Jilliand Page 13

  Rurik sat at the head of the table in the front of the room. When their eyes met, he nodded toward her bow and arrows, which were lying at the foot of his table. The room was silent as all eyes watched her move with grace and elegance to the front. When she reached the table, she heard him tell the visitors that she could shoot better than any man he knew. Her heart leapt to her throat. I am to be the entertainment? Surely he jests! Anxiety tinged with anger began to tighten her stomach. What if I miss this time?

  Jilliand glanced at the circle of men as she knelt to pick up the bow. Her expression changed suddenly when her eyes met a man sitting near Rurik. He was just as surprised to see her. Fighting to control her emotions, Jilliand gradually straightened. Her eyes were filled with loathing as she glared at him.

  In English, she spoke to him, her voice dripping with disdain, “Do these people know who you are?”

  “Do they know about you, is more the question,” he countered. His eyes moved over her, halting at her fist gripping the bow. “I should have known it would be you. No other girl can shoot like a man. Though you have become a woman, I see. You could fetch a small fortune, now.”

  “No one would pay for me,” Jilliand corrected him. “The man with the money is now dead. As for me, my father cares not; you should know, you stood by while he whipped me, coward that you are.”

  “I believed you dead,” he shrugged, draining his goblet.

  “In truth? After he left me lying on the ground, you tried to rape me. But you could not. As sorely wounded as I was, you could not take me. Surely, you still carry the scar on your chest. You screamed like a woman. I, on the other hand, never made a sound. Not even when he beat me again,” Jilliand ended with contempt. She stood rigid, her hate of this man evident. As Rurik took in every word, his expression changed, unnoticed by either the English or Jilliand. He felt his anger grow. Both his jarls were aware of the change in him. They watched the exchange between Jilliand and the Englishman, waiting for a signal from Rurik.

  The Englishman now responded angrily, his voice low and cruel, “I will buy you, and we shall see who screams. This time you will die after I am through with you.”

  “Does he know what kind of man you are? That you would burn his warships while he sleeps? Does he know you would steal his stores and take his women—those you do not kill?” Jilliand continued. Not once did she look at Rurik.

  “He doesn’t speak English. I care little what he thinks. My time has come. You, I’ll take tomorrow, and I’ll see you beg for mercy!” Unnoticed by Jilliand or the Englishman, Rurik nodded to one of the slaves near him, then toward Jilliand. Jilliand was to be taken back immediately. The slave trotted toward Jilliand.

  “Beg for mercy from you? I would die first.” In a flash, Jilliand notched an arrow. She had already drawn the string back on the bow when she glanced at Rurik. His head shook, barely perceptible, but it was clearly do not. For a second, Jilliand hesitated. The urge to run the man through with one clean shot was overpowering. The man’s face blanched when he saw the arrow set. Slowly, Jilliand regained control. Taking a breath, she turned and left the room without looking at anyone.

  Standing, Rurik noted to the men gathered, “It seems they might know each other.” A humorless smile played upon his face. “I think we do not need a woman for entertainment after all.”

  Askold could see Rurik’s eyes were dark with rage. “Enough,” Rurik said as he turned to the man. “Tell us how you find the coast. Is it good?” Slowly, deliberately seating himself, Rurik picked up a tankard of ale, thus ending the drama. Dir nodded to Askold.

  The men began to relax and talk. Askold wandered around the hall, speaking to men, tasting food, and laughing. Meanwhile, Dir ducked out a back door. Walking to the shore, he settled in to wait and watch. His patience paid, for he caught five Englishmen trying to set fire to several Viking ships. Viking culture taught that visitors were to be treated with kindness and assistance in this unforgiving land. That law did not apply to men such as these, Dir reasoned.

  The sounds of fighting came to Jilliand, loud and clear. Calmly, she moved to the back of her quarters, with her bow and blade, to wait. Bit by bit, the fighting sounds grew less, until all became silent, but for the low voices of men. Every fiber in her body was alert, and she caught the sound of someone entering. Setting an arrow, she waited. Whoever it was moved with familiarity of her place. Jilliand began to relax. It must be Rurik.

