Daughter of Fire and Ice (6 page)

By this time the anchor was up and the oars were out. The captain called the first stroke. The oars pulled out of time, splashing and uncoordinated. I almost screamed with frustration. The crew were inexperienced and now the rowing boat was so close they could almost touch us.

‘Svanson, for the love of Thor, wait for us!’ one of the men shouted. ‘Don’t you see there are soldiers coming?’

I reached into my bag and wrapped my hand around my iron knife. I knew if we let these men on board they would discover our deception and kill us. I was prepared to defend myself by any means necessary.

The next pull on the oars was stronger. I felt our ship stir sluggishly. Across the water, I could hear splashes. Someone on the second ship was calling the stroke as well.

The rowing boat crashed into the side of our ship and one man leapt onto the rail. I gripped my knife tighter and fought back the fear that was making me feel sick. We had been so close to escaping.

‘What in the name of Odin is happening—?’ he began to shout.

Bjorn leapt to his feet and pushed him hard in the chest. He fell backwards into the water with a cry and a splash.

‘Traitor!’ Bjorn shouted in Svanson’s gutteral voice.

We were moving now, but slowly, painfully slowly with so few people to row. Could we get away? I leant over the side to see, and two cold hands grabbed hold of my wrists. I cried out and tried to pull away, desperately fighting not to lose my balance and be pulled overboard. The hands were like steel bands on me. I dropped to my knees and bit one of the fingers as hard as I could. There was a cry of pain from its owner and I managed to twist one arm free. Then I took a firmer grip on my knife, gathered my courage, and stabbed into the hand that still clutched me. Blood spurted dark out of it. There was a scream and abruptly I was released. I staggered back, feeling my hands wet and sticky. I could see the rowing boat falling behind us now. Two men were still in it, one staring at us, the other on his feet, shaking his fists and calling the curses of the gods down on us. Two more thrashed desperately in the water, calling for help. The ship was picking up speed now, and we glided away from them.

The men were looking back over their shoulders. They knew they had lost us, and yet they couldn’t return to shore. I watched as they rescued their comrades from the water and began to row out into the fjord away from the king’s men on the beach they had just left. They would be hunted men, now. Fugitives. Outlaws. As were we. But we had the ships. We had escaped.

All the exhaustion and pain I’d been holding at bay suddenly overwhelmed me. My knees gave way and I leant heavily on the side of the ship, breathing fast. The relief was almost too much to bear. I realized Bjorn was beside me when I felt his hands on my shoulders.

‘Are you all right?’ he asked anxiously. He saw the dark smear of blood on my hand and I heard his sharp intake of breath.

‘It’s not my blood,’ I said tremulously. I wondered if I was going to be sick again.

‘Brave girl,’ Bjorn said softly. ‘We’re away now, but it’s not over. Go to the prow and be lookout, will you? There may be rocks or islands ahead.’

He returned to his oar and I walked to the front of the ship, feeling weak and drained. The shifting dusk around us seemed unreal, as did the cool summer breeze fanning my cheek. It seemed impossible that just this morning I had woken up in my father’s house and looked forward to a day of weaving and other household tasks.

Behind me I could hear the captain calling the stroke from where he stood at the tiller. He had a deep, booming voice that carried across the ship. I knew that however exhausted I was, I couldn’t rest yet. I needed to be lookout and I also needed to plan for the next step in our escape. Bjorn had to convince the captain that he was Svanson until we were out to sea and it was too late to turn back. It would help if we knew his name. Then Bjorn would have to reveal himself. That would be dangerous too.

I paused to speak to a woman who was straining at the oars, her breath coming in gasps already.

‘What’s the captain’s name?’ I asked her.

‘Thrang,’ she told me breathlessly.

‘Thank you,’ I whispered, and took up my post at the prow.

We rowed steadily, the ship gliding through the dark water. The splash of the oars and the creaking of the rowlocks were loud in the still night air. I stared ahead, straining my eyes and ears to catch the least sign or sound of rocks before we ran upon them. I wasn’t the best person for this task, but the others were all rowing.

It grew steadily lighter and before long, glancing back behind us, I saw the first flush of dawn in the sky. I also saw Bjorn on his way to join me. There were now only three pairs of oars in action and one woman was resting, leaning against the side of the ship, breathing hard.

