Jilliand Page 7

  Jilliand remained still, even when two of the Englishmen approached her, and one offered to help her get away. Discreetly shaking her head, she resisted the urge to look at Rurik. The man persisted, asking her why she wouldn’t try to leave. She only shook her head again. Although Rurik appeared not to notice, halfway through the meal he leaned to Askold, speaking softly. The food was a welcome change, as were the ale and wine. The men from Rurik’s ship ate heartily, though they drank very little. When business and pleasure were done, everyone departed. Rurik walked back, with her in tow, to the boat.

  He finally spoke, in his strained English, “Why did you not try to leave?”

  “I keep my word. My word is all I have left to me,” Jilliand replied. He took her hand and gently folded her fingers around the chain and cross that he held out to her. She dropped the chain over her head and kissed the cross. “Thank you.” This time, he nodded slightly, as he took the amulet he had given to her and slipped it over his head.

  At some time during the night, the sounds of fighting awoke Jilliand. She jumped up. Rurik and most of his men were gone. The rest were looking toward the burg where they had dined. Jilliand could see nothing, and as the sounds faded, the men on the boat relaxed and began to lie down. Jilliand watched the horizon for a while, but could see nothing. It was clear: The men were not worried about anything. She too lay down under a cloak and drifted off to sleep.

  At first light, Jilliand was shocked to see only one ship beside theirs remaining in the cove. That ship was burning. The shore was lined with its crew, all hanged. Among the dead were the men who had offered to help her. She turned to Rurik, but he was already taking the boat out to sea. Jilliand watched the shore shrink away in the distance. Her mind was numb, her heart heavy. “They did nothing wrong, nothing to challenge him. What manner of man is this who captured me? He is no better than my father!” she whispered.

  The ship had been at sail for three hours when Rurik came and stood next to her. “You were recognized,” he said simply. Jilliand studied the deck; she had not thought what being recognized might do to her or what her father might do. For a long moment, he stood with his arms crossed over his chest, looking out to sea. “By whom were you taken captive before?” He spoke quietly to her, his voice even but with authority. Jilliand wanted to move away from him, as she turned seaward. Rurik’s assumption could mean Jilliand’s value for ransom was nothing. It could mean she was not worth keeping alive if she didn’t belong to anyone. She tried to think what she could tell him. “I asked you a question,” he prodded firmly.

  “I was never taken captive,” Jilliand finally answered carefully. He was well spoken, now that she thought on it. He is well educated, Jilliand realized, wondering how she missed this about him before. He looked at her, then back out to sea. Jilliand felt he was trying to match what she said with what he must have heard the evening before. Quietly, she added, “I ran away.”

  Surprised, Rurik frowned. He looked at her for a long time. “A woman should not dress as a man,” he finally replied. Disapproval flashed in his eyes and dripped from his voice. Rurik knew a Viking woman would never be dressed in breeches. In Rurik’s world, women were expected to dress as women. He could little understand how it could be any different.

  “A woman does whatever she must, to survive,” Jilliand responded coldly. “Just as a man does.” The stillness between them was thick. Jilliand turned and walked away, leaving him standing alone. She could feel the tears well up in her eyes. Years of refusing to cry in front of her father came to her rescue. She quelled the urge. Loneliness blackened her mood again. Just when I begin to let my guard down, life reminds me where I am. Jilliand stared into the dark. I am changing. I feel more comfortable with these people. I am not so afraid most of the time. Though I know not what I feel. I have seen so many cruelties, yet they treat each other with respect. My people do not do that very often. And my people can be terribly cruel, I know only too well. I am not who I once was. Who am I? Who am I becoming? What would Mother think of me?

