Captive of the Viking

by Juliet Landon

  Heavy-hearted, she and Haesel walked up past the houses towards the plot now crowded with men and materials, women and children, dogs and foraging hens. Apart from the crew of the English ship, the whole of Aric’s family were there helping to fetch and carry, to dig and carry stones for the foundations, Olof and Wenda’s two boys already treating Kean as a brother while his parents gossiped between bouts of usefulness. The infant whom Fearn had helped to heal was now a sturdy child, shrieking with excitement, running to meet Haesel and to haul her away. Fearn approached Aric, who was speaking to a stranger as she reached him, turning to her with a boyish excitement.

  ‘My ship at Aggersborg is ready for collection,’ he told her. ‘Good news, eh?’

  ‘Indeed yes,’ Fearn said, keeping her voice level. ‘But surely you cannot go yet, with all this happening?’

  Like the other men, he was revelling in the physical effort involved on the site, sleeves and tunics tucked up to free their limbs, faces streaked with grime, hair stuck down with sweat. Aric’s hair was tied up with twine, his fingers sticky with mud as he accepted a beaker of ale from Freya and passed it to the man, then took another for himself. Looking across at the progress of the house-building, he seemed to be deliberating as the messenger reminded him, ‘I have my ship waiting to take you there, Jarl, if you wish to take advantage of it. You would not then have to bring back one of your own. I must return before dark.’

  ‘Wait,’ Aric said, giving Fearn his beaker to hold. Striding off through the piles of timber, he went to speak to the English shipmaster who had expected to be well out of the fjord by now. Fearn could see how the man frowned, Aric’s spreading hands, his persuading posture, the man’s quick tip of the head, the reluctant expression, then his turn away to speak to one of his crew while Aric returned to them. ‘Yes, I’ll come with you,’ he said to the messenger. ‘He’s agreed to stay here until I return.’

  Fearn felt her hopes plunge like a pebble in the sea, so quickly raised, so soon dashed. The English ship would not be leaving until Aric returned. ‘How long will it take you to bring it back?’ she asked, meaning, how long will you be away?

  ‘Might be two days. Might be three, depending on last-minute adjustments. We shall have to try it out. Shouldn’t take long. Now, I’ll take Loki and Hrolf with me. Where are they? Hey!’ he yelled. ‘Loki! Find Hrolf! Fast!’

  Whether he had asked the shipmaster to remain here ostensibly to help on the new building or whether it was to safeguard Fearn while he was away, she could not help but believe it was more likely to be the latter. His farewell kiss had been hard and preoccupied, snatched at the last minute before she waved him off, chattering to Hrolf and Loki like children with a new toy.

  * * *

  That night, after work had ceased on the building, everyone came to Aric’s longhouse where a generous meal had been prepared. The men had all jumped into the stream’s deepest pool to wash off the grime, coming to the trestle tables with hair still damp and arms stinging from the water. The women acted as joint hostesses, passing round huge platters of roasted meats and waterfowl, warm breads, new peas and succulent tops of nettles dripping with butter. There was fish, shellfish and eels, with mead to drink, ale and elderflower ‘wine’ for the children. On purpose, Fearn placed herself next to the English shipmaster, whose name, she discovered, was Calder, a well-built serious man who took his position with a grim determination, giving Fearn the impression that he had not enjoyed having his plans changed at his host’s convenience.

  To Fearn, he was exceptionally courteous, being in possession of the facts surrounding her abduction. By now, he also knew that she was probably the natural daughter of the late Earl and that young Kean was his son, though there were some anomalies that had not been explained. ‘The Jarl Aric tells me you are a hostage here,’ he said as the harpist tuned his strings and the din began to subside.

  ‘Then perhaps you have misunderstood the situation,’ Fearn said, keeping her voice low. ‘As a hostage, I would be required to make a promise not to try to escape. I have never given that promise. Indeed, I intend to do all I can to return to England as soon as possible. As any other prisoner would.’