‘We’re almost out of the fjord,’ Bjorn said, pointing ahead. ‘As soon as we’re on the open sea, we’ll be able to hoist the sail.’

‘And the captain will see you’re not Svanson,’ I said. ‘He’s called Thrang, by the way. What are you going to tell him?’

‘Whatever I think is most likely to convince him to work for me,’ replied Bjorn. ‘Do you have any advice for dealing with those dogs? I can’t go near them without them growling. I don’t fancy getting bitten.’

‘Feed them,’ I said. ‘Let no one else give them food but you. It’ll take time, but there’s no other way.’

Bjorn nodded and went to look for meat. I heard angry snarls and he returned quickly.

‘As you say, it might take some time,’ he muttered, nursing a bitten finger.

I took a strip of clean cloth from my bag and wrapped it around the bite. As I tied the knot, Bjorn grasped my hand. ‘Thank you,’ he whispered.

‘It’s nothing,’ I said, surprised. ‘I bind cuts for people all the time.’

‘No, I meant thank you for this escape. I’m glad it’s you I’m running away with.’ Bjorn released my hand, and without giving me a chance to reply, he went to relieve one of the slaves of their oar. I watched him, pleased at his words. He must have felt my eyes on him, because he looked up and straight at me from his seat at the oar. I felt myself blushing slightly, and turned away.

The cliffs began to slowly peel back on either side of us as the fjord widened. The wind freshened and the water grew more choppy, lapping against the sides of the boat.

Now I could see the open sea ahead of us, the low grey sky coming down to meet the water in the far distance. It was an exhilarating sight. It filled me with a sense of adventure. I was setting out to explore the unknown. I would see sights that no one in my family had seen before.

The thought of my family sobered me. I longed to know that my mother and brother had reached my uncle’s. But even then, there was no certainty of safety with an army in the district. As for my father, I hardly dared hope he’d made it back to them. I felt tears close to the surface and breathed deeply to dispell them. I needed to be brave. It was what they would want.

When the sun peeped above the horizon in a blaze of pinks and oranges, the slaves were ordered to ship the oars. I helped tie them securely inside the ship, watching and learning from what the others were doing. Thrang and two other men were hoisting the vast woollen sail. I gasped as I saw it lift on the mast and billow, catching the wind. The ship bounded forward and tilted, suddenly revealing its power and speed.

‘Beautiful, isn’t she?’ said Bjorn, coming towards me.

‘I’d never imagined anything like it,’ I agreed, awestruck.

We swung round and instead of continuing out to sea, we headed north, hugging the shoreline. The other ship was following us, I could see. I could make out the people on board scurrying around the deck, readying the sail as Thrang had done.

‘Now,’ said Bjorn softly. He walked away from me to where timber was stacked along the length of the ship and swung himself onto it, holding onto the mast with one hand. Then with a dramatic sweep of his other hand, he flung his hood back.

He wasn’t a tall man, but he was broad and powerful, and stood proudly with his shoulders thrown back and one hand on his sword hilt. His long black hair blew back in the wind and he had a growth of stubble on his chin. He was very handsome, I noticed for the first time. He had fine features and clear eyes. He looked so confident, that for a moment my fear faded.

At first there was no reaction. Then a few people noticed him, and stared, confused. There was a sudden silence that spread away from us across the ship. The captain caught sight of him and stood frozen for a long moment.

‘What in Thor’s name … ?’ he blustered at last. ‘Where is Svanson?’

‘I am Svanson,’ Bjorn announced brazenly.

‘Liar!’ shouted Thrang, and so swiftly that I barely had time to blink, he’d drawn his sword with a scrape of iron and thrust it at Bjorn.

Bjorn had been expecting it. My father’s sword flashed out, parrying the blow. He swung Thrang’s sword up with his own weapon and then threw himself on the captain, bearing him heavily to the deck. Both men dropped their swords. There was a brief, confused scuffle, and then I saw Bjorn had his knife to the captain’s neck. The captain roared with rage, but didn’t dare move. The dogs danced around them barking frantically.

‘I’m Bjorn Svanson,’ Bjorn shouted. ‘Will you serve me or do you prefer to die?’

There was a silence. I watched, horror-struck, praying I was not about to witness a second killing. The sight of that iron knife pressed against Thrang’s throat made me feel sick. Thrang didn’t reply. The seconds drew out painfully.

