§ § § -- October 31, 2001
A few seconds over five minutes later, Steve and Marissa Karadimas popped into being, under the bust of Caesar, and looked at each other. "I think I'm getting used to this," Steve said. "At least I didn't get the headache I got all the other times that's happened."
Marissa grinned. "I think of it as Captain Kirk's transporter, speeded up," she said before her grin faded. "I can't believe civilization could be so…uncivilized. I had no idea the gladiatorial games in the arenas were so gory."
"Man versus beast," Steve said, slowly shaking his head. "Bread and circuses. Wholesale slaughter for mass entertainment, as modern people stare at television. I admit, I got suckered too. The reports said anything went, and they were more right than we realized. I need something different. Where are we, number five? Let's track it down."
They got up and circled the room; Marissa found it. "Here it is. Oh my goodness."
Steve came over to see what her exclamation was about and gawked at the Viking-ship model. "I will be damned…that thing is fantastic," he said, awed. "Look at the incredible detail on it! I wonder who built that? I hope Roarke knows, so I can give my compliments to the architect."
"It really is beautiful, and authentic too," Marissa agreed. "This must be where we go back to witness the founding of Lilla Jordsö by renegade Vikings. There's no doubt in my mind we'll see the spirit of cooperation and comradeship here."
"Teamwork all the way," Steve agreed. "Let's do it." He caught her hand in his, and they closed their eyes and counted to five.
They opened them when they became aware of a gentle, irregular jostling; what they saw around them made them look at each other in amazement. Some three dozen rough-looking men at oars dozed fitfully; in one corner, Steve and Marissa noticed a young woman with long, vividly red hair in a riot of corkscrewing curls, twitching in her sleep as she huddled against the wall on the last bench. The dark-haired, scruffy-looking Viking who sat beside her was leaning on the bulkhead behind him, his head tilted back and his mouth open as he snored gently in tandem with most of the men. The only light came from a flickering lantern that cast barely enough illumination for them to find empty spaces on the floor.
"Oars," Steve whispered. "We must be on a ship, and these characters must be captives. I heard Vikings used prisoners as oarsmen to keep their ships moving."
"Would Vikings use their own as oarsmen?" Marissa wondered, indicating the dark one beside the red-haired woman. "I don't think I get it."
"Let's see if we can sneak some more sleep," Steve said, "and then maybe later we can ask some questions." He braced himself against the wall; Marissa settled her head on his shoulder, and they drifted off to the gentle rocking of the boat.
"Heave to!" shouted someone, waking them up quite abruptly. They peered around curiously and noticed all the others beginning to stir; the last three or four rows of men gave one another annoyed looks. A muscular blond man got up and planted his hands on his hips, glaring at the hulking Viking who had yelled.
"Feed my men first," he said, "as you feed your own, or this rotting hulk will never move another arm's length across the sea."
"Mark my words, you worm-eaten slime, you'll yet meet your death on this hulk," the first man said. "I look forward to that moment."
Ten or twelve men rose to their feet in silent support of the rebel, including the dark-haired one. He was noticeably taller than the rest and had a good week's worth of beard; his scowl seemed curiously fiercer than those of the others. The blond looked around, saw his supporters waiting for some signal, and grinned ferally. "You'll wait long to see it, my friend. Fast-break, now, or we cease to row."
The first man spat on the floor and stalked away, barking an order at the entire hold full of Vikings. Steve and Marissa got up along with the others, in time to see the tall, dark Viking grasp the young woman by the arm and tug at her, none too gently. "Come, wench, you're to eat as well," the man said.
"Such generosity," the woman said with a contemptuous look at him. "Shall I rely on your protection that my meager portion not be stolen from me?"
"I have told you before," the Viking said impatiently, "you are mine, and no other touches you. It's best that you accept your fate; you'll not see your green land again. Come, before you waste away and become useless to me." He pulled her to her feet and tugged her along with him in the others' wake. Slowly Steve and Marissa followed, looking at each other and wondering exactly what had happened.
