Lord of Hawkfell Island (11 page)

None of the men argued with him, not even Askhold, who appeared to dislike her heartily, or Sculla, who simply believed that since she was small and female, she was thus of little consequence, since he could, naturally, crush her easily with one hand.

There were eight men, all of them rowing the second longboat. All of them were armed. There were always outlaws lurking about in East Anglia, just beyond the salt marshes. They always took care. There was only the sound of the water slapping against the sides of the warship and the raucous cries of the black-headed gulls overhead. They rowed into the estuary, strokes strong and steady. They were silent, concentrating on their task. From the thick clouds overhead, dunlin wheeled in tight flocks, disturbed by their presence.

There were more animals and birds here than on the island, the salt marshes on either side of the estuary pulsing with life and movement, and sudden shrieks of death as well. Rorik listened, trying to block out all the animal and bird sounds. He heard no sounds of people. They drew alongside the other warship, tied to
a tree trunk alongside the trail they normally traveled to hunt. It was deserted.

The men were silent, but they still held no doubts that Hafter would crush the girl were she to try to escape or avoid the work, aye, and the women would help him, for she was a prisoner, an enemy.

Rorik doubted mightily. He led the men quietly through the salt marsh, knowing from long experience where to find the firmer ground. Suddenly there was the muted yell, a woman's yell.

They burst through a dense cover of tangled overgrowth into a small clearing. There was Old Alna, bound to a straggly fir tree, shrieking again around a wad of wool she'd managed to work to the side of her mouth. Beside her, bound to a large yew bush was Asta, her gag firmly in place.

There was no sign of Entti or Hafter.

The men rushed forward to untie the two women.

Rorik remained standing, his hands on his hips. He said to Old Alna, “This was your idea, was it not? You wanted her to work and look what has happened. Tell me quickly. Where is she? Where are Hafter and Entti?”

It was Asta, Gurd the blacksmith's wife, who said quickly, working her mouth to regain moisture and feeling, “Nay, my lord, do not blame Alna. She wanted the girl to have some exercise. She was growing weak chained to your bed. We saw no danger—”

“You are fools,” Rorik said shortly. He watched Asta rub her arms, numb, he imagined, from being bound for so long. He waited, then said, “Tell me and be quick about it.”

Asta shrugged. “Hafter took Entti with him to dally away the afternoon. He said he feared letting her collect roots and herbs; he said none of the men wanted
their bellies to cramp or their bowels to convulse, but he was looking at her as would a hungry wolf at a boar steak. It was after they left that the girl Mirana managed to get a rock without Alna or me seeing her. She hit me on the head and knocked me down. Then she tied up Alna and then me.”

Rorik felt no surprise at all. Why did none of the others see her as he did? He cursed low and long. “How long ago?” he asked finally.

“Three hours at least.”

He cursed again, infuriated with himself and with Old Alna and with his damned arrogant men who couldn't imagine a woman besting them at anything.

He would find her, he didn't doubt that, but he did doubt he would find her alive. She was a woman and she was young and comely, and that thought froze his blood. If outlaws or Saxon raiders or other Vikings found her, they'd rape her in turn, abuse her endlessly, and probably kill her. He didn't want her dead. Damnation. He raised his voice and yelled, “Hafter! Come to me now!”

But there was no answer from Hafter. They found him ten minutes later barely conscious, a large lump just over his right ear, tied securely to a tree with long strips from a woman's tunic.

Entti was nowhere to be found. Nor was Mirana.

I
T WAS DARK
, the sliver of moon overhead giving little light through the thick fir and pine branches at their camp. Crickets sounded loud in the warm night. There was an occasional splash in the bog just feet from where they sat, for the most part silent. Rorik stared into the small fire, his hands stretched to the flames, feeling the blessed heat warm him.

His men continued silent. They'd eaten dried fish and apples and hard flatbread. Their bellies were filled, unlike the women who hadn't even eaten any of the food brought over for the noonday meal.

Rorik had sent two men back to Hawkfell Island to fetch supplies. He didn't know how long it would take to find a sign of her. He had no idea of the direction she'd taken. She and Entti. Why had she taken Entti? None of the men had any idea. Surely she didn't intend Entti to be a hostage, for the woman was a slave herself. Just because all the men lusted after Entti didn't mean they wouldn't hesitate to kill her if need be.

Mirana must have known she was courting nearly certain death if she managed to escape, yet she hadn't cared. She would obviously rather die than remain his prisoner. She cared that much for that cursed brother of hers. His mouth tasted sour at that thought.
He'd made her desperate; he'd made her consider death rather than remain chained to his bed. He spat and continued to stare into the flames.

The gods knew he hadn't abused her, not really. She had bitten his ankle when he'd rested his foot on her neck on their voyage to Hawkfell Island. But she could have fallen overboard if he hadn't held her still, that or jumped from the warship just to thwart him. His mind continued in this vein even though he knew he was lying—and to himself, which was the worst kind of lie there was.

