Viking Ecstasy (15 page)

Within seconds, arrows began flying in both directions. Tanaka stayed near the water barrel, and though she could not say for certain, it seemed to her that far more of the Northmen arrows missed their mark than those of Tabor's men. She realized this perception could be prejudice, but as the ships drew nearer, she watched many enemy sailors twisting in agony as arrows struck them. Tabor lost few men.

Tabor, as though defying the gods as well as his enemies, remained standing tall and proud at the rudder. An arrow landed with a
thunk!
near his foot, missing him by inches. Contemptuously, he pulled the arrow from the wood and handed it to Sven.

"Send this back to them" he said.

The arrows no longer had to arch through the air to soar from boat to boat. The warriors were close enough to see their enemy's eyes, filled with the fear and hatred that go through men moments before they are to fight hand-to-hand.

This war is madness,
Tanaka thought, and as though to underscore a truth, an arrow struck a Viking who knelt beside her. Without a sound, he fell backward, the arrow protruding from his chest.

Tears welled in Tanaka's eyes, spilling out and rolling down her cheeks as visions of the Viking's future came to mind . . . visions of a future that would never be.

A scant sixty feet now separated the boats. Tabor recognized the commander of the closer of the two chase ships. Though he did not know his name, he remembered the man to be a smarmy fellow who had ingratiated himself to Hugh. The notion that he, Tabor, Son of Thor, should fall under the onslaught of such scum was beyond belief. Tabor knew, as if in revelation, that he was not destined for Valhalla. Not yet. He would not be sent to the great Viking heaven by men such as these.

He looked from the approaching ship to Tanaka, then up to the huge green-and-white stripped sail, which, at that moment, billowed outward, catching a sudden impossible wind.

Fifteen feet separated the ships. Sven grabbed Tabor's ankle and pulled hard, forcing his commander to his knees to take cover behind a large shield fixed to the rear of the boat. Tabor continued to hold the rudder in his right hand.

Men screamed in rage, in blood-lust, and sometimes in pain. The distance between the lead ship and Tabor's was crossed by arrows in the blink of an eye. The Northmen strained at their oars, propelling the ships forward, but they were easy targets for Sven, who made every arrow count.

The breeze was having its effect on Tabor's ship now, moving it forward. The Northmen ships had their sails down; and, though men were preparing to board Tabor's vessel, their ranks were being decimated by Tabor's archers. But the chase ships continued to narrow the gap.

Tanaka closed her eyes. She prayed to all the Egyptian gods who had guided her since her youth, prayed for wind to take her and Tabor and all his proud Viking warriors to safety.

For more than thirty minutes, Tabor worked speed from the wind while his Northmen counterparts screamed for their oarsmen to work harder. The distance that separated the ships was often hardly more than twenty feet, sometimes as much as fifty. When the closest ship abandoned the oars and worked to raise its sail, Tabor's men made them pay dearly for it, sending arrows into the unprotected Northmen. With neither sail nor oars, the ship soon drifted back until a hundred yards separated it from Tabor's boat.

The second ship kept even with Tabor. But its men were bent at the oars, using all the strength they possessed. The grim, determined, confidence in Tabor's eyes said he would nurse the wind long enough to drain the Northmen of that strength.

Time, he knew, was on his side, but only if the southbound wind continued.

Tanaka closed her eyes and continued praying to the gods. Only vaguely did she consider that perhaps it was wrong for an Egyptian high priestess to pray for a Viking warrior who was her captor.

❧

In the east, the golden glow of dawn greeted Tabor. He leaned against the rudder of his ship, where he had remained through the night, coaxing with his prodigious skill and instinct.

Tabor looked to the north. He saw nothing but endless sea. During the night, the Northmen had, in their inexperience, rammed ships as they tried to align with Tabor. In the night air, he had heard the Northmen shouting from ship to ship, cursing each other, and Tabor had smiled to himself in the dark.

They had begun fighting him, and now they were fighting each other. It was typical of their lack of discipline, and his scorn for the Northmen increased.

To the east, he saw the shore line a little more than two miles away. Though he had not been able to see the coast during the night, Tabor had followed his instinct and not been wrong.

Tanaka lay on the deck of the ship at his feet, a warm woolen blanket covering her so that only her head, with its glorious ebony hair, was revealed. She had refused to go to the bow, where their makeshift bedroom was, preferring instead to stay near should he need her.

So brave,
Tabor thought, looking down at her.
She has a Viking heart
.

Sven was sleeping, as the rest of the crew. Tabor himself felt fatigue pull at his eyelids, but the dull throb in his biceps prevented him from giving in.

Reaching down, he caressed a lock of Tanaka's hair before smoothing it behind her ear so that he could see her face without obstruction.

Sighing sleepily, Tanaka blinked her eyes, rubbed them with the backs of her hands, and looked up at Tabor. When he smiled down at her, she knew immediately that they were out of danger and that his superior skill at the helm of the ship had been the deciding factor.

"How are you?" she asked, getting up on her knees. The bandage at Tabor's arm was dotted with blood that had seeped through, but it was clear that the bleeding had begun and ended long ago.

"Strong. Healthy How else would a Viking be?"

At that, even Tanaka had to smile. Tabor's Viking pride infuriated her, but there was an indomitable quality to it —and to the man —that was infectious. It drew her in despite her reservations.

She glanced at the rest of the crew. A quick count told her two men had died. She had nursed three others who'd been struck less severely by arrows. The men who had died had unceremoniously been dumped overboard, a Viking tradition during war.

"Where do we go now?" Tanaka asked. She sat next to Tabor, looking into his ruggedly handsome face to search for the truth to his injuries and fatigue. The strain of command pulled at his harshly chiseled features, and she could see that he desperately needed sleep.

"We go south. South until we can become strong once again."

