men? If so, how could he ravage and burn helpless towns, kill people and play jokes on corpses? Or was he, as Dessa said, a direct visitation of divine rage against the sins of England?
Edin watched a burly man curl in a sleeping bag on the deck. Two others got out a chess set. The board's squares had little holes drilled in them, and the game men had small pegs in their bases. They were made so the ship's pitching couldn't upset the game. Arneld had wakened, and being too young and too restless to stay put, he inched over to watch. After a while, one of the men made a move that lit his opponent's face with grins. Arneld smiled at them, the way one smiles at happy people. But when he innocently reached for one of the exquisitely carved, walrus-tusk ivory game pieces, the owner of the set shouted at him and reached for his belt knife. A breath of ice crossed Edin's soul. "Arneld!" She opened her arms to him, and he made a blind, scrambling dash for the shelter she offered. As he quaked with terror, she tried to comfort him, exchanging looks with the owner of the chess set, until the snap of the sail startled her back to her own concerns. Her eyes darted to find the jarl.
Again she concentrated on watching him, hearing only the wind hissing gently across the vast empty sea —until a new, rattling sound drew her weary attention. Her tired gaze slid to the two wounded men.
The housecarl's murderer was lying on his back. The rattle came from him, with each slow rise of his chest. Edin guessed he was not long for this world. The shoulder-injured one, he of the ashy blue eyes whom the jarl had called Sweyn, was sitting up glaring at nothing. As Edin's gaze slid past him, their stares collided. He grimaced, showing big yellow teeth. Even wounded, he was frightening. She saw the white scars of other wounds on his arms and face. He suffered her gaze a moment, then seemed to go purple with rage and shouted something at her, which she interpreted as "What are you looking at!"
Quickly she shifted her attention back to the jarl, who gave her no more than a brief frown, a glancing blow of a look, before he went back to studying the sea.
Meanwhile, the two slaughtered sheep were butchered. The two men in charge hung joints of it over the side, letting the meat trail in the water to keep it cool and salted for when it was needed. The rest they sliced with their bone-handled belt knives. The slices they either covered with hot ashes in a smoldering fire lit in a flat, iron pan on the fore-platform, or strung on a spit over the fire. It seemed these Vikings had a systematic way of doing just about everything. They were orderly and efficient as well as bold and reckless.
The crew ate the spit-roasted mutton as it was cooked, and drank from skin bottles of fresh water. Nothing was offered to the captives, most of whom were sleeping anyway.
The day passed. The sun's rays sliced thinly between breaks in the thickening clouds to the west. The ash-baked meat was tested and wrapped in greasy pieces of leather. One of the cooks lifted some deck planks near the mast-stepping and lowered the meat down into the dark over the keel, where the men had earlier stored their axes and spears.
Hunger and thirst began to take nips at Edin. Juliana sat up and gave a great yawn; she reveled in it without bothering to cover her mouth. One by one the others woke and took up their fretful murmuring. Now they were wondering if they were ever to be fed or given water.
Edin felt the burden of the responsibility that they placed on her. They still thought of her as their mistress and looked to her for succor in their distress. Guilt gnawed at her. She should ask for water for them, and food, and some kind of protection against the elements. But the jarl had unerringly found her worst fear; he had stripped her of her courage to do her duty. She hated him for that almost as much as for all the other horrors he had committed against her and hers.
However, hate was
Edin watched a burly man curl in a sleeping bag on the deck. Two others got out a chess set. The board's squares had little holes drilled in them, and the game men had small pegs in their bases. They were made so the ship's pitching couldn't upset the game. Arneld had wakened, and being too young and too restless to stay put, he inched over to watch. After a while, one of the men made a move that lit his opponent's face with grins. Arneld smiled at them, the way one smiles at happy people. But when he innocently reached for one of the exquisitely carved, walrus-tusk ivory game pieces, the owner of the set shouted at him and reached for his belt knife. A breath of ice crossed Edin's soul. "Arneld!" She opened her arms to him, and he made a blind, scrambling dash for the shelter she offered. As he quaked with terror, she tried to comfort him, exchanging looks with the owner of the chess set, until the snap of the sail startled her back to her own concerns. Her eyes darted to find the jarl.
Again she concentrated on watching him, hearing only the wind hissing gently across the vast empty sea —until a new, rattling sound drew her weary attention. Her tired gaze slid to the two wounded men.
The housecarl's murderer was lying on his back. The rattle came from him, with each slow rise of his chest. Edin guessed he was not long for this world. The shoulder-injured one, he of the ashy blue eyes whom the jarl had called Sweyn, was sitting up glaring at nothing. As Edin's gaze slid past him, their stares collided. He grimaced, showing big yellow teeth. Even wounded, he was frightening. She saw the white scars of other wounds on his arms and face. He suffered her gaze a moment, then seemed to go purple with rage and shouted something at her, which she interpreted as "What are you looking at!"
Quickly she shifted her attention back to the jarl, who gave her no more than a brief frown, a glancing blow of a look, before he went back to studying the sea.
Meanwhile, the two slaughtered sheep were butchered. The two men in charge hung joints of it over the side, letting the meat trail in the water to keep it cool and salted for when it was needed. The rest they sliced with their bone-handled belt knives. The slices they either covered with hot ashes in a smoldering fire lit in a flat, iron pan on the fore-platform, or strung on a spit over the fire. It seemed these Vikings had a systematic way of doing just about everything. They were orderly and efficient as well as bold and reckless.
The crew ate the spit-roasted mutton as it was cooked, and drank from skin bottles of fresh water. Nothing was offered to the captives, most of whom were sleeping anyway.
The day passed. The sun's rays sliced thinly between breaks in the thickening clouds to the west. The ash-baked meat was tested and wrapped in greasy pieces of leather. One of the cooks lifted some deck planks near the mast-stepping and lowered the meat down into the dark over the keel, where the men had earlier stored their axes and spears.
Hunger and thirst began to take nips at Edin. Juliana sat up and gave a great yawn; she reveled in it without bothering to cover her mouth. One by one the others woke and took up their fretful murmuring. Now they were wondering if they were ever to be fed or given water.
Edin felt the burden of the responsibility that they placed on her. They still thought of her as their mistress and looked to her for succor in their distress. Guilt gnawed at her. She should ask for water for them, and food, and some kind of protection against the elements. But the jarl had unerringly found her worst fear; he had stripped her of her courage to do her duty. She hated him for that almost as much as for all the other horrors he had committed against her and hers.
However, hate was
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