  “Why is it you sit in the dark?” Rurik’s voice came to her from the blackness.

  “I knew not who would enter,” Jilliand replied, laying her weapons aside. She stood up and waited. Rurik started a fire and set wood near. He walked to Jilliand and stopped, standing over her. With a gentle touch, he brushed her hair back.

  “You knew that man,” Rurik observed.

  “Once I was afraid of him … and of my father. I am not afraid now.” Jilliand looked at Rurik, standing so close. She could feel her heart beating as if she had been running.

  “You are not afraid?” He watched her closely.

  “Not of you. Of this life? Perhaps …” she admitted softly.

  “Are you not treated kindly?” he quickly asked frowning.

  “Yes, I am.” She paused; this was not the time to talk of Greida. Looking at him curiously, she asked, “What are you to these people?”

  He laughed softly. “In time, Jilliand,” he said, as he ran his hand over her hair again. “In time.” Without speaking further, he turned and walked out.

  Jilliand sat down by the fire brooding. She could still feel his touch. “What am I to him, should be my question,” she admitted. “I fear my heart goes into forbidden lands. He belongs to Greida. He is not for me.” The night was nearly gone before she found sleep.

  The next morning, Greida was not about yet. Jilliand went in search of the group of women who had become her friends. The great room became silent when she walked in. Not certain what to say, she simply stood waiting. Olga was sitting with them this morning and spoke up first. “I came to find you. Good of you to join us. We thought you might have left in the night. Tell us what happened in the great hall.”

  Jilliand had to smile. The healer speaks English, she thought as she pulled her cloak off and sat closer to the fire. She told them the story, ending with the fight. The story of the incident at the hands of her father’s friend, she did not tell. Let the Vikings tell what they would of that. By early afternoon, anxious to avoid Greida, she left the women’s company to look for the children.

  From the children, she learned that the Englishman and his men had been to the settlement three times before, trading the Vikings woolen goods for weapons. This was unusual for any but a Viking. The children were excited and could talk of nothing but the fight. Jilliand shuddered at the sight of the hanged men. The captain was not among them. It was useless to get the young boys to talk of anything else, so she left in search of Olga who by now had most certainly left the women’s house.

  As she rounded the great hall, she ran into Rurik, nearly falling. He smiled at her stumbling, catching her easily. Gathering her wits, she spoke quietly, “Pray tell me he did not get away.”

  “Why would you think that?” he asked, his eyes narrowing as he studied her.

  “I did not see, well … he’s not … there is no sign …” Sighing, she admitted, “I did not see him among the hanged men. I looked.” She ducked her head.

  Gently, he raised her chin. “He did not escape. And he did have a scar on his chest.” He smiled and walked past her, without looking back.

  Jilliand watched him leave. I am beginning to care for him. This cannot be a good thing. She continued on her way to Olga. Finding her at home, Jilliand was soon seated at her feet, helping her pull yarn.

  “Jilliand, I am called Olga,” the old woman began. “You are troubled, Jilliand?” Neither spoke for a while. Jilliand liked the sound of her name in their tongue. She would miss being here.

  “Yes, I am. I fear I have come to lo
ve Rurik. This cannot be. I should leave this place.” She turned her sad eyes on the old woman. To her surprise, Olga was smiling.

  “You cannot leave, Jilliand. This is your home. Perhaps he loves you, too,” Olga suggested, watching her young friend. Jilliand was stunned. Perhaps Greida was not what Greida would have me believe. No matter. Rurik could not be for me.

  “No, he cannot,” Jilliand whispered sadly. “I cannot let that happen.”

  The woman shrugged. “You cannot change fate, Jilliand. The gods will have their way.”

  Despite Olga’s comment, Jilliand became obsessed with getting away. Her promise to Rurik was long forgotten. She had to leave soon, or she would never want to leave. She already felt as if these people were her people, her family, and this was her place. But this pagan could not be for her. She must leave before it was too late. Jilliand would never give up her faith. She knew Rurik would not give his up either. If these people tried to coerce her into participation in the pagan rituals, Jilliand knew she would be forced to challenge them. Greida’s behavior and comments made it clear; that time would come soon. Such an event could mean she would be banished from the settlement or killed. Better to leave while she was still accepted—and alive. For the next several weeks, Jilliand studied everyone she had interactions with, trying to understand what was done to survive in this inhospitable land. She studied and planned. Greida planned, too.