  Jilliand’s mind returned to her captor. Had he had every man killed to keep word of me from spreading? Does he think he would lose a ransom? Does he think I would bring him a ransom because I am a young female? I have nothing that would show wealth. Jilliand struggled to understand. The village she was captured in was pitiful. She had no signs of wealth about her. Her blade and the cross she wore were all she had with her when she was taken. Suddenly, with a stab of pain, she remembered her mother’s pouch. There is a reason I forgot it. If he saw the ring with its great stones and the beautiful silken bag with its gold thread, he would certainly know the worth of it. Then for certain he would believe I would fetch a large ransom. What will he do, when he finds out I am worth nothing? Jilliand could only think she might become a slave for his household. Could I do that? Do I have a choice?

  At some point she knew, he would surely make his demand for payment. But from whom? He must not know who my father is. She belonged to no one, and she was worthless, although the Viking wouldn’t know this yet. Until he did, she must live day by day. Was she really as safe as she felt? Why could she not leave when they were off raiding? She owed this man nothing. Despite that, she had given her word. Of what value is honor to me now? Jilliand argued with herself. Why did I ever promise to stay is the greater question?

  Over time, she learned more about his crew, ship, and Rurik himself. Although he had not spoken to her since that one night, she drew comfort in knowing he could understand. Whenever he was not at the bow, she stood near the steersman, trying to see what he saw in the waters. The older man had begun to point, without speaking, to the waters. Jilliand slowly began to pick out the rocks, sandbars, and other markings.

  One day she shyly pointed at a dark shape in the water before the steersman had shown her. He smiled at her, nodding. As the afternoons went by, she pointed time and again, as she learned to note the depth of the water, the direction of its flow, and the nearby landmarks. When Rurik came close, she moved away. There will come a time, when you will not walk away, Rurik noted to himself softly, watching her leave.

  Each time Rurik left the ship, he approached her. He never spoke: He simply nodded, then left. Jilliand was grateful the men seemed not to notice her now. There was an unspoken truce between them, and she was becoming more comfortable. One afternoon, the crew returned with more women and children. Nearly all the children were listless and coughing. The adults behaved much the same. Many were perspiring heavily. Jilliand approached him. “Are you leaving again soon?”

  He did not respond, so she continued, “Most of the people you bring this night are very ill. Your men may become ill, too. While at sea, you could lose many of your men. Better to not take these people. Let them go free, and pray you did not bring their illness back with you.” When he did not respond, Jilliand walked away. He’s been told. What he does about it is up to him. She hoped he would send them back to land when he had time to think on it. The entire crew could become ill. At sea, it would mean almost certain death.

  Rurik walked among the newly captured slaves. When he was satisfied with what he saw, he gave an order. Shocked, her hand at her mouth, she watched with horror as every last one was thrown overboard. Moving as far away from him as she could, Jilliand crouched on the deck, covering her ears, trembling. The desperate begging of the drowning women and children exploded in her head. Rurik was unmoved. Jilliand rocked back and forth, with her eyes clenched shut. I’ve been captured by an animal. Worse than an animal. I have to get away.

  Rurik watched her, frowning. As always, when speaking to his men, Rurik spoke in his mother language, aware Jilliand would not understand. “She saved us, the crew of the knarr, and possibly our village. She is angry I removed those infected?”

  Askold watched Jilliand for a moment and then replied, “She is angry they all died, I think.” Askold casually observed, “She is a strange one, that woman. Like the Old One at home.” Rurik looked at his friend sharply,
then back at Jilliand. Shaking his head, he turned back to the steersman.

  They sailed for three days before they reached another unknown shore. Jilliand continued to move away whenever Rurik came near. His expression gave her the impression he was amused at her reaction. She tried to convince herself she was more determined to escape if she were given the chance—before Rurik discovered if Jilliand had a ransom or not. In truth, Jilliand realized the advantages of living in relative safety aboard the ship—for however short a time that might be—and that was holding her to the promise she had made. A promise she was not certain she could keep.

