Chapter Three
“Whoa, steady, boy.” Bowdyn rubbed his palm over the velvety muzzle of the colt as the gangly young animal pranced and snorted in the small pen. “Be patient, you will be out in the meadow soon enough.” He continued his inspection of the horse’s legs and hooves, then patted him on the rump. “Very well, off you go.” Bowdyn opened the gate to the pen and stood aside to let the colt dash past him.
“He’s a fine animal. You’ve done well with him.”
Bowdyn turned to grin at Deva as she approached. She looked well, and happy. He hugged her, then dropped a kiss onto her forehead. “I didn’t know you were back.”
“We arrived yesterday. We have no fine young Arab stallion for you this time, though.”
“Oh? So, what have you brought?”
“Silks and spices, mainly. Torsteinn is pleased. He says we will make a fine profit.”
Bowdyn grinned. “I expect he is right. So, did you enjoy your trip?”
She turned to him, laughing. “I did. I really did. We went to the land of the Franks. I had heard of it, from Torsteinn, but never expected to see for myself. There are cities, so fine you cannot imagine, teeming with people of all races. Such food, such music, such—”
“You have become quite the adventurer.”
She halted, her enthusiasm palpably dampening. “Are you angry?”
“No. Why would I be angry? I am pleased that you have found happiness, though I confess I had expected your future, mine, too, to lie in a different direction.”
She nodded. “With Nyle.”
“Yes. But I do not begrudge you the contentment you have found here. You are content, I assume?”
“Very. I… I think that perhaps I may love him.”
Bowdyn went still, quiet. “Love him? You mean Torsteinn?”
“Is that disloyal? I loved Nyle, too, but he is… gone.”
He enfolded her in his arms. It had been two and a half long years since last he saw his brother on that jetty the fateful day they arrived in this land and much had changed since then. Though Bowdyn never wavered in his conviction that Nyle still lived, he understood that Deva had moved on. But not him. He would feel it, deep inside, with a certainty he could never deny, if his twin brother were truly dead. And he would never give up hope of finding Nyle again. He would have set off on his quest months, maybe years ago had he not felt that it was his duty to stay close, for Deva. But she no longer needed him, it would seem.
He gazed over her dark head into the middle distance. “I have to leave here, you know that.”
Deva made no pretence at misunderstanding. “To find Nyle? Yes, I know that. And I… I hope you succeed. Please tell him that I… that I cared for him and that I wish him well.”
“He will know that, but I shall tell him anyway.”
“Will you speak with Torsteinn before you go?”
He furrowed his brow. “With our Viking master? Tell him I intend to take my leave and go off in search of my lost brother? He would have me locked in his slave barn before I even got the words out.”
She shook her head. “I do not believe it would be so. Torsteinn does not even possess a slave barn. He likes you, he values you, and he respects you. He would understand.”
“He owns me,” replied Bowdyn bitterly. “I am worth good money to him. So are you, for that matter. He would never let either one of us go, at least, not willingly.”
“You are wrong. Maybe at one time that was so, but not now. Even in those first weeks and months when you defied him at every turn and I feared for you, he never had you beaten or sent you back to the slave auction. He could have. Many would.”
It was the truth. Torsteinn had purchased slaves that day who he felt would be of use in his fast growing household. A prosperous trader and merchant, he wished to construct a large home for himself and extend his fleet of knarrs, the wide-bodied, sturdy ships favoured by Vikings for carrying cargo. He needed slaves to chop wood and carry stones and had selected young males equal to the task. His purchase of Deva had been an impulse, because he found her attractive and intended her for his bed. Bowdyn was not naïve. He knew that Torsteinn would have his way as far as Deva was concerned, but he also believed the promise the Viking had made to him that the woman he thought of as his sister would not be hurt. And she had not been. He had watched, and spoken to her frequently, and Bowdyn was satisfied that his little sister did not find her new role onerous. Quite the reverse if her laughing countenance today was any indication.
His own story had been somewhat different. While the other male slaves did as their master required, Bowdyn had resisted at every turn. It was not until Torsteinn purchased a fine breeding mare on his travels that Bowdyn relented and decided at last to earn his keep. Bowdyn had taken charge of Torsteinn’s growing stable of fine horses and discovered a talent for it. Torsteinn declared himself relieved that their standoff was at an end, approved of his new role within the household, and a truce was born. Still, and despite his master’s easy-going ways, Bowdyn’s resentment simmered.
