Jilliand Page 4

  “Why do you help me?” Jilliand asked suspiciously, eyeing the man’s back.

  He straightened up and stood silently, staring ahead for a long while. When he turned to her, he studied Jilliand, her green eyes framed by dark eyelashes. “I had a wife once, who was a beautiful girl, inside and out. She was with child. While I was away fighting, my lands were overtaken, and she tried to escape. Men found her. When they finished with her, both she and the child within her were dead. I would not wish that for anyone.”

  He shared what he carried to eat with Jilliand. Neither spoke. Still not speaking, the man unsaddled both horses, rubbed them down, and prepared a sleeping place for Jilliand near the fire. Far from her, he spread a blanket and lay down. His easy, even breathing told Jilliand he was asleep. She finally lay down to sleep.

  In the morning, both horses were saddled and ready to leave when Jilliand awoke. The man gave her what was left of his supplies. Lifting her onto the horse, he rested his hand on the horse’s neck. “Where do you ride, lady?”

  “North,” Jilliand answered.

  “Why?” he asked, watching her closely.

  “I … I have to go north,” Jilliand insisted.

  “But why?” he asked again. His head turned slightly, and his eyes narrowed. “Why north?”

  In a voice barely audible, Jilliand answered him. “Because I must leave unspeakable horror behind me.” She paused. “I do not know where his lands end. I only know I must go north.”

  “How long have you been running?” The man’s voice was gentle.

  “Three days.”

  “Then you are beyond whatever boundary you sought to leave behind. You are in West Seaxe. The lord over this land is a kind man. The road is below you there.” He pointed. “It leads north. If you keep in this direction,” he nodded toward the mountain base, “you will meet it. But you will be riding through thick forest without protection. Until such time as it is retaken, it is a road frequented by thieves. Not a safe place, certainly not for a woman alone.” He patted Jilliand’s horse. “However, if you travel more northwest, that way,” and again he pointed, “you will leave the mountains and come to a river called Test. It’s a safer route for you. Follow it and find people. God go with you, m’lady.” Without another word, he mounted his horse.

  As he rode away, Jilliand called after him, “And with you, sir. Thank you.” He waved at her without looking back. Soon he was lost in the trees. Jilliand rode northwest.

  That evening, as she searched the sky for the fading sun, Jilliand noticed an abandoned bird’s nest. It was falling apart, barely clinging to a dead limb. From atop her horse, she was able to reach it. Tonight, I’ll have afire. A short distance farther, she came to a tiny clearing sheltered by trees and brush. She took care of her horse and then set about making camp. She struck the flint repeatedly, sending sparks into the nest. At last, smoke wafted upward hesitantly. Gently blowing, coaxing it, she finally had flames. Gathering all she could find to burn; her stack of firewood grew. The fire blazed and cast a warm glow around the area. Jilliand lay close to the fire and said out loud, “I’m lost and alone, but I am free. Mother, can you see me? I will live. In spite of Father, I will live.” Listening to the sounds of night, Jilliand began to drift off to sleep.

  “I am a woman in body only,” Jilliand whispered drowsily. “Of what use is a soldier’s training to a woman?” Time spent with the old couple at her father’s burg made Jilliand keenly aware that she knew nothing of those things she imagined a woman must do. “I cannot cook or sew. What will people think of one such as me?”

  “Even so,” she heard the night breeze reply, “your father cannot get to you. That is what is most important.”

  Jilliand’s eye caught the old soldier’s eye, and he nodded. “I too am alone now. For your sake, I kept a promise I made to your mother so very long ago.” As he spoke, a woman’s form moved closer, surrounded by mist.

  Gasping, Jilliand sprang straight up. Was that a dream? Was that my mother? She looked around, and all was just as she arranged it. Clinging to the silver cross hanging from the chain around her neck, she lay back down. The memory of a mother only known through stories would keep her moving, despite the uncertainty that lay ahead. The young woman closed her eyes and, once again, sleep found her.

