by Joanna Bell
It worked. Not just on me. As my eyes ran the length of the row of peasants I spotted two whose knee-length linen garments were in the midst of being soaked with urine. Just seeing that made my own bladder warm with terror. Northmen. The Northmen were upon us.
It was a term I'd heard repeatedly since I'd embarked on my visits to the deep past. And it was only as I stood frozen to the spot with terror that it dawned on me that it might be a reference to Vikings. They were from the north, weren't they? And who else inspired fear in 9th century English folk – villagers and nobles alike – than Vikings? If the fearsome racket coming from outside was any indication, their terror was not misplaced.
Something kept me outside the Lord's house as the din died down – curiosity, yes. But it wasn't just that. If they were Vikings, maybe that was a good thing? Paige was with the Vikings now, wasn't she? She had a Viking's baby in her arms the last time I saw her. Surely I could explain to these people, even if Paige wasn't with them, that I wasn't a resident of the estate, that I was a captive and that I felt no loyalty towards my captors.
It was really stupid to think any of those things. From my readings I knew it wasn't a single band of Vikings that raided the east coast of England once. It was many bands, over a period of many decades, tens of thousands of men and, eventually, the women they almost certainly brought with them when they had a mind to settling the land they'd previously used only for plundering and pillaging. I had no reason to believe that Paige Renner would be among the group who threatened me now, and no reason to believe they'd listen to a single thing I had to say. Still, the mind grasps at straws when in a desperate situation.
Before I even had a chance to think about the accuracy of my assumptions, though, a great, fierce voice suddenly rang from outside.
"Lord Cyneric!" It boomed. "We told you we would be back. And this time, there are a thousand of us! We have burning oil at the ready to take down your palisades! But if you're an intelligent man – and it is as I know it to be – you would see that you're overwhelmed now and spare your estate the destruction we will wreak upon it if you heed your pride too well!"
Shrieks came from inside the Lord's house, and his guards and men turned their heads towards him, their eyes wide with the adrenaline coursing through their veins, awaiting his response.
"Aye!" He boomed back. "It was not a moon ago that I heard of the raid on the Eastmarsh estate. I do not wish to see my people or my land treated with such malevolence, Ragnar! But nor do I wish to see my women raped or my children slaughtered like lambs if I open the gates for you and instruct my men to lay down their arms!"
The two men knew each other, that was clear. The Northmen were not paying their first visit to Lord Cyneric or his estate. Also, words like 'rape' and 'slaughter' were being tossed around. I turned and looked over my shoulder – not at the house but at the wooden fencing behind it. The Northmen were outside the front gate, they could be heard massing there, all along the northern wall. I heard nothing from the southern side, although that didn't mean there was no one there.
If Lord Cyneric's guards had better things to do than chase down a female prisoner, did I think I could scale the palisade? The tree trunks weren't perfectly smooth, knots remained and stood out against the surfaces. I'd been pretty good at the climbing wall that had been installed in the Grand Northeastern gym during my sophomore year. Did I think I had a chance at hauling myself up and over the defenses of the estate?
I did. Maybe not a good one, but anything was preferable to staying where I was, dumbly awaiting my fate – wasn't it? I would have to wait for the right moment, though. I couldn't do it right away, with every man around me on high alert, just waiting for some signal, some reason to use their weapons. I was a captive – not one of them – and they had no good reason to protect me.
"The Lord of Eastmarsh fought!" Came the reply from outside. "You know we outnumber you ten to one, Cyneric. You know our weapons are sharper, our men stronger! You have my word that those who do not fight us will be allowed to live – now open your gates before my men get impatient and storm them anyway!"
I watched as Lord Cyneric turned around slowly, eying his people. His gaze rested for a longer time on the house that sheltered the women and children than it did anywhere else. He knew the decision was his to make, and he also knew, as far as I could tell from the look on his face, that if he chose to fight he would lose.