  CHAPTER 16

  ONE AFTERNOON, THE SETTLEMENT HELD a great celebration. The hall was filled to overflowing with people eating, laughing, and singing. Most of the houses were also occupied with people celebrating. From his brother’s house, Rurik sent a maid to fetch Jilliand. Finding Jilliand’s house empty, the maid knew where to look, and Greida reluctantly released Jilliand from her chores. Jilliand entered the main room at Olav’s house and found it filled with adults caught up in the festivities honoring one of their gods. She didn’t understand the reason for the gathering, but she did understand Rurik’s slight swagger. He was drunk.

  “Maybe it’s time to see if you also think like a man,” he challenged with a slur that made his Norse accent more difficult to understand.

  “Men who are drunk are mean,” Jilliand observed calmly, answering him in his own language and deftly avoiding his grasp.

  “Women who are drunk are easy. Come drink with me,” he grinned.

  “Are you not man enough to take me whether I am drunk or not?” Jilliand spoke defiantly, without thinking.

  Rurik’s face darkened ominously. The house grew silent. Sensing perhaps she had gone too far, she had to say something to cover her insult.

  “I said,” she continued indignantly, her mind racing. She attempted to speak in his native tongue, purposefully confusing the words. “You take me to drunk … men take drink to …” Pretending she was flustered, she stamped her foot. By this time, everyone was trying to interpret what she was saying. Rurik leaned forward, concentrating, struggling to comprehend.

  As if greatly frustrated by her own lack of expression, she tried again, her chin high, hands on her hips, while the hushed crowd strained to understand her, “You dog’s ear … you … you cow foot, you … Oh!” In a show of anger and frustration, she stamped her foot again.

  “What is this you say?” Rurik asked, frowning. His brother had begun to laugh. Soon everyone was laughing. Rurik failed to see the humor of the exchange as he continued to regard Jilliand.

  “Perhaps she is too well bred to curse you, Rurik,” Dir noted between gasps for air. The house was now rocking with laughter.

  Jilliand stomped through the door, slamming it behind her. As she left, she heard Askold yell, “She’s a fit queen for you, Rurik, if you can tame her temper.”

  Rurik rose from his seat and slowly followed her out, pausing briefly to pick up his cloak. He leisurely walked behind her, watching her run to the village edge. From there, she darted into the surrounding woodland.

  Following, he found her sitting on the ground, sobbing. He had never known her to cry. The tears, from one he knew to be strong and determined, moved him, but he could not make sense of her outburst. Wordlessly, he pulled her up and wrapped her in his cloak, and then walked her back to her house. “Do not challenge me again, Jilliand. You would not like the answer,” he spoke softly. Opening the door for her, he turned and walked back to his brother’s house. Jilliand sank onto her bed, her eyes filled with tears that spilled over and dropped unheeded from her chin. For a long while she sat just that way, as the tears fell. Leaving this man would be hard indeed.

  The next morning, as was now her habit, Jilliand walked to the women’s house. Joining them in their chores, she was indifferent to the gossip. The chatter faded into the background, while she planned her departure. Greida had not been seen.

  Later in the afternoon, Jilliand sat with her old friend. “You make a mistake, Jilliand,” Olga casually noted.

  “You know what I think?” Jilliand asked startled. “Does my face speak for me so plainly?” If the healer knew, maybe everyone knew.

  “No one knows, child,” the woman gently corrected Jilliand. “Your heart is troubled.” For a moment, the room was silent while Jilliand wrestled with her decision. “Perhaps we are not so different from you? Perhaps you worry in vain. No matter—the Norns play with you oftentimes.” She continued to weave, her bent and crippled hands still making the looms sing.

  “Norns?” asked Jilliand.

  “Yes, the three sisters of fate. Urd of the past, Verdandi of the present, and Skuld of the future. I think Skuld plays with you the most. You cannot change what will be, Jilliand.” Olga looked kindly at her young friend. Thoughtfully, she continued, “Tell me of your god.”