  Calder’s heavy eyebrows twitched as he guessed what might come next. ‘I see,’ he said, ‘that you and I have the same problem. I did not make any promises, either, although if I had refused to stay here while the Jarl is away, he would somehow have prevented me from leaving by some other means. I am in the enemy camp, you see, and my loyalties are to our own Earl of Northumbria, and your Jarl should have known better than to forget that.’

  ‘Are you saying that you do not intend to stay?’

  ‘My orders were to return to Jorvik immediately and that is what I shall do.’

  ‘Then...do you think...you could find a corner of your ship...for me and my lady? I need to get to Lundenburh rather urgently. I would pay you well for the favour.’ She had put on her rare beads over her new kirtle of pale yellow silk and saw by the man’s appraising glance that he had noticed every detail, including the circlet over her veil, the bracelets, the rings. Expecting a positive response, she waited.

  ‘But we shall be sailing to the mouth of the River Humber to reach Jorvik,’ he said. ‘A much shorter voyage than to the mouth of the Thames to reach Lundenburh.’

  Fearn inclined her head towards him, careful to keep her voice softer than that of the minstrel. ‘The Queen is my half-sister,’ she whispered. ‘She will reward you handsomely.’

  The suspense was almost unbearable, but at last she saw his slight nod and his mouth framing the words, ‘Tomorrow, at first light. Bring nothing but your valuables.’

  ‘Thank you. We shall be there.’ Guilt stalked her heart like a dark shadow, knowing how her plans would affect her loyal maid’s future with Hrolf. Was she asking too much of her?

  ‘No,’ Haesel said, emphatically. ‘Where you go, I go too. I shall never leave you, not even if you command it.’

  They embraced and clung, needing no more words.

  Chapter Ten

  The remainder of that evening dragged on at a snail’s pace, dividing Fearn’s thoughts between apprehension, relief and sadness at leaving those she had come to love, including those for whom the discovery had come too late. Goodbyes were out of the question. Alone at last, she and Haesel packed only her valuables into a canvas bag that they could carry between them. Only the warmest clothes were taken, worn one on top of the other and, to top them all, the beautiful beaver cloak she had made for Barda that had been so useful on their voyage to Denmark. Their belts dangled with pouches and small tools, including Fearn’s knife, but even these comforting accessories did nothing to ease the queasiness in Fearn’s stomach as they crept through the hall in semi-darkness, now cleared of the English crew who would have gone to prepare the ship for its stealthy voyage.

  Outside, the sky showed only the faintest glow of light on the eastern horizon. Fearn tried to identify the tallest mast until Haesel reminded her otherwise. ‘They won’t erect their mast until they’re out in the fjord,’ she said. ‘They must row until they can catch the wind.’

  Fearn frowned into the dimness. ‘But they were tied up here yesterday,’ she said. ‘Have they moved already?’ The quayside was eerily quiet. They stood on the jetty, scanning the berths for the largest ship and for any shadowy movement of the crew, but all was silent except for the gentle slapping of the water on the timbers. ‘I can’t understand it,’ she said. ‘They cannot have gone without us, surely?’

  ‘They have,’ Haesel replied, looking out across the water to the west where faint silver ripples shone upon the blackness. ‘Look out there. See it? Right out there in the distance, against the sky. That’s them.’

  Fearn’s voice squeaked with incredulity. ‘They’ve hoisted the sail. They’ve left us! They had no intention of taking us, did they? This must be what you saw in
your sighting, Haesel. That was it!’

  Haesel didn’t think it mattered now. Placing her arm around Fearn’s shoulders, she felt the slump of sheer despair and heard the repeating, ‘No...no...no! Oh, no!’

  Immobilised by disappointment and uncertainty, they waited on the quay as if at any moment the English ship might return to collect them, hardly noticing that the place was already coming to life with the growing light and that men were preparing for a day’s work. Some leapt into boats, slamming gangplanks into place for the use of well-dressed merchants and last-minute provisions, crates of hens and an unwilling goat. ‘We’re not going back,’ Fearn said. ‘Not now. We have to find someone to take us.’

