Brandewyne, Rebecca

by Swan Road

  "Yelkei, what happened after I fainted?" Rhowenna asked slowly after a moment, sensing somehow that there was still something more, something Yelkei had held back, had not told her. But when Yelkei did not reply, her lids hooding her fathomless black eyes, her glance flicking away, Rhowenna became aware of Morgen huddled in a corner of the ox-cart, trembling and rocking herself, her arms wrapped tightly about her knees; and instinctively, Rhowenna knew then what had occurred. "Oh, God," she breathed, tears starting in her eyes. "Oh, God... Morgen. Morgen..." Then, somehow, Morgen was in her arms, and Rhowenna was holding her tight, stroking her hair and crooning to her as the two women rocked each other, Morgen weeping hard but quietly against Rhowenna's comforting breast. "I'm sorry. I am so sorry, Morgen," Rhowenna whispered.

  "I only wanted... to go home," Morgen said, sobbing softly. "I didn't want to stay in the Northland! I didn't want to fall in love with Flóki the Raven! But he made me love him, and now— and now— Oh, Rhowenna! Ivar and his brothers... they forced Flóki— they forced him to watch, while they— while they took me— God, how Flóki must hate me now! Every time he looks at me now, he'll remember. He'll remember what they did to me, and he'll think of me as their whore, and he'll never love me again— Oh, Rhowenna! That's what hurts! I could live with the other. 'Tis losing Flóki that hurts so much that I just wish I were dead!"

  "Hush! Hush! Don't say that! 'Tisn't true— and I don't believe that of Flóki, either! A man who loves you as much as Flóki does isn't going to turn away from you because of this terrible thing that has happened to you, through no fault of your own. He is more likely to murder Ivar, Ubbi, and Halfdan in their beds!"

  "And be killed himself for his trouble— for they'll be expecting that, won't they? They'll be on their guards against him, always sleeping with one eye open," Morgen insisted, quieter now as she brushed away her tears, as though angry and ashamed at having given way to them.

  "Wulfgar will be watching, too, Morgen. Trust me. He won't let Flóki do anything rash, I promise you— and somehow, some way, we'll get through this, all of us, together. By the Christ and Wulfgar's gods, I swear it!"

  * * * * *

  It was apparent from the massive size of the Northland army and the range of its re- sources that Ragnar Lodbrók had planned his campaign well, and perhaps would have survived to lead it to victory over all of Britain had he not flown into such a wild rage at Wulfgar and Flóki, and gone chasing after them, sending his sons on to Britain, with his great army. Still, Ivar himself was an equally capable leader, as was proved by his taking of Northumbria. Now as, toward sundown, they halted their march for the night, Rhowenna observed from the ox-cart that in addition to horses and other supplies, Ivar had also confiscated a number of pavilions from the Saxon kings and ealdormen. Being so well-sheltered as a result, he allotted to Wulfgar and Flóki each a small hide tent such as were used by the Lapps of the northern tundra, which his army had brought from the Northland. Once these were erected, Wulfgar and Flóki came to the ox-cart, having been prevented from doing so before then.

  Wulfgar's eyes were haunted by shadows that filled Rhowenna with pain when she saw him, and as he lifted her from the vehicle, embracing her tight, she clung to him ardently, returning his hot, feverish kisses in equal measure. But Morgen huddled in the ox-cart, hiding her face in shame, not looking at Flóki until he compelled her chin up and kissed her full on the mouth— deeply, fiercely. After that, crying out, she flung her arms about his neck, clutching him desperately, holding on for dear life as he swung her down from the vehicle, then carried her wordlessly to their tent, letting the flap fall shut behind them.

  "She thought that he would not want her," Rhowenna remarked quietly as she and Wulfgar stood, watching the two lovers disappear. "She thought that he would hate her, that he would never love her again, but would think of her only as the whore of his enemies."