"We could go home," Tanaka suggested.

"Home?"

"My home," Tanaka said. She felt a tightness in her heart. She had not planned to say such a thing, but now that she had put words to her thoughts, she could not turn back. "If we follow the land and keep the shore to this side — " she showed Tabor her right hand " — when sailing past the narrow straits, we will find my home. All of Opar will welcome you."

"Only Viking women welcome Viking men. Strangers all fear us," Tabor replied with what he considered was proof that she was either misguided or openly lying.

"You said once that I was not your slave. If that is true, then should you return me to Opar, you will be a hero. You will be the man who has returned the high priestess to her throne. Here, on your ship, I am just a woman, a woman of little power — "

"But a woman of great courage," Tabor cut in, remembering how she had braved the rain of arrows to assist his wounded crewmen.

Tanaka blushed briefly, looking away in her embarrassment. It was not easy for her to accept compliments, and she did not really want to remember anything of the night before.

She turned her dark eyes back to Tabor. "In Opar, I am a woman of influence. I can give you anything you want. You and your men can find shelter there. With food and time, you will become handy again. Then, when you fight your enemies, you will fight them with strength, not just with heart."

"And we must only go south?" Tabor asked.

"Until we reach the narrow straits. Then we sail into the morning sun."

"It is as far as Alexandria?" Tabor asked, remembering tales he had heard of a fantastic city.

"Not that far toward the sun in the morning."

Tabor turned partially away from Tanaka, thinking about what she said. He had sailed around the southern tip of Spain before, but when he had, he'd followed land to the north. He had heard of others who followed the land to the south, but he had not done so himself. Tanaka had told him of Opar, but Alexandria was said to be an ancient city of breathtaking wealth and beauty.

Much of what she told him made sense. Tabor knew that he and his men needed rest and food. They had fought all they could. To continue fighting meant death, no matter how strong their Viking will. But if he sailed to Opar, he would be far from any land and peoples he had known. . . . and he would eventually have to leave the Egyptian city to return to his own land — without Tanaka.

"You miss your home?" Tabor asked.

"Greatly."

Tabor looked at her, reaching over to cup her face in his palm. He wished that his arm didn't throb, because that alone kept him from pulling her close. He wanted to feel her body against his own, running his one good hand over her ripe curves. Fatigue and pain. . . . these alone kept him from letting his Viking desires soar.

"Then I will return you to your home. We will pass the cold season together. And when the spring comes and the wind again blows strong and warm from the south, my men and I will return to our own seas. Ingmar and Hugh will then pay dearly for their treachery."

With tears of joy filling her eyes, Tanaka took Tabor's hand in hers and kissed it.

"Thank you! Thank you!" Tanaka sobbed.

B
y the end of the second day, when the trailing ships still had not been seen, Tabor announced that the spigots for the wine casks were to be set loose. Tanaka watched with amusement as the Vikings drank with wild abandon. Even Tabor, not yet close to full strength, quaffed the strong, vile wine that he proclaimed was hideous and far below standards for any Danish Viking. Since it was all they had, it would have to do.

"
Skoal!
" Tabor shouted, raising his drinking horn above his head.

The Vikings repeated the toast in unison, their voices ringing loud and proud. Standing near the bow, his back to the blanket that had been stretched across to give him privacy with Tanaka, Tabor tossed his arm around Tanaka's shoulders. His wine sloshed.

"Our Egyptian high priestess claims that we can find safety and strength in her land," Tabor called out, addressing the men. "She says that in her land, we will know peace, and with that peace, we will recover our strength."

Sven replied, "We are Vikings! We are always strong!"

Tabor smiled in response. He knew that Sven was as aware of their precarious condition as he was. Their numbers were few, and their supply of food could not last forever. Besides, autumn was upon them, and with it, the northern breeze. The Vikings lacked the manpower to row against that wind. In truth, they had little choice but to sail south.

"Even Vikings need time to rest and become whole again." Tabor, a bit drunk, pulled Tanaka in a little more, dwarfing her with his great size. Never before had he shown great affection for a woman in front of his men, and it surprised even him that he could do so. "We sail to Opar. When the spring comes and the wind blows warm from the south, we will be strong again. Then we will hunt down Ingmar the Savage and make him Ingmar the Deceased!"

Another shout roared up from the Vikings. Tanaka saw that many of them were quite drunk, but not Sven, who had taken over for Tabor at the rudder. He alone had refused wine until his turn was over. She noticed, too, that the Vikings all looked at her with new respect now that Tabor had his arm around her shoulders. Although the men were aware that she and Tabor had made love, this easy familiarity—Tabor with his arm around her shoulders —was an intimacy that seemed even more important to the Vikings.

❧

Outside, the wind howled furiously, buffeting the longhouse. Ingmar the Savage smiled. This winter, he would not have to worry about whether Tabor, his lifelong enemy, would attack. At long last, after so many years and countless battles, it appeared that Tabor had finally been defeated.

Though the ships that had been sent to kill Tabor had failed to capture the tall Dane, they had chased him far to the south. Tabor's crew was small, Ingmar had been told —much too small to sail the longboat very far. And since there had been no new word of Tabor and his Vikings, then surely they had suffered a dire fate. That was what Ingmar hoped, though he Would have preferred to see Tabor's decapitated head in a sack.

There was, however, one good thing about not knowing whether Tabor was dead or alive. Without any solid confirmation, Ingmar did not have to let his younger brother return. Where exactly Hugh was now, Ingmar could not say for certain, and he wasn't curious enough to find out. In the spring, when the sailing and the raiding and the pillaging would begin again, then he would want Hugh at his side. For now, Ingmar intended to spend the long, cold winter enjoying the three women he had taken into his house, the good wine that was stored up, and the plentiful food that he had stolen.