  The next morning, as the sun playfully tossed its full rays through the trees, Jilliand was already on the move. By forenoon, she came to a rapidly flowing creek. It gathered strength as it roared alongside the mountain to eventually plunge over immense boulders and crash into a small lake below. Following the river running from that lake, in due course Jilliand left the mountains behind. Horse and rider pushed onward until they were overcome by darkness. And so it went for several more days.

  Many nights, as she settled near the fire, her cloak wrapped tightly around her shoulders, she tried to envision an end to her trek. Her life’s experiences were meager. She was raised as a son, and she was well educated. That much she knew. Would that help her? The nights were long, and Jilliand slept little. She sat hugging her knees, staring at her fire. Images of her life swam around her. What have I ever done that will amount to anything or that would make me valued? She squeezed her eyes shut as tears filled them. How am I going to be able to live? I only know how to fight. Disheartened and alone, Jilliand began to wonder if she would have been better off dying. But when she at last lay down, she saw beautiful stars that filled a dark sky. Listening to the sounds of night creatures around her, her heart began to soften. “No. Better to live,” she said softly. “Better to make him the fool. I live, Father. Despite all that you have done to me, I live.” The small flame of survival, planted by Silas on the fateful night she escaped, began to grow.

  CHAPTER 6

  JILLIAND’S GROWLING BELLY AWOKE HER. The bags hanging from her saddle were nearly empty. “They tell me my blood is royal, but even the royal must eat,” she noted wryly as she broke camp. That afternoon, she reached a point where the stream she followed joined another, forming a tributary that slashed a wide gash through the land. Two boys were playing on the opposite bank. They stood to watch her.

  Riding a short distance downstream, Jilliand found a place where the embankment sloped gently to meet the rushing water. She urged her horse into the river. The animal was tentatively stepping forward when the bank suddenly disappeared. The horse went under, struggled to break the surface, and began to swim. Floundering to stay on the horse, Jilliand lost her grip on the reins and saddle and fell into the icy river. Instinctively, she clawed at the stirrup but was not able to hold fast. Thrashing about, she managed to grab the animal’s tail, and with all the strength she had, she clung on.

  When Jilliand and the horse reached the other side, the two boys stood frozen, staring at her. Coughing and gasping for air, Jilliand staggered upright and stood to catch her breath. Her horse was breathing heavily but was unharmed. Jilliand looked at the two boys, who were curious about her. She forced a smile and moved toward them. They looked as ragged as she did. Two pairs of great round eyes followed her movements. The larger child stepped closer and spoke, “Who would you be?” Neither he nor his small companion made any motion either to help her or to leave.

  “I am alone. I have nowhere to go.” Jilliand held her breath, ignoring the question.

  Finally, the older lad nodded knowingly. “Come with us. There be others like you.” With that, the three left the waterway and walked toward a small hamlet, Jilliand’s horse in tow. People nearby barely took notice of them.

  The community was much like most of those scattered around England in the 800s. The inhabitants were poor, barely scratching out a living from the land. The huts showed evidence of repeated repairs and makeshift additions. Every face bore the strain of life. The women could look forward to a wrenching childbirth that saw many infants and more than half of the mothers perish. Of the children who lived, few survived past the second year of life. All members of every family worked hard to maintain a meager existen
ce.

  Jilliand had no way of knowing how desperate the lives around her were. She only prayed she would be allowed to stay. Entering one of the huts, the younger boy returned with a sympathetic-looking woman. After a quick survey of Jilliand and her horse, the woman nodded. “These two are my boys. This ’n is Kemp. He’s the older. Norvin is the littl’n.” Smiling kindly, she invited Jilliand into their home. Jilliand handed her horse off to the boys. “I’m called Avril,” the woman said.

