Avelynn

by Marissa Campbell

  “Charming company you keep.”

  “It would have been better for you if you did not know Norse. I expect you will hear a great deal more and worse.” He tied the other end of the rope to the back of his saddle and mounted his horse.

  Goddess help me. He was going to drag me to Reading!

  “I will keep the pace reasonable. I advise you to keep up.”

  “How dare you treat me like—”

  The horse started forward, and I slipped, sliding on my knees. I struggled to regain my footing, grabbing hold of the rope to help pull me up. The effort to stay vertical quickly assumed all my energy, and any choice words I might have had for the man in front of me remained unspoken.

  I had been stripped of my armor and weapons, a cloak the only outer clothing left to me to help fight off the frigid cold and damp. My hair had been tucked beneath the cloak, presumably to keep from ensnarling the horse’s legs, but the long ends swung free and were soon caked in mud.

  For the most part, Alrik kept the pace manageable. But even the slowest march would have proven difficult. After the drizzle and sleet, coupled with the vigorous travel the old dirt road had seen in recent days, it was a mangled, churned-up, muddy mess. I was on my knees almost as much as I was on my feet. In no time, I was soaked through and covered with thick, rancid sludge. My teeth were clattering so hard my jaw ached.

  Every so often, another Viking would pass us, taking the time to either spit in my direction or make a bawdy threat or ribald remark. Alrik said little in response and maintained his pace.

  Left to my own thoughts, the long, arduous journey to Reading lent itself to a great deal of silent reflection. For me, the war was over. I had no idea if the Saxons had recovered or if Wessex was finished. I thought of Alfred and Ealhswith, of my goddaughter, Aethelflaed. Were they safe? Perhaps escaped to Mercia in the north to seek aid amongst Ealhswith’s family. Would Bertram have had time to get the women and children of Wedmore safely away, or were they right now being slaughtered at will? I cringed as an image of Demas flashed into my mind.

  I hoped, somehow, someone had seen what he did and twisted his spineless neck. But there had been so much confusion on the battlefield, steel flashing everywhere, so many men dying in the mud. I suspected no one was any the wiser to his treachery. And even if someone did see something, would they have understood in the heat of battle what they really saw? You don’t expect murder and sabotage from one of your own.

  The Berkshire woods surrounded us on both sides and dusk closed in, hastened by thick gray clouds that filtered the pale winter sunlight.

  The equinox was only a month and a half away. Soon the ground would be workable and the fields would have to be plowed for the spring planting. My brows pressed together. Were there still fields to sow and people left to tend them? If the Vikings didn’t eradicate us, famine and sickness would, as families fled to the forests and fens. It felt as though an iron weight had been placed on my heart.

  I looked at the man before me. What had I been thinking? How could I have had feelings for him? He was a Viking, one of the ruthless barbarians destroying my homeland and murdering my people. I searched for some connection, some glimmer of hope, but I no longer saw the man I had known last summer. When he had first appeared out of the mist, I’d been at once terrified and awed. I had felt so many other things for him since then, and for what? Heartache and betrayal?

  “Who do you think you are?” I spat in Norse. I slipped, and the horse dragged me several feet before I caught my footing. “I was just a Saxon whore to you,” I half shouted, half cried at his rod-straight back. “You disgust me! You miserable—”

  He reined his horse to a stop, dismounted, and stalked over to me. “I told you to be quiet.” He scanned the road in both directions, untied the rope from the saddle, and led both the horse and me to a large stand of oaks. He weaved us through the thickening underbrush until we reached a small stream. Tethering the horse, he dragged me deeper into the woods.

  He stopped and pulled me to him, crushing his lips against mine. I struggled madly against his hold.

  “Get your hands off me!”

  He let me go.

  I wiped my mouth furiously with the edge of my cloak. “Don’t touch me, you filthy—”

  “You dare speak to me with hostility?” His eyes flared with anger. “What were you doing fighting in a shield wall?”

  “That’s not your concern.”

  “On Odin’s eye, woman, it is my concern. You could have been killed, or raped, or worse! Your actions have jeopardized us both.”