  "He hates what was done to her, aye," Wulfgar acknowledged soberly. "But Morgen herself, Flóki only loves all the more. How could he not? Because they took their revenge on him as they did, with his woman, while they forced him to watch, my half brothers spared his life. So Morgen's sacrifice was not in vain, Rhowenna; had she not been there, they would have killed him. They may yet. They may kill us all in the end." Wulfgar's voice was raw and desperate. "Still, I cannot, at the moment, see any way out of this for us, elsket. It amuses Ivar, in his mockery, to treat us as his honored guests— providing horses for me and Flóki, the ox-cart for you and Morgen and Yelkei, Lapland tents for us. As you can see, Ivar has even returned my battle-ax and Flóki's broadsword. But we are prisoners just the same, all of us; for Ivar knows that neither I nor Flóki will make any foolhardy attempt to fight our way free of this ravening horde and ride off, endangering the lives of you and Morgen and Yelkei in the process or leaving you behind to the mercy of my half brothers. Yet, as he did of old, Ivar taunted me all day, hoping to provoke me into some reckless act." Wulfgar laughed shortly, harshly. "He even informed me that he sent some of his men to seize my Dragon Ship, and that it does even now lie off the coast of East Anglia, with his own, waiting for me."

  "Then if we could escape—"

  "Nay, we cannot, sweeting." Wulfgar shook his head. "At least, not right now— and even if somehow we could, 'twill be time soon for your lying-in"— he laid his hand gently upon her full, round belly, where their child grew within her— "and you'll not be able to travel. Nay, we must wait and play for a while this strange and deadly game that Ivar directs. But our chance will come, I promise you. 'Tis only a matter of time, I am thinking. So, enough of this. Come. Yelkei will have supper hot on the fire by now, waiting for us; and after we are done eating, I would lie with you and make love to you, kjœreste, while I still can. For soon now, al- though such is my desire for you that I loathe even the thought of doing so, I know I must stop, lest I risk doing some injury to you or the babe."

  Darkness fell as they ate by the fire; and afterward, in the way that lovers do, Rhowenna and Wulfgar made another kind of fire between them, and of the crude Lapland tent that was their shelter, a magic place, a cocoon spun of the moon, the stars, and the night wind that soughed across the sweeping moors of Northumbria, bringing with it the scent of the distant sea. He held her on her side, wrapping himself about her so they fitted together like the few rare spoons she had seen at the supper table in Aella's great hall, and entering her so gently that his passage into her was like the long, deep sigh of pleasure that escaped from her lips. His mouth upon her nape, his hands upon her breasts, her burgeoning belly, he thrust into her, slowly but strongly until he could feel how she opened to him, her thighs parting even farther, her nether lips ripe and swollen, bursting with her sweet berry juices, mellifluous as he moved inside her. One of her arms rested above her head, her hand tangling and tightening in his long mane of golden hair as she cried out, soft and low with rapture, and then turned her face so her mouth found his, yielding, opening to receive his tongue as she received him, trembling hard and sweet with passion as, at last, he spilled himself inside her.

  In the quiet afterglow, they lay together as they had when making love, Wulfgar stroking Rhowenna's belly tenderly, tracing tiny patterns there and thinking how much he loved her, that if ever he should not have her, the very light would go out of his life forever and he would surely die— and be glad of it. But even such a love as his was not enough to hold at bay the sounds of the ribald revelry of the Víkingrs preying upon their captive Saxon women, which echoed through the night to intrude upon him and Rhowenna; and as he lay beside her, Wulfgar could sense the long thoughts on which she dwelled in her mind, and feel the tremor of her heart in her soft white breast. For that, he cursed and damned Ivar to Hel, that she should lie in her husband's arms and fear being forced to lie in Ivar's.

  "Wulfgar," she whispered at last, "if ever Ivar—"

  "He won't. Don't even think about it. I would slay him first."

  "Flóki could not." Her voice was low, tremulous.
<
br />   "I am not Flóki."

  "You are a man—one man—just as he is, not a god. I must know, Wulfgar. Somehow, I need to hear you say it... that you would still love me if—"

  "Oh, elsket, how can you even wonder?" he asked, his heart aching that she would doubt him, if even only a little. "I would still love you! I will always love you! You are the other half of my heart, my mind, my soul! Don't you know that?"

  "Aye... for you are mine, my love. Make love to me again, so I can pretend we are back in our hof on your markland, in the bed you had made for me and where you first showed me what it was to love a man— to love you— then and always. In my dreams, I am there now, with you beside me. Take me home... home to the Northland, Wulfgar— if only for a little while...."

  "Home, kjœreste? Once, you said that you would never call it that."

  "I did not know then what I wanted, what I needed."

  "And what is that?"

  "You, Wulfgar... only and forever you."

