Nena Page 8

  The recent image of the dress sliding down Nena’s firm young body flashed to the forefront of Jarl’s mind. There was nothing about it he would describe as old. He fought it aside and asked, “So there were other Teclan there? How many?”

  “I do not know, my lord,” Altene said.

  “But you are certain Meln, himself, was there?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are there any other Teclan among the captives?”

  “That I also do not know. None that I have seen so far, but there are many new prisoners in this latest batch.”

  “Gratitude, Altene. Your information is most valuable. Go now and ask among the prisoners if any know the fate of the other Teclan.” He paused. “And Altene, if your methods do not prove adequate to obtain the information I seek, use the prisoner guards. Tell them you are working on my behalf, and they are to assist you in whatever ways you deem necessary. This information is very important to me.”

  “Yes, my lord,” Altene murmured, unable to hold back the smile at his compliment and trust in her as she turned to leave.

  Jarl waited a few moments then followed Altene outside the tent. Nena heard him speaking to one of his guards, his voice low. She strained her ears, trying to focus on his words. “Yes, a star and a lightning bolt, on the upper left arm,” he said.

  The guard’s response was too muted for Nena to make out.

  “Report exact numbers back to me once you are finished. And you are to search every single one. Am I clear?”

  Did he not trust Altene? Was he sending a guard to double check the prisoners? More importantly, if Altene’s words were true, then her father and brother must still be free! Surely had the chief of the Teclan and his son been captured, Altene would have heard of it right away.

  THE REMAINDER OF the day was a steady procession of men to see Jarl. Nena soon realized that what she had assumed was a grossly oversized tent to fit his ego, was, in fact, at times far too small. Some men had disputes. Some requested new orders or clarification of old. Some offered suggestions or requested permission to take on a new project. Others presented Jarl with problems for him to solve: problems with supplies, problems with weapons, problems with other men. Jarl addressed each issue calmly, though sometimes she could tell he was irritated or disinterested. He was easy to read.

  Unlike the Teclan who were trained from an early age to reveal nothing—to keep their faces and bodies inexpressive, the Northmen were the opposite. Jarl was no exception. His face, body and even his energy aura clearly transmitted what he was feeling, though the other Northmen seemed not to be able to see it. The way the muscle in his cheek tensed when he was angry. The way his left shoulder dropped a fraction when he was bored. The way the small lines in his forehead became deeper when he was interested and giving careful consideration. Nena could read it all. Foolish, untrained, undisciplined Northman, she thought with disdain.

  Every detail of every encounter, she filed away to potentially use in her escape. An escape, since being bloodsworn to the girl, had become a hundredfold more difficult, but still possible. She just had to be ready to seize the opportunity when it arose. To do that, she needed to learn everything she could about them.

  When the next man entered, Nena was struck by how filthy he was, but the way Jarl reacted to him, sitting up and giving him his full attention, told her this was a man of importance. She took closer note of him. His thick dark beard and clothes were covered in a fine black soot. She smelled an acrid burnt smell even across the tent where she was secured. He was a large man—not near so tall as Jarl, but his body was much thicker, like the trunk of a tree.

  “Is this what you had in mind, Jarl?” The dirty man asked as he held out something for Jarl to examine. Nena could not see what it was. Jarl took the item, and Nena heard the clink of metal. So this man was a forger—able to create and repair their weapons. No wonder he was so important to Jarl. For that same reason, he could be important to Nena. When she escaped, she would need a weapon. If she could locate the forger’s tent, there should be many there to choose from.

  “Yes. These are perfect. Gratitude, Eigil,” Jarl said. “I shall see you properly rewarded.”

  “No reward required. It was a pleasure to create something other than dagger and sword.” The man dismissed Jarl’s offer and smiled, his teeth appearing very white beneath the soot in his mustache.

  Nena could tell Jarl was, in fact, very pleased by whatever it was this man had made for him. Her curiosity grew. Was it some unique weapon? If so, it had to be very small—and small appealed to her.