  “My name is Jilliand,” Jilliand replied, as she followed Avril into the house. The house was a simple one-room rectangular structure. A pit for cooking and heat was dug into the earth near the center. Smoke drifted up through the flimsy roof. There were two small sleeping mats to one side, and the back part of the room was set apart by a cloth hung on a cord strung across the hut. The cloth was pushed to one side, exposing a larger sleeping mat. Cooking and eating utensils were hung and stacked near the entrance. The floor was earthen. Having been swept many times, it was smooth and hard. Compared to the cell that had been her home, the room was grand. Jilliand hovered near the fire, until she slowly warmed up and stopped shivering. She watched as the woman went about preparing a meal.

  When the woman’s husband came in, he took one look at Jilliand and thought she must be another straggler left from raids on shoreside villages to the south. “They’ve started early this year. I’m sorry about your loss. Your horse is in the pen.” Jilliand nodded politely. She could see he was not necessarily pleased to see her. Though he spoke softly, Jilliand overheard him ask his wife, “Another mouth to feed, woman?” The wife simply touched the man’s shoulder and nodded. The man shook his head but did not respond.

  Dry and much warmer, Jilliand offered to help. “May I help, m’lady? Perhaps there is something I might do for you.” The woman watched her pitiful efforts to assist. She speaks well; not like us. She knows nothing about what to do. Where did she come from? I wonder if this lady may have been waited on by the likes of me. She doesn’t belong here among us, that’s for sure. Avril was moved to pity and prayed Jilliand could earn her keep. She knew her husband was right. Jilliand was another mouth to feed for a family barely staying alive.

  “Come,” the woman gently urged her. “There be enough for everyone.” Gratefully, Jilliand ate the bread and fish that was offered. The two boys chattered away, as if Jilliand had always been with them. Relieved for the diversion, Jilliand sat listening. Cautiously, she began to relax.

  “Days will be shorter soon. The cold comes early. There will be little food for the animals this year,” the man predicted, glancing at his wife. “’Twill be a hard winter,” he warned. “Should start stacking wood …” His voice trailed off. “Nothing to feed the animals …” He stared toward the door. With a start, Jilliand realized she could possibly lose her horse.

  “Still, we be luckier than most,” the woman noted quietly, watching her children. “We still fish. We will be fine, husband.” The woman smiled at her husband, squeezing his arm. The family had nothing extra to share, and Jilliand accepted the fact that she could not stay long. I will ride on as soon as I rest.

  When the meal was finished, the family sat gathered around the fire. The children laughed and teased each other, unaware of life’s problems. Jilliand felt a wary sense of comfort. She hugged her knees and watched the flames dance. Surely there are boats coming through here. Perhaps I can barter work to get passage for my horse and myself to someplace where there are more people. These people are barely existing. I was taught there are larger places. I must find these places.

  “My husband is Calder,” Avril told Jilliand, as she cleared some space. Using blankets, Jilliand’s cloak, and some dry straw, she made room for Jilliand to sleep next to the boys. For the first time in her memory, she slept on a soft mat. The boys giggled and talked in the dark. Jilliand could hear the man and his wife speaking softly, the wife laughing. Sounds of life, Jilliand thought. Is this what a family is supposed to be?

  Farther south of Jilliand’s temporary home, a band of Vikings was about to strike a village without warning. As still as the death they brought, their ship rolled up the river Test under cover of a thick early morning fog. Men fishing along the river never heard the raptors from the north. The warriors were nearly at the first of the huts before they were seen. “This will be a dead run, I fear,” Dir, Askold’s brother and Rurik’s second jarl, noted. “These pitiful people are barely surviving. There will be nothing of value here.”

  “They might have a harvest. And women, certainly,” Rurik replied. “Besides, I am most interested in moving farther up this coastline. Not one village will be skipped. Move quickly.” Leading his men, the Sea King Rurik gave a great cry. The men fishing were quickly cut down. “When will the English learn? They can never defend this land with men who cannot fight. This will not even be a challenge,” Rurik muttered.

