If I Had a Heart: The Saga of Ivar and Ita

Chapter 11

The gates were guarded in the daytime by four men at least at each entrance – north, south, east, and west. But at night, there was posted only one guard at each. Then, too, everyone would be sleeping and no one would suspect a thing. Send in a few silent assassins to kill the guards where they stood, and the city was free for the taking. A night raid would be best. It had worked wonderfully a number of times before. Yes, it certainly had.

Not that Ivar had seen any night raids before. He just needed an adjustment to his plan, and quick. He went through every option available, with every outcome possible, in his head as he sat alone in the tent long after his brothers had left him. He hadn't slept in two days for having to construct and reconstruct how he should direct his army to ensure that the city was theirs. He had to make his father proud. He had to make the gods proud. He had to increase his glory and his fame at any cost. And becoming the king of this city would be just the thing to do that.

But attacking at midday, or first thing in the morning as they had initially planned, would make for a more exciting fight and more of a show. And it would keep the realm of comfort in battle within arm's reach.

He stood and went to the door of his tent. The sun was now quite high in the sky and clouds were rolling in, threatening rain. He yawned and scratched his head as he looked around. This land was rich and plentiful and beautiful, and the temperature was much more bearable than in Kattegat. He loved the warm weather and the green grass. It was almost peaceful – or at least the closest thing to peaceful he could stand that didn't involve a drink or a woman.

The only thing he really didn't like was the rain. It left the ground muddy and soft and almost impossible to trudge across on his crutch. Not only that, the changing weather hurt his legs. Unfortunately, it felt like it rained half the year.

If it is raining during the raid, whatever advantage the time of day gives us will not matter. Things could even be set more off schedule and against the plan. By the gods, it better not rain.

Ivar ran a hand through his hair and then over his face. It had been thirteen years since his father's death, twelve since his first time fighting a real battle, and ten since the civil war. Nine since his brothers had rejoined forces.

No, ten.

He had forgotten he had been in this country for a year now. So all his calculations were now off by a year. He sighed and offered one more glance up at the sky before going back inside and pouring himself another cup of stale mead.

Every day since the war, every attack and every battle since, he found himself looking forward less and less to it all. He still longed for the rush of battle and the sense of pride and exhilaration that came after it was all said and done. But now he was seeking a feeling, and the actual violence and brutality meant less.

Sure, he was still angry. He always would be. Fighting helped with that, in a way. In others, it hurt him. It made him tired, and it made him weak. Sometimes, he would come home after a fight and he couldn't walk for days afterward, forced to either sit around or resort back to crawling as he had for so long.

He blamed his legs, his bones, and even his age. At twenty-eight, he had outlived many other young warriors with the same anger and frustration he felt – and they were healthier than him, physically and mentally. He had gained a little more control over the way his moods changed, so maybe it was his age. Maturity, Ubbe called it. Maybe that wasn't it, either. He didn't know, and he tried not to think about it. A calm, mild-mannered Viking was not an honorable Viking. Wasn't really much of a Viking at all. That is why he took his father's advice and continued to cling to his anger after all these years.

"Ivar," Bjorn said from the door, drawing him partially out of his own thoughts.

He glanced up at his eldest brother. "Yes?"

"Have you decided what should be done yet?" Bjorn asked. "One of the men said he saw Hvitserk coming back with the girl. We'll need a plan ready to discuss when they arrive."

"Yes, I think I have an idea," he said quietly, and he walked past his brother out of the tent.

"I feel very strange of late," Lord Cadhla said as he sat upon his large, blue, almost throne-like chair in the eastern wing of the house.

"Should I call a doctor, my lord?" asked his valet.

"No," the lord said, shaking his head. "Not that kind of strange. I mean, I just have this uneasy feeling."

"Could it be the weather then? The equinox is nearing, and you know that always plays with your head."

"No." He shook his head again, looking at the young man to his left. "I can't explain it, but it feels rather unnatural."

"Is there anything I can do, lord?"

"I don't think so," he sighed. "Nothing more than listen to the musings and worrying of an old man."

"Of course, my lord," the valet said with a slight bow.

"Actually," the lord said, "tell the guards to increase their numbers at the gates twofold, and to post one extra man at each door."

"Yes, my lord," he replied, and went on his way down the steps and to the head guard, who stood silently at the door.

"My, my, my…look who has decided to return to us," Ubbe said when he saw Ita enter the meeting tent of the Sons of Ragnar.

He was the only one present, aside from the guards at the door.

"I never exactly decided to stay away, just so you're aware," Ita said. "At least not until I realized my staying in the village could be to our advantage."