  Jilliand hesitated. “Speak, child. I am old. No one bothers about me now. I do what I please. Some day you will also—I see that for you. Now talk with me. We are friends, you and I, Jilliand.” Olga smiled at her.

  Jilliand talked of God’s power of forgiveness, His love for all creatures, His great sacrifice, His mother, and His strength for the weakest of His people. Olga listened intently.

  “Your god is like a great king, then, like every king should be,” she noted thoughtfully. “Jilliand, you will do what you must, but you should know that this is now your home. You cannot simply walk away. Too many have come to know and care for you. Still, you will do what you must. Go in peace my child. Come to me when you can.” With that, she picked up her things and stepped into a back room, closing the door behind her. Jilliand knew the time to leave had come.

  The walk back to her house made her sad. Jilliand tried to capture every detail of her surroundings. “I must remember this—all of it. I will never find another place like this.” She surveyed the area while the wind swirled around her, its cold hand grasping her heart. “I am losing my family.”

  Greida watched Jilliand walk homeward. Soon Rurik will leave, and then I will rid this place of her forever. Greida’s dislike had grown into hate; her jealousy filled her heart with venom. Now it would be Greida’s chance to turn the settlement against Jilliand and then have her slain according to their law.

  Rurik frequently took his men on short raids. It had become a habit for him to see Jilliand and let her know he would be gone. This day, he felt a sadness encircling her. After they parted, Rurik stopped to look back at her closed door. This was not the time to speak of how he felt. His mind must focus on other things. As he walked away from her house, he felt a stirring in his heart. When I return, the waiting will end. Satisfied, his mind set on the venture ahead, he set sail.

  As soon as the village returned to everyday activities with the men gone, Greida began her plan. Calling everyone to gather in the middle of the settlement early one morning, Greida found Jilliand. Greida was nearly six feet tall and muscular. Her long blonde hair was always worn in a tight braid, wound around her head. She stomped when she walked, her voice was loud, and her face had grown hard. Rurik had been her conquest since she first came to the settlement. So far,
besides spending several nights with her, he had shown little interest in making their relationship anything permanent. Greida intended to change that, today, now. Grasping Jilliand’s arm, she forced Jilliand to the center of the assembled people. Unaware Jilliand could understand her, Greida spoke. “See the Christian? She is not one of us, nor could she ever be one of us. She thinks to take Rurik? He is our sea king. This one is not fit to clean his floor. Look at her.” Greida pushed Jilliand hard. Jilliand stumbled but did not fall. Greida was at her side immediately.

  Greida viciously grasped Jilliand’s hair and jerked her around. “Rurik belongs to me. He would never take this.” Greida’s voice was filled with contempt. Jilliand pulled away from Greida. She had no weapon, nor was she certain the rest of the settlement would stand behind her if she injured Greida. The inhabitants stared at Greida and Jilliand, not certain what to do. The silence was overwhelming. Jilliand tried to think. Before she had a chance to do anything to defend herself, Greida ripped at her shift. “See, she even wears her symbol. Look!” The shift tore from Jilliand’s neck. A gasp escaped Greida.

  The women and children crowded closer and then began to murmur. Clearly exposed was the amulet hanging from its chain. Someone shouted, “That’s Rurik’s!” The cry went up. “That’s Rurik’s” was repeated louder.

  Quickly, Jilliand, her own voice loud and clear, replied. “Yes, it is a gift from Rurik. I have worn it since he placed it on me.” She turned to Greida. “You have made your case. You claim you belong to Rurik. I do not challenge that. Only he can decide.”

  “It will not matter,” Greida sputtered, desperately trying to recapture the moment. “You are banished! Go! Get out! Leave this place!” She shoved Jilliand hard. “You are not welcome here any longer.” Greida was taller than Jilliand, and her anger gave her added strength. Jilliand flew backward and fell to the ground. She got up immediately. The crowd had again become silent, stunned by what they saw. It was true, they thought. Rurik did favor Greida at one time. Clearly, he did no longer. But all were reluctant to interfere with Greida. She was a dangerous adversary.