  The man who saw the first hut go up in flames ran yelling, “They come! The Vikings have landed!” Mayhem broke out. Most of the men grabbed whatever they had close at hand and bravely stood to defend the women and children trying to scurry away. The invaders killed every man they came upon and rounded up the women and children who were unable to escape. The women who fought back were beaten, raped, and eventually killed. In less than three hours, it was over. There was little harvest and nothing of value. Looking over the children huddled together near the shore, Rurik shook his head. “We will have a long winter if we do not do better than this.” He gave the order, and the captives were loaded onto the boat. The boat headed out to sea.

  In a day, he met up with his knarr—a large cargo ship with a wide hull capable of carrying may tons of cargo. The human cargo they had stolen and a small stash of grain were easily transferred to the vessel. By early evening, Rurik was headed back to the coast. Standing near the bow, he spoke to the two men he trusted most, Askold and Dir. “I think we should keep going upriver. When we were much younger, we took that river once. It flows easily from farther north.”

  “There are settlements along the way?” asked Dir, frowning. “I do not remember what is beyond.”

  “There is a monastery farther up. Not large, but enough for us. Just beyond yesterday’s landing,” Rurik noted. “If we find it soon, we take it; if not, we turn back and go south. There are many places for us to play along English shores.” Smiling, he walked back toward the stern of his ship. This was only the beginning of his raids. There would be plenty of time, but the fire of conquest burned in him nevertheless.

  Before the sun rose, Rurik’s ship was already moving away from the remains of their last stop. There was no sign of life. They moved farther up the river without finding any sign of people. In the afternoon, Rurik’s men hid the ship. His crew split into four groups. Each was to scout a different area. If the men returned without finding the monastery, Rurik decided to turn back. Around the fire that night, the men talked. Their report was not a good one: Only one village was found and no monastery. The men left the decision to Rurik. He had always done well by them before, and the raids had only just begun for the winter. Time was on their side. Gouldon, as usual, argued. “We should never have come this way. We have nothing to show for this stop. Why do we stay? We want gold or something of value!”

  Exasperated, Rurik challenged him, his voice low and menacing. “If you can tell me of a better idea, please do so. If you do nothing but pick apart my ideas, then be silent. There is no monastery. There is only one settlement. This will be our last stop before we turn and move farther to the south.”

  At the sound of his voice, a hush fell over the men. Rurik’s voice was warning enough. Gouldon ducked his head, mumbled, and walked away from the group. “He needs to leave this life he finds so miserable,” Dir noted with disgust. Rurik did not respond, though he was of the same frame of mind for many reasons. Rurik remembered the look on Greida’s face: It had been one of panic, instead of her usual expression of cunning. Gouldon’s expression held triumph.

 
In silence, Rurik returned to the ship. A thick layer of clouds set in during the night. By early morning, it began to rain hard, and by midday, the ground was soaked. The downpour dragged on most of the next day. The men were unwilling to fight mud and rain, so Rurik’s ship remained anchored and hidden. Lookouts posted around the area kept watch while other men collected rainwater. The fresh water would replace the soured milk they had nearly finished. The rains stopped, but Rurik still waited. Wet huts would not easily burn. Even hunting was forbidden. He knew his men were getting hungry, but hunting required fires to cook the meat, and that was a step he would not take. Surprise was one of his many weapons, and smoke from a cooking fire would ruin that weapon.

  CHAPTER 7

  AFTER ONLY A FEW DAYS, her acceptance by the people in the settlement gave Jilliand a sense of comfort. Perhaps if she did her share, she would be permitted to stay—at least through the cold time, the time when people would struggle, and a time that Jilliand dreaded. Menfolk preparing for winter were busy cutting and stacking wood, bundling dried grasses to feed the stock, and bringing what few animals they had closer to the settlement. The older boys in the village were working the fields, harvesting what they could of the dying crops. The young ones who were left behind began to follow Jilliand around the settlement. Everyone assumed she had been orphaned in a Viking raid, and she was never questioned about her past.