"Hm," he intoned with a respectful smirk.

"But yes, I am back," she said, returning his smirk. "For now. Where is Ivar? I've been told he desires to speak with me."

"We all do, actually. We're to have a meeting. But he's around here somewhere," Ubbe said, and he stood with an effortful grunt. "I'll see if I can find him."

He left and returned several minutes later with the rest of his brothers. Around the table, they sat and discussed how the plan should be altered to accommodate her new residence.

"We're compromising Hvitserk's safety, I think, sending him in everyday unarmed and alone," Ita said. "It's enough to do that to me – I can talk my way out. He can't. He can't communicate with these people and he doesn't know anyone but me, and we can't be seen in each other's company at all hours of the day."

"I agree with Ita," Bjorn said. "How long before they become suspicious?"

Everyone nodded or uttered a noise of agreement to this rhetorical statement.

"We could raid sooner," Ivar suggested.

"I think it is still too soon," Ubbe said, leaning forward. "Ita may not have everything in order."

"Yes, and if we fail, then what? We will be forced to retreat with Ita left behind to bear the brunt of our mistake," Bjorn said. "No doubt they would place the blame on her as the raid would coincide too closely with her arrival in the city."

Ivar scoffed. "And waiting four extra days would make any difference where that is concerned?"

"I think even just one extra day would make all the difference," Ubbe said.

"You just think –" Ivar started to argue, but was quickly interrupted.

"One extra day is just enough time," Ita said, almost too calmly, even for her liking. "I don't like putting it off. If we're going to raid, let's just get it over with. Ivar's right – we're plenty ready and we've waited long enough. But we can wait just a little longer. One day. Do you think you could get everything in order by day after tomorrow?"

In the pregnant pause which followed, Ivar and Ubbe both visibly retreated from their argument, each leaning back in his seat and looking at her with slack jaws as Bjorn leaned forward, a concerned look in his eyes.

"Are you absolutely positive you want to go through with this, Ita?" he asked. "This soon?"

She shrugged.

"There isn't anything you still need to figure out or get in order before we do this?" Hvitserk asked, giving her a look as though to say, "Are you concerned at all for your uncle's safety? What is to be done about him?"

She swallowed hard. She still didn't know what should be done about him. He needed to be protected, or at least warned, but she didn't know if she could do that. And it was too late to add this piece to the playing board so late in the game.

"Yes, I think that is plenty of time to set things in order," she said, flashing a small false grin to reassure them.

In the end, it was decided that Ita would return to the city for the night. Meanwhile, the Sons of Ragnar would set the plan into motion, preparing the army for battle and getting everything in order. Ita would meet them all again the morning of the raid at sunrise to receive a pack with her clothes for battle, which she would stow under one of the church benches until she needed them. Then she would go back and start chatting up one of the guards, and – as soon as everything was perfectly in place – she would give the signal, a simple wave of her hand as she spoke, and they would make their move. Ita would then make her way calmly back to the church, change clothes, and wait for Hvitserk to bring her sword and shield to her.

It all seemed so simple, so foolproof.

Bjorn found Torvi about an hour later in the tent belonging to three young shield maidens. She knelt behind one, helping her plait her hair tightly to her head and telling some grand story about the defeat of King Aelle. She had not been there, of course, but she got most of it right. At least, right so far as the sagas told. He smiled, glad to see her where she was always happiest, being a mother and a teacher. That is what she was born to be. She should never have been forced to enter the world of blood and battle. That was his arena. She was a gifted fighter, and she enjoyed it, but he could see how it hurt her, too, especially after losing her son Guthrum so many years ago.

"The king was blood eagled by the Sons of Ragnar?" the girl in front of Torvi asked, turning just a bit to look over her shoulder.

Torvi nodded, tying off a final plait. "By Ivar the Boneless."

"Ah, but there is where you are wrong, my love," Bjorn said softly and with a little smile as he stepped past them and knelt down.

"Oh, I'm wrong, am I?" Torvi asked teasingly. "Then why don't you tell us, since you were there, O Bjorn Ironside."

He looked from his ex-wife to the young girl in front of her. She couldn't have been more than fifteen years old, still a girl, so small and so weak. But her eyes gleamed with excitement and fascination as she listened intently for his version of the story.

"It was I who blood eagled King Aelle," he said.

"You?" the girl asked, her eyes widening even more.

"Yes," he responded. "With the help of Floki, the boat builder." He looked back to Torvi. "Ivar merely sat back and watched. He was only a boy then," his eyes met the girl's once more, "about your age, I'll bet. He had never even seen a blood eagle that he could remember. So of course it was me."