  After the man left, Jarl stood and walked toward her, the item hidden inside his bulging fist. Her eyes darted from his hand to his face to his body, trying to identify not only the metal object, but also his intentions toward her in time to react, if necessary.

  “I have a gift for you,” Jarl said. “Something to keep you safe.” He opened his hand and there in his palm was the forger’s masterpiece. Two small metal wrist shackles connected by four short links of chain. They were unlike any she had ever seen. Each one opened in the normal fashion with a hinge on one side and a lock clasp on the other, but they were delicate—more like bracelets, and each was lined with a soft rabbit fur cuff.

  Jarl’s eyes searched her face to see if she recognized the significance of what he held, but her face remained a smooth mask. How could she show nothing? She was such an enigma to him. Did she not understand his intent or know what they were? With these, there would be no gnawing herself free. He reached for one of her wrists, but she jerked it away and stepped back, her eyes locked on his in clear defiance. Jarl nodded and smiled, satisfied. She knew.

  “I’m going to replace the rawhide on your wrists with these. I had them designed for your comfort and to not mar your skin, as I fear you may be wearing them for awhile. At least until the day I can trust you, as I trust Altene.”

  “That day will never come,” she seethed.

  “Perhaps.” Jarl acknowledged with a smile and shrug. “In the meantime, I cannot be forever worried that you have chewed yourself free when I am busy or preoccupied. Believe it or not, I do have other things to worry about besides you.” He took another small step toward her. “This is going to happen now, but I’m giving you a choice. You can accept them willingly, or I will put them on you like I did the first ones, rolling in the furs—which I quite enjoyed,” he added. “You decide.”

  Nena rapidly evaluated her limited options. The shackles, though delicate in appearance, would be extremely effective. If she allowed him to place them on her, she would not be able to get free of them without a key. If she tried to fight, already bound as she was, she would be no match for him, and any injury she would be able to inflict would be minimal. The end result would be the same, but she would have endured being manhandled and groped by him again.

  Her heart raced as she fought back the panic that threatened to overwhelm her. She had to remain calm. Panic served no purpose. She had no choice. She would not be able to chew free, but she would find another way. Later. Secure the key. Something. Like being bloodsworn to the child, this was another setback, but it would be overcome. They said the camp would move in a week. In that certain chaos could be opportunity. Making no attempt to hide her hatred of him, Nena offered up her wrists.

  The guard bringing dinner, entered with another heaping tray of food. After he set the tray on the table and left, Jarl picked up his set of utensils and a second set, Nena assumed were for her, and placed them on a smaller table behind his chair, near the chest where Altene had chosen her ruby. He poured himself an oxhorn cup of wine and took a long swallow, wiping the excess from his lips with the back of his hand while he studied her.

  Seeming to come to some decision, he leaned the horn against its short wooden stand, walked across the tent and stood in front of her, his body tense. “It’s time to eat, Princess. Let’s try to play nice, alright?” he asked, though Nena could tell he was not really expecting a response. He started to unhook t
he long chain from her cuffs, then paused and looked her straight in the eye. “Know this. If you make a move on me, you’d better be certain you can finish it, and kill me. Am I clear?”

  She stared back at him in silence.

  “Here goes nothing,” he murmured, as he unhooked the chain. Leaving her hands bound together with the cuffs, he led her to a chair across from his, and sat her at an empty plate. She eyed the utensils behind him. The Northmen utensils, other than the knife, were strange to her, so she did not need them to eat, but had hoped to have access to the pronged one. Perhaps he would give her an oxhorn cup like his. The intricate silver decoration around the top rim would not make it heavy enough to kill him with a blow to the head, but the sharp silver-tipped curved point on the bottom could surely be driven into his eye—maybe even his ear.