  “Us?” I stared at him, incredulous.

  “Because of your recklessness, I am to sit and watch my brother make an example out of you. How am I supposed to tolerate that?”

  “You’re not. Save us both the trouble and let me go.”

  “I have been charged with delivering you to Reading. A Ragnarsson does not break his word.”

  “So you’re a weak fool who does his brother’s bidding?”

  “I am saving your life.”

  “It looks as though you’re saving your own selfish skin.”

  His face turned a furious shade of red. “You want to go? Fine.” He untied my hands. “Go. I will not stop you.”

  I rubbed the burned and chafed skin around my wrists and looked down the river.

  “There is not a Saxon within fifty miles of here. Norsemen lay thick in these forests. They command the roads. How far do you think you will get before someone finds you?” His voice was hard as steel. “What do you think they will do with you once you are caught? Or perhaps I should have just left you on the battlefield, to be assaulted by every rutting bastard in Halfdan’s army.”

  The shadows became menacing. Fighting in the shield wall, I had come face-to-face with hundreds of Vikings, the lust of war and blood drunk in their eyes. The gods only knew the depth of abuse I could have suffered at their hands. And now I was deep in their territory, with no hope of finding my way back to the Saxon fyrd. I sat down, sinking into the mud, my legs suddenly too weak to bear me up.

  I hadn’t thought things through. I had been so eager to lead the charge, I didn’t think of the consequences. A woman in a shield wall—gods, what was I thinking? I wrote my will, preparing myself for the possibility of death, but being captured, raped, or worse had never even crossed my mind. I closed my eyes. If Alrik hadn’t been there … “I’m such a fool.”

  Powerful arms enfolded me and drew me into a fierce embrace. “No, Seiðkana, you are brave. But you are in great danger.”

  I was getting very tired. “What does Halfdan want with me?”

  “He is holding you for ransom. He has made a lucrative arrangement with a Saxon.”

  “Demas.”

  “The man who threatened you?”

  “He did worse than threaten me. He murdered my father and brother, and scalped and tortured my grandmother. He’s a spineless pawn in a political gambit to take over my estate and make me his wife. Now it appears he’s enlisted the aid of pirates to further his cause. He’s even used Wedmore’s wealth to secure my capture.” I felt light-headed. I wanted to curl into a little ball and fall asleep. Perhaps I would drift into unconsciousness and freeze to death. Oddly, I didn’t really care.

  “That will never happen.” He must have felt the spasms of shivering wracking my body, because he covered me with his cloak. Heat radiated off him in blissful waves. “I swear to Thor and Odin, I will protect you.”

  I drifted into a dreamy state of weariness. “And how exactly do you plan to manage that?”

  “I have saved enough gold, twice as much as the Saxon has offered. Halfdan is a greedy man. The extra coin will persuade him to consider other offers. But I must get it to someone you trust, someone who will take the money and offer it to Halfdan for your freedom.”

  “Ealhswith would help,” I said groggily. “But I don’t know where she is. She’s probably been sent as far away from the conflict as possible, maybe to Bath.”


  “Your king was injured in the battle.”

  That sobered me up a bit. “Is he dead? Did we lose?”

  “No.” He pulled me closer. I could feel the steady beat of his heart against my cheek. “Your men regrouped and rallied around your king. They were successful at keeping Halfdan at bay. Both sides have agreed to a temporary peace, offering up diplomats as ransom. If the peace is broken, those ransomed will be killed.”

  I tensed. He kissed my forehead. “For good or ill, Halfdan has other plans for you. You will not be included in that lot.”

  I might have dozed off momentarily, but he pulled away. “When we get to Reading, you must not let them know you understand the language. Norsemen do not tolerate spies.” His gaze turned in the direction of the road. Stark and barren tree limbs stood silhouetted against a darkened sky. “We have to leave. I have stalled long enough.”

  If he expected me to jump up and follow him, he was to be disappointed. My body had no will to move.

  He lifted me in his arms. The rhythmic pace of his stride lulled me into oblivion, and my head nestled into the hollow between his neck and shoulder. I remembered lying like that once before, but that was another time and place.