“We are slaves. Thralls. There is no joy to be found in that however benign the master.”
“Talk to him,” Deva insisted. “Torsteinn could help. At the very least he could grant you permission to search. Then you would not leave here a renegade, an escaped slave.”
Bowdyn thought about her words. She had a point. Torsteinn was full of surprises, he might just agree. And if he did not, Bowdyn was leaving anyway.
“Very well, I shall speak to him. Is he in his longhouse now?”
“Yes, but he is busy. We are invited to a wedding and must leave tomorrow. We should return within a sennight so you could speak with him then.”
“You are to attend this wedding with him?”
“I am.” She met Bowdyn’s gaze, neither of them oblivious to the implications. A Viking jarl did not take just any female slave to the home of his friends, his kin.
“Does he love you, too?”
“I… I think, perhaps. I hope so…”
“Then I do indeed need to speak with him, little sister.”
* * *
Now would be an excellent time.
Bowdyn regarded the mares quietly grazing in their enclosure, just three of them to care for since the best of Torsteinn’s mounts were in use conveying him and his men to the wedding of his friend. Two of the mares were close to foaling so could not be ridden. The third had gone lame just two days ago and was to be rested. She looked to be healing well and Bowdyn was satisfied with her progress since he applied the salve he had made using a recipe he had learned from his mother.
With the master and most of his household away the settlement was virtually deserted apart from a handful of house thralls and the lad whose task it was to clean the stables. Escape would be easy, effortless even. It would be a simple matter to steal some of Torsteinn’s clothing and the almost healed mare. He could then pass for a Viking if no one peered too closely. There might even be coins to be had if he were to venture into the merchant’s longhouse and look around. He would require money if he was to pay for his passage back across the North Sea to his home. None would suspect, he was a trusted thrall and frequently within the Viking lord’s dwelling. He would be able to help himself to whatever he needed by way of supplies and be miles away before he was even missed.
Yes, Torsteinn had become lax in his guarding of his thralls, or perhaps the Viking was too trusting. Or maybe Torsteinn just didn’t mind one way or the other. Certainly, Bowdyn found his Viking master unusually tolerant as far as the treatment of his thralls was concerned. Whippings were rare. Bowdyn could not remember the last one, in fact. Food was plentiful, the work not especially arduous apart from those occasions when a shipment of goods was received. At these times Torsteinn insisted that all pull their weight and get the goods checked and safely stored, not that this concerned Bowdyn especially. His duties revolved around caring for Torsteinn’s fine horses, nothing else.
He shrugged. There would be other opportunities. He would leave sooner or later, when he was ready. But before he made his escape he would make sure that Deva was safe. He had promised he would speak with Torsteinn and he would keep his word. As much for himself as for the woman who he thought of as his sister, he had to be assured that her future with Torsteinn was secure. He would hear it from the man’s own lips. Bowdyn resolved to raise the matter with his master at the earliest opportunity.
His plans made, he straightened and started for the low dwelling where he knew food would await. The sound of approaching hoof beats stilled his progress and he shaded his eyes to see who was coming. Six of Torsteinn’s karls cantered into the clearing in front of the longhouse, men who had accompanied their jarl to the wedding. Despite his avowed antipathy to his master, Bowdyn’s heart lurched. Was something amiss to bring the men back so soon?
One of the karls, a man by the name of Ulmer if Bowdyn recalled correctly, gazed across the clearing straight at him. He beckoned.
Bowdyn remained where he was. If he was wanted, let the man come to him.
The defiant stance worked. Ulmer dismounted and strode across to where Bowdyn waited. “You. You are to come with us.”
Bowdyn did not much care for the sound of this. “Why? Where am I to be taken?” He glanced about the yard for something he might seize to use as a weapon if need be.
“Agnartved,” replied the karl. “Come, Torsteinn wishes us to make haste.”
“Agnartved? The wedding?” Bowdyn recalled that Deva had mentioned the name of the settlement that lay perhaps two days’ ride away and was to be the location of the nuptials their master had been invited to attend. He could not believe what he was hearing. Why would Torsteinn require the presence of the thrall who tended his horses, unless one of the mounts was injured or sick? That must be it. “Wait, I shall collect a few items. Salves and potions. Which horse is it?”
