Jilliand Page 10

  When Rurik came aboard, he brought with him gold and silver, which he divided with his crew. Walking to Jilliand, he took her hand, and in it, he placed her cross, along with three heavy silver-and-gold hair pieces, each inset with precious stones. Each was nearly three inches in length with holes at either end. Through the holes a pick, slightly pointed at one end and knobbed with a large red stone at the other, slid neatly in place. He also draped an additional cloak over her arm. He nodded and simply turned away.

  Jilliand was moved. She looked at what he had given her. Never before had anyone given her a gift—even a small one. Jilliand kissed the cross before placing it around her neck. She began to take her hair down, but a hand on her arm stopped her. Several of the men, pale and shaking, seemed to be asking for help. Startled, Jilliand could see they were very ill. She felt the heat in one man’s touch. He took Jilliand’s hand and placed it on his abdomen. She tried to think and recalled a time when she had been ill as a child, Myla had given her a tea made from plants, which the old woman said grew near water. Jilliand remembered seeing the plants on the old couple’s table. Jilliand motioned for the men to lie down and pointed to the shore. She would need the plant, hot water, and time. Jilliand quickly left the ship and climbed the bank.

  A bonfire was built to spread needed light across the shore so that the supplies they took could be loaded. Taking advantage of whatever time she might have before the ship was ready to sail, Jilliand grabbed a cauldron, set it near the flames, and slipped away. When she returned to the fire with a bladder full of water, Rurik was looking for her. Irritated that she would simply leave without asking him, he approached with displeasure in his walk and on his face. Jilliand dumped the water into the cauldron and then stood to face Rurik.

  Jilliand spoke quickly, before Rurik could. Forgetting their differences in station, she thought only of the young men lying on the deck of Rurik’s ship. “Some of your men are ill. Perhaps I can help.” Without waiting for approval, she turned to leave, praying she could find what she needed and figure out how to use it. Rurik caught her arm, calling to one of his men. Armed with a thick limb tipped with a rag soaked in oil, the man set the rag on fire. With the burning limb lighting the way, Jilliand started to leave. Rurik stopped her and commented, “Low tide comes soon.” Jilliand knew she must return before the tide lowered making it impossible for the ship to sail back out to sea. Moving quickly, Jilliand and the man began to search. Swiftly the two moved from plant to plant. If only she could find it. Their search ended. “Please, God, let this be the right one,” she whispered.

  Jilliand and her escort returned to the shore, where a loaded ship and an impatient Sea King Rurik waited. Kneeling on the ground, Jilliand hastily ground the leaves on a rock and added them to the water in the cauldron, now boiling. Slowly the mixture began to thicken. Lifting the cauldron from the fire, Jilliand handed it off to one of the men standing nearby. “I need a cup,” she called to Rurik as she climbed on board his ship.

  Some of the men were now rolling from side to side, moaning. Moving from man to man, she made them drink the hot fluid. Jilliand prayed, knowing her life might be forfeited if any of the men died.

  Rurik ordered the vessel homeward, to Denmark, just as the tide began to recede. Jilliand sat near the ill men. Eventually, they slept. Sometime deep into the night, Jilliand also fell asleep. When the last man awoke, his stirrings woke Jilliand. He was weak but without pain or fever. The rest of the men were also much better. Walking the stiffness from her legs, Jilliand felt the acceptance from the men as she passed. I will prove to them I am more than a slave. Her thoughts turned to Rurik. She was drawn to him, for reasons she could not understand. I miss having a mother. Someone to answer the questions that fill my head.

  She leaned against the stern, staring at the horizon—without seeing anything. She was no longer afraid, angry, or without hope. Instead, an unfamiliar feeling stirred within her. For hours, her mind grappled with her feelings, trying to comprehend all she had learned of the Vikings, the very men she once believed were devils on earth and void of any compassion or honor. Glancing around, she knew such beliefs no longer defined these men. She desperately wanted to understand the Vikings—and Rurik—as she stood at the stern, alone, a captive on a Viking raiding ship.