"My," the girl said breathlessly.

Bjorn smiled at her and patted her on the shoulder as he stood. "Torvi, I needed to speak with you."

"Alright," she said as she checked all the plaits in the girl's hair, preparing to tie them all back into a ponytail.

"Alone."

"Well, I don't see why that's necessary, but alright," she said, and she stood, too, to follow him out. "I'll be right back, ladies."

Ita remained in the encampment for the rest of the day, not sure she was ready to leave them yet again. Sure, she enjoyed Brigid's company and she loved getting to see her uncle again, but there was something about these Northmen that felt just a little more like home to her than a city full of people who were practically her own. Even as the clouds began to roll in and threaten rain, she stayed, wandering around aimlessly until finally Ivar found her in her tent, where she sat on the dirt floor. In her hands, she held something small, just out of his line of sight. She turned it in her hands slowly, looking at it from every angle.

"Hey," Ivar said softly from the door of the tent.

She looked up and tucked whatever it was into her pocket. "Hello."

"You're still here," he said, coming in and letting the door fall shut behind him. "Why?"

"Not ready to go back yet, I guess," she sighed.

"Do you not like it there?"

"No, I do, but…I like it here, too," she said. "But I don't really feel like I should be in either place."

He frowned, then nodded.

"Now isn't the time for some big existential crisis," she said. "Forget I said it."

"Oh, I think everyone probably has some kind of existential crisis just before a big raid," he said.

"Even you?"

He laughed quietly, shaking his head. "Sometimes."

She looked down at her arms where they rested on her knees, at the soft blue material of her sleeves which were just beginning to stain. Sweat, dirt, grass – Padraig was right; she shouldn't have gone out in such a dress. Hell, she shouldn't even have a dress like this in the first place.

"That's good to know, I guess," she said, and she smiled up at him. "I was meaning to give you this."

From her pocket, she withdrew a small, round stone and held it out to him.

"What is it?" he asked, taking it in his hand and turning it over.

"It's from the stream in the woods," she said. "It's – well, it's sort of like something my father used to do. Any time he would go away, he would give me a stone like this one."

"Are you going away?"

She said nothing, but looked at him stoically.

"You're – you're crazy," he said, the realization of what she must have meant gradually dawning on him. He shook his head and tried to give it back, but she wouldn't take it. "This raid will be easy. And afterward we will celebrate. You have nothing to worry about."

"How do you know? I've never experienced anything like this," she said. "The closest thing to battle I've ever experienced is training with your brothers out in the woods, and –"

He shook his head angrily. "A raid is not battle," he insisted, interrupting her.

"May as well be," she said.

"You know nothing about either one!" he shouted.

"That is my point, Ivar!" she shouted back.

"Really? Because I thought your point was that you were planning on dying – on leaving!"

"I don't want to die, Ivar, but we must keep in mind that it is entirely within the realm of possibility!" she screamed.

And as she did, she stood up to face him, sending him stumbling a few steps back and almost onto the ground. He caught his balance and stepped closer so that he looked down upon her.

"No, it fucking isn't," he said, lowering his voice. "And I just want you to know that if you do die in this raid like a fool, on the day that Odin comes to take me into Valhalla, I will have him lead me straight to the gates of your Heaven so that I can storm in and drag you back out by your hair."

"Why do you care so much?" she asked. "Why do you care about me? Why didn't you kill me when you had the chance and save time? Or if you wanted to keep me safe and sound with you so badly, like some kind of animal, why didn't you make me a slave? Hvitserk said –"

"I don't give a damn what Hvitserk said."

"Tell me why you care."

"Now, or then, when I found you?"

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

The angry, bitter scowl fell from his face. "It doesn't matter."

"Goddamn you," she said with a frustrated little chuckle.

"Oh, he probably will if he is the one true, supreme god you believe he is," Ivar said with that familiar little half-smirk, which soon faded away. He sighed and held up the stone again for just a moment before letting his hand fall to his side again. "What am I supposed to do with this?" he asked calmly.

She smiled sadly. "Well that's the other half of the tradition. I give it to you. You keep it until you see me again. Then you can return it."

"Just, return it, as though you never gave it to me in the first place?" he asked.

"Yes," she said, "with a kiss."

He nodded slowly, a satisfied little grin on his face.

"Although, that part is optional," she said playfully. "The kiss, I mean. When I was a little girl, I would kiss my father on the cheek, but as I got older…not so much."

"But you always returned it?" he asked, still confused as to why anyone would return a gift.