  Although Haesel understood her lady’s motives, she did not entirely share her burning need to leave Lindholm when the man she wanted to marry lived there. Torn by conflicting emotions of love and loyalty, she made the half-hearted observation that several of the merchant ships were preparing to leave, but how would one know where they were bound? East, or west? The fjord was open to the sea at both ends. She was about to suggest that they should return home when a man who had been watching them from a distance came to ask courteously if they were waiting for someone. Looking at their canvas bag and travelling clothes, he also noticed the English headdress and the jewelled circlet worn last night by Fearn, an indication of certain wealth.

  The man’s apparent respectability made Fearn less cautious than she might otherwise have been, for although he had a foreign accent, as she did, he was clean and handsomely dressed, and clearly a man of some authority. ‘We were hoping to find a ship bound for England,’ she told him, ‘but other than asking each one, it’s difficult to know, isn’t it?’

  ‘Without knowing all the owners, lady, almost impossible, I’d say. However,’ he said, glancing across at a sturdy high-sided cargo ship making ready to depart, ‘my own ship will be setting out for Lundenburh any moment now. If you care to take the risk of travelling with strangers, I can assure you and your maid of a safe passage and whatever comforts we can arrange for you. We stow our cargo in the hold below the deck, you see. My name is Boris.’

  He smiled at them reassuringly and, in the dim light, they could see the glint of gold on his fingers as he offered to take their luggage.

  ‘May I?’ he said. ‘My crew are indicating that they’re ready to cast off.’

  There was no time to think of any reason not to accept such a convenient offer, so without hesitation they followed Boris across the gangplank on to the deck where a canvas tent supported on wooden cross pieces made an inviting place to hide until they were well clear of the increasingly busy quay. Pulling the beaver cloak tightly around her shoulders, Fearn settled herself upon the furs with Haesel next to her, then felt the deck rock as the last man came aboard, at which moment the flaps of the tent were pulled down from the outside and tied. The noisy rake of the gangplank, the rattle of oars being fitted, a quiet word of farewell and a man’s laugh made them realise how different this experience was from Aric’s bustling longship, for here the silence was broken only by the squeak of the oars, the bleat of the goat and some subdued conversation in a language they did not understand. The water whooshed past them, rhythmically.

  Holding Fearn’s hand, Haesel voiced her concern. ‘Are you sure we’ve done the right thing, lady? We have only this man’s word that he’s bound for England, but can we trust him? And there are not many crew. Did you notice?’

  ‘They don’t need many,’ Fearn whispered. ‘Two fore, and two aft. And a helmsman. They’re still rowing, though, so they must be staying close to the shoreline. It’s just as well we’re hidden from view, because we’ll be passing Aggersborg before too long.’

  Visualising how the flat fields were slowly sliding past them in the dawn, they sat huddled together with nothing for them to observe except how the light grew and cast a greenish hue over their skin. ‘Are you all right?’ Haesel said.

  Fearn hugged her arms across herself. ‘Not very. I was not seasick before.’

  ‘I’ll go and ask for some water for you. Hold on.’

  Her fingers untying the flaps were seen from the outside. ‘What is it?’ said the man called Boris. ‘Best to stay where you are for a while, until...’

  ‘My lady needs water,’ Haesel said. ‘Quickly, if you please.’

  ‘Certainly. Stay there. I’ll get some for you.’

  The triangular gap in the canvas gave them a view of the ship’s stern, the great wooden mast block and, more puzzling, the lower half of a man’s long gown, a rich green brocade with a sable fur edge, which they immediately recognised as having been last seen in Lindholm’s marketplace. Ducking their heads lower to see his upper half, they saw the large sable fur hat of the man who had shown an interest in them at Aggersborg, too, when Fearn had slashed his hand. They had hardly needed Eve’s warning of this man’s reputation, but now they were on his ship, with no doubts at all that he was the owner.

  Fearn’s face reflected her horror. ‘It’s him!’ she whispered. ‘Isn’t it? What a fool I am, walking right into their trap. Oh, Haesel, I should have waited.’

  ‘What are we going to do?’ Haesel said. ‘We must do something!’

  ‘We have to get off this ship. We must attract attention to ourselves. Come on, before he ties the flaps again, we must get out on deck to wave something. And scream!’