  Tonight’s feast was a roasted shoulder of wild pig. Jarl cut off two large slabs of the steaming meat, placing one on his plate and one on the plate in front of her. He returned his knife to its sheath when he noticed her eyes on it, then added a large scoop of tender grains boiled with small wild onions to each plate. He poured wine into a shallow silver cup, slid it in front of her, and nodded for her to drink.

  Nena frowned, disappointed that he’d had the foresight to not provide her with one of the oxhorn cups. She took a small sip. She was thirsty, but did not want to dim her wits around him. She picked up the piece of hot meat and bit off an edge. When she finished that piece, he cut her another. She had to scoop the onions and grains up to her mouth with her hands, but she didn’t mind. They were delicious—heavily salted and seasoned with some other spice that was unknown to her.

  Jarl sat watching her, his full plate of food untouched, though he did continue to drink his wine and soon had refilled his oxhorn several times.

  “What were the Teclan doing out on the plains?” he asked. “Altene said earlier, in hopes you would choose. What did she mean by that?”

  “Ask your whore,” Nena responded between mouthfuls.

  Jarl sat back and smiled, seeming to be relaxed, but Nena could feel the tense awareness emanating from him. She could tell that even with the wine he had consumed, he was poised to react within a split second to any move on her part.

  “How many of you were there? Who is left guarding the Teclan mountain stronghold?”

  “Ask your whore that, too.”

  “Perhaps I will, but that will have to wait until later. I do not wish for Altene to disturb us now.”

  What did he mean by that? What was he planning to do now? Altene had said he would not force her—had that been a lie? Deceitful Klarta bitch couldn’t be trusted. Nena delayed eating her last few bites to postpone as long as possible what was to come after the meal.

  As he led her away from the table, Nena planned her defense strategy. If he ventured past the pole toward his furs, her best bet with her hands cuffed was to go for his eyes.

  Jarl stopped at the pole and reattached her chain. He stood back and admired her. “You are exquisite.” He reached out to stroke her hair, but she shook her head and stepped back, glaring at him. “Hnf,” he grunted with a nod and a hint of a smile, then turned and went to the door. “Send for Altene,” he said to a guard outside.

  He met Altene at the door and the two made their way to his furs, shedding clothes along the way. Nena watched only long enough to be sure they were not coming in her direction, then picked a spot on the floor midway between the pole and the furs and stared at it. She dared not close her eyes and be completely without warning sight in this place, but she would not endure Altene’s promise of witnessing their intimacies. She stared blindly at the spot, clearing her mind, blocking out as much as she could.

  Nena employed a warrior’s tactic, learned, so that if ever captured, she might endure torture. She took her mind far away to a place that was soothing to her—the green banks of the cool stream where she used to play as a child. She was there again, smelling the tangy spring grass, feeling the warm earth between her bare toes, seeing the small silver fish darting beneath the clear surface of the water. She was only dimly aware of their whispers, their groans, their sighs, the increased tempo of their bodies coming together, their mingled cries of pleasure, then their panting breaths. When it was silent, Nena brought back her focus, but still did not look at them.

  “Are you hungry?”she heard him ask Altene.

  “Why yes, my lord,” Altene murmured surprised.

  “Come. I have not yet had time to eat. You can tell me what you’ve discovered over food and drink.”

  “Gratitude, my lord.”

  Nena looked up as Jarl pulled on his trousers and Altene her dress, again to verify they were not coming for her. She was numb, her mind clear and calm. As her eyes followed them to the table, her contempt of Altene returned. The woman seemed not to mind that he served her food on a dirty plate or poured her wine into a used cup, as he might have given table scraps to a dog. Could she not see it? Did she truly not care? He did give her clean utensils, though—the ones Nena had not been permitted to use. And more important than that, he gave her a knife; Altene’s sickening behavior had earned his trust. As much as Nena would have liked to have had the weapons, it made his suggestion that she would one day be trusted the same as that groveling little snitch, even more insulting.