"Miss?" Marissa ventured. This stopped not only the woman but also the Viking who held her; they both stared at her. "They'll feed us all, won't they?"
"Perhaps," the woman said, "if they find some use for you. As yet, my only salvation is this unwashed oak of a man who claims I belong to him, else I should long since have been thrown overboard." She squinted at Marissa. "Are you then captive also? This man at your side, perhaps, seized you as this one did me?"
"She's my wife, miss," Steve said.
The Viking gave him a look of disbelief. "You bring your wife on these grueling trips? I wonder that the captain has not put you ashore at some strange place and left you to find your way home on foot." He hesitated, cast a glance at the red-haired woman and said thoughtfully, "But then, perhaps you are better off joining our band. We would need women to populate…" He stopped, scowled and shook his head. "We eat now," he said curtly, "lest we find nothing remaining when we reach topside." He renewed his grip on the redhead's arm and stalked towards the ladder to the deck. Unsure of themselves, Steve and Marissa followed; having exchanged words with the two, they felt it might be wiser to stick with them. Silently they climbed the ladder behind the tall Viking.
The air was still and quite chilly; the sky was overcast, except for a long sliver on the horizon where the sky was yellow from the rising sun. Breakfast was eaten in silence, but with many wary glances exchanged among the men. Eventually the blond Viking rebel asked, with studied casualness, "Where be the captain this morn?"
"Seasick, I'd wager," suggested a voice, touching off mocking laughter.
"Or else he grew ill on what passes for food with you great primitive fools," muttered the redhead, earning a sharp look from the tall Viking. Marissa looked at Steve; she was inclined to agree. Breakfast was little more than a rock-hard piece of bread, made from some indeterminate grain that seemed to have no taste.
The blond man wandered to the side of the tall Viking and the redhead, eyed them with interest, swept an unnoticing glance across Steve and Marissa and then peered at the horizon. Marissa turned to see what had his interest and realized that there was a slice of land at some little distance.
"We go now," the blond man said low, and as if by some prearranged signal, the same ten or twelve men arose. Steve and Marissa stood up too, watching the tall Viking pull the redhead back onto her feet. "Has that wench eaten?"
"Enough to keep alive one of those crawling vermin at our feet, perhaps, but no more," the tall Viking remarked. "No matter, she comes with us."
"She's a burden," the blond said, scowling. "I told you from the first day, she should be jettisoned. She's fortunate to have received anything."
"Let me worry about that," the tall Viking suggested in a low, ominous tone.
The blond eyed him, then shrugged. "Then she is your problem, and it's left to you to decide how she reaches shore. We go now." As one, he and his cohorts surged forward, knocking back those few of the bedraggled oarsmen who bothered trying to stop them; near the bow, the fistfight began in earnest. Someone drew a sword, and immediately all the rest followed suit. The redhead let out a cry of fright and tried to slink back towards the stern.
Marissa caught her and wrapped her in a hug; the girl gave her an odd look but didn't protest. "This may be our only way off this ship," Marissa said softly.
"Where to?" the girl demanded. "I see nothing but water."
"There's land over there. Don't you see it?" Steve asked, pointing discreetly at the smudge in the dim morning. The girl looked up and stared at it for a long moment.
"I suppose their plan is to swim there," she jeered.
Steve and Marissa looked at each other. Was the legend really true after all? They edged closer to the fight; quite a few men had gone overboard and were floating face-down in the sea by now. The blond, about to climb over the side himself, let out a ringing yell and thrust his sword in the air. "We row to freedom!" he roared. Cheers went up, and his band promptly swarmed over the side. The tall Viking hesitated, sheathing his sword, then turned to see the redhead in Marissa's arms and strode toward them.
"She is mine," he said in quiet warning, firmly removing the girl from Marissa's grasp and again towing her behind him. "Do you come, or do you prefer servitude?"
"Come on, Steve, we're about to witness history in the making," Marissa said excitedly. "I don't care how they got there, I want to see them do it."