  Like the night mist twining itself about the hills and hollows of the land, he enfolded her then, his mouth softly fierce upon her lips, her breasts, her belly as he led her up a wending mountain path of the Northland, past fairy rings and elfin trees to a place where Thor's hammer, Mjöllnir, split the heavens asunder, and Rhowenna knew she soared higher than the gods in Asgard before floating gently back to earth, to drift like a swan upon a wild Northland mere.

  * * * * *

  The great army marched on, warring and killing, maiming and burning, ravaging and raping their way down Northumbria and into Mercia, terrifying all in their path. Burgred, the king of Mercia, who had wed the sister of Aethelred, the king of Wessex, sent a message to his brother by marriage, entreating the help of the West Saxons against the Víkingrs. Between Aethelred and his brother, Alfred, the West Saxons marshaled their own army and, departing Wessex, marched to join Burgred's own forces, meeting outside of Nottingham. Meanwhile in Northumbria, the Saxons had revolted against Ivar's puppet ruler, Egbert; compelled into exile again, he had this time sought refuge with Burgred, in Mercia. The Northumbrians had chosen another Saxon, Ricsige, as their king; and for the time being, the Víkingrs had lost control of the kingdom. So, initially, they declined to engage Burgred's army and accepted payment to go in peace from Mercia, back to York, to reclaim Northumbria.

  But then, hearing that Burgred sheltered the traitorous Egbert, Ivar grew so enraged that he swept down on Burgred's troops, decisively routing them, so Burgred was then himself forced into exile, in Rome. After his victory, Ivar appointed one of Burgred's earls, Ceolwulf, as the tributary king of Mercia, provided that Ceolwulf hold himself and his kingdom ready and willing to serve Ivar, Ubbi, Halfdan, and any other Víkingr kings or jarlar who dared to follow them into Britain. This binding pledge upon Ceolwulf, Ivar secured with both oaths and hostages, learning from the mistake he had made with Egbert. Carrying away his hostages to ensure Ceolwulf s loyalty, Ivar then marched on that portion of Mercia that was the holding of Prince Cerdic— for Cerdic alone of all the Mercian royalty had refused to pay his share of what, in later years, was to come to be known as danegeld.

  When she discovered, to her horror, where they were headed, Rhowenna was terrified; for it seemed to her that everything since her first dream of Wulfgar— the attack upon her father, the attack upon Usk, everything— had been leading up to this point in her life. No matter how she tried, she could not shake off her deep sense of foreboding, her fear of exposure. There were men at Cerdic's court who would recognize her, who could identify her, the envoys he had sent to teach her the Saxon tongue and customs. Still, there was no reason to think that she would ever even see the inside of Cerdic's royal manor, his great hall, that she would be anywhere other than in the ox-cart or in the Lapland tent when the battle, if it came, took place. Always, if there was a conflict, Wulfgar made sure that she was well back from the front lines, where he and Flóki— ever alert lest they get a scramasax in the back from one or another of the three brothers— were compelled to fight alongside Ivar, Ubbi, and Halfdan.

  It was toward the end of summer, and she was very near her time now, besides. Yelkei thought that the child would come within the next few weeks, so Rhowenna was especially careful to stay close to her, not only because the Víkingrs, believing Yelkei a witch and a true spaewife, were afraid of her, but also because she was to serve as Rhowenna's midwife.

  Suppressing her worries, Rhowenna tried to remain calm as the great army continued its march southwestward, toward Cerdic's principality, which lay at the edge of the border between Britain and Walas, separated by Offa's Dyke from Usk— so near and yet so far from her homeland, to which she no longer desired to return. But then the gods, ironically in the form of a Christian priest, once more thrust a capricious and terrible hand into her affairs.

  To Ivar's message demanding that he pay for peace or show himself at the head of his army, Cerdic sent a short, rude reply, then massed his forces along the walls of his stronghold, where he waited for Ivar's own troops to appear. The ensuing battle was long and bloody, lasting for three days and nights, during which time Ubbi was slain in a daring charge from the stronghold's gates by Cerdic himself, much to Ivar's rage. For when Ubbi fell, his standard-bearer was also cut down; and seeing the banner of Ubbi Lodbróksson trampled upon the bloody ground, half of Ivar's army, believing that it was he who was dead, fled the field. But in the end, Ivar caught and rallied them; omnipresent on his snow-white steed, he marshaled his forces to attack with renewed vigor, overwhelming Cerdic's troops at long last, overrunning the stronghold, and taking Cerdic himself prisoner.

