She frowned and looked at Merrik’s back. The wind had slackened and the men were rowing again. He was big and obviously he was very strong. He was bare to his waist, his tunic lying over his legs, his flesh deeply tanned, and the muscles in his back and arms worked with the strength of youth and health, deep firm muscles that glistened with sweat beneath the sun. She’d seen many men in the past two years—men old enough to die, men too young for the power they held, men who were broken in their spirits and bodies, men who were so fat like Thrasco they wheezed just getting a spoon to their mouths.
This Merrik was a beautiful man, she would give him that. His body was splendid in its vigor and shape, his very leanness purifying the lines of him. His face was well looking, strong in its features, his jaw showing his boldness and determination. He could be as stubborn as a pig, she didn’t doubt that, not a bad thing if one wanted to survive.
But he was a Viking, like all other Vikings, and she didn’t know the sort of man Norway bred. She’d told him he was different and so he was. She’d never met a man like him, but that didn’t mean she could trust him. That was something the past two years had taught her well. She’d quickly come to know perfidy and treachery and the smell of lies. Her nose was as good as Eller’s when it came to recognizing the cruelty and selfishness of people, and thus she now well understood the need for caution. Trust was something for fools. She was no longer a fool.
Ah, but he had saved her and Taby and Cleve. But he wouldn’t say what it was he intended to do with them.
He was a trader before he was a warrior. He now had three human beings to trade. Surely he didn’t intend to keep them for himself, and if he did, what would that mean? His reasons for saving her and Taby sounded true to her, but still she couldn’t credit it—just this look at Taby and he’d been compelled to save both of them? Men didn’t behave like that. Vikings would impale a child on their swords before they’d consider saving them, being burdened with them.
She was shaking her head even as she watched him quit the oars, rise and stretch, and walk back to where she sat, the crooked cloth-covered wooden bowl on her head. He was wearing only a loincloth, and it rode low on his lean belly. The hair on his chest and belly was golden, crisp, and thick. She looked away from him. He was too big, too intimidating.
He sat down beside her as he pulled his tunic over his head and she smelled his sweat and the scent of him that was dark and pleasant. He said something to Old Firren, who just spat into the river, and then turned to her. He just looked at her for a very long time, at the exhaustion that still blurred her eyes, lining them beneath with faint purple shadows. He said nothing, just patted his thighs.
She fell asleep with her face on his thigh, her hands pillowed beneath her cheek. Merrik moved slightly to give her more protection from the afternoon sun.
They pulled the longboat out of the river at dusk. There were many marks and blurred footprints on the ground from other boats that had left the river at this point, for it was the shortest land route to the river Dvina. It would take them nearly four days to reach the river Dvina, longer if it rained, untold nightmare days if it rained heavily. It was backbreaking work and there was always danger from tribes who hid between the two mighty rivers, waiting for unwar
y traders to come along.
Merrik didn’t use rollers for the simple reason that the longboat wasn’t large enough to carry the rollers and trade goods and men, not without making any voyage more miserable than need be. No, they used brute strength. They were young. They had a lot of it.
The first time Merrik had voyaged to Kiev, he’d made it a point to search out a tribe during the portage and to kill every man he captured. He didn’t kill any of the women or children nor did he take them as slaves, though he could have made something of a profit in Kiev. No, he let them remain in their village and he made certain that all the women and children knew his name before he and his men were on their way again. He showed them all the silver raven carved in rich walnut that stood high on the prow. No other longboat, he told them several times, had this same figurehead. He hoped this would gain him a reputation and cause other tribes to stay away from him. On a trading voyage the last thing he wanted was to lose any men.
He’d now made three voyages to Kiev. There had been only one attack, and that one halfhearted, a brief testing of his strength. He’d lost only one man and killed twenty of the enemy. Another message to hostile tribes.