‘Yield,’ hissed Bjorn. ‘Yield and you’ll be well paid for your trouble. What were you offered for this voyage?’

‘Ten pieces of silver,’ uttered Thrang in a strangled voice.

We needed the captain. Without him, we had little chance of reaching Iceland. Our voyage hung in the balance. Thrang was rigid with fury, his muscles braced against Bjorn’s hold, the veins standing out in his neck and forehead, his eyes bulging.

‘Well, I offer far more,’ said Bjorn. ‘I offer you the second ship. You’d be a man of means.’

‘Madness. How do I know I can trust you?’ Thrang panted.

‘How do I know you can find the way to Iceland?’ said Bjorn. ‘We have to trust one another.’

Thrang had no choice. All at once he stopped resisting.

‘I yield,’ he muttered.

Bjorn released him abruptly, pushing himself to his feet and tucking his knife away. He picked up both swords, climbed back onto the timber and addressed the whole ship.

‘My friends!’ he cried. ‘A word!’

There was a collective intake of breath as everyone on board who hadn’t had a clear sight of him before, now saw for certain that he wasn’t their chieftain and master.

‘Our good captain Thrang recognizes my authority. Does any other man on board wish to challenge me?’

There was a dreadful silence.

‘A man chose to cross me yesterday and he ended up dead,’ Bjorn spoke into the silence. He had everyone’s attention.

‘He was a man of immense cruelty and he deserved death. I lay claim to his name, his title, and his goods. But I’m a very different sort of man. I swear to you all, that every person on board will be better off serving me. You’ll be well fed. You’ll be treated with respect. And you’ll be paid for your labour and your loyalty.’

I was astonished at Bjorn’s ability to speak. He was addressing the ship with total confidence. It was a rousing speech and everyone was listening intently.

‘Why?’ asked a black-haired, dark-skinned woman with broad cheekbones. ‘Why would you offer us all that?’

‘I don’t hold with slavery,’ answered Bjorn calmly but in a clear voice that carried the length of the ship. The switch from dramatic speech to understated utterance worked more powerfully than any energetic protestation could have done. It sounded sincere.

I could see the slaves exchanging looks of hope but also of scepticism and disbelief. I too was surprised and doubtful. He couldn’t let these slaves go. If they were recognized, they’d be considered runaways. Their lives would be forfeit or subject to a new bondage. Besides, we couldn’t do without them.

‘If you work hard and well for me for one year in the new land,’ Bjorn promised, ‘I’ll give you your freedom and one silver mark each—to every man and woman among you. And child,’ he said, acknowledging the presence of a girl of about ten winters who clung to her mother. ‘Then if you choose to stay with me,’ he paused and glanced across at me, ‘to stay with Thora and me,’ he amended, ‘you stay as paid labourers. Or you will be free to leave and make your own lives. There is land for the taking in Iceland.’

I felt a glow of excitement and pride. Bjorn was acknowledging me as the head of the house, the woman in charge.

‘He’s mad,’ I heard someone by me whisper. ‘Who in Odin’s name is he?’

‘I will await an answer from each of you,’ Bjorn announced.

He stepped down from the timber and came to stand beside me.

‘Do you think I’ve persuaded them?’ he asked me quietly.

‘I don’t know. What will you do if they all choose to leave?’ I asked uncertainly. ‘You can’t run a farm with two or three people. I’ve tried.’

‘They won’t all leave,’ he assured me. ‘Because they’ll be better off on a bigger farm in a house such as we can build with all this timber.’ He pointed to the stacks of posts and planks that dominated the entire centre of the boat.

Bjorn moved away and began walking among the slaves answering their questions.

‘How do we know you mean what you say?’ demanded an older man, his head bound in a scarf.

‘You’ll have to trust me,’ Bjorn replied simply.

The slaves exchanged looks once more, but it seemed to me there was more hope than doubt in their eyes. No one said anything more.

I glanced back at Thrang. He was at the tiller, his face stormy and dark with suspicion. His aura was full of anger. I felt a chill of fear pass through me like a light shiver. I wasn’t sure he could be trusted. I would warn Bjorn to beware of him. He was a free man, not a slave grateful to be untied. And he’d been defeated and humiliated.