“Not a horse. The jarl requires you to join him at Agnartved. He did not say why.”
“I do not understand…”
“‘Tis not your place to understand, thrall, nor to question your master. You obey. We leave within the hour, as soon as our mounts are rested and fed. See to it, then we can be off.”
The journey was hard but swift. The weather was kind to them and they made rapid progress. Bowdyn actually enjoyed the opportunity to ride over a distance, a luxury not usually afforded him despite his proximity to such fine beasts. Ulmer left one of the karls behind to see to the remaining mares and the man’s own steed was turned over for Bowdyn’s use. He dug his heels into the animal’s sleek flanks and relished the rush of the wind in his hair as they galloped over the rough moorland in the direction of Agnartved.
Deva had told him the distance was two days’ riding but they did it in a day and a half. Despite the relatively affable relationship between himself and Torsteinn, when they crested the final hill and he gazed down at the settlement that sprawled below, Bowdyn regarded the village of Agnartved with a degree of trepidation. Vikings were not to be trusted, not even those who appeared fair and reasonable. Something strange was happening here.
They cantered into the bustling settlement and at once Bowdyn recognised several karls from Torsteinn’s household. Ulmer turned in the direction of the stables, and the small group dismounted. Bowdyn reached for the reins of the steed closest to him, intending to see to the care of their horses.
“Leave that. Come with me.” Ulmer handed his own reins to a lad who ran from the stables and gestured to Bowdyn to do the same. “Hurry up. Torsteinn will have been told that we are here and he is expecting to see you. Do not keep him waiting.”
Or else what? Somehow Bowdyn could not imagine the sky would collapse upon them all if Torsteinn had to wait a few more minutes. Nevertheless, he followed Ulmer between the low-roofed dwellings though he refused to hurry.
All around were the signs of a Viking celebration. Casks of ale flowed freely, a skald surrounded by eager young faces recounted some tale of Nordic heroism, women strutted about in their finest clothes. The strains of pan flutes and a lyre drifted on the breeze, but Ulmer was not for dallying.
They marched up to the largest of the longhouses. A group was assembled outside. Torsteinn stood among a gathering of Vikings who flanked the huge ceremonial chairs occupied by the jarl of this settlement and his lady. All were finely dressed, even Deva who stood at Torsteinn’s side. His little sister was more richly attired than he had ever seen before and Bowdyn was glad of it. Deva was not to be humbled here, among the finest of Viking society.
Torsteinn stepped forward as they approached. He thanked the karls who had escorted Bowdyn here and dismissed them to find their own entertainment among the general merrymaking and celebrations. In moments Bowdyn was alone, facing his master and utterly bewildered. He did not spare a glance for the others who sat in the fine chairs in the centre of the group.
“You wanted me?” He kept his tone firm. He would not show his anxiety, not here before these murdering Norsemen.
Torsteinn inclined his head. “Not me so much as your new master and his lady. You now belong to Mathios of Agnartved.”
Fuck, fuck, fuck! Why had he waited? Why had he not escaped when he had the chance? Anger and bitter frustration seethed within him as the reality of his new situation sank in. This Mathios would likely be a tyrant as all the rest were, and the prospect of escape much less likely now.
The jarl, Mathios, rose to his feet and took the few paces required to bring him before Bowdyn. They were of equal height and Bowdyn would not lower his eyes. He met Mathios’ intelligent blue gaze without flinching.
The jarl’s expression was pleasant enough. He inclined his head by way of greeting. “You are welcome here, Bowdyn of Northumbria. However, Torsteinn’s words are not accurate. I am not your new master for I have decided to make you a free man. No one here is your master.”
Bowdyn had steeled himself for anything, everything. Vikings were an unpredictable race at the best of times and he found them as incomprehensible as they were violent and greedy. He loathed the lot of them and had long ago abandoned any hope of following their twisted reasoning. But this? This was cruelty beyond even his worst imaginings. To have his freedom dangled before him, only to snatch it away. The Viking, Mathios, was toying with him and Bowdyn would not play this game.
