Anna Markland - Viking Roots Medieval Romance Saga 01 (3 page)

Cathryn was relieved not to be the only nun making the journey to Jumièges. However, as their meager belongings were being stowed aboard the
Bonvent
, she was forced to acknowledge that
Mater
had assigned two women as companions who would be more of a liability than a blessing.

Sister Ekaterina
squinted at everything and spoke the Frankish tongue with a heavy foreign accent. The exact place of her birth on the eastern plains was unknown. She was so old it was rumored she’d been alive when the relics of the blessed saint had been discovered on Mount Sinai in the Year of Our Lord Eight Hundred. She was reputed to be the only one of the community who had actually lived at the Monastery of Saint Catherine, built over the site where the aromatic relics were unearthed. She was fondly referred to by the nuns as
La Russe
.

The third member of the group was her
friend Kaia, a young woman from a wealthy family who was so frail she had to be carried up the steep ramp by a grimy sailor, all the while fanning her face with her hand, nose wrinkled in disgust.

Cathryn suspected that if anything untoward happened to
Kaia,
Mater
would somehow make sure the blame fell squarely on her shoulders.

She marveled at how the woman had convinced
Kaia’s family to allow her to undertake this risky journey.

Head held high, Cathryn climbed up the ramp,
terrified of losing her balance on the flimsy plank that had no railing. After one unsettling glance at the dark water below, she resolved to keep her eyes on the heavens.

Another sailor
gripped Ekaterina’s hands and walked backwards up the ramp, guiding the elderly nun. Despite her advanced years and deteriorating eyesight, she was always smiling, chattering away in a language all her own. Perhaps not being able to properly see the evils of the world was a blessing.

Smoothing
the folds of her habit, Cathryn took in her new surroundings. The ship was broad in the beam, its sail furled. There was a raised deck in the rear with a long wooden apparatus fixed to the side of the boat. She assumed this must be for steering.

The men of the
Bonvent
appeared to be busy preparing for departure, but she was uncomfortably aware of their hostile gazes. She looked around, wishing someone would direct them to their cabin.

A tall, bearded man
with cleaner clothing than the rest of the crew approached them. “
Mes soeurs
,” he said politely, pointing to a tattered canvas canopy stretched between the mast and the side of the ship. “I am Capitaine Vranche. We have provided shelter—in case of rain.”

Cathryn’s spirits fell as she eyed the threatening skies
and the weathered canvas. “There is no cabin?” she asked.

The corners of
Vranche’s mouth twitched slightly.

Kaia
swayed alarmingly.

Ekaterina gazed about, still smiling.

“Alas, dear Sisters,” Vranche replied, “my humble ship offers no such amenity. Forgive me, I must see to preparations for departure.”

He stalked off abruptly
, leaving Cathryn with no option but to shepherd the other two into the shelter.

Kaia
sank down sullenly onto one of the large cushions and curled her knees up to her chest.

“At least they’ve provided us with cushions,” Cathryn said in an effort to lighten the
tension.

“
Da!
”
La Russe
exclaimed breathlessly as Cathryn eased her down.

“I suppose,”
Kaia replied, still pouting. “But this isn’t what I’m used to.”

Cathryn
sat beside her and took her hand. “We must look upon this as an adventure. We have been called to do God’s work. He will protect us.”

Despite her
professed calm, Cathryn’s heart was racing. Deep within, she had a troubling sense that some life-changing event would happen on this journey.

The boat lurched as it was freed from its moorings.
Kaia put her forehead on her knees. Ekaterina twisted her wizened face into a grin as she turned her face to the wind and exclaimed, “
Da!
”

To his surprise, Bryk was appointed leader of a scouting party the next morning with strict instructions to find horses.

“Once we
have pack animals,” Hrolf declared, “raiding parties can travel fast and wreak havoc on the Franks quickly. We rendezvous this night just past the first oxbow bend in the river, on the north bank. If memory serves, it will take three hours to row there.”

Bryk
suspected he’d been chosen because he had armor and a reputation as a warrior. The five men assigned to him knew, as he did, that the chieftain required beasts of burden for treasure trove, not for men to ride. Vikings were foot soldiers.

They
waded across the narrow strip of water between the island where they had camped and the riverbank to the south. The
Seahorse
ferried another scouting party to the opposite bank.

After
an hour slogging through wet, boggy terrain, dogged by persistent flies, Bryk’s group came across a handful of wild horses. The beasts looked up lazily from their grazing as he motioned his men to crouch. They watched for long minutes. It was evident the animals were aware of them.

“It appears they don’t have much contact with people
. They’re curious, but not afraid,” he said.

Young
Sven Yngre frowned. “How will we capture them?”

Bryk
smiled, recalling his youth when he and his father and brothers had roamed Norway looking for horses for the farm.

“
Be calm,” he explained. “If a horse senses you’re nervous, it will scare him off. Watch me. I’ll approach their leader sideways so he won’t feel threatened. And never stare right into a wild horse’s eyes or he’ll think you’re a predator.”