All prayed to Thor for dry weather and, more times than not, the god had listened to their pleas and given them heat and sun. He heard Roran asking Eller why he couldn’t smell out rain. It was a near litany, for all could remember a portage when Thor hadn’t heeded their prayers. It had rained so hard that it had taken them nearly eight days to drag the longboat through the slogging deep mud.
“I remember this,” she said, looking around her. “That is, I remember the doing of this but it was a different route.”
He tucked away that bit of information. “Do you now?”
She looked at him quickly, then away.
“So you came by way of Lake Ladoga and Novgorod.”
She shook her head. “It isn’t important. Perhaps that was it, or perhaps it was just a dream that came to me from another’s mind. I will see to Taby.”
“Stay close. These next four days will be dangerous.”
He looked at her a moment, wondering if she had indeed been brought by way of the river Neva to Lake Ladoga and then to Lake Ilmen. That would mean that she’d been brought by way of the Baltic. But many more traders and merchants voyaged through the Baltic to take that route, all of them carrying slaves captured from every land imaginable. It was a route that took much longer, but it was less dangerous than this route. Merrik remembered his brother Rorik laughing at him, saying, “You would journey by way of the moon if one were to assure you that it would be more deadly. Your taste for danger will bring you low.” As much as he’d told his brother he didn’t seek out danger, particularly when he had valuable furs and goods to trade, he wasn’t believed. His brother remembered how easily heated his passions could become and how quickly his temper would erupt when he’d been younger. But growing into his manhood for five years had made him different.
He and his men steadied the longboat just off balance, not wanting to put all the weight on its keel for the portage. He looked around, then looked at Eller, who sniffed and shook his head. Oddly enough, now he was worried as he had never been before. Always before he felt anticipation, excitement, a vague longing that there would be a tribe to attack them, an enemy to test himself upon, particularly when they were on their way back from their trading ventures. He much preferred protecting silver than he did slaves or goods or furs.
But now he was worried and he knew why. It was Laren and Taby. He had to keep them safe. He didn’t like it one bit. He enjoyed fighting, had never sought to avoid it, but since he’d gotten her away from Thrasco’s house in Kiev, he’d done nothing but choose the safest route. Except now. But he didn’t want to take the extra weeks just to avoid possible trouble.
He looked over at her. She still wasn’t standing straight because of the pulling pain in her back, but her chin was up. She stood like a princess—a very thin, a very ragged princess—staring as the men worked the longboat up onto the rough trail made by so many longboats before them. Taby moved away from Cleve to stand beside her. He saw the child smile up at her. It was just a simple smile yet it pulled at him. He looked quickly away before he saw her expression.
They pulled the longboat over the pitted path throughout the morning, stopping only briefly to eat and rest. The weather held hot and dry.
The men were exhausted by the evening, for Merrik had pushed them hard. They couldn’t waste the good weather, he’d told them again and again. He himself was breathing heavily, his shoulders and arms cramping, his legs feeling like great weights dragged at them.
He looked over at her to see that she was also breathing hard, as if she’d been running a long distance, only she hadn’t, she was still very weak, both from the bone-deep hunger that had gone on far, far too long, and the beating. He looked over at Taby, standing quietly beside her, saying nothing, merely staying close, nearly touching her, and suddenly he felt a new spurt of energy. His men went about their tasks, all very familiar with what they had to do.
Eller oversaw the gathering of wood for a small fire and built it up. Old Firren hooked the iron pot from a chain he attached to the three iron poles that were fastened at the top, and prepared to serve up the dried meat and cheesy curds and boil some vegetables.
Oleg set up the perimeter so that they could guard the longboat and themselves. Roran and three other men went hunting. As for Merrik, it was his job to oversee things, but now he didn’t. He walked to her and said, “You are very tired. I have spread furs in the tent for you and Taby. You will rest now, both of you. Cleve will bring you food when it is prepared.”
She looked at him, at his blond hair plastered to his head with sweat, at the rivulets of sweat streaking down his face, at his arms, still wet with sweat, the muscles still flexing. “Did we come as far as you wished to?”