  Now, in the great hall of his royal manor, Cerdic knelt upon the rush-strewn stone floor, his hands bound tightly, with rope, behind his back, his head laid on a wooden block, and, resting lightly, tauntingly, at his bared nape, Ivar's broadsword, poised to perform the execution that was retribution for Ubbi's death. Present to witness the delivery of Cerdic's death blow were Halfdan and Wulfgar, along with Flóki and some of Ivar's and Cerdic's thegns. A dark-robed Christian priest, clutching a wooden cross on an amber-beaded gold chain and muttering prayers for the prince's soul, stood at Cerdic's side, and before him knelt his sister, the princess Mathilde— tall, golden-haired, blue-eyed, and lovely, weeping and pleading with Ivar to spare her brother's life, to no avail.

  "Only think: If you had not been such a pinch-purse, Cerdic," Ivar drawled dryly, "you would not now feel my blade at your neck. But then, you have made a habit of refusing to discharge your debts, have you not? Even the princess of Usk you would not ransom from Wulfgar Bloodaxe there, although she was beautiful and your betrothed— and a pleasure to bed, as well I and my brothers know, Cerdic. We all had her, you see. So, alas, she's only a whore now, and belongs to Flóki the Raven there. But I thought that since you took such an interest in her once, you might wish to bid her farewell; so I've ordered her brought here."

  As he heard this frightening piece of news,

  Wulfgar started, his heart leaping to his throat, his hand reaching for his battle-ax. But then he remembered that Cerdic had never seen Rhowenna, so would not know her from Morgen, and that the envoys from Cerdic's court, who had met her and so who would know her, were not likely to be present at the moment in the great hall— being counselors, teachers, rather than earls, and thus of relatively small importance. Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to relax.

  Presently, escorted by two of Ivar's men, Morgen appeared— wide-eyed and pale-faced, terrified as she glanced around the great hall, instinctively searching for Flóki's handsome bronze face. Upon finding it, she gathered her courage to walk slowly forward as, with a languid wave of his hand, Ivar beckoned her toward him.

  "Well, Cerdic, there she stands before you, the woman who would have been your bride had you not proved yourself so faithless and cheap a lover," Ivar jeered, sliding his blade beneath Cerdic's chin to compel his head up, so he might gaze upon Morgen. "Is she not as comely and charming as I remarked— i
f a trifle used now?"

  "My lord"— the priest spoke before Cerdic could answer, addressing him— "I do not know what manner of strange and cruel game this Viking barbarian seeks to play with you, but I beg you: Do not listen to him. 'Tis some trickery to deceive you for some purpose I know not, some mockery to make a fool of you, to rob you of your princely dignity before you meet your Maker, in Heaven—"

  "Why, what nonsense, what babble is this?" Ivar asked, startled, his eyes narrowing sharply of a sudden as he brought the point of his weapon to bear at the priest's chest. "What say you, priest? What mean you? Spit it out, man, at once, or I'll cut your heart out where you stand, I swear!"

  "But— but... surely, you know, King Ivar," the priest insisted nervously. "This woman is not the princess of Usk! She is only a serving maid, named Morgen."

  "So that is what Yelkei said to Ragnar before he died!" Ivar's eyes gleamed with sudden understanding— and then he began to howl with laughter. He was still laughing when, with a swift and supple flick of his uncannily boned wrist, he brought the point of his blade to rest at Wulfgar's throat, pressing lightly until a bead of blood appeared there and Wulfgar was forced at last to loose his hold on his battle-ax he had snatched from its scabbard at his back, to let the weapon slide with a clatter to the floor. After a long, taut moment, Ivar's laughter slowly died away. Then, his eyes hard and angry, he said softly, "Halfdan, do you go and fetch Wulfgar's lady wife, and bring her here to me now."

  Chapter Twenty

  The Princess of Usk

  For a year of her life, she had feared and dreaded this moment; yet now that it was upon her, Rhowenna found that she was strangely unafraid. She walked slowly by Halfdan's side, and much to her surprise, he did not try to hurry her, made no attempt to drag her ruthlessly along in his wake, as she had expected he would. More than once, he even took her hand in his and slipped his arm about her waist to help her over a rough patch of earth, so she did not fall.