  “They said there were nine: her, Chief Meln, her younger brother, and a small escort contingent of six Teclan warriors,” Altene began.

  “Who is in charge in their absence?” Jarl asked.

  “Her eldest brother, Lothor, remained behind. He has a formidable reputation. I would not anticipate any lessening of their defenses. Rumor has it he is as strong a warrior as Meln.”

  “Strong warriors do not necessarily make strong leaders,” Jarl responded. “Are there any other Teclan among the captives?”

  “No, my lord.”

  “Does anyone bear witness to what happened to them in the battle?”

  The battle? Did they call massacring unarmed opponents—women and children—a battle?

  “None that I have spoken with thus far, but I have yet to question them all. By end of day tomorrow, I will know all that they know,” Altene promised.

  “Very good.” Jarl cut another bite of the now cold pork. “You said earlier the tournament was in hopes that she would choose. What did you mean by that?” Jarl asked.

  “Tournaments are a way for Dor men to safely demonstrate their fighting skills and gain status. It’s also a time for them to impress the gods and offer themselves up to be chosen. All tribes have them. We....,” she began, then corrected herself. “They...believe the gods choose a woman’s first union and reveal their choice through the woman, when they are ready.”

  “When you say choose first union, what is that? Sex? Marriage?”

  “Usually it is both. After the first union is complete...”

  “By complete, you mean they have sex,” Jarl interrupted to clarify.

  “Yes. After that the woman will make a statement in front of the village, that she accepts the union and then it is final. Then it is a marriage.”

  “Does that always happen?”

  “Almost always. There would have to be severe extenuating circumstances for a woman to go against the gods and not agree with their choice.”

  “Like rape?” he suggested.

  “Yes, that would be one reason.” Altene lowered her voice. “But that is very, very rare. Men will rape married women of a tribe they have conquered as an additional way to show their dominance, but it is never acceptable to rape an unchosen woman. They are considered sacred by the gods.”

  “Are all Dor men so fearful of the gods that you’ve never heard of it happening?” he asked in disbelief.

  “It is not only the gods they fear. It is the punishment. One of the few punishments that is universal among all the Dor tribes, at least all those I’ve ever heard of.” Her voice was barely above a whisper now. “The punishment for such a man is castration and to live out hi
s remaining days as a slave of the lowest order in the tribe.”

  “And the woman? What happens to her?”

  “Nothing.” Altene looked bewildered by the question. “She would not make the statement of union, of course, but the gods still chose for her. The Dor believe the gods recognized a poison within the man, and in order to cull him from the tribe, picked the one woman he could not resist to bring it to light. Such a woman would be revered to have been so chosen by the gods, and would be rewarded in her next choosing being far above her station.”

  Jarl nodded as he digested the information.

  “If the women choose the men, are they in charge? I’ve seen women in battle but never heard of a female Dor chief.”

  Altene laughed as if the idea were ridiculous. “No, my lord. A Dor woman could never lead. That is only for men. Yes, all young women are trained to fight. It comes to serve later when they are mothers and left behind in the villages while the men go to raid. If they were ever attacked, they would not be defenseless.”

  “So the men are in charge, make all the decisions, but not who they marry? They must wait for a woman to pick them?” Jarl asked.

  “Yes.” Altene nodded.

  Jarl frowned and shook his head. “Can the woman choose anyone? What if the man doesn’t wish to be chosen?”

  Altene laughed. “Of course the man must also be willing. He would indicate his willingness in advance to the woman, as would others. Higher ranking men usually will only do that with women of equal or higher status.” She paused. “But it is a great honor for a man to be chosen, and the younger he is chosen, the greater that honor. Because of this, many men have an open willingness to being chosen by any woman. Though they will go to great lengths to impress a woman they prefer. They bring gifts to show they can support her. They compete in tournaments like this one to demonstrate their superior battle skills over other men. To vanquish a rival in front of a woman is powerful medicine in the eyes of the gods.”