Jilliand Page 3

  He looked out to sea once more before returning to the warmth of the fire in a large house he shared with a few of his men. Surrounded by these men, he relaxed. Many of this crew were related, and all were close friends. All except one … Gouldon.

  Gouldon was different. He was built like most other Vikings and was a wanderer, but he had an accent like men from Wales. He looked vaguely familiar to Rurik. A long history of fighting existed between their two lands, and Rurik felt certain there must be more to Gouldon’s story of a great battle that had stranded him on Rurik’s shores. But what? Rurik could discover no tales of a ship lost at sea from the people in the areas around him. There was nothing to confirm the story Gouldon told … but nothing to prove otherwise, either. Viking tradition dictated that winter travelers were to be treated well, and Gouldon had come the previous winter. Although he joined in all the activities, including the religious celebrations of normal life in a Viking village, he was brash and confrontational. After nearly a year in Rurik’s settlement, Gouldon had formed no friendships among the men. He was sullen much of the time, and the man shone only when they were raiding and killing. Askold, one of Rurik’s best friends and an earl—or jarl—to the Vikings, had asked more than once to be the one to call Gouldon out and end his ugly saga in the village; but, as yet, Rurik had not approved such a move. Rurik watched pensively as Gouldon once again stalked from the house after another confrontation with one of the men. Each incident and each outing brought Gouldon closer to a showdown with his sea king.

  Anger seethed deep within Gouldon’s soul. He should be the sea king of his clan from Wales, a clan that had raided these very isles, plundering several settlements, laying waste to all they found. Instead, he now fought for that enemy, a fact he found harder and harder to accept. Gouldon remembered everything. Three years earlier, in the breaking light of dawn on his brother’s ship, they came upon a Viking settlement far to the south. Scouts told the raiding sea king that nearly every man in the village had gone. The scouts were wrong: His brother and his men were totally unprepared for what met them.

  Rurik was visiting that same settlement, having arrived by land bringing his men home after a long raiding expedition. The moment Gouldon’s ships were sighted, Rurik sent out the warning, and he led a full force of men to meet the invaders. Rurik’s men quickly formed their legendary Viking shield wall. The men stood side by side, with their shields held in front, overlapping in the same direction. Each shield was held in the center by its owner’s right arm, while his left forearm pressed tightly against the overlapping shield next to him. Thus, the wall of shields was held firm by two men for each shield. Behind the shield wall, other Viking warriors were armed with various combinations of blades, spears, axes, and swords. As the wall moved quickly against the marauders, Rurik’s shield line suddenly knelt. Axes and spears flew from behind the shield wall, with deadly accuracy. Immediately the wall went up again. This combination provided an effective defense against a force that had not been expecting any real resistance. In the hand-to-hand combat that followed, Gouldon, his brother, and most of his brother’s men were cut down. When Gouldon regained consciousness, he was unable to move. Dead men—his brother’s dead men—lay everywhere. Gouldon watched helplessly as a sword wielded by a great Viking plunged so deep into his brother’s chest that its point protruded from his brother’s back. Gouldon watched the blood spill out and run down his brother’s belly and onto the ground. His brother’s lifeless body collapsed. When he last saw his brother’s ships and remaining crew, they were headed out to the open sea, leaving behind their fallen. Near death himself, Gouldon thought he would soon leave this life. However, the gods had other plans for him. When he regained consciousness again, the battlefield was deserted and quiet—quiet with the heavy stillness of death. Inch by inch, he crawled to the cover of the brush nearby. From that moment, Gouldon would live to find the man who had killed his brother.

  Every time Gouldon fell asleep, he relived the battle. It took months for him to heal. But for the help of a few men—outcasts like himself—he would have died. He no longer struggled to survive; he struggled for revenge. When he recovered enough to begin his search for the man who had killed his brother, he knew the man he was seeking was the Sea King Rurik. Although Rurik apparently did not remember him, Gouldon remembered Rurik. Gouldon swore he would take the man, his people, and his family. Everyone would pay. His thirst for revenge was such that it drove him to kill the entire band that had helped him. He would take no chances that one of them might warn his enemy. It had taken three long years, but he was close—so close it was difficult to restrain his urge to kill Rurik now.