He'd had to whip her but he hadn't hurt her and she knew it as well as did he.

He'd had no choice but to chain her in his sleeping chamber. She would have caused havoc had he allowed her to run loose. She would have run all right, all the way to the dock to steal a warship and try to row it by herself, anywhere. And now she was out there, somewhere, in the darkness, she and Entti, and she had no protection, no food.

Hafter said, looking into the fire, even as he continued to massage his head where Mirana had struck him, “I had Entti under me. She was smiling and kissing me, her legs already around my flanks. I was just ready to come into her body when the witch struck me hard on the head.”

“You're a fool, Hafter,” Rorik said, his voice emotionless. His rage, his fear that Mirana was already dead, all that he felt, he would keep to himself.

“I know,” Hafter said and sighed deeply. “My head is killing me. I have a lump here that does naught save grow and grow.”

“You deserve it,” Gurd the blacksmith said, and chewed on a cord of dried fish. “She could have killed my Asta if she'd had the notion to do it. And then I
would have had to kill you for allowing it.”

“Aye,” said Sculla. “ 'Twas your responsibility and you failed because you wanted to stick your rod into Entti. Your lust has brought us all low. Now we must needs track two women, one of them a prisoner, the other one—well, I'd not believed her ruthless and cold as any witch that lives under the earth, but now perhaps I must change my thinking.”

“She stole my sword and my knife,” Hafter said. “She's not completely without protection.”

Rorik cursed. Hafter hadn't told him that before. By all the gods, this added a new danger, both to the women and to Rorik and his men when they caught up to them. He rubbed his fingertips over his throat. He asked now, “But why in the name of Odin All-Father did she take Entti?” He didn't look at any one of his men, merely stared beyond their camp into the dark forest beyond.

“Aye,” Askhold said, shaking his head. “It makes no sense to me either, Rorik.”

“Who can understand the mind of a woman?” Gurd said. “ 'Tis of no real importance. We must needs sleep now. We can begin to track them at dawn. The two of them trekking inland curdles my belly. They'll not make it far, that's certain.” He paused a moment, then said, “I want Entti back. Now that you've broken the women's rebellion, Rorik, I can take her whenever it pleases me and Asta will say nothing about it or I will whip her, just as you said.”

“I had not meant that exactly,” Rorik said, and frowned at the blacksmith. He was remembering Mirana's words, words that had riled him, had made him shake with anger at her. She'd asked him if he'd been faithless, demanded to know if he approved married men bedding other women in front of their wives.
He didn't approve, but damnation, he couldn't dictate to his men, couldn't demand they not bed Entti. Mirana had been right, damn her. The women had few choices; they'd punished the men with inedible cooking and he'd threatened to whip them for it.

“Asta will obey me,” Gurd said. “She is a good wife. She must obey me, her husband.”

Aye, Rorik thought, that was the crux of the matter, but still, it didn't settle well with him.

 

Mirana laughed softly. All men were gullible. She'd proved it yet again. Even mighty Rorik, ah, she'd fooled him and his damned men.

She and Entti had cut the second warship adrift and settled down in the other one. Now they were quietly rowing toward the mouth of the estuary. It was just before dawn. She'd wanted to leave hours before but knew they couldn't possibly navigate in the sea and they couldn't take the chance that Rorik would send men back to Hawkfell Island again. They would see that the other warship was gone. Thus, Mirana and Entti had spent their night within twenty feet of Rorik and his men and they'd heard all their talk.

Gurd, Mirana had decided, needed more lessons in how to properly treat Asta, a woman of whom she was very fond, a woman filled with laughter and joy and kindness. She hoped the bonds hadn't hurt either Asta or Old Alna. She'd had to take them by surprise because she couldn't depend on them agreeing to help her escape. If she had asked them and they had agreed, then she would be endangering them, for she imagined if Rorik were to discover that the women had helped her escape, he wouldn't have shown much kindness to them. He might have had them whipped. He might have done even worse.

She and Entti had watched the other warship return to the island, both Asta and Old Alna aboard. She'd said a silent good-bye to them both. They'd watched it return with more men and provisions. And they'd waited.

“I doubt they'll come back this way,” Mirana said now in a low voice, pitching it to the night sounds surrounding them. There was the soft slap of the water against the sides of the warship, the occasional sound of a frog or cricket, a slithering sound near the side of the longboat that made Mirana's flesh pucker and crawl. Once, something long and solid had bumped against the longboat and Mirana had had to stifle a yell.

“Nay,” Entti said, satisfaction in her husky voice. “They believe we fled like empty-headed females through the salt marshes deep into East Anglia itself. They're fools to believe us such empty-headed fools. But they are naught but men, after all.”

Mirana smiled at her new friend. Entti was no simpleton, she thought again as she turned to look at Entti's vague outline in the darkness. What a wondrous surprise that had been when she'd snuck up on Hafter and Entti had stared up at her, and smiled and nodded, bringing Hafter's head down to hers, holding him tightly against her chest, wrapping her legs around his flanks, so Mirana could slam the rock against his head.