  * * *

  The clamor around me was a mixture of laughing, shouting, and boasting, all in Norse. I didn’t have to open my eyes to know where I was: Reading. I tried to cover my ears to lessen the din, but my hands were once again tied together. I groaned. A large weight leaned against my shoulder and garbled in stentorian snores. Reluctantly, I opened my eyes and turned my head toward my companion. I couldn’t make out more than the top of his disheveled brown mop. Following the outline of his hunched body brought my attention to his foot and the heavy chain clamped around his ankle. The black iron lay limp between us, encircling my ankle and locking me in its jaws before snaking its way along the ground, joining five more prisoners.

  We were bunched together in a corner near the front of a hall. I could make out Halfdan, with his unmistakable red head, sitting in an ornately carved chair on the dais. There was a stone table in front of him, the surface divided into dark and light squares. Halfdan’s hand hovered over the game pieces. He stood suddenly, his face flaming in color to match his hair. “Loki’s spawn!”

  His opponent stood, glaring. Half Halfdan’s height but just as wide-shouldered, the man gave no quarter. “I won fairly.”

  The crowd separated, backing away from the conflict, and the surrounding chatter quieted into snickers and murmurs.

  “You are a whoreson cheat!” Halfdan said.

  “You are a sore loser.” He turned to leave.

  Halfdan growled, the deep bass of it thrumming through my chest. He lifted the stone table and brought it down squarely onto his opponent’s head. The skull caved in and blood sprayed out amongst the shattered pieces of stone. The man crumpled, his body splayed across the dais.

  “I see you still have not lost your love of chess,” Alrik said, stepping around the carnage. He was taller than Halfdan and notably younger. His face, smooth and slightly bronzed, contrasted sharply with Halfdan’s ruddy pallor and the deep-set lines on his forehead.

  “Well, if it isn’t the runt come sniffing around the alpha’s ass!” Halfdan’s anger dissolved, and he turned and embraced Alrik heartily.

  “Brother,” Alrik replied.

  “Up for a match?” Halfdan asked.

  “I do not care much for the odds.”

  Halfdan laughed and slapped Alrik hard across the back. “Ale for everyone!”

  Banter and drinking resumed as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened, while pages rushed in to dispose of the offending victim.

  My companion started at the resumption of noise and lifted his head. Relieved of the burden, I stretched out my cramped neck and shoulder.

  “Sorry about that,” he said.

  I recognized him, but couldn’t place where I’d seen him before.

  “Britnoth, master of arms for the lord Berkshire, at your service.”

  “You’re Aethelwulf’s man?”

  “Was, m’lady. Berkshire is now in the hands of his brother, Wulfstan.” Britnoth stretched his long legs as best he could, given the chain joining our ankles, and leaned against the wall.

  “I was disheartened to hear of his death,” I said, remembering him and his wife at the Christmas feast.

  “’Twas a loss indeed, but Wulfstan fought bravely yesterday in Aethelwulf’s stead.”

  “Yesterday? The battle was yesterday?”

  “Aye, lady.”

  Had I slept that long? The hall was lit by oil lamps and candle trees. Without any windows, it was impossible to judge the time of day.

  A long shadow crept over top of me. Halfdan, Alrik, and the large, dark-haired Viking I had had the pleasure of meeting on the road earlier approached.

  The Viking kicked Britnoth’s foot, insulted him, spat into his face, and then knelt down in front of me. He pulled out a knife.

  I held my breath, my heart pulsing wildly in my ears. He grabbed my hands, slipped the knife between my wrists, and gave the steel a quick jerk. The rope fell limply onto my lap. I rubbed my wrists, attempting to ease some of the discomfort from the angry, raw friction burns. He inserted a key into the barrel lock clamped around my ankle and released my foot from the chain.

  Grabbing one end of the iron links, he stood and yanked hard, causing the other six prisoners to yelp and jolt forward onto their hands and knees for balance.

  “Saxon dogs!” He lifted his axe as if to strike. Britnoth and the others couldn’t understand what he was saying, but they recognized the threat in his voice and its implications in his axe. All six men cowered. The hall burst into laughter.

