"Yea. All are aboard and at their oars."
"Then let us sail, before we must do battle," Hakon replied grimly. "There are enough battles that await us in Norge."
As if reading Hakon's mind, Olav vowed fiercely, "The wind will be at our backs. It will not be long 'til we reach our homeland, my lord!"
"Yea, if the gods are willing," Hakon answered darkly. He strode up the narrow wooden gangplank and jumped onto the deck. He did not believe in omens, but after the storm the other night, any other mishaps would seem suspicious indeed. His keen eyes scanned the thick trees that had hidden them so well these past two days. Yea, they had been lucky thus far, but if they had been sighted it would not be long before the Anglo-Saxons would be down upon them.
Following closely behind Hakon, Olav looked about him as he boarded the ship. Muttering fierce oaths, he heaved the gangplank up over the railing and secured it along the curved side of the ship, then quickly took his place at the helm.
Hakon made his way between the rowing benches toward the prow, glancing from side to side in acknowledgment of his men. All thirty-six were accounted for, including the wayward two who had been out hunting since before dawn.
Cursing silently to himself, Hakon cast a sideways glance toward Svein and Torvald. Those two had been trouble from the moment they signed on with his ship in Dublin, he thought irritably. He'd had his doubts about them from the beginning, but he had needed two more men to replace the crewmen who had died of fever during the last trading voyage. His better instincts had told him to beware, but he had found no others willing to travel the seas so close to winter.
Recalling the morning several days ago when his longship had set sail from Dublin, Hakon frowned impatiently. Not only had Svein and Torvald demanded twice the normal wage for such a journey, but they had been too drunk from their wenching the night before to man their oars. They spent the entire first day retching over the side of the ship, and then collapsed over their oars in a drunken sleep. Watching them in disgust, Hakon had vowed to leave them ashore as soon as they reached Norway, whether in sight of a settlement or not!
Hakon felt his heated ire rise even more at the sullen look thrown his way by Svein. He stopped abruptly beside his rowing bench. "Did you not hear the horn, man, or were the deer so plentiful as to make you forget the signal?" Receiving no answer, he spat, "Had you tarried any longer, you might have made your home with the Anglo-Saxons! I am sure they would have made you welcome—with an arrow between your eyes!"
"Indeed, my lord, the hunting was very good," Svein muttered churlishly, his eyes on his feet. "But in our haste to return to the ship we had to leave our kill behind." He looked up, meeting Hakon's steady gaze insolently. "Alas, we brought back many furs for the journey, my lord, but no meat," he sneered.
Without hesitation, Hakon drew his long-bladed knife from his belt. Poising the pointed tip under Svein's chin, he lifted his head so high the terror-stricken man thought fleetingly that his neck would surely snap. "You will do well to keep silent the rest of the journey, else you find yourself in the sea," Hakon murmured, his soft-spoken words belying their deadly intent.
His pale eyes wide with fear, Svein could feel a trickle of blood ooze down the side of his neck as Hakon held him on the point of his blade. "Aye, m-my lord," he rasped through clenched teeth.
Grimly satisfied, Hakon suddenly removed the blade. He watched in disgust as Svein slumped onto his bench. Aware that the rest of the crew had been watching with interest, his stern command left no doubt who was in command of the ship. "Man your oars!" he shouted. Striding to the dragon-headed prow, he stood with his long, sinewed legs spread wide and muscled arms folded across his broad chest.
"What could you have been thinking, man?" Torvald whispered fiercely to Svein, who was rubbing the side of his neck. He knew that his wily companion had a great hatred for the wealthy and highborn, but he had never seen him go so far before. And to defy Lord Hakon aboard his own ship . . .!
With a sinking feeling Torvald thought of the two captives in the cargo well. He and Svein had managed to board the ship almost unnoticed, having returned long before the final signal. Hakon had been checking the repairs to the longship with several of the men, while the others were skinning their own kill beneath the trees. Thankfully, no questions had been asked of their burdens, since it looked as if they were carrying bundles of furs.
If only our luck holds, Torvald thought desperately, hoping that the wench had been frightened enough not to make any sound in the cargo well. By the fire of Odin, he had no desire to find himself tossed into the seal
Svein licked the blood from his hand, ignoring Torvald's incredulous look. He could still feel Hakon's eyes upon him, and he did not wish to provoke him further. Bringing his oar down from its vertical position, he slipped it through the oar hole and awaited the next command.
