Now the boy remembered. In that fragment of time between seeing Lucy with a knife at her throat and the utter darkness that followed, there was an instant where a huge one-browed man had hurled himself at Jack. This was he! This was a berserker in the flesh, every bit as dreadful as the stories said. Beyond him Jack saw other men pulling on oars. They were smaller than the giant but just as evil-looking.
Lucy! What had happened to her? Had they—? It was unthinkable! But men who could slaughter the gentle monks would think nothing of killing a girl. Jack closed his eyes. He had failed to save the one person he was bound to protect. His fragile little sister had been tossed aside as if she were of no more importance than a mouse.
He found that having his eyes closed made him even more seasick.
Jack pulled himself up and staggered to the rail. It would take only a small effort to throw himself over the side. Why not? What did he have to live for? Lucy was dead, perhaps even his parents. He didn’t know what had happened while he was unconscious. His future was bleak. The berserkers would probably kill him in some entertaining way. They might even
Jack felt at his neck. There it was, invisible but still warm to the touch. What a laugh! It saved his life for what? He was a miserable failure who let berserkers kill his sister. He let the Nightmare steal the Bard’s wits. The poor old man would wander until he found the Valley of Lunatics. At least there he’d make friends.
Jack’s mouth quirked. What was
kind
He felt warmth spreading from the hidden rune. It filled him with a distant hope. After all, he didn’t know that his parents were dead. The Bard might recover. Life was precious and not to be thrown away heedlessly.
At that moment Jack looked down the length of the boat and saw the boy who’d killed Lucy. Jack lurched forward, but he saw he wouldn’t get past the men. They sat squarely in the middle, each one hauling on a pair of oars. The giant sat in front on a wooden chest.
For a moment the giant appeared to be working it out. Then his eyes opened wide.
“A? drepa ?etta brjostabarn. Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!”
brjostabarn,
most definitely meant “kill”. He pushed his way past the berserkers, stepping over legs and under elbows. He didn’t know what he was going to do when he got back there.
He came out from under the last smelly, sheepskin-clad arm and tripped over Lucy. She was crouched in the dirty water at the bottom of the boat. “It’s about time,” she sniffled. “I’ve been suffering most horribly, and all you did was sleep.”
“You’re alive! Oh, thank Heaven!” He hugged his little sister, who at once burst into tears.
“I’ve been trying to tell these knights to take me to the castle,” she sobbed.
“They aren’t knights,” Jack said, unsure of how much to tell Lucy.
“You can say that again! They smell like hogs and bark like dogs. And they laugh at me. Tell them to take us home right now.”
“I don’t think they’ll obey me,” said Jack.
“He’s asking why you don’t kill me,” said the boy in perfect Saxon. “If you try, I’ll cut your head off.” He continued plying his oar, which was different from the others. It hung from a kind of hinge and went straight down into the water.
“You’re the
The blow opened up the cut on Jack’s head. He wanted to fight back, but he was too weak. All he could manage was to hold his stomach and try to keep from vomiting.
“You monster!” shrieked Lucy. “You—you
“No… no…” moaned Jack. He expected the giant to hurl Lucy into the sea.
“You’ve got to do something!” Lucy was screaming. “You’re my knights, and you’re supposed to be taking me to my castle. Get off that box and beat that
“Hann er ?r?llinn minn,
“?u matt ekki drepa hann.”
Gradually, the bleeding stopped, and Jack was able to recover from the vicious blow to his stomach. He couldn’t think of a thing to do, other than stay alive for Lucy’s sake. She had no idea of their extreme danger. To her, this was merely an uncomfortable adventure.
After a long while Thorgil turned to Jack and once again spoke in perfect Saxon. “I will not kill you because you belong to Olaf One-Brow. It is his privilege to do so. However, the girl is my thrall.” He smiled coldly. “I will kill her whenever I wish, if you displease me.” And he turned again to ply his single oar.
Chapter Eleven
THE SHIELD MAIDEN
They traveled all day, with breaks to let the oarsmen rest. The sky remained gray, but the clouds lifted enough for Jack to see land far to the left. At one point they passed an island that trailed plumes of smoke. Was that the Holy Isle? It was too hazy to tell.
At one point the rowers halted, and Olaf One-Brow passed out smoked fish, cheese, and a kind of flatbread Jack had never seen before. He thought it delicious until he realized it had been stolen from some poor village. Olaf found a pot of honey and smeared it on the bread for Lucy. No one else got this treat.
What was he to do about her? Jack might try swimming to shore by himself, but he couldn’t leave her behind. Olaf One-Brow might possibly be talked into setting her free, but Lucy didn’t belong to him. The berserkers set great store by ownership. Once Thorgil had pinched her, to see Jack’s reaction, and Olaf had done nothing about it.
They slid north on the gray ocean until the sun broke out in late afternoon. It hovered, red and swollen, over the horizon as they turned toward land. Jack saw a dense forest and fires along the shore. Two other boats had been drawn up. Shouts greeted their arrival.
Altogether the warriors numbered about forty men and seven boys. The ones on shore were showing off the booty they had taken—embroidered shawls, necklaces, even pairs of dainty ladies’ shoes draped about their necks like trophies. They pranced around, guffawing and pointing at one another. Other loot was displayed on the sand: metal work, pottery, spoons, swags of richly colored cloth, and a jeweled cross that might have come from the Holy Isle. Huddled next to the forest were the captives, with their legs hobbled.