  The sun was just beginning its afternoon descent when they beached again. Rurik walked to where Jilliand sat watching the crew, ignoring him. She had nowhere to turn, with the stern at her back. When he stood so long without speaking, she looked up to see Rurik had a different expression as he studied her. He nodded slightly toward the delicate cross at her neck. Holding her breath, she sat still, unmoving. He stood as if he had turned to stone. Reluctantly, Jilliand removed her cross, holding it tightly. He held the hammer out to her. She refused to take it. Rurik slipped the chain and hammer over her head and held out his hand. Jilliand shook her head, grasping the cross even tighter. He studied her through narrowed eyes. He did not move, but his jaws clenched. “Please,” she whispered. He did not move, nor did his eyes waver. Slowly, she gave up the cross. He tucked it into the satchel tied to his waist. Grasping her wrist, he pulled her up. Silently Jilliand prayed that this might be the place she could leave him. Nodding toward the shore, Rurik waited. I am tired of him not speaking. Even more reason to get out of this, Jilliand grumbled to herself. Without looking at Rurik or his men, she jumped over the side and climbed up the bank. Rurik followed.

  Off the ship and on shore, he walked to the front of the men, glancing in Jilliand’s direction. For a short moment, Jilliand thought of not moving. She knew she had to go with them.

  The river’s edge was close to a moderately sized village. Rurik’s entire crew roamed around, obviously comfortable. As occasionally before, they paid for supplies and goods at some stops. The reaction of the people to them proved that the Vikings had been in this place often. No one was frightened, and most were friendly to the crew. Jilliand realized with disappointment that she would not be able to slip away unnoticed at this stop without someone alerting Rurik or his crew. While they traded and walked among the inhabitants of the small hamlet, Rurik behaved as if she were one of his crew. Jilliand knew the Vikings had traded without killing at other settlements too. What made one place good for trade and another for death? Because nothing was left in the villages they plundered, Jilliand knew she could not slip away unnoticed at those places. She had to get further inland. The excursion seemed to be very relaxing for the men as they strolled along visiting with the townsfolk. For the crew, it was a welcome break—for Jilliand, it was discouraging.

  Three days later, with the tide pushing the waters higher, the Vikings traveled down yet another river called Stour. The river was wider and longer; its path twisting with sharper turns, as it flowed toward the sea. The Vikings did not hide the boat this time but left it tucked against the bank at one of the deeper bends. Walking past Jilliand to leave, Rurik nodded to her, as usual. Most of the men had already started walking away, headed inland. When the boat was secured and silent, and the last man gone, Jilliand stood watching the water, thinking. Her hair was dirty and stringy. Her face and hands were grimy. Gouldon’s blood still stained her breeches, and the shirt Rurik had given her was filthy. The crew would be gone at least two hours. Time enough …

  The land rose gradually into a gently rounded hill. Although unable to see beyond the rise, Jilliand could see the shore before and behind the boat. Glancing over her shoulder at the empty and still landscape, Jilliand made a decision and took off the dirty garments. It felt strange to stand naked without fear. Despite her current lot, she was relaxed. Life now was better than it had been in her cell when she was forced to fight and subjected to pain every day. With her clothing in hand, she bounded over the side. Once in the water, she began to wash her shirt, trousers, and leggings. When they were as clean as possible, she wrung them and tossed them up onto the deck. Swimming to the farther bank, she pulled the blooms off a plant growing near the water’s edge. Smelling the flowers, Jilliand smiled. For the first time, she would use flowers when she bathed. She then turned her attention to herself. With an unfamiliar sense of freedom, she bathed and washed her hair thoroughly, over and over, rubbing the flowers into her hair each time. Then, impulsively, she played in the water.

  Suddenly, Rurik stopped walking and turned back toward the ship. His two companions laughed knowingly and moved on without him.

  The boat was moored far upriver, with a long narrow finger of land between it and the sea. Rurik returned for Jilliand. He jumped over the side and onto an empty deck. Rurik made a quick round before his jaws clinched in anger.

  Making another round, he noticed a small mound lying on the deck. Picking it up, he held wet pieces of well-worn clothing. He could hear splashing. Crossing the deck toward the sound, he saw Jilliand in the water, and his scowl was slowly replaced by a smile that played about his face. As his eyes reflected his burning desire, Rurik studied her. Totally uninhibited, she swam, splashed, and dove like a young sea creature.

