now languished in the Hansen barn, feverish and fetid, waiting to die.
The mortally wounded man from the ship didn’t last until the next night, and his body was placed in the hold with his companions. Grier treated the two injured sailors, declaring them fit for the four-hundred-mile voyage.
Their hands and feet were bound and they sat on the deck, along with the thief Rydar hobbled. The indentured brothers were placed as guards over the prisoners.
Rydar had written out an accounting of what transpired for the Norse captain to deliver to the king when the ship docked in Áslo ten or eleven days hence. What happened to the ship after that was not his concern.
Rydar and Grier, plus Drew and Eryn, watched as the ship sailed through the fjord to the North Sea.
Rydar turned and clapped Drew’s shoulder, his eyes twinkling. “And is first week in Norway enough to do?”
Grier laughed, delighted with both her husband’s humor, and the lack of tension between the two men.
Once Drew apologized to Rydar and Grier for not telling Eryn about his proposal to Grier, all tension resulting from that part of the couples’ shared past dissipated immediately.
And the skill which Rydar displayed in catching the horse thieves—not to mention saving Drew’s life in the water—gave her husband the confidence that the knight would no longer belittle him.
Drew chuckled at Rydar’s joke. “Aye. Might we go easy for a bit now?”
Eryn grinned at Grier. “We can relax and wait for the babe.”
Grier shook her head. “He’s not due for another month or more.”
Eryn rested her hand on Grier’s belly. “We’ll see.”
When the foursome returned to the house, they were met with the news of the gangrenous sailor’s death. The man’s body was wrapped in a sheet and then thrown into the fjord from the bluff while Rydar said a prayer.
A burial at sea was fitting for the sailor. Grier slipped her hand into her husband’s. He squeezed it and looked down into her eyes.
“Are you happy?” she whispered in Norsk.
“More than I can tell you,” he answered in kind. His gaze shifted to their guests.
“Are ye hungry?” he asked in English. “Cook says we have fresh deer today.”
July 11, 1359
Three weeks later
Grier watched as Eryn packed her and Drew’s belongings into the two trunks they brought with them from Scotland. Grier offered to help, but Eryn wouldn’t hear of it.
That was probably just as well, since her back was bothering her.
She admitted to Rydar that she overdid herself the last two days, making certain all of Eryn and Drew’s clothes were cleaned, that their trunks were aired out, and that the bedding they needed to take on the ship was washed and hung out to dry.
Rydar scolded her and ordered her to bed early, though she couldn’t fall asleep. She pretended to be sleeping when he came to bed, and once he laid down beside her she finally did drift off.
Only to be kicked awake by the babe inside her—and forced to get up to use the piss pot.
When she got back in bed, she couldn’t get comfortable, and spent the rest of the night restlessly trying to find a position which pleased both her and the babe.
Eryn sighed and stretched, taking a momentary break from her task. “I wish we didn’t have to leave. I feel like we just arrived.”
Grier nodded. “It has been such a blessing for Rydar to become acquainted with ye. Ever since Drew wrote that first letter, my husband has been curious about his only cousin.”
“If only we weren’t so far from each other.” Eryn sank into a chair. Her gaze fell to the floor and she wiped away a tear.
“Perhaps ye will return someday,” Grier offered. “You might bring Daniel and Rolf to see where their grandfather came from. They could meet Arne and… this one.” She chuckled and waved her hand over her abdomen.
“I do want the boys to know their Norwegian cousins.” Eryn reached over and took Grier’s hand. “And don’t take this wrongly, but I have grown to love Rydar quite a lot. I believe from the moment I saw him.”
Grier smiled. “Aye, as it should be.”
“I still am amazed that I found him.” Eryn swiped another tear.
“Stop crying or I’ll become a blubbering fool myself,” Grier said past the growing lump in her throat. “I canna imagine what it was like for ye, not knowing anything about your family.”
Eryn pulled a kerchief from her pocket. “No one can, I don’t suppose.” She blew her nose. “Not unless they experience it.”
Grier patted her pockets in a futile search for a linen to dry her own tears on. “Getting to know ye was a blessing for me as well, Eryn. I never had a sister, and ye feel like one to me.”
Eryn stared at her, her eyes welling. “Thank you, Grier. I feel the same.”