"He always got his stone back when I saw him again," she said. Quietly, and mostly to herself, she added, "I still have the last one, though."

"And you will get this one back," he said, very serious.

Bjorn led Torvi through the labyrinth of tents and fires and warriors, down the hill which faced the woods, and to the very edge of the encampment. He was very quiet, she noticed, and she wondered to herself if there was possibly something wrong. By now, he very well could have changed his mind and decided not to take her back to Kattegat with him after the raid. He probably had some new adventure all lined up – some exploration of the Eastern World and beyond, across the sea until he fell of the edge of the earth or else found another way around. And she would be left all alone in her old age, to die forgotten by her people and by her children who, truth be told, had all long ago moved their separate ways and neglected to do so much as come asking for her. It wouldn't surprise her if Bjorn left her, too – again, after all these years.

She looked up at him nervously, and he smiled back at her, that same comforting, loving smile she had known almost as long as she had known him.

"Torvi," he said, coming to a halt.

"Yes?"

"My brothers and Ita have agreed to raid the day after tomorrow," he said.

"Alright," she said simply.

"Are you sure you want to raid with us?" he asked. "It may be better if you stayed here this time."

"Why are you saying this?"

"I just think you would be safer here, and you would be able to protect the camp if you needed to. There are many others who came this far who are not going to raid."

"I want to be down there," she said. "With my sisters. We have trained long and hard. And you said yourself just the other day that this was going to be an easy raid."

"When was the last time you fought? Hm?"

"I fight all the time, Bjorn."

"You train," he corrected her, "with children and young women."

"I will be fine, Bjorn," she said, smiling as she placed a hand on his shoulder. "Believe me. You know me. I am a good warrior."

He sighed. "I…I just wish you never had to be. It is my fault you ever even had to become one in the first place."

"No it isn't," she said with a laugh. "I did what I had to do, for myself and for my son, and I do not regret what it has all led to." She touched his face gently, almost maternally. "This is the last time I will ever do this, and I want to do this. Then I will come home with you and live as a quiet, comfortable…crazy old woman, with a hundred stories to tell."

"I would expect nothing less," he smiled. "But –"

"This raid will just be another story," she interrupted. "Do not worry."

It was strange to think that a stone barely the size of the end of his thumb could weigh so heavily in Ivar's pocket as he walked with Ita down the same path they had wandered down a few nights before. He walked a few paces behind her, watching as she stepped carefully over the rocks and sticks, her shoes in one hand and her raised skirt in the other. Rarely did he ever find another human being's movements so beautiful. Watching her, though, was like watching a bird or some otherworldly spirit as it passed through so lightly and freely.

"My brother Fergus took me down this path once before," she said. "Did I tell you that?"

He shook his head. "No."

"Oh, yes," she said, peering over her shoulder at him, a smile playing at the corners of her lips. "We used to play in these woods, he and I and my other two brothers. And sometimes my uncle, too." She stopped suddenly and turned to look at him. "I've only been down this path twice though. Once with Fergus, and once with you."

"Twice with me now," Ivar said, offering her a little grin as he came up beside her.

"Of course," she nodded.

"These woods are very far from where you are from, aren't they? What were you doing this far?"

"We would pretend to have adventures," she said, and she continued walking. The stream was almost within sight now. "Mother wasn't so worried, so long as we made it back by sundown the next day."

"My mother would have been worried sick if I were gone for more than a few hours," he said.

She nodded. "Mine was, too, sometimes. Secretly I think she would have been relieved if one of us had not come home."

"That is a horrible thing to say," he said, though he had to admit a part of him understood. It must have been difficult for a single peasant woman to take care of so many children. "It is your mother you are talking about. She loved you, I'm sure."

"Oh, she loved us, of course," Ita said, shaking her head, "I just think it was a lot for her to deal with, raising us alone."

The path ended right at the stream, in the same place they had been before. Ita went down to the water's edge and stepped into the ankle-deep water. It was cool and clear, and in the midafternoon light, she could see it a lot better. A little ways out, she could see a school of small fish as they swam downstream, following the flow of the water, and she followed them with her eyes until they disappeared from sight. Beneath her feet was soft brown mud, and dozens of stones just like the one she had given to Ivar.

"A lot of Celtic mythology is based on water," she said. "Did you know that?"

"Mythology?" He gave her a confused look.

"Eh…paganism," she hesitated. "What we practiced before we were Christian, hundreds of years ago."

"Like what I believe?"

"Sort of," she nodded.

"And you call that mythology?"

"I…yes, I suppose so," she said.

"But a myth is something fake," he said.

"Well, the vast majority of my people believe it is fake," she said.