  As evening fell on their third day at sea, Rurik’s vessel moved nearer the shoreline. A smaller warship slid in next to his. Rurik met with the man commanding the other warship for several hours. An English ship had been noticed following Rurik, almost beyond sight. “I listened to the commander of that ship, at the last town, when we docked to take on supplies. He knows of you and your reputation. He has it in his mind to lure you out farther to sea, cutting you off from the shore, and then engage you in battle. He is eager to prove he can slow the Viking raids.”

  “Why would he talk where you could hear?” Rurik asked, frowning.

  “We were not docked near him. We were tied farther up the shoreline. He was too busy boasting to look around. Several merchants heard him. We do not raid that town. The merchants were eager to keep things that way. They shared the information. At any rate, we waited until he left before we sailed. There are two other Viking ships headed this way.”

  “I think we lead them farther north, before we engage them. Stay close enough for them to see, but not close enough to fire upon us.” The other Viking nodded, and Rurik returned to his own vessel.

  An air of anticipation gripped Rurik’s crew. When Rurik returned to his ship, the announcement was simple. “We will soon fight,” Rurik told his men. He stood quietly for a moment, surveying his warriors. “The Englishmen sail toward our homeland. They think to run between our ships and land, to isolate us, as if that would provide them with some advantage. We will lead them to waters they have never sailed. Make ready.” Rurik was visibly angry. That the English would challenge them at sea was an insult. The Vikings knew the English could easily be outmaneuvered and any hand-to-hand fighting heavily favored the Vikings.

  Jilliand did not understand what Rurik said, but what the men were doing was plain enough: They were preparing for battle, putting on armor, readying weapons, and clearing the ship’s floor. When Rurik spoke to her, she was stunned to hear his command. “I am having you taken ashore. You should not have need of protection at this place. You will have food and flint. Take warm clothing.” He paused, thinking, as if confirming in his own mind that she had enough supplies. “I will come for you,” he added, turning to leave.

  Fear rose unexpectedly inside her stomach. What if he failed to come back for her? Without thinking, she answered, “No. I will stay with you.” Surprised she would think to dispute him, he turned back, scowling. Recognizing Rurik had no intentions of changing his mind, Jilliand’s anxiety quickly became anger.

  “You take me when it’s easy for you? If you think I am trouble, you set me ashore? Why?” She now stood toe to toe with him, her fists at her side. “I know how to fight.” She would not admit to him that she was fearful he would set her ashore alone and for good.

  Slowly, Rurik began to smile at her. The broader his smile, the angrier she became, passing the edge of reason as her voice rose. Startled by her aggression, he picked her up and walked to the ship’s side. Before Jilliand could struggle, he simply tossed her overboard. Her temper matches her fiery hair. Perhaps a spell in the cold water will cool that temper. He already told her what he expected of her. She had no place in the fighting he knew was coming to this ship. With other things to tend to, he calmly continued preparations for battle.

  When Jilliand hit the water, she floundered for a moment, clinging to the blade she wore at her waist. Coming up for air, she could see the side of the ship lined with the men, who were all laughing. Fury and indignation churned inside her. Diving, she swam under the boat. Coming up on the other side, she swam the short distance to the shore. “Viking!” she shouted after she climbed onto the bank. Rurik heard her. Looking around, it took him a moment to locate her. Her arm
was raised, with the blade in hand. “Viking! You threw me away,” she yelled. “I am free, Viking! Free! I belong to no man!” With that, she sheathed her knife, turned, and simply walked away. When she thought she was out of sight, she ran.

  By turns Rurik was angry and amused. “She cannot survive alone. When the English are beaten, I’ll come for her. She will be sorry she took it upon herself to leave.”

  “You did throw her away,” Askold casually noted, in passing. Frowning, he added, “How will you find her?”

  “You jest, Askold. Do you not think people will remember her wherever she goes?”

  “Perhaps. Still she will not be safe alone,” Askold said quietly. He knew Rurik loved the woman. “You best find a way to handle her if you would keep her,” Askold muttered under his breath.

