Loveweaver (30 page)

“Sit up and row!” She urged her brother and crew. “We have no moon for another hour, so we will do our best not to run a-bank.”

Llyrica looked over her shoulder as the vessel sliced through black water.
I return anon, my husband.

I wonder what price I will pay this time, to save my brother’s neck.

Chapter XVIII
 

Sun will see you safely gone and Moon will light your way.

But be not parted long from me. Return, my love, and stay. 
 

The dark ale and high spirits of the troops heartened Slayde. The central fire warmed him as it roared, throwing ferocious flames into the black overhead. Though he wished to be quiet and alone with Llyrica, he knew he would be soon, and for the rest of his years. For the first time in his life, he saw freedom ahead. Haesten was dead with Fortress Lea under Saxon control. Moving the Vikings to Bridgenorth would finalize a campaign that had begun before he was born.  Ceolmund could rest in peace.

Slayde, plagued by weakness, made the most of the reclined seat provided him. King Alfred and his highest officers sat to one side, with Ailwin, Eadwulf, Brynstan and StoneHeart’s captains rounding out this inner circle. Just beyond, the fortress yard was boisterous with drinking and merriment.

“Let us raise our flasks again,” the King said, “to this decision made. I have already sent messengers forth to spread the news. Within two days, StoneHeart will accompany me in leading the Vikings to the furthermost region of Danelaw. Ailwin and Eadwulf remain here with StoneHeart’s troops to post the fortress and further secure the region. And to boot, captain Deorlof keeps a watchful eye from StoneHeart’s stronghold at Benfleet. So for now, we are assured that the borders of Danelaw hold fast!”

Cheers rang out again, and all partook of more ale. Another log on the fire ignited, exploding more heat, sparks and light to the celebration.

To ride with Alfred in this last push satisfied Slayde exceedingly. And in two days, he felt sure his health would be restored enough to travel upon a horse. He would send Llyrica safely to Judith’s in London where she would wait with Brynstan for his return. All would be well.

But disquiet attended the sense of calm he should have felt. Slayde was not familiar with looking at a peaceful future. The course of his life cleared now with amazing ease, a reason for caution. In time he would learn that tomorrow was not filled with chasing Vikings, but with loving Llyrica.

I will keep my sights ever on her face, her voice. Our love.   

As Slayde drank again, letting the heat of the ale restore him, the talk in the inner circle regained his attention. The conversation centered on Llyrica.

One of Alfred’s officers continued, “I merchanted the major ports several years ago and do indeed remember hearing of Haesten’s search for his first wife and children. I thought what most thought, that they were long dead in a house fire. I was astonished to learn that StoneHeart’s Viking wife was the warlord’s daughter.”

“And Broder his son! Knowledge of Haesten’s search and reward must have been obscure,” said Eadwulf. “For I never heard tell of it in my travels.”

Slayde smiled and elbowed Eadwulf. “What travels? You scarcely leave London.”

Byrnstan chuckled. ”Yet, it is a good thing that Llyrica’s tie to Haesten is only just uncovered. She is safe now that he is dead.”

Eadwulf nodded. “From what I gathered, even those closest to Haesten believed he searched fruitlessly.”

“It seems strange that fate would reward a ruthless man,” Slayde added, “by letting him see his children once more before he died.” He thought of his own father, who collapsed and died in a training yard. No final words were exchanged that day.

An idle silence indicated the subject was put to rest. The twisting fire captured the men’s gazes a moment longer, then talk turned to shipbuilding. Slayde thought of the children he would have with Llyrica, knew that with her guidance, he would learn to be good and loving father. He leaned back, soothed with thoughts of her, and took another draught from his flask. Voices hummed around him as the ale now made his limbs heavy. Sleep began to close around him. But nay. Wait. Tonight he would sleep with Llyrica, know who and where he was. Tonight he would begin married life with his wife.

Slayde roused himself enough to sit upright and motion to Brynstan. The priest arose to come and kneel beside his godson, and asked what was needed.

“I am yet unsure of my strength to walk back to the hut,” Slayde spoke in low tones that he not be overheard and interrupt the others. “I pray thee accompany me, if we can be of little notice. I should like to see to Llyrica ere the night is through.”

“Indeed, son.” Byrnstan stood back, when he might have otherwise let Slayde hook an arm around his shoulder.

But being abed for three days and four flasks of ale made Slayde’s head thick. He climbed from his seat and tottered on wobbly legs. Blurred vision prevented him from seeing if his awkward exit was noted. It mattered not.

Brynstan was at his ear. “Stay put and I shall fetch Llyrica.”

The priest knew better than to suggest it. Slayde now heard his own words slur. “Do not bring her here among these men. But I would concede to aid of any kind to return to her.” He felt his head lag as Brynstan now propped him up. Laughter formed deep in his throat as darkness closed in around him. “I would even agree to help from Ailwin.”

*   *   *
 

Turquoise and peach colored the sea horizon, now in view, greeting the end of Haesten’s final journey. The dark night was over and London was long behind them, a  passing without incident. Llyrica and her crew now coursed along the Thames toward the estuary, staying close to the shore to best handle the vessel. Dawn’s light gave them a clear view of a merchant’s port in brisk awakening. Owners of small boats and ships readied their riggings and loads, and vendors began to set up while traders waited. Pigs and chickens already had their heads to the ground snuffling for bits to eat. Dogs barked and tussled along the wooden quay.

Because the waterway was not yet at its most hectic, Llyrica suddenly knew that the timing of their arrival was an hour too soon to blend in, and the morning too light. Indeed, sellers and their patrons looked up to see StoneHeart’s glossy black ship slipping by. Too late had she considered that this was the center of Ealdorman Slayde’s jurisdiction. Crewmen of their own vessels squinted at seven weary youngbloods at the oars, a slim girl and a woman in a ratty hooded cape. Feeling conspicuous, Llyrica hunched down, making certain that Haesten’s body was well covered.