"Fuck them!" Came a shout from the crowd of guards. "Lord, let us die defending our land and our families! Don't ask us to put down our weapons while this band of savages from the north –"
"Shut your mouth, Elread!" Someone else shouted in response. "You're too young and stupid to understand what slaughter means – and make no mistake, it will be a slaughter! We –"
"He wishes to surrender! What kind of a man begs his Lord to –"
At that, the two guards launched themselves at each other, and others looked like they were about to join in when Cyneric bellowed at them to stand down.
"It's my decision alone," he growled at the man who had been responsible for the first outburst. "And if I throw caution to the cold winds, and your pretty young wife is raped by Northmen before they cut your unborn son from her belly and toss his body to the pigs, it will be me you hate, my responsibility. Don't speak so lightly of the things you know nothing about, boy!"
The guard, hearing his Lord's words, dropped his gaze to the ground and did not reply. Meanwhile, Cyneric continued, louder now, speaking to all his people.
"I don't have a choice! There are many more of them and you heard as well as I did what happened at Eastmarsh. Ragnar! Our gates will be opened! And all the curses of your northern gods be upon you if your break your vow to leave those who lay down their weapons unharmed!"
At that, the Lord nodded at the guards who stood on either side of the gate and, after a brief look at each other, they began to lift the tree trunk that held the gate against the invaders. When it was removed, the latch swung open with a heavy thud.
And then I watched, transfixed and momentarily unaware of how cold and hungry I was, how eager to leave this place, as a man who looked to be twice the size of lord Cyneric stepped over the threshold of the estate and stood, feet planted about a foot apart, looking over us. Ragnar.
His hair was long and dark, with glints of a deep red shining in the thin winter light, and he was as broad and thick with muscle as anyone I had ever seen. He stayed where he was for a long time, his chin raised arrogantly and a smile I couldn't decipher playing at the corner of his lips, until I could hear the Lord's guards begin to shift worriedly and steal glances down at the ground where their weapons lay.
"You've made a wise decision, Cyneric," Ragnar said finally, nodding down at the Lord of the estate.
"Respect!" Someone shouted from the gathered crowd. "Address our Lord with respect, savage!"
The Viking – for there could be no mistaking what he was – laughed at that comment and at once there was a sound of running footsteps, an enraged shout, and I felt my heart leap up into my throat. Ragnar had the time to throw a look at the assembled crowd, of the type you would give to a misbehaving child, before lifting a sword so large, with a blade so sharp its edges glinted in the sunlight, up over his head.
The movement was almost casual, as if the weapon were weightless – but the timing was perfect. I bit my tongue against a scream as Ragnar's weapon carved a smooth arc through the air and cut Lord Cyneric's man down with a single blow. He died so quickly he didn't even have time to make a sound, and the life was gone out of him before he'd even hit the frozen ground.
Ragnar looked up then, drawing his bloody sword across the furs which covered him almost from head to foot, and a deep red stain spread across the frozen earth under the man he had just killed.
"Who else?" He asked, looking plainly from man to man, his eyes an open challenge to anyone who wanted to try their luck.
I stayed where I was, blinking and uncomprehending, unable to lo
ok at what seemed, out of the corner of my eyes, to be perhaps a pile of old clothes or a sleeping animal – and not the remains of a human being whose heart had, just moments ago, beat as strong and true as my own.
It struck me then that I had come to a savage place – and it made me wonder why Paige had chosen to live out the rest of her life amidst such brutality. The press hounding and the internet taunts were awful, but was this any kind of alternative? Barely any protection against the weather, a rigid, inescapable hierarchy and the possibility of a violent death as a constant? I reckoned that I would take the intrusive questions from a few reporters.
Ragnar began to explain what was to happen to Lord Cyneric and his men. And what was to happen was surrender. The Northmen – the Vikings – were not at the estate to negotiate. They were there to take what they wanted and leave the rest. Lord Cyneric would be allowed to stay on his land, and to keep a small crew of peasants – enough to ensure neither he nor his wife and children would starve or freeze to death – but everything else, including the Lord's sworn loyalty, belonged to Ragnar and his warriors.