  Midnight found a brooding Viking sea king standing at the bow of his warship. Rurik’s thoughts were not on the coming battle. That would be simple enough. This kind of fight was one Vikings rarely lost. Rurik had never lost a battle at sea. Instead, his thoughts were on the Englishwoman. She clearly had no idea how to do the things women usually did, but she knew about weapons. She was well educated but unaware of how life worked around her. She was so unlike any woman he had ever known. She had taken him by surprise, this captive of his. He wanted her. This is what the old woman had promised before he left, had she not? He could just take her. Suddenly the English ship’s silhouette came into view again, and one of his men called out. All thoughts of Jilliand left his mind.

  CHAPTER 13

  THE ENGLISH VESSEL CHASED THE Viking warship for two days. They moved closer or fell behind, at the choosing of the Vikings. Rurik was careful to stay close enough for the English to see them and continue the chase. Meanwhile, the Vikings skillfully led the English vessel onward toward the Viking homeland and familiar waters. Let them follow. Closer to shore, their ship will be grounded. That ship belongs to us. Rurik smiled with satisfaction. His very soul was filled with the coming clash. This was what he loved most. The possibility of death held no fear for him. Warriors who died fighting had the honor of feasting with all the great warriors of the past. He was Viking. His gods fought, his forefathers fought, his men fought. He would do as had been done for centuries before him.

  Not a single man with him faltered. Their ferocity and willingness to die was what the English feared most. He told Dir that one man must survive; he wanted the tale told.

  Dir nodded. They were loaded, heavier than he would have liked, since Rurik brought along all he could from their last foray. No matter, the old woman had read the runes: There would be a battle, Rurik would win, and he would return with supplies. Simple.

  Rurik never doubted he would win. The sisters of fate had played with him, letting him see Jilliand, perhaps fall in love with her, and then lose her. If it were to be, Skuld, the sister of the future, would bring Jilliand back. Now, Rurik asked the Valkyries to carry the upcoming battle. He often wondered if Valkyries ever chose from the vanquished. Surely, he had known men worthy of Valhalla. Valkyries chose those worthy to go to Valhalla, the great hall of Odin. There to feast until Ragnarök—the final doom. Rurik believed the old captain Jilliand had loved should be there. There had been others before him. Warriors fierce and … a call from one of his men interrupted Rurik’s musings.

  Rurik watched the English ship move closer. It became evident the big ship was slowing. Eventually she gave a great shudder, her bow pointing toward Rurik’s ship came to a stop, grounded—her crew scrambling to defend themselves from an inevitable boarding by the Vikings. The English captain ordered trunks and anything else of weight thrown overboard trying to lighten his ship and enable her to pull away from the oncoming Viking fleet. They had little time. Rurik’s ship, joined by two more, swiftly turned back toward the English vessel. A great roar swelled from the Viking ships. The cry was known as the death call to the English. God, have mercy on these men I lead, the English captain prayed. There would be no mercy from the Vikings.

  With cries that struck fear into the hearts of the English, the Vikings were upon them. Easily sending spears across the ever-shortening distance, the Vikings peppered the English sailors from all sides. The English valiantly tried to defend themselves, but their spears fell short of the Viking ships By this time, the ships were close enough for the Vikings to send the deadly throwing axes into the English sailors, now scrambling to take cover. Rurik and his men boarded the English ship, fighting hand to hand. The English fell, one after another against the Vikings’ skilled use of their longer swords. The fire of battle raged within Rurik, his passion for this activity clear. When the last English sailor was down, Dir brought a young man to Rurik as Rurik had ordered. Rurik looked at the English sailor, then shaking his head, motioned for the man to be killed. The young man was dragged away. Rurik turned back to business, examining the weapons now piled on the deck of the English vessel. Many of the English swords were Frankish. They were of the best steel, kept their edge, and were the most balanced. All of them would be kept. Anything else of value was added to the pile. Ordering the pile to be divided between the three Viking ships, Rurik had his share loaded. Finally, the great English ship was set afire.

  As the second and third warships left for home, Rurik stood at his post. Dir and Askold had been with Rurik since childhood. Both men knew they would go in search of the woman before going home. Rurik had never committed to any woman before, but it was clear his time had come.

  Rurik turned to his crew. “Dir and Askold will go ashore with me when the sun comes up. There is a cave north along the coast. If we are not there by the end of the fourth day, sail home without us.”