Rope in
hand, talking quietly, he sidled towards the beast that appeared to be the dominant male.

He stopped a few yards away. “You’re a fine looking
horse,” he lied. “Magnificent indeed. Shiny coat, strong legs.”

He inched his way towards the animal and slowly p
ut out his hand to touch its neck.

It snorted,
stamping one foot, then another, but didn’t move away. The other horses stood stock still, watching, blonde tails twitching. Bryk talked on in a calm and soothing way. He petted the wild creature’s neck. He let it smell his hand. “You’re getting to know me,” he crooned.

A
s he was about to ease the rope around its neck, it shied, snorting at another horse that had suddenly trotted up, seemingly from nowhere.

Now here was a horse!
The newcomer nuzzled his hand, seemingly jealous of the first beast that it shouldered out of the way. It was several hands higher than the other horses, and gelded!

The other men had come to their feet, mouths agape.
Bryk motioned them away. “Feral,” he told them.

This good fortune augured well.
He gave thanks to Odin’s horse, Sleipnir. The brown gelding seemed to be the dominant horse, and must have been ridden at some time. It showed no fear. If he captured it, the others might follow.

He
chattered on and on, patting the horse’s neck, chuckling at the way the beast relished his attentions. “You’ve missed being with people, haven’t you?”

The animal almost
roped itself, and within half an hour they were leading a string of five horses across marshy plains and through forests en route to the rendezvous.

They reached the bend in the Seine after several hours, their
boots waterlogged, leg wraps and woolen hose soaked, feet frozen. He had an urge to peel off his heavy mail-shirt and cast it into the deepest bog he could find.

He
contemplated the river, shrugging off the discomfort. He’d been colder and wetter before. The Seine was narrower than near the mouth, but he recalled that the waters flowed swiftly here. Their comrades were on the opposite bank approximately a hundred yards away. They’d have to swim across. He was confident the gelding would accept a rider, but the wild horses would balk.

Suddenly he was shivering.
Vikings lived on the sea, but few were strong swimmers, and Bryk was no exception. They had to trust the horses would keep them above the water. He had no intention of drowning in a muddy river. How would he ever find his way to Valhalla?

The apprehensive looks on the other men’s faces as they urged the reluctant
beasts to the sandy bank told him they were thinking the same thing. He pushed away the niggling suspicion that none of these young men had ever ridden a horse.

“
Mount at the last moment,” he urged them. “Let’s hope they’ll be more nervous about the water.”

Bryk
led the way on the gelding, filled with a resentful feeling Hrolf would claim the handsome beast—simply as a possession since he never rode.

The water
deepened quickly. He sensed the moment his horse hesitantly allowed the water to keep it afloat. He gave the animal its head and soon it was swimming confidently. He glanced behind. The other riders were not faring as well, their mounts obviously terrified of the deep water. Sven Yngre struggled for control, but suddenly slid into the cold water. His horse turned, headed back to the shore they had just left, Sven clinging to its mane.

The remaining horses seemed to sense the panic in the air. They
halted close to mid stream, refusing to move despite the frantic shouts of the riders. If they didn’t start swimming soon, they’d be swept downriver.

Movement from behind
drew his attention. The
Seahorse
was approaching at speed from the other bank. Bryk feared the boat might make matters worse.

W
ith some difficulty, he turned his own horse in time to see Sven lose his grip and slip under the water.

Gritting his teeth,
Bryk motioned frantically to the Vikings in the boat. “Save Sven,” he yelled. “I’ll see to the horses.”

The longboat glided past him, but he didn’t look away, his
attention fixed on the men.

His mount seemed to sense what he intended. It swam strongly to the last horse in the group then continued on back to the bank. The
wild horses followed until all were safely back on the sandy shore they’d left minutes before. Bryk slid from his horse, reached his arms around its neck and rested his forehead on the animal’s. “Thanks be to Freyja we found you. I name you
Fisk
, for you surely swim like a fish.”

Fisk nickered as if in agreement.

Panting, soaked to the skin, Bryk looked out to the river.

Hrolf stood
braced at the helm of the
Seahorse
just offshore. “We have him,” he bellowed, pointing into the bow where Sven huddled. Bryk was relieved he wouldn’t have to explain the death of her only son to Sven’s grieving mother.

“Stay on that side
,” Hrolf hollered. “We must follow the river. It winds back and forth, but you can go overland, due east to where it narrows. We’ll meet again near the town there.”

Bryk
had never ventured this far inland, but he recalled something of Hrolf’s tales. “Jumièges?”

“
Ja!
Jumièges. It’s a good place to start raiding.”

The reconstruction of the devastated abbey at Jumièges was only partially complete, but it was immediately clear to Cathryn it would be a magnificent edifice. The Abbot had welcomed them with kindness, seemingly elated at having an “expert” in their midst. She’d been allotted a small working area within the confines of the library, the only part of the abbey that had been completed thus far. Even the kitchen was a makeshift affair of partial walls and canvas.