  But he waited. On the eastern shores of Northern Ireland, Gouldon had assembled a band of men, who were beginning to gather, awaiting word from him. We will start with this village leaving no life behind.

  Gouldon looked around the settlement he pretended to be a part of. There will be nothing left. Nothing alive. The women will watch their children die … before they join them. He knew the men would fight to the death for their people. Their efforts would be useless, but they would still fight. Tonight, his thoughts only fed his anger as he walked back toward the building he shared with the bulk of Rurik’s men.

  He paused as he passed a smaller home. Greida might make this night worth something. He retraced his steps and knocked quietly on her door. The woman, a striking blonde with deep-blue eyes, opened her door, hesitated, and then smiled seductively at Gouldon. Their night was filled with violence. Nothing about Gouldon was gentle, and Greida would much rather have spent the night with Rurik, but perhaps this encounter with Gouldon would help bring him to her. Rurik had been with Greida frequently, but he still had not spoken of marriage. Only last afternoon, she had teased him, flirting, and invited him to visit her. But, he had not yet come to her.

  Before the sun’s rays pushed the darkness of night away, Rurik was up. Gouldon’s visit to Greida was not a secret for long. The entire settlement knew, and with the message given to him about Greida’s visitor, Rurik wanted to see the two of them for himself. He walked slowly to Greida’s house and, pushing her door open, stood gripping the frame, fighting the urge to kill them both. He knew he didn’t love Greida, but to have her take Gouldon—out of all the men—was the ultimate insult to him. The freezing air suddenly blowing into the room roused Greida. Neither she nor Gouldon was expecting Rurik. She sat up and started to speak. Looking at the woman who had been lying in Gouldon’s arms, it was as if a steel door had closed; Rurik made a decision. Gouldon would not be coming back. Without comment, Rurik turned on his heel and left the house without bothering to close the door. Greida called out—to an empty doorway.

  Two weeks later, Rurik’s command ship along with two additional boats, loaded and manned, sat waiting. Families stood along the shore bidding the men farewell. Anticipation sparked the air in what was a routine part of life’s rhythm that had been set long ago. While their men were at sea, the women carried on—raising children, keeping the settlement alive, and caring for each other. Rurik’s return would bring gifts, grains, slaves, and other items taken by force or purchase—whichever suited best. On this day, the sea king himself had yet to board. Impatient to be off, some of the men called to him. “Let him be,” advised Rurik’s steersman. “We need the blessings she gives.”

  Near the outskirts of Rurik’s village sat a small home. Larger structures built between the house and the shore protected it from the cold winds that blew off the ocean. Inside was warm and comfortably furnished. There were two more rooms in the rear of the home, open to the main area. Neither room had a door. Near the fire pit, a large kettle sat simmering, its aromas filling the air with the promise of a good meal. An elderly woman named Olga tenderly touched Rurik’s cheek. He had come to bid her farewell, as he always did before sailing. “You will have great changes in your life,” Olga said as she held his hand a moment longer. Her eyes held his. “Never forget, you are a sea king, Rurik. Your people have
need of you. Fight well. You will return safely. This time, your fight will be different. Skuld plays with you. No matter—your future is settled.” With that said, she gently pushed him toward the door.

  He smiled as he walked from her house toward the shore and the waiting ship. She told him nearly the same things every time he left. The added tidbit about his “different” fight was intriguing. Skuld may be playing with him, but just as often, Rurik believed, Olga played with him too. His smile widened. He loved her. Perhaps Skuld liked what was in store for him. Who could tell? It was in the future, was it not? What he had was now. He could feel Verdandi, the goddess of the present—this was her hour. He could sense it. There would be changes. It mattered not what they were. They would be good; Olga had just said so.

  Greida watched the ships slip away from the shore. When Rurik found her with Gouldon, she had hoped he would become jealous and possessive. But he only became cold. She had waited in vain while he visited Olga. It was clear to Greida that Rurik thought it was over between them. But the power she wanted was more than just being his wife; more than love. It was an obsession that she would never give up. She had several weeks to plan her move, and this time, she would not fail. Rurik had been her goal for two years now. Too long. Nothing would stop her this time. Nothing.