Grier sucked a quick breath and squeezed Eryn’s hand.
Eryn shifted in her chair. “What is it?”
“I think ye’ll be getting your one wish, after all.” Grier winced and then met Eryn’s concerned gaze with a wry smile. “My water just broke.”
***
Rydar and Drew sat in the stable yard, sipping tankards of cold ale, and watching the stable master work a yearling colt.
“He’s got a smooth gate, when he wants,” Drew observed. “He’s a bit skittish, yet.”
“Aye.” Rydar watched the tall animal closely. “He is like a boy becoming a man and his body gets big too early.”
“Exactly!” Drew sipped his ale. “I couldna have said it better.”
Rydar was quiet while he tried to think how to express himself in English. He and Drew had become unexpected friends during his cousin’s visit, and while he wanted to say something to that effect, he didn’t wish to sound like a woman when he did.
He settled on, “Ye are no’ an ass.”
Drew’s mouth worked as he tried to restrain his grin. “And ye are no’ an ass either.”
Both men lifted their steins and drank deeply.
“And ye have a bonny wife,” Rydar added.
“As do ye,” Drew said. He cocked a brow at Rydar. “The best man has won her.”
Rydar tapped his tankard against Drew’s and the men drank again.
Rydar faced the knight. “Will ye come back, do ye think?”
Drew shrugged. “I ken Eryn will want to. And the boys will be curious about their Norwegian grandfather, I expect.” He heaved a long sigh. “But I canna say it will happen.”
Rydar gave him a slow and understanding nod. “Ye ken ye are always welcome.”
“Aye. Thank ye.”
One of the kitchen maids ran into the yard. “Lord Hansen?”
Rydar twisted in his seat to face her, alarmed at the urgent expression on her young face.
“Yes, what is it? Is something amiss?” he responded in Norsk.
She twisted her apron in her hands. “It’s the babe. He’s decided to come early.”
Rydar jumped to his feet. “Is my wife well?”
“Yes, sir. But she asked that you summon the midwife right away.”
Drew stood as well. “What is it?”
Rydar shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts as he switched languages. “I must get jordmor…”
“What is a jordmor?”
Rydar blinked. “Woman who helps at birth.”
“Midwife?” Drew’s jaw dropped. “Is the baby coming now?”
“Aye.” A shiver of fear shot through him. Birthing was always precarious, and they had buried two infants already. If this one claimed Grier, he would sincerely consider joining her in death.
Except for Arne.
Rydar shook himself free of those morbid thoughts and pointed at
the maid. “I will leave immediately. Inform my wife. I’ll see her when I return.”
“Yes, sir.” She gave a little curtsey before she whirled and ran back to the house.
He turned to Drew. “You stay. I go fast.”
“Aye.” He clapped Rydar’s arm, grinning madly. “God speed.”
Chapter Nineteen
July 15, 1359
Midnight had passed, and still Grier labored. Eryn remained by her side and did anything Grier asked her to do. The midwife remained calm—as did Grier, surprisingly.
“I was a midwife in Scotland, and I’ve delivered many a babe,” she assured Eryn between the birth pains. “Everything is going well.”
“I’ve only had the twins, and that was quite an ordeal, I assure you,” Eryn replied. “When it was over, Drew said I could name them Shite and Damn for all the effort.”
Grier laughed—a surprising sound under the circumstances. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
When the next pain ended, Eryn suggested she go assure the men that all was well.
“Come back quickly,” Grier replied. “I’m beginning to feel the need to push.”
As the midwife bent over to examine Grier, Eryn hurried out to find her husband and cousin.
“It shouldn’t be too much longer,” she told the worried pair. “Grier says she’s almost ready to push.”
“Thank ye, Eryn.” Rydar looked more exhausted than his wife. “And the babe is well?”
“As far as we can tell, yes.” Eryn gave him her most encouraging smile. “He’s not moving much right now, as you might imagine.”
Drew refilled Rydar’s cup. “Are ye hungry? I could eat.”
Rydar stared at the ale. “Aye. I think so.”
Eryn turned to Drew. “If you have a platter made, would you send some up to the room as well?”
Her husband stood and crossed to her. He began to massage her shoulders, and Eryn felt some of the anxiety leave her body.