"Push off the shore!"
The crewmen on the port side of the ship pushed off the bank of the river with their narrow-bladed oars, setting to the task with unbridled enthusiasm. Whoops and shouts filled the air as their bulging muscles rippled against wood, the exhilaration of sailing once again coursing through their blood. With his calloused hand on the helm off the starboard side, Olav accurately guided the longship into the surging currents of the river.
"Oars to water!" Hakon shouted. In unison the eighteen pairs of oars dipped into the murky water, the men striking up a rhythm in their rowing that was as natural to them as breathing. The longship cut a swath through the water as cleanly as a sea snake, leaving scarcely a ripple behind it.
Chapter 10
Huddled in a corner of the pitch-dark cargo well, Anora gasped at the abrupt motion of the ship as it was pushed off the shore. Suddenly she clapped her hand over her mouth, her eyes round with fear. She had not forgotten Svein's threat earlier that morning. Making no further sounds, she listened as the oars hit the water with a resounding smack. She could hear one voice shouting orders above the din of benches scraping and oars creaking, but the words were muffled by the wooden hatch above her head.
Fresh tears started anew as she realized that the ship was under way. Sweet Jesu! Why was this happening? Every muscle of her body ached from Svein's rough treatment, and she shivered uncontrollably. Her wrists chafed and burned from the leather thong binding them. Her tunic and mantle, still damp from her fall in the stream, offered her no warmth. Grabbing at one of the soft furs piled high along the side of the cargo well, she pulled it over herself and Gwendolyn, who was still unconscious from the blow to her head. Clutching the fur desperately to her chin, she could feel her shivering slowly begin to subside.
Anora had never felt so alone in all her life. Her sister had not uttered a sound since they had been so rudely thrown into the well. What if she never wakes? Anora thought, her mind racing irrationally. What if she dies? That last thought was more than she could bear. Biting her hand to keep from screaming, she sobbed as if her heart would rend in two
Surely we would have been missed by now. Leah would have sounded an alarm. Surely Wulfgar is looking for us . . . The thoughts chased through her mind like frightened rabbits, tumbling and twisting over one another. Maybe, just maybe, if she closed her eyes for a moment, she would open them to find this had all been a terrible dream. Closing her eyes, Anora felt a wave of exhaustion wash over her. Lulled by the gentle motion of the ship, she drifted into a numbing sleep.
***
A low moan, breaking from Gwendolyn's parched throat, woke Anora with a start. How long have I been asleep? she wondered dazedly, rubbing her forehead. Another moan from her sister, louder than the first, brought Anora suddenly back to reality. "Gwendolyn?" she whispered, groping blindly in the dark.
Suddenly she was pitched forward and thrown against the side of a wooden cask as the floor of the cargo well moved out from under her. Wincing, she realized all too painfully that while she had slept, the ship must have passed the mouth of the river and was now sailing the open seas. Gwendolyn, who had been lying next to her, must have been rolled across the floor to the other side of the cargo well by the bucking of the waves. Reaching out her hands once again, Anora pleaded, "Gwendolyn, can you hear me?"
"Aye, Anora, but where are you?" Rolling over onto her side, Gwendolyn felt a sharp pain pierce through her head, and white lights flashed before her eyes. "God's blood, what did that blond giant hit me with?" she swore softly. Her attempts to sit up were being thwarted by the leather thong tied around her wrists, but she finally managed to prop herself up on what felt to be a sack of grain. Holding her head in her hands, she tried to get her bearings, but the rolling motion of the floor was making that virtually impossible.
Anora tentatively crawled in the direction of her sister's voice. Before Svein had closed the hatch earlier that day she had seen the dimensions of the cargo well. It was a small area, crammed full with provisions and furs, so Gwendolyn could not be far off.
She reached out in front of her, at last catching hold of a trousered leg. "Gwendolyn!" she cried out in relief, her voice wracked by pitiful sobs. She pulled herself up beside her sister. "I thought for sure you would never wake!" She lifted her bound wrists over Gwendolyn's head and enveloped her in a frantic embrace.