Steve grinned. "Okay…come on, then." He flung the last of his hardtack over the side and jogged after her; the tall Viking was just lifting the redhead, preparatory to apparently dropping her into the sea. She shrieked in panic and began kicking and squirming energetically; the Viking, cursing, shook her just once, then lowered her.
"What are you doing?" screamed Marissa.
"She comes with us," the Viking snapped at her, just as she and Steve reached the side and realized that there was a boat below them, rapidly filling with men. Two of them grabbed the young woman; when the tall one let her loose, she fell atop the two in the boat, eliciting laughter and lewd remarks. The woman glared, swung her arm around and caught one in the face with the flat of her hand, delivering a resounding smack.
"A boat?" Steve muttered.
"Better that than swimming," Marissa said. "Come on, before they leave us here!"
The Karadimases clambered down via a rough rope as the tall Viking made his way in and roughly elbowed aside three or four leering men to take possession of the young woman again. The blond, clearly the leader, shouted, "Row swiftly!" Oars were taken up and the overcrowded little boat began to make headway, leaving the ship behind.
"You great brute," the redhead shrieked when the tall Viking jerked her away from a man who had been pawing her. "All of you are great brutes, but you are the greatest of them all. What think you to do with me when we reach this land, then?"
The tall Viking's eyes blazed. "Have you no sense of gratitude, wench? You are mine! I do not take a woman only to drown her when freedom draws near. Be silent, before I change my mind!" He pushed her into a cramped little space beside him, just shy of sending her over the side after all, then seized an oar and began to row. The young woman glared across the water, but her bravado was wearing thin by now and her shoulders had begun to shake. Tears welled up and stood in her eyes. Marissa started to reach over to pat her arm, but a glare from the tall Viking stopped her cold.
Steve, like the others, put his share of effort into the rowing; with a good dozen backs in the work, the boat moved at a respectable speed and the land on the horizon drew ever closer. After about an hour the blond shouted, and everyone stopped rowing. Marissa looked up from a half-doze; the men waited expectantly, the redhead sat in grim silence, and Steve risked a quick reassuring look at his wife.
"This moment will be one to sing of through the ages," the blond shouted. "We have defied our captors and gained our freedom, and through my actions we shall all prosper here in a new land. So say I, Magnus Ormssvärd, and so shall it be!" Amid the roars of jubilation, the blond leaped over the side and struck out for shore, which Marissa now noticed was perhaps fifty yards distant.
"So much for the legend," she murmured at Steve in amusement, and he chuckled.
"What legend speak you of?" asked the tall Viking, who had overheard, and Marissa gave him a startled look.
"We thought he was planning to swim the whole way there," offered Steve, quickly improvising. The tall Viking stared at him.
"A shame he did not," the redhead said, her spirit flaring up again. "He would have perished of this icy water along the way, and we should be rid of one annoying bag of wind at the very least." She shot the tall Viking a sidelong glare.
He sighed. "You try my patience, wench. I mean only to give you what I can to make you comfortable, but you fight me at every turn. Perhaps I am wiser to leave you to your own devices, since you so clearly will have none of me." He dropped his oar and turned away from her, his expression shuttering. The girl stared at him in surprise.
"You could hardly have my interests at heart," she said, although her voice was less strident now. "In all this time you have never even asked my name."
The tall Viking turned back to her, looked curiously at her, then smiled quite suddenly. "I have a name also, wench," he said softly. Her eyebrows popped up at that, but then a small smile tugged at her lips.
"Leave your lustful advances for another moment, or do you mean to take her here in this leaking vessel?" jeered a passing Viking, making them look around to see that the boat was rapidly emptying of men who were leaping over and swimming ashore in Ormssvärd's wake. The tall one shook his head and then smiled again at the redhead.
"Remain in the vessel and keep your feet dry, wench," he said. "I will swim and bring you to shore in this." She blinked and her eyes went wide; she, Steve and Marissa watched him get up and remove his fur jacket, woolen shirt and leather boots. He placed his sword carefully atop the garments before pausing to eye Steve. "Your wench may remain in the vessel as well, but I should hardly call a man one who does not reach shore under his own power," he said pointedly.