  As the sun tossed its first rays to awaken the land, Rurik and his two jarls swam ashore, with Rurik’s one thought to find Jilliand. She had nearly four days’ jump on them.

  Dir led them to a small village less than a day’s walk upriver. Fearing these men were but a scouting party, horses the Vikings offered to buy were given to Rurik and his men in exchange for the safety of the hamlet. Unable to make the villagers understand, Rurik left a small bag of coins for the animals in the hands of a young boy.

  The three Vikings began their search following the river. If Jilliand were to survive, she must find people. People lived near water. Jilliand would be near water.

  Jilliand could run no longer. Her legs trembled and ached. Every breath felt like a fire in her chest. Gasping and holding her sides, she leaned over to vomit. Surveying the land around her, the reality of what she had just done quickly cooled her anger at Rurik. Jilliand had struggled before, and that time she had a horse. She knew well what could happen. She had no idea where she was or what people, if any, lived here. What do I do now? Her hand moved to the locket hanging from her neck.

  By early afternoon, she sensed the rawness of uncertainty; a sensation that had not touched her for some time. For weeks she had felt safe with the Viking. Though the feeling of safety was unfamiliar, it had slowly become comfortable. Now, today, she was no longer safe. A woman alone was prey, easy prey to many. In her haste to answer her temper, she was ill prepared for the cold or travel or anything else, it seemed. With no other choice, she walked northward praying for any sign of other people.

  Eventually Jilliand’s clothing dried, but without a cloak or Rurik to provide one, movement would be the only thing she knew that might hold the cold at bay. The land, lacking any indication of either people or roads, toyed with her poor sense of direction. She pushed on, stumbling over rocks and stumps hiding in the shadows. God took pity on her and gently brushed the clouds aside, allowing the moon to shine, full and bright.

  At the awakening of the moon, Jilliand shivered with the bone chill of night. When morning’s light found her, she was still walking, shivering, and brooding over her situation. She was tired and hungry. She needed a cloak, and she needed a horse. Yet another day and miserable night passed. She drank from small streams and struggled on. The sun was directly overhead on the third day
when she came to a trail bearing signs of use.

  At the sound of approaching horses, Jilliand hid among the trees just beyond the edge of the path. Several men rode by, headed south. Jilliand could see they carried weapons, though none were dressed to fight nor were they dressed to travel any distance. “They must have spent the night sheltered close by,” she reasoned. “I would find that place.”

  Following the road, Jilliand found herself at the top of a small hill. Relieved, she looked down upon a large settlement. On the outskirts, snuggled close to the small mountain’s base, sat a large monastery. The burg Jilliand had grown up in was run down and falling apart, but it had soldiers. The family she had lived with when she was taken captive was ragged and poor. Little need for protection for them, she had thought at the time. Circumstances taught her how wrong she was. The settlement before her had no walls that she could see, nor did there seem to be any soldiers for protection, although the activity, animals, and buildings told a tale of stable living. She decided the Vikings had never come this far upriver. Crossing a tiny meadow just south of the town enabled her to skirt the settlement and head toward the monastery.

  At the door of the priory, Jilliand spoke to an elderly monk. His eyes were kind, but he informed her that women were not allowed inside. As she turned away, she could hear the door being barred. She walked back toward streets lined with structures. There must be someone who has need of help, she reasoned. Men, women, and horses moved about. To her relief, little notice was taken of a lone woman who looked to be a maid from one of the houses.

  On one side of the street, several stalls were bunched together. They each displayed various goods for sale. Residents of the settlement could purchase cheeses, chickens, breads, and fish, both smoked and fresh. Farther down the street was what looked like an inn. A sign posted on the door frame warned patrons to stable their horses elsewhere. It looked as if the establishment was busy. Jilliand saw an older lady sweeping off the area in front of the building. Swallowing hard, she took a breath and approached the lady. The kindly woman listened sympathetically but could not use Jilliand. After seeing disappointment shade Jilliand’s face, the lady asked her to wait a moment. Disappearing into the house, the woman returned with a small bundle that she handed to Jilliand. When Jilliand took the package, the older woman squeezed her hand. “God go with you, child.”