“What the fuck is going on?” He made no attempt to disguise his hostility and suspicion. “Why am I here?”
“You are here at my wife’s request.”
Fuck, this got worse and worse. Was he to be the plaything of a spoilt Norsewoman now? Not as long as he drew breath!
Mathios turned and extended his hand to the woman who had remained seated in the other large chair. “My Celt, your brother has arrived.”
Bowdyn took a step back, incredulous. His world slipped into an unearthly slowness, as though time stood still. The rest of the assembled Norsemen faded from his vision, their raucous voices an indistinct murmur. The woman who had been seated leapt to her feet and flew at him, her dark hair flowing like a river, her beautiful dark brown eyes glistening with tears. Such familiar eyes, so like his own and his brother’s.
“Merewyn,” he croaked before she flung her arms about him and clung to him as though drowning. Perhaps she was and him too. Beyond rational thought, he acted upon instinct and enfolded her in his embrace. He inhaled the scent of her hair. He would have recognised her instantly had he bothered to look. His sister, the girl he had last seen as a slip of a wench, just seventeen years old on the fateful day the Vikings came to their farm. She had escaped the marauders, surely. She had not been taken with the rest of them.
But she was here. By some miracle, by some divine intervention or twist of capricious fate, she was here in his arms. Alive.
He tightened his grip as though to never let her go again, lifted her from her feet and swung her around. For the first time in as long as he could remember, Bowdyn experienced true, undiluted joy.
* * *
He had Deva to thank for this reunion.
Bowdyn sat in the jarl’s longhouse, fortified by his third mug of good ale and pieced together the story. Deva and Torsteinn had arrived at Agnartved and of course Merewyn had recognised the friend from her girlhood. She had known that Deva was taken as a slave along with her brothers so had, naturally, asked for any news of them. Upon learning that his recalcitrant and awkward stable hand was the brother of his long-time friend’s new Celtic bride, Torsteinn had at once relinquished his claim and sent for Bowdyn.
His freedom was not a cruel joke. Mathios meant what he said. What was more, the man gave every appearance of being besotted with his bride though what could have possibly possessed his sweet and innocent little sister to agree to wed such a brute was beyond Bowdyn’s comprehension.
Mathios himself was friendly and considerate, generous with his hospitality and determined to welcome Bowdyn into his home. This might be so, but Bowdyn had resolved to detest him anyway. He remained convinced that Merewyn had somehow been coerced into this match. Nothing else made sense. His view of all Vikings was one of pure loathing and he saw no cause to complicate matters just because this particular man appeared not to fit the usual pattern. He had made a slight exception for Torsteinn, eventually, but a Viking was a Viking and they were all evil.
Mathios continued to confound Bowdyn’s expectations in the days that followed. Overjoyed at having one of her brothers back, Merewyn was desperate to locate Nyle as well. Mathios seemed genuinely keen to aid her in this. Torsteinn, too, lent his assistance to their quest. He told Mathios where he purchased Deva and Bowdyn so even before Bowdyn arrived at Agnartved Mathios had despatched men to make enquiries in Holvik, the port where he, Nyle, and Deva had first set foot on Nordic soil and where they had been sold as slaves. The news when it came was not encouraging. The slave trader, who Torsteinn recalled as one Nikulas Njallson, remembered the captive who had attacked one of the guards and been thrown into the keeping pit for the best part of a sennight to cool off. He had not known the slave’s name. It had not been relevant so he had never asked. The slave had been sold to an explorer and merchant by the name of Arkyn Arkynson as an oar slave.
Bowdyn’s heart sank. Merewyn wept. The life of an oar slave was brutal and usually short. The chances of Nyle having survived such an ordeal for three years were slim. Nevertheless, Mathios despatched men to Arkynsund, the settlement belonging to Arkyn Arkynson. If there was news of Nyle, however bad, they had to know.
Mathios was as good as his word. The legal formalities were concluded over the days following his arrival, and for the first time in three years Bowdyn found himself a free man. He had longed for this, yearned to be free, but now he had his liberty he had not the slightest notion what to do with it.
Mathios extended an invitation for him to remain at Agnartved but Bowdyn could see no reason why he would wish to. Apart from spending time with his sister, there was nothing to hold him here. He resolved to await news of his brother, then he would determine his next steps.