  When Jilliand dove deeper and began swimming toward the boat, Rurik moved to the end of the bow, her clothes still in his hands. Amazed, he watched her easily pull herself up and over the side of the boat, using the oar hole for support. She was athletic and graceful. Jilliand shook her hair loose, brushed the water off her body, and suddenly realized her clothes were gone.

  Panic set in quickly as Jilliand looked desperately around the deck. Then her eyes caught sight of Rurik, leaning back against the bow, a lazy smile on his face. With a gasp, she whirled around, covering her chest with her crossed arms. He walked slowly toward her. She could hear him coming, step by step. There was little she could do. She stood helpless, humiliated, fearful, waiting.

  Rurik reached out, slowly taking her long hair in his hand. He brought it up to his face, smelling the flowers she had used while bathing. Gently, he pulled her hair aside and stopped at the sight before him. He stared and then carefully traced with his fingers the scars on her back. With his hand on her shoulder, he turned her around. Jilliand stood, with her arms still crossed, waiting. She refused to look at him. He moved her arms aside exposing her and catching his breath. She was more beautiful than he had imagined all these past nights. She was slender, yet she had muscular arms and legs. Her small breasts were firm. Her belly flat.

  Jilliand could no longer stand the scrutiny. She made a weak attempt to take her clothes from him. He pulled them back. Jilliand wanted to crouch, to hide, but there was nowhere to go. He walked around behind her again, pulling aside all her hair to expose her entire back. “Who?” he asked quietly. Jilliand remained silent. “Who,” he demanded again, this time with a ring of authority in his voice.

  “My father.” She covered herself again with her arms.

  Rurik remained silent, studying her scarred back. Softly, Jilliand continued, “He wanted a boy. I was raised as his son.” She paused. “In the beginning, things were not so bad, but with time …” Forcing herself to look to the horizon, she continued, “Some things are impossible to hide.”

  He walked around to stand in front of her again. He gently moved her arms aside once more, brushed her hair away from her face and studied her. His eyes were kind and sympathetic. “Yes, some things are.” He handed the clothes back to her. She pulled the wet things on clumsily. Slipping the cloak from his shoulders, he placed it around her.

  “The name of this man?” he asked, holding her arms firmly.

  Jilliand now met his eyes, her own eyes angry. “He is not a man,” she answered bitterly. She tried to pull away, but he held her fast. Pointedly, she looked at the hands holding her captive.

  “His name?�
� he persisted. His grip remained firm.

  Carefully choosing her words, Jilliand explained, “I ran away because he sold me to an old man who was dying. When that man died, my father would have that man’s wealth.”

  “It would belong to you.” He corrected her. “Even the English recognize that, unless your husband owed someone.”

  “I would be dead,” Jilliand replied flatly. “The men were named who were to arrange my death.”

  Frowning, he continued, “You know this?”

  “I do,” she confirmed quietly, looking away.

  Though his grasp had loosened, he still held her, his eyes filled with passion. He pulled her closer. Gently, he persisted, “You will tell me this man’s name.”

  Unsettled, she looked up at him. After a long moment, she quietly answered, “No! He will not pay you. The man I was to wed no longer lives. I am worth nothing.” Her voice dropped. Fearing his response, Jilliand held her breath. It was out: He would now know that what he had captured was worthless.

  “To him, perhaps,” Rurik responded, his voice low. “To me, there is no prize I would take for you. I will know the name of the man who would strike you.” He released her arm.

  Stunned, Jilliand could only look at him as he watched her. She could think of nothing to say. Silently, she stood. “I am called Rurik,” he finally announced, waiting.

  “I am Jilliand,” she responded softly. Stillness surrounded them, but this time, it was a comfortable stillness.

  “Can I bring you something?” he broke the silence, turning to walk away. It would not do to bring her around where someone might recognize her.