And at once, they set to claiming their spoils. I watched as grain stores were raided and livestock carried off. The estate's people watched, too, averting their eyes when they thought the Vikings were observing them, staring with open contempt when they thought they weren't. And as naive as I was to the ways of that world, it couldn't have been plainer to see that, given the chance, the villagers would take their revenge.
The cold seeped through the leathers on my feet and, after watching for a short time longer, fascinated and still not entirely sure that I wasn't just having the most realistic dream of my entire life, I turned to return to the main house, where maybe I could find a spot close enough to the fire to rid my body of the chill.
"YOU!"
I froze. Surely he wasn't talking to me?
"Yes, girl, you! Turn back around!"
I turned around, shifting my glance from side to side, wondering what it was I'd done to draw the Viking leader's attention. Had I offended him?
"We've a camp set up by the sea," he began, addressing everyone. "And scouts posted in the woods, so you'd be wise not to send word to the King too quickly! I hear your King is being kept busy by my people, as it is, so best not to risk your life begging the help of a weakened man. We've taken all but one thing that we need from you now."
All but one thing? When Ragnar paused I looked around, trying to figure out what it was the Vikings hadn't yet taken possession of. When I glanced up again, his eyes were on me.
"We need people!" He declared. "We need farmers, soldiers, herdsmen for the animals. We need midwives and healers. And most of all right now, we need companionship – women to keep our beds warm through this long winter."
And then Ragnar nodded, almost imperceptibly, at the guards standing to either side of him. With no ceremony at all, they strode out into the crowd of villagers, grabbing people as they went, demanding to know who was who, who played what role, who was the best at this or that task. Lord Cyneric hung his head, unable to watch.
"Girl!"
I turned my head up as Ragnar approached me, forcing myself not to take a step back when he was close, so as to avoid showing him just how intimidated I was.
"Show me your hands, girl!"
I was so worried about doing or saying the wrong thing that I hadn't even listened to what he was saying. "Uh – what?" I babbled. "I'm sorry, I didn't –"
Ragnar did not ask to see my hands a second time. He simply reached down and grabbed my arms himself, inspecting my hands and wrists. I briefly wondered if he was checking for signs of wear, for hints at what my task might be in the small society of the estate. But it wasn't that he was interested in. He ran his fingers over my wrists, where the tell-tale bruises from the rope I'd been tied with darkened the skin.
"And who are you that they've seen fit to bind you?" He asked.
I couldn't quite look at him, not with him right there in front of me, mere inches away. But even without seeing him I could feel him – his presence, his sheer size. I could smell the sea and the cold winter air on his body, too.
"I – I –" I stammered, staring at the ground, terrified after what I'd just witnessed happen to the last person who displeased the Viking. "I was –"
"You're not one of these people, are you?" He asked, grasping my chin and forcing me to look up at him.
His eyes were the color of ice, limpid blue and cold and set in a broad, noble face. I got the distinct impression, looking up into Ragnar's eyes, that he had never suffered a moment's self-doubt in all his life. I shook my head in answer to his question, and then coughed when nothing more than a whisper came from my throat when I tried to speak.
"What was that? No? Who are you, girl? A prisoner?"
"A prisoner for a damned good reason!" A voice piped up. Baldric. "She attacked the Lord's men – twice! Tried to poison two of his guards, good men, men I've known –"
"Does this man speak the truth?" Ragnar asked, his eyes suddenly dancing with what might have been amusement. "You attacked the Lord's guards?"
I turned to Baldric, who was looking unreasonably smug for a man whose Lord has just given most of their winter food stocks to an invading force. "Is it an attack when the other person strikes first?" I asked, addressing my erstwhile captor directly. "That's not an attack, it's simple defense. Why shouldn't I have fought back when you tried to take me on the beach? Did you expect me to give in as meekly as you've done here, today?"