  “The wench has more balls than they do,” someone yelled.

  “Can they do tricks, Gorm?” another quipped.

  “Aye, they can do tricks!” The giant Viking grabbed Britnoth’s hair and pushed his head into his crotch. “Look here. He can suck his own cock!”

  Amid the joviality this spectacle generated, Britnoth and the others were hauled to their feet. Gorm led them from the hall, kicking and shoving at whim, while others threw bones and garbage at them. I remembered what Alrik had said about Saxon prisoners being held for ransom and wondered if they would make it out of Reading alive.

  The Vikings resumed their merriment and drinking. I scowled at the two men hovering over me.

  “What will you do with her?” Alrik asked.

  “I’ve readied a cottage for her. You can throw her in there. I want two guards posted outside at all times.” Halfdan looked me over appraisingly. “She’s a spirited wench.”

  “What is she to you?”

  “I have an arrangement with a Saxon. I’m just holding her for him.”

  “Halfdan brought to heel by a Saxon.” Alrik shook his head.

  Halfdan’s face turned a menacing shade of purple-red. “Do not press me, boy. You’re only half my blood, and I’ll not bat an eye tossing you from this hall without your head.” He gripped the hilt of his sword.

  “Peace, brother,” Alrik soothed. “I merely inquire if you have considered other offers. I overheard the Saxons talking. She is of great importance, kin to the king. Did your Saxon buyer mention that? Perhaps you could make more if you ransomed her to the highest bidder.”

  My eyes widened in shock. What was Alrik doing? I was fairly certain any connection with King Aethelred wasn’t going to win me favors here. I remembered belatedly that I wasn’t supposed to understand the Norse tongue, but Halfdan wasn’t looking at me. He was studying Alrik.

  “Kin to the king? Are you certain of this?” Halfdan’s high color retreated.

  “I heard it personally.” Alrik reached down and lifted my chin as if to get a better look at me. I twisted it out of his hand. “And she is a virgin, no less, look how she wears her hair long and unbound. If you keep her chaste and untouched, she will be worth more.” He leaned his shoulder against the wall, crossing o
ne foot over the other, and took a thoughtful drink from a silver cup. “The slavers would offer a pretty penny for her. Perhaps Ubbe can take her to Ireland. He is certain to get a king’s ransom in gold for her at the slave markets. And if not”—he shrugged—“then he can return and you can sell her to your Saxon.”

  Ireland? Slave markets? Alrik promised to get in touch with Ealhswith. Had he changed his mind? Was this a new ploy to get me out of Reading?

  Halfdan stroked his thick red beard. “Won’t hurt to see what the wench is worth. I could exact double from the Saxon dog.” He smiled broadly. “Speaking of Ubbe,” he said, dropping his hand from his sword, “have you word?”

  “A Florentine merchant bought several sacks of wool from Ubbe at his hall in York, not more than four days ago. Give me leave to sail, and I will bring him to Reading.”

  Halfdan nodded. “Very well. I want him here when we attack Meretun. He has promised me a thousand more warriors. The Saxons think we will honor their peace.” He laughed. “Their king is weakened, his brother still young and inexperienced. With new forces, Wessex will fall.”

  Alrik lifted his cup. “To victory.”

  A thousand more warriors! Our fyrd was depleted, our men on the verge of exhaustion. They needed time to return home to rest and see their families. Fields needed to be plowed and seeded. If the Vikings pressed another battle, Wessex would suffer famine and sickness. Goddess help them.

  Halfdan grabbed a horn out of someone’s hand. At first the Viking was disgruntled, but seeing who it was that had stolen his beverage, he nodded in deference.

  “To victory.” Halfdan drained the horn dry. “More ale,” he bellowed. A serving lad dutifully appeared at his side with a pitcher.

  He wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his finely woven orange tunic. His blue-gray eyes traveled lasciviously over my body. Catching his brother’s gaze, Alrik grabbed my arm roughly and yanked me to my feet.

  “I will take her to the cottage now.” He pushed me in front of him. “And I will send Hilde along to distract you.”