  CHAPTER 5

  JILLIAND BECAME ANXIOUS AS THE sun came up. Beyond thinking about making her escape, she hadn’t had time to think about what might occur next. And next was suddenly now. The wedding her father arranged was set for today, and surely he had discovered her gone. He would be raging, but still there was no sign anyone was following her. The air was silent but for the sounds of the birds.

  The rising sun confirmed for Jilliand that she was traveling northward. Where do Father’s lands end? In the distance, the road continued into a forest. The hills beyond were much larger than any around her father’s burg. She hoped there might be safety within such cover. If there is a road, there must be people, she thought.

  Her senses sharpened by fear, Jilliand heard the horses even though they were a good distance from her. She slipped into a small clump of brush nearby, crouched, and waited. When Captain Avila rode into view, Jilliand caught her breath. He rode alone leading a second horse, studying the ground as they advanced. When he was abreast of her, he sat straight in the saddle and called, “Come, lass. I watched you leave. I’m leaving also. I would like to go with you, but you will be safer alone. Come out, so I can hand over the horse.”

  Jilliand peered through the branches. Avila sat still, waiting. He wore full armor with a sword at his side. For several minutes she waited. She finally decided to leave her cover, although reluctantly. “But why do you help me?” she asked cautiously.

  The captain sat still, studying the road ahead. He could hear Jilliand moving closer. “I loved your mother, lass.” Slowly, as he turned toward her, his kind eyes became sad. His voice softened as he continued, “When her husband lay dying, I promised to protect her. I followed to be near her.” His voice broke, and his eyes moved away from her as he gazed into the past.

  “Mother was married before Father?” Jilliand frowned. “How did she come to be with Father?” she asked.

  “I can tell you only that there was a battle.” Avila was quiet again. Jilliand waited. Then he continued. His voice was husky with memories. “Take the horse, child. Truth be faced, you’ll never get away on foot. There is dried meat, water, cheese, and bread, with much to spare in the bags behind your saddle; you also have a flint and a blade. The days grow cold. You’ll need a fire at night. Strike the flint with the blade over a bit of dried leaves, sticks, and such. Keep at it until the sparks catch. When it begins to smoke, blow gently, the flame will come.”

  He turned once more to face her. “The horse is mine, but you need it more than I. Go quickly. By day’s end, you will be well out of his lands.”

  “Where do I go?” Jilliand asked, looking at the vast spaces around her. “Where?”

  “Do not travel on the road; just keep it in sight as your guide. You must take care not to be seen alone. You would not fare well. You must find someplace where people dwell.” He paused again. “This land is filled with lakes and rivers. Stay near the rivers. Look for patches of trees and listen for the sound of water. There you will find people.” His voice had become normal again. “The lord won’t go onto another’s lands. You are free. Go, child.” He studied her one more time. To him, her mother was alive again before him. Thankfully, nothing of her father could be seen in her. “You will find water easily. Stay alert. You can defend yourself, Lady Jilliand. God go with you.”

  Jilliand moved closer, standing at his stirrup. He leaned down and handed the worn reins of the other horse to her. He grasped her hand in his, held it for a moment, and dropped a fine chain and small silver cross in it. From beneath his doublet, he pulled out a short blade and handed it to her. With that, he spun his horse around and galloped away.

  When Jilliand could no longer see him, she turned to the horse. Her relief and gratitude for this gift was immense. The animal was a large war horse that watched her with wary eyes. The saddle on his back was old and worn, bearing great gouges from battle. The reins had been spliced many times. Behind the saddle rested an old cloak that was tightly rolled with a sack tied to each end.

  For a moment, Jilliand stroked the horse’s neck and spoke softly to him. “My friend, you and I have far to go.” Jilliand led the animal to a small bank edging the road, steadied the stirrup, and pulled herself up. Her slight build meant they would indeed travel fast. Jilliand steered the horse away from the road until it was only a distant ribbon. By the time evening’s fading light sighed its last sigh, Jilliand was confident she was now safely on another’s land, and she made her first camp within a small grove of trees. Her horse was nearby. Afraid she might be discovered if she made a fire, Jilliand spent the night huddled on the ground against the trees bundled in the cloak. Exhausted, she slept.