Baldric erupted with showy indignation at that comment. "What?!" He yelled, as his cheeks reddened. "Baint! I won't be spoken to like that by a –"
But Ragnar's laughter soon drowned out any remaining fire Baldric had in him. "Twice she attacked, you say?" He asked Baldric. "Now it's three times – three times a woman's got the best of you. I'm not surprised you're so eager to condemn her."
I could hear shrieks around me. People were being taken. Kidnapped. But I knew I couldn't betray any unease. It was good for me if the Vikings thought I wasn't one of the villagers – it put me on the same side as them, and it's always good to be on the same side as the victors.
"What's your name, girl?" Ragnar asked me, after Baldric had slunk away, defeated.
"Emma."
"You've no people here?"
I shook my head.
"You were a prisoner?"
I nodded.
"Then you'll be pleased to come with us, then."
I didn't know if 'pleased' was the right word for him to use. I was 'pleased' to leave the estate in one piece. Beyond that, I didn't know enough about what was about to happen to me to have any opinions on it. All I wanted was to get back to the tree. The Vikings had a camp near the sea – the tree was near the sea. Hopefully I would be able to find my way back to it.
My quiet optimism seemed warranted when, upon leaving the estate, the Vikings chose to bind the wrists of the villagers – and not me. We walked in a group with Ragnar and half of his strongest guards at the front, two in the middle to keep an eye on the captives, and a further twenty or so taking up the rear. I noticed that their numbers were nowhere near what the Viking leader had stated, when they stood outside the estate and threatened Lord Cyneric with brutality if he did not surrender.
The light was fading by then, too – it had taken the rest of the morning and most of the afternoon to claim a large portion of the estate's wealth – but I kept my eyes up even as my head stayed down, trying to catch a glimpse of something even vaguely familiar.
I smiled to myself at the sight of the path back to the tree, leading away from the area where the remains of a few huts littered a clearing in the woods. Even as the Vikings led us down a different path, in the direction of the sea, it was enough to have seen the way home – even if I couldn't yet get to it. They hadn't tied me up. I could slip out after dark, find my way back to the tree and then back to 2017 where my family and the rest of my life awaited me.
8
/> Ragnar
Our temporary encampment on the coast had, at the time of the raid on Lord Cyneric's estate, been established long enough to have some semblance of a routine in place. There would be a feast that night, as there was almost every night that winter, with the East Angle's defenses so thin and their stores of salted pork, cheese and grain so ripe for the taking.
The new captives would be fed and put to work right away. It had been easy so far. Easy enough to make me question if my people weren't, perhaps, walking into some larger trap in the kingdom of rolling hills and plentiful game. The clans of the north had been raiding the green isle for many winters, but there was growing talk of something bigger and more permanent – of conquest instead of mere pillage. I was part of a vanguard of the highest Jarls, all of whom had sailed across the gray sea to test the Angles – and their land. How easily could they be conquered? How willing were their kings and lords to accept subordination in exchange for their lives? How fertile was their soil?
Not all men are lucky enough to be born into a role they relish, but the gods saw fit to endow me with a nature that took to raiding the way the spring lambs take to gamboling. Valhalla awaits, life is fickle, what is there to do but follow your nature, raise your children and send them out into the world carrying your name with them into eternity? Not that I had any children at that time. I was not yet twice ten and five and the sap rose high in me still – too high to allow me to choose the sweet shackles of marriage and family just yet.
"Jarl, the prisoners cry for their supper."
I jerked my head up, where it had been nodding down against the table in my temporary Jarl's roundhouse, and allowed the irritation that rose in my chest to drive the sleep away from my mind. "You must feed them then, dullard. How many times have I told you about coming to me with small concerns, Halfgan?"
Halfgan, as usual when he was questioned, simply stood silently in front of me, seeming not to recognize that a reply was expected of him. "Why are you even bothering with the captives? I need a hot bath before the feast – let the women tend to the prisoners!"