"Do you?" he asked, making her pause and think.

"I don't know," she shook her head. "I suppose it might be real."

He nodded, but didn't press further.

"But I think it is so funny," she said, "that it is my people who believed so much in water gods when it is your people who are known for being sailors."

"If we dwelt upon what may be in the water, we might not want to go sailing," he said jestingly.

"I want to go sailing someday," she said, coming back ashore and sitting beside him.

"I'm sure you will."

"Would you take me with you when you leave?"

"What makes you think I'm leaving?" he asked.

"Your people never really stay anywhere for very long, do they? You always come in, kill, rape and pillage, and leave as soon as you've come," she said, her brow beginning to furrow with worry. "I'm assuming once you've gotten what you want here, you'll do the same."

"The plan is to stay here as long as possible and make this land our own, Ita. You don't have to worry about me leaving," he said. "But if I do travel somewhere, I will take you with me if you want to go."

She smiled. "Thank you."

He leaned in to kiss her chastely, but even after he did, his lips lingered on hers, barely touching. She kissed him back, a little less innocently this time. This was very possibly the last time they would have the opportunity to do this, she realized, and as stupid and banal and unoriginal as that thought was, she didn't really seem to care.

He deepened the kiss, pulling her in closer until she was in his lap, and she wrapped her arms around his neck. She untied the leather string which held his hair back and ran a hand through his hair, smiling when she heard him groan deep in his throat. He hooked his hands behind her knees to pull her even closer and wrap her legs around him.

"I want you," he breathed, breaking the kiss to bury his face in her neck.

"I'm right here," she whispered, not realizing what he had meant until she felt one of his hands sliding up her inner thigh. "Oh."

"Is something wrong?" he asked, pausing to look at her.

"No," she said, shaking her head. "Not at all."

She kissed his lips again, and rather than letting her nerves take hold of her, she put her hand on his and slowly diverted it away from where it was headed. She wanted him to touch her, but she was concerned. Her body was reacting in a way she wasn't used to, and she had no way of knowing if it was normal. And she certainly wasn't ready for Ivar to tell her yet if it wasn't. So she placed his hand on her hip. Without protest, he ran his hand up her side and around to her back, where he undid a few buttons to pull the dress down over one of her shoulders. His lips traveled lazily down her jaw to her neck, and further down to her shoulder.

She sighed pleasantly and kissed his neck once, letting her hand slide down one of his arms to rest on his hand on her waist. It slipped out from under hers and pushed its way under her skirt again. She didn't protest this time. But just as she was about to let him have his way, the bottom of the sky fell out and rain began to pour heavily over them where they sat.

"Of course," she said with a light laugh, and she let her head fall onto his shoulder before looking him in the eye again.

She was surprised she hadn't noticed the sprinkling of water droplets that usually preluded the rain. If she had, that certainly would have cut things short long before, and given them a bit of a head start back to camp.

He laughed, too, and pressed one last chaste kiss to her lips. "We should get back."

"We should," she said, standing and pulling the top of her dress back up. She tapped one of his braces. "Got to get you back before you rust."

She helped him up and he fixed the buttons for her that he had undone, and they went quietly back to the encampment as quickly as two half-cripples could manage. Resetting his expression to a more stoic one once more, he entered ahead of her and went on into his own tent with only a quiet farewell and an, "I will see you before the raid," to which she replied with a polite nod and made her way past the dying fires toward the city.

"Do you need me to walk you back?" Hvitserk had asked in passing.

"No, I won't make you go off in this. Get inside and stay dry," she said, and he went inside as she ran on down the hill.

Through the pouring rain Ita ran with bare feet, splashing through puddles, her skirt dragging limply through the muck. She went down the hills until she made it to the gate, which was now unguarded due to the heavy rain, and she went right through, and ran straight up the main road, through the vacant marketplace, and down to the door of Lord Cadhla's house. There, she was not so surprised to be met by a guard this time. What did surprise her, however, was the fact that it was the same guard who she had passed on her way out of the city earlier that same day.

"Lady Brigid's been asking about you, lass," he said. "Told her not to worry and that you'd be back by nightfall. She's probably worried by now, though, since it's quite a bit after nightfall."

"She'll live," Ita chuckled, stepping past him when he opened the door and going into the front corridor.

"By the way, where's the boy you left here with this afternoon?" he asked.

"What boy?"

He raised an eyebrow at her.

"I don't remember any boy, now, do you?" she said, and she smiled mischievously.

He laughed and nodded. "Right. My mistake."

"Thank you!" she called down to him on her way up the stairs.