Torsteinn had been hard to hate. Mathios was even more so, the bastard. His new brother’s unfailing good humour in the face of Bowdyn’s sullen ill manners was beginning to be wearing. Mathios’ devotion to Merewyn was beyond baffling, as was her obvious adoration for her husband. She absolutely denied any coercion. She had married her Viking willingly, and had left their farm as his wife, not his captive. Bowdyn could make no sense of it, none at all.
Mathios seemed determined to win him over and Bowdyn had to admit the Viking could be persuasive. Bored with moping about the settlement, Bowdyn accepted an invitation to join the Vikings on a hunting expedition. He greatly enjoyed the outing despite his determination to despise his companions. The Vikings were skilled horsemen, a talent he appreciated and admired, and between them they brought down a fine young stag. It was a merry bunch who galloped back over the tufted moorland to their homes and hearths.
Olav, Mathios’ most trusted warrior, awaited them on their return. Olav had led the party sent to Arkynsund. His features were grave as they dismounted.
At once Mathios demanded to know the tidings he brought. “You spoke to Arkyn Arkynson?”
Olav nodded. “We did. We went to Arkynsund and were fortunate to encounter him just as he was about to embark on a raiding expedition. He did purchase the thrall, Nyle, but the man was no longer with him.”
“He was sold again?”
Olav shook his head. “No, Jarl. He escaped.”
Bowdyn’s quick thrill of elation was almost instantly quelled. As an escaped thrall his brother had placed himself in terrible danger. He was likely to be killed by Norsemen who were merciless with escaped slaves, or if he eluded such a fate he would probably perish in the inclement terrain with neither food nor shelter. No one would aid him. Nyle was utterly alone.
“How long ago?” Mathios continued to question Olav.
“Two weeks, Jarl. Arkynson sent men after him but the trail was cold. He is gone. A reward was posted…”
“How much?”
“Ten silver pennies.”
Mathios nodded. “I shall double that for information or, better still, the return of this slave. Send word out to the other settlements between here and Arkynsund, and fifty miles to the south of Arkynsund also. I want him found.”
As Olav hurried away to do the jarl’s bidding Bowdyn made up his mind. He had waited long enough, hoping for news of his brother and relying upon the efforts of others. It was time to act. He would start at Arkynsund since that was the last place Nyle was definitely seen and work from there.
“I will search for him myself,” he announced. “If I might borrow a good mount and some food supplies…”
Merewyn let out a strangled wail. “Please do not go. I could not bear to lose you again. Not now, not after…”
Bowdyn sought to explain. “I must try to find our brother. He needs me. Surely you see that.”
“I do, but—”
“Where would he go?” It was Mathios’ voice that rose above the rest, his authority ringing out and silencing the babble.
Both Bowdyn and Merewyn turned to regard the jarl but Mathios’ keen blue gaze was fixed on Bowdyn. “You are his twin. You know him better than any. In his situation, what would you do once you had escaped? Where would you head for?”
At once Bowdyn appreciated the quiet intelligence of this man who seemed determined to befriend him and right the wrongs done to his family. Mathios was right. If anyone might predict Nyle’s next moves, it would be himself.
Bowdyn stopped to consider. He had to assume that Nyle had had little opportunity to get to know this foreign land. He would want to get away, make for their home, just as Bowdyn had himself planned to do if and when the occasion presented itself. Suddenly his face split in a grin. “A port. He would make for a port because from there he might contrive to get aboard a vessel and return home. He would seek passage on a ship, so he would be staying close to the coastline…”
Mathios nodded. “Right. This makes sense, so we shall start with that. Olav, when you have sent out word of the reward you will assemble another party of fresh men. We shall call at every port, harbour, and fishing village between here and Arkynsund. We shall ensure they know of my interest in this thrall and the reward I am offering for his return, unharmed.” The jarl regarded Bowdyn, his expression thoughtful but intent. “You will accompany us. Nyle is your twin, yes? Identical to you?”
Bowdyn nodded. “Yes, though he may not have a beard now. It has been three years…”
“Even so, I am hoping that the similarity will be sufficiently striking that someone having seen you may recognise him. Do you think it might be so?”
“Yes,” Bowdyn confirmed. “It might be so.”
“Then you will come with us. We leave at first light.”