Two monks
were assigned as her pupils. Brother Javune, a handsome youth from Rouen, was eager to learn. The other, an older man named Brother Sprig, was not. He evidently resented being tutored by a female and refused to speak to her during the lessons.

“He’s from Neustria,” Javune whispered, as if that explained
the rudeness.

After a sennight of trying without success to elicit
some verbal response from Sprig, Cathryn decided this was yet another test of her worth as an adherent of Saint Catherine. Since Javune held promise, and Sprig’s talents were mediocre, she carried on as if nothing were amiss.

Ekaterina
went off to the river each day early in the morning, rarely returning until dusk. Cathryn supposed the woman spent her time in meditative prayer.

For
the first two days Kaia wandered from place to place, always sullen, bothered by a hacking cough she’d developed on the boat. On the third day, she meandered into Cathryn’s workplace and set eyes on Javune. From that day forth she became a frequent visitor and her cough seemed to miraculously disappear.

Javune’s
face reddened whenever Kaia happened by and leaned over his work, feigning interest.

After a fortnight,
Cathryn decided to speak to Kaia. Not only was her behavior sinful, Javune’s work was suffering as a result, and Sprig’s smirking face showed his increasing disdain.

“He’s a monk,” she
whispered to her friend between gritted teeth as they huddled together for warmth in their draughty cell after the evening meal. “And you are a postulant.”

“
Da!
” Ekaterina interjected from the pallet where she lay prostrate, breaking wind.

Kaia
pressed a thumb and finger to her nose. “But I’m only in the convent for my education. Papa will never force me to take final vows.”

Her remark saddened Cathryn. She had hoped that as the only two young
postulants, they might take final vows together when they were nineteen. The prospect of spending her life in the company of elderly women was depressing, especially if
Mater
Bruna was in charge. “But Javune is a monk.”

“He doesn’t want to be,”
Kaia insisted, pulling off her coif and wimple.

“
Da!
” Ekaterina repeated, filling the air with more trumpets of foul smelling wind.

Cathryn held her breath.
The lone candle’s flame flickered alarmingly. “What makes you think that?” she asked finally.

Kaia
sighed. “He tells me with his eyes—those beautiful blue eyes.”

Her words struck Cathryn like a bolt of lightning. She had noticed
Javune’s blue eyes, but only because colors and their many hues were important in her work. She obviously hadn’t seen in his eyes what Kaia had. On the other hand it hadn’t been difficult to read the dislike in Sprig’s heart when he turned his dark eyes on her.

“What do you mean?” she asked hesitantly
, removing her own headgear then scratching her scalp.

“He loves me,”
Kaia whispered, pulling her habit over her head.

“
Da!
”

Cathryn and
Kaia both puffed out their cheeks, holding their breath, but no sound emerged from the dozing doyenne. When she deemed it safe to breathe again, Cathryn snorted. “How can he be in love with you? He doesn’t know you, and you don’t know him.”

Kaia
looked at her wistfully. “It was love at first sight.”

Something in her friend’s eyes gave her pause. She’d never seen
Kaia look radiant before. “Love at first sight?” she whispered.

Kaia
hunched her shoulders, beaming a smile Cathryn never suspected she had in her arsenal of facial expressions. “He makes me feel tingly.” She smoothed her hands over her breasts. “Here,” she whispered.

Cathryn averted her gaze from
Kaia’s nipples, pouting against the thin fabric of her chemise. A good nun didn’t notice such things.

Then
Kaia trailed a fingertip slowly down her belly to her mons. “And here,” she said throatily.

Cathryn’s lungs stopped working. T
he fetid air was suddenly too hot, the habit too confining. As her friend settled onto the second pallet, evidently lost in thoughts of Javune, she felt cast adrift from everything she had ever known. She’d grown up in the certainty she would devote her life to Saint Catherine. The martyr had been the virgin bride of Christ. Had the long dead woman she served ever tingled in those intimate places?

You are bound
straight for Hell.

Certainly
no one in Cathryn’s life had ever made her feel that way. She clenched the inner muscles between her legs, wanting inexplicably to stretch like one of the cats that prowled the kitchens in Rouen. On the morrow she’d have to do penance for these sinful thoughts.

She
quickly stripped off her habit, resisting the temptation to glance at her own strangely tingling nipples, and slumped down on the pallet next her friend.

She
dozed fitfully and wasn’t sure how long she’d tossed and turned when she became aware Kaia no longer slumbered beside her. She sat up abruptly, peering into the gloom. Ekaterina snored on. Kaia was gone.

Fear gripped her heart. To venture abroad at night was dangerous especially after the Abbott had mentioned there
’d been reports of thieves downriver. She was certain Kaia was with Javune.

She
felt around in the darkness for her habit, struggled into it and crept from the cell, fumbling with the corded belt.
Mater
had made it clear her wealthy friend was her responsibility.