“There is still grave danger,” Mirana said. “It would be foolish of us to be overly confident. By all the gods, Entti, I don't know. Perhaps you were safer staying on Hawkfell Island. You were not abused. The women were kind to you, they protected you.”

“Aye, they were,” Entti said, “but the act was growing more and more difficult.” She fell silent as she
drew again on the oar, her motion steady and smooth. “You believe pleasuring one man after the other not to be abuse, Mirana? They had endless appetites, and a few were animals. They believed they were doing me such a favor, giving me such joy, the rutting stoats. Hafter was different, but still, the chance to escape, the chance to be free once again, it is worth all the danger to be rid of even him.”

“And Rorik?”

“I never bedded Rorik. I tried to gain his attention, but he kept to himself. I had hoped that if I bedded him, he would keep the others away from me. But it never worked. I realized that he felt sorry for me, for my simpleness, for the innocence of my mind. I believe he thought to bed me would be like bedding a helpless child.” She laughed softly. “I wasn't wise. I decided to play the lackwit shortly after the Vikings captured me. I decided I could bear the men bedding me, that I would be able to suffer it and keep my mind and soul free of them, but it became more and more difficult, as I told you. I would rather die now than return to Hawkfell Island. I would rather die than be a whore again.”

“You survived and that is what is important. With luck, both of us will continue to survive. Thank you, Entti.”

And that was that. Mirana sat opposite her on the narrow wooden plank, both women drawing on their oars together. It took a while to gain a rhythm, but they'd at last managed it. Each draw took them farther and farther away. Soon they would reach the mouth of the estuary and the North Sea. Two women rowing a warship. It would be difficult, near to impossible, but Mirana knew they would manage somehow.

Entti said, “I found it amusing when the women took their revenge, and I wanted desperately to help them,
but how could I? I was naught but a blank-brained child. They were so furious when their husbands took me, but they never blamed me, particularly Asta. Even she showed me no dislike or blamed me for Gurd's infidelity. I disliked him more than any of the others. But then Amma's plan, and what they did to the men until Rorik made his threat! I heard Amma talking to some of the other women of your idea, but then Rorik made his threat immediately, giving it no time to work.”

“Aye,” Mirana said. “I wondered why he did it so soon. He didn't even eat any of the porridge that next morning, and it was very very good, Entti.”

Entti chuckled. “I saw him go to his sleeping chamber when Amma and Old Alna were in there with you. He didn't enter, but just paused outside. I believe he overheard you and the women making your new plans. He knew he had to act quickly and so he did. He isn't a stupid man.”

“There will be no more rebellions, Entti. All the women know he whipped me even though they don't know why he did it. It was enough to make them forgo any more thoughts of defiance. 'Tis a pity and yes, Rorik is many things, but he isn't stupid.”

“Mayhap he was this time. We have escaped him. By the gods, Mirana, we listened to him and his men calling us naught but women, small and helpless and insignificant as insects. Aye, this time we've won.” Entti looked heavenward for a moment, then said, “Why did Rorik whip you?”

“It was silly, really. I was too proud to bend, and that's the truth of it. Oddly enough, he was very careful not to hurt me.” Mirana added, shaking her head, “Naturally, he blamed me for making him have to whip me.”

“Men,” Entti said, “they behave as if they actually
believe what they do is right. It is astounding that they can be so blind.”

“Lucky for you that they are, my friend.”

“Aye, if you would wish to regard my captivity in that light. I was lucky. I survived to escape.”

They rowed in silence, for their breaths were beginning to hitch with the strain. It was nearly impossible for the two of them to keep the warship exactly on the right course. They had to make constant corrections, and it was exhausting.

Mirana said, “I know weapons and have a certain skill with a knife and a sword. If only there had been time, if only Rorik hadn't overheard our plan. All the women need is the proper training, for they have grit and heart. A man whose parts or whose throat is threatened by an agile hand wielding a knife isn't a man to go against his honor, to spite his wife.”

“Mirana?”

“Aye?”

“You would have them gullet the men? Nay, don't answer. I like it very much. I can see Amma sitting atop Sculla, a knife pricking his throat. Except, of course, Sculla is a faithful hound. He loves her, nay, he worships that woman. Raki is the same. Poor Erna has but one good arm, yet it makes no difference to him or to their sons. She is a good woman.”

“If we both still live on the morrow, tell me that again.”

“We will be alive,” Entti said, and for a while, at least, Mirana was content to believe her.

 

It was sheer happenstance. Askhold had forgotten a skin water bag and had returned to the warship to fetch it before they set out to journey inland at dawn the following morning.

Both warships were gone.

“Gone?” Rorik repeated, staring blankly at Askhold.

“Aye, both of them.”

“No accident,” Hafter said.

Gurd said, “She did it. The woman is cunning and treacherous as a snake. Rorik is right. She has a brain. She thinks like a man. She did it. I will strangle her skinny white neck when we catch her.”