“Hail, Songweaver!” A shout resounded from the shore.

Another voice followed. “News of StoneHeart’s victory and Haesten’s death precedes you!”

And yet another. “How fares StoneHeart’s wound? We hear he is bound for the north.  May he go with God as he rids of us Haesten’s horde!”

Damn the swift flight of StoneHeart’s messenger!
Llyrica cursed to herself. Of course, word of such an event would travel fast. With luck, though, her fleet of one would soon be past this community. But more would surely lie ahead as they neared the ocean.

Broder slowed his oars, straightened and looked ready to shout an answer to the onlookers. His face grew increasingly red as beads of sweat glistened on his brow.

“Pay no mind! Keep rowing, swifter now!” Llyrica reached over Haesten’s body to grip her brother’s arm and engage his attention. She took a breath as he turned back to his task. The others renewed their efforts. Llyrica murmured to herself. “Praise God that none have mentioned that I am …”

“Haesten’s daughter!” A man called out from voice from a passing faering. “None can scarce believe it!” The boat soon fell too far behind to hear what else was said.

“Hurry on and do not look back.” Llyrica urged them on.

Before she could stop him, Broder rose to his knees and shouted behind them. “Yea, she is his daughter and I, his son! The great warlord’s children were restored to him in his last hour! All will pay who have …”

“Broder!” Llyrica pushed her brother, toppling him to the ship deck. His companions paused from their rowing, looked wild-eyed and heated, ready to continue for Broder. Lorna, silent as always, moved to help him upright. 

“I have warned you, pup, to heed me!” Llyrica looked over her shoulder to see if they were being followed. Nay, but it seemed Broder’s words had echoed from the cliffs and rocks that now banked the shore. “Back to the oars, all of you!” Her stern words hit their marks; the youngbloods fell back to rowing. Llyrica would continue to lend her voice a deep and commanding timbre. “To see this thing done we must do it without audience and notice. It will be hard to do now that we are a ship full of Haesten’s Vikings!”

Her head throbbed as she envisioned arrest by a local ealdorman and his troops. And indeed, too, so near Benfleet one of StoneHeart’s own men might see her.  Already facing Slayde’s condemnation, Llyrica could not hope to win his forgiveness after the shame and ridicule this would cause him. Imagine the wife of StoneHeart found with his stolen ship, fleeing with a dead and infamous warlord and a band of Danes.

The only reliable defense known to Llyrica, hiding was now the only option. Ahead the sea waited, with harbors full of merchant ships, and more witnesses. But this was for Broder, for his peace of mind. It must be done, was too late to turn away. Llyrica’s eyes scoured the shore for a cove or inlet. To the larboard side she saw a shadow in the cliffs. She pointed. “Make for the dark waters there.”

After struggling against the current, they entered a pool below the cliffs. Their small craft wound around rocks through the still and shallow water until Llyrica was sure they could not be seen by a passing ship.

Since there is no shore, we will moor here.” Llyrica drew her cape closer around her as they slipped into a tiny, dark cove. Broder and Egil dropped the anchor, then sat back and looked at her. The others also seemed to wait for her next command. Overhead a few clouds drifted, perhaps a precursor to rain.

“We will wait here today, and tonight as well. Hear me!” She raised a hand to stop Broder’s protest, was grateful for his easy submission. “Before tomorrow’s first light we will enter the mouth of the sea and set Haesten out on his journey to Valhalla. We must accomplish this without other witnesses. Then we will be back on our way.”

The silence that followed foretold of long hours of idleness. Sleep was the answer; weariness showed in bowed shoulders and reddened eyes. Her own back ached from rowing all night in the damp, chill air. She raised her eyes to her brother, would gentle her voice.

“Let us lash Father to the planks and prepare him for burial. We will put his things with him. Then we will all eat a bit, get comfortable and rest.” With a smile constructed to reassure Broder, Llyrica smoothed back his dirty hair. A reminder of past years, this simple gesture he allowed, responding with a smile of his own. It made her feel close to him, that perhaps he trusted her again. “By this time tomorrow, Haesten will be in the vast hall of Odin with those who have gone before him. Help me now.”

Slayde turned and pulled Llyrica into his arms. A dream realized, she was his at last. Soft, lithe, she molded within his embrace. He held her tighter and closer, but then felt her go boneless. Bolting upright in his pallet, Slayde discovered that it was not his wife he held, but a bundle of furs. Odd that she would have left the bed so quickly.

The small hut spun around him and his side ached as he tried to orient his foggy thoughts. Early dawn and the scent of rain roused his memory of last night, of ale and firelight, and of stumbling into bed with Llyrica.
Where is she?
  He lay back, imagining her running through the rain, returning soon in her damp, hooded cape.

The next few minutes that passed did not produce her though, but did grow Slayde’s uncertainty. He had no clear picture of her the night before. Pushing himself to a sit he scanned the hut for her belongings, but saw none. A sinking feeling flushed him, a rise of nausea.

In a corner a mound of furs moved, and a shock of Byrnstan’s hair was revealed.

“Priest, awaken,” Slayde said, clambering to his feet. All was quiet without as he peered through the doorway. It seemed to be midmorning. Damn the ale that dulled his thoughts and made his limbs leaden.

With a grown and yawn, Byrnstan stood and looked over Slayde’s shoulder.
“A day of rain, son. But otherwise a fine outlook.” He clapped Slayde on the back. “We have come through this together.”

Slayde yet sought some sign of Llyrica in the yard. “Not too fine since I cannot say where Llyrica is. And I remember little of last night.” He turned to Byrnstan. “Was she in the hut when you brought me in?”