Steve gave him a panicked look and admitted with reluctance, "I can't swim."
"Then hang from the vessel if you must," the tall Viking said impatiently, "but do not remain aboard as would a coward. You might at least appear to assist me." He abruptly climbed to the stern and dropped neatly into the water. Steve shot Marissa the same look he'd given the Viking; she could only shrug, and he slowly crawled to the stern and very gingerly lowered himself over the side, gasping loudly.
"D-damn, this water's c-c-c-cold," he stuttered, teeth chattering.
"Be silent, if you cannot swim," the Viking said curtly and began to propel the boat towards the meager strip of beach that lay ahead of them. Marissa smiled at the redhead, who gave her a faint return smile but seemed to have withdrawn; now and then she glanced toward the stern with a thoughtful look on her face.
In a few more minutes they had reached shore, and Marissa and the redhead stepped out of the boat and climbed up a banking onto actual land. Steve was right behind them, shivering and looking miserable. The others had been watching; Ormssvärd sidled forward and peered at Steve incredulously. "It's but early autumn," he said.
"No way," Steve said, shocked. "That water's like melted ice."
"I have little use for weaklings," Ormssvärd remarked, "nor women either, and I now see that I have somehow acquired two. Wenches are good for cooking, are they not?" He grinned lasciviously. "Among other things." His men laughed.
The redhead looked at him coldly. "You'll seek long for someone willing to keep you warm in the night, I'm thinking."
"You will be silent!" yelled Ormssvärd and seized her arm, swinging her around and slamming her into a tree. The impact knocked the breath from her and she half sank to the ground, stunned.
Someone roared from the beach, and the tall dark Viking leaped from the sand onto the banking, grabbing Ormssvärd with both hands and shoving him to the ground with all his strength. "Perhaps you are deaf," he said, his voice shaking with fury. "No one touches what is mine, including you, Magnus Ormssvärd."
Ormssvärd scrambled nimbly to his feet and laughed. "Lust has certainly overcome you, my friend!" At this, the tall Viking whipped out his sword, and the men around them began to mutter. Conspicuously, Ormssvärd's sword, along with most of the other men's, still lay in the boat, where they had been left for safekeeping during the swim to shore.
"I have followed you this far," the tall Viking said quietly, his tone low and menacing. "You made many promises, most of them empty. Now that you for once have kept your word, I felt inclined to generosity toward you. I see that was an error. If in fact your dream of a royal empire is ever to be realized, you will heed my warning to keep your hands off my wench, or you will die by my sword before you have any opportunity to sire a dynasty to succeed you when you grow too feebleminded to rule." All the while, he had held the point of his sword at Ormssvärd's throat; now, just for emphasis, he thrust forward slightly, drawing a single drop of blood. The sudden silence was deafening.
"No wench is worth your life, Magnus," someone said. "Let be. Thorsten Långsvärd is known for his skill with the blade. Had you no knowledge of his name?"
Ormssvärd stared at the tall Viking. "You are Långsvärd? Then luck was with me when you joined my band. Had you only told me your name, I should have taken note. Go to your wench, but be warned, others here may not be as generous as I."
Långsvärd nodded once, curtly, and sheathed his sword. "We understand each other, then. As to the coward and his wench, it matters not to me what you do." He waved vaguely towards Steve and Marissa before stalking over to the tree, where he knelt and gently gathered the redheaded woman into his arms.
"Hardly worth my time," Ormssvärd said, shrugging. "Now that I find the skilled swordsman to be among my group, I am feeling magnanimous. Let them remain if they so choose." Steve and Marissa both sagged with relief and quickly put some distance between themselves and the leader with his band, clutching each other and shaking.
Then they heard low voices and looked at each other, then at the tall Viking and the redhead. The man spoke softly to the woman, and she nodded slightly, still looking dazed and breathless. Steve remarked in surprise, "Looks like more than lust going on there."
Marissa smiled. "Looks like it to me too. I think there's a love story here that never got recorded in Lilla Jordsö's Originators Saga."