Jack was hustled to this group, but Lucy was presented like a rare prize to the assembled warriors. Olaf lifted her over his head and boomed
“She’s a little charmer, isn’t she?” a woman said. She was thin, her eyes full of grief. “I had a daughter. She wasn’t as beautiful as your sister.” She fell silent, and Jack thought he knew what had happened. The woman’s daughter had not been pretty enough to keep.
“The girl’s a slave like the rest of us,” said a man in a torn monk’s robe. “They’ll raise her like a prize pig and then sell her.”
“At least she’s alive,” Jack said.
“Sometimes death is better.”
“No, it isn’t.”
The monk laughed harshly. “Hark at him! The child presumes to lecture his elders. Listen, boy. Long life is but a chance to commit more sins. The longer you live, the more Satan whispers in your ear. Your soul grows so heavy, it gets dragged down to Hell. It’s better to die young, preferably right after baptism, and be taken into Heaven.”
“My daughter is in Heaven,” said the sad-eyed woman.
“Yes, well, you don’t know that,” the monk said. “Even quite small children are capable of evil.”
“I
“Man is born corrupt,” the monk said in a hollow voice. Jack made no answer. That was the sort of thing Father said all the time.
The warriors gorged themselves on roast meat until their bellies bulged and their beards shone with grease. They drank mead until they fell over. Fights broke out. More than one man went to bed with a cut lip or a bloody nose, but it seemed to be in good fun. Jack noticed, however, that some did not take part.
Olaf One-Brow’s group camped by themselves. No one playfully punched them or threw sand in their hair. No one uttered a catcall in their direction. It seemed that Olaf’s men were too important to indulge in horseplay.
The exception was Thorgil. Another lad with chopped-off hair ran past the group and threw a pebble at the boy. Thorgil sprang to his feet with a shout and took off after the offender. Round and round they went until Thorgil caught up with his tormentor.
“They’re saying, ‘Kill him! Kill him!’” the monk said quietly.
“You know their language?” said Jack. Thorgil was getting the best of the fight because he was so much more frenzied.
“Oh, yes. I have had occasion to preach to these… animals.”
By now the short-haired lad was trying to escape, but Thorgil pulled him back and proceeded to pound and kick him in a sickening way. The cries of the watchers changed to
“She?” Jack was startled from his fascination with the fight. It was getting nasty, with Thorgil pulling the boy’s head back in an attempt to break his neck.
“Oh, yes. That’s a girl.”
“I’m surprised,” said the monk. “Olaf usually lets a fight go through to the end.” The giant lumbered back across the sand with Thorgil tucked firmly under his arm.
“How can that be a girl?” said Jack. He’d known some bad-tempered girls in the village, but none of them would have thrown themselves into such a vicious fight. None of the boys, either, for that matter.
“She’s a shield maiden,” said the monk. “A little abomination who will certainly toast her heels in Hell for all eternity. She’s trying to make the grade with Olaf, so she’s twice as likely to pick fights as his men. And they’re no slouches.” The monk stared long and hard at the group. By now most of the warriors had collapsed on the sand in a drunken stupor. Only Olaf’s men spread cloths and lay down properly.
They formed a square as though, even in sleep, they were in military formation. In the middle lay Thorgil. Next to her, on a blanket, was Lucy. She had a real pillow and a richly embroidered cover that might have been taken from a church altar.
“What’s a
“And what is a—” Jack had to stop to recall the word. “—a
“Yes,” said Jack.
“You seem no worse for it. Trust me, you don’t want to find out what a really big cat scratch feels like.”
With that, the monk withdrew into his own thoughts and refused to talk. Jack watched the flickering fires, the sprawled warriors, and the neat square where Olaf and his people lay.
The captives were guarded by three men, who had not been allowed to drink. Escape was impossible. Besides, Jack thought as he stretched out on the cold, damp ground, he couldn’t leave without Lucy. And there was no way he was going to rescue her from that ominous square of Olaf’s men.
They camped on the beach for several days. Boats went out and returned with booty. Finally, when the warriors had amassed as much as they could carry, the whole group sailed north.
It was extremely uncomfortable. Jack and the other captives were packed like trussed-up chickens. They lay faceup, able to see only the sky and to feel the cold water sloshing under their backs. The boats leaked continuously. Captives were freed in shifts to bail them out. When it was Jack’s turn, he was horrified to see how near the sea came to spilling inside. The boat was so heavily laden, one more roll of cloth could send them to the bottom.
Altogether she was the most disgusting creature—male or female—Jack had ever seen. He had always to come between her and Lucy, for Thorgil’s greatest joy was to cause pain. She never—quite—drew blood, but Lucy’s arms were covered with bruises from pinches.
Jack wondered at the little girl’s ability to keep up her spirits. Surely by now she knew she wasn’t headed for a castle. At the very least she must miss Mother and Father. Yet Lucy picked herself up after every pinch, wiped her eyes, and found Olaf. She ordered him around like a favorite hound, and if the giant didn’t actually obey her, Lucy pretended he did. It was curious and disturbing at the same time.