  ‘Yes, give me your cloak, lady,’ Haesel said, hurriedly unpinning the large circular pin that Aric had left on it. Beneath this, Fearn’s newest necklace of beads rested upon her kirtle. She had intended to keep it hidden. ‘I’ll wave your cloak when someone comes near enough to help us,’ Haesel said. ‘Let’s see where we are, first.’

  The sable fur hat turned as they emerged to the sound of Boris’s protests. He was holding out a wooden beaker of water towards Fearn. ‘No...no, ladies! Not yet! You must stay—’

  But he was interrupted by Fur Hat’s welcome that flapped his black beard upon his gold-hung chest, his shifty beetle-browed eyes laughing at the discovery. ‘Ah,’ he said with a deep Russian growl, ‘here is the lady with the gemstone eyes and her pretty maid. So was not the Jarl Aric much to your liking, then? Cast you off already, has he? Dah?’

  Facing the direction from which they had come, they saw how the sky had brightened considerably and how close they still were to the land instead of moving out into the fjord. ‘No, he has not!’ Fearn retorted, hating his leery grin. His greedy eyes skimmed over her figure with the wind pressing the fabric layers into its curves. ‘But neither do we intend to stay here with you. Look,’ she said, touching her necklace, ‘this can be yours if you will pull in to the shore. It’s very valuable.’ The offer twisted at her heart, for its worth to her was more than anything this man owned.

  ‘Hah!’ he bellowed, showing a row of discoloured teeth. ‘But you and your baubles are already mine, are you not? You and the girl. You’ll make me a very rich man, lady. Few men will have seen eyes like yours. And as for her, what does she have to offer except that hair? Shall we take a closer look, Boris?’

  Boris knew what was expected. Dropping the beaker of water, he reached out and grabbed at the white veil swathed around Haesel’s head and neck, pulling it away so quickly that the wind snatched it from him and flung it over the head of the nearest oarsman into the sea, where it lay like a line of white foam. ‘No...no!’ Haesel screamed, clutching at the beaver cloak in her arms to hide herself from the men’s stares. ‘No, you must not!’ But it was too late to dodge his grasping hands and, before Fearn could come to her rescue, the neck of Haesel’s kirtle was torn down to reveal the mass of scar tissue that was hideous to everyone except Fearn and Hrolf.

  ‘Argh! What’s this?’ the man yelled, reeling back in horror. ‘This one we cannot keep. She will bring us bad luck. She is cursed!’

  ‘Throw her overboard!’ Fur Hat shouted back. ‘Get
rid of her!’

  Haesel was not going to make it easy for him. Nimbly, she side-stepped and dodged just as Fearn, who was lurching to her aid, was yanked backwards by Fur Hat and held in a grip so brutally tight that the breath was knocked out of her lungs. A spasm of pain made her cry out and the sickness she had managed so far to hold back was now released in a torrent that spewed over the dreadful man’s arms. Taking advantage of his rage, Fearn writhed out of his grip in a frenzy of fury and pain while willing herself to find the haft of her knife and to pull it from its scabbard. Then, half-stumbling, she lunged, plunging the point into Boris’s ribs as he raised his arms to lift Haesel above his head.

  Struggling and screaming, Haesel was about to be thrown into the sea in the space between fore and aft oarsmen, but now both she and her captor fell in a heap on the deck, uttering screams that carried across the calm waters of the fjord, making even the seagulls scatter in alarm. In the distance, a sleek ship with a full striped sail sped towards them, towards the crazily rocking cargo ship where a young woman with pale hair was waving a beaver cloak, holding it into the wind like a banner. Her screams of, ‘Hrolf! Hrolf! Save us!’ could be heard from that distance just as they had been months before in the marketplace of Aggersborg.

  Struggling to remove his stinking brocade gown, and seeing what was happening ahead of them, Fur Hat bellowed at the helmsman to come about and then at the oarsmen to turn the ship with their oars. None of them responded to his command but, despite being tired by their long row, pulled even harder to close the gap between them and the approaching ship where three furious men stood at the bow. Fearn was in no state to see that rescue was at hand, for she was doubled up with sickness while trying to stay beyond Fur Hat’s reach and to protect her maid.