  For the next two days, Jilliand rode steadily, stopping occasionally to allow the horse to rest and graze. For the first time in her life, she saw the spray of early fall. Hillsides were covered with the colors of summer’s leaves slowly changing while light breezes stirred the foliage. The music of songbirds drifted to her. “If I die tomorrow, it matters little. Look at what I have seen and heard,” Jilliand whispered. The landscape beyond her, covered with grasses and flowers, drew Jilliand. As her face turned to the sun, its warmth draped over her. With each step, the mantle of fear and intimidation that she had carried for a lifetime began to disappear. Keeping a close eye on the sun in order to stay northbound and on the road to keep from getting lost, Jilliand allowed the horse to choose easy terrain, and they followed the base of a small mountain.

  Time passed so easily that Jilliand relaxed and soon forgot about the dangers around her. Suddenly, she became aware of voices. She reined in the horse and froze. Listening intently, she was shocked at how close they sounded. Unable to actually see anyone, she urged her horse to go in the opposite direction from the sounds drifting toward her. A man yelled, “I see her! Look! She’s alone!”

  Jilliand’s mind raced. She was unable to see them, so she quickly turned her horse deeper into the thickets. The brush and trees were nearly impenetrable for the large horse. The men gave chase, as if she were a deer. They were laughing and challenging one another. I must hide. I cannot fight them off. How do I hide a horse? Desperate, her heart pounding, Jilliand stopped the horse under a tall, wide evergreen. She pulled herself off the horse and ran among the low-hanging branches of the tree. She smacked the horse, startling him. He ran a short distance and then stopped. As the sounds of the men yelling and hooves crashing through the brush grew louder, the horse bolted. Jilliand climbed as high as she could, and then, clinging to the branches, she waited. Below her, four men sped by—plowing through brush and branches. She heard one of the men call out, “Come, Sir John! We’re closing in on her! We can hear the horse. ’Tis not far ahead.�
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  Jilliand froze, barely breathing. A man rode into sight beneath her, looking up and down. He scoured the brush beneath the trees, and then slowly, he began to look up. Jilliand’s heart dropped. His eyes met hers, He studied her for an endless moment, and then he nodded slightly and rode away in the direction of his companions. Jilliand sat motionless for a long time after he had gone from sight, trying to think what he might do next. Silence surrounded her. From her place high in the tree, she realized she could see the countryside far and wide around her. She could see no sign of the other riders. Cautiously, she climbed down.

  She walked a distance, moving up the mountain, and then climbed yet another tree. Still, she saw nothing. Worried she had lost sight of the road, she began to come down off the mountainside. She stopped several times, but saw no trace of the horse. She had lost her horse and all he carried. This was a serious setback. After hours of walking and searching for the road, she admitted that she, too, was lost. The sun was directly overhead. She tried to stay headed northward. Dusk found her wandering aimlessly, unable to tell in what direction she was traveling because of the thick forest surrounding her. She sank to the ground and leaning against a tree, she closed her eyes. “What do I do now? I’ve lost my horse and haven’t found people or water. What will happen to me?” she asked desperately of the growing darkness.

  From someplace within the forest, a man’s voice quietly answered, “You keep moving on to wherever you were headed.” Jilliand scrambled to her feet and turned toward the sound of the voice, her hand on the blade at her waist. It was the same man who had seen her perched in the tree. He rode closer, with Jilliand’s horse in tow. He was of medium height, muscular, and well dressed, and his horse and gear were better than any Jilliand had ever seen. He dismounted and walked toward her. Jilliand backed away. “Your horse is here, as are your provisions, such as they are. I’ll build a fire for you, see you safe this night, and then I must move on.” Jilliand hesitantly took the reins he handed her. “I do not know how it is you come to be alone and in such a state, but my sense is that you will never give up. Nor should you.” He set about making a fire.