Page 61 of Ulf's Destiny
If only it were that easy to leave, if only he, too, could escape this dank, slimy cell. But, of course, he could no more have slipped through the cracks than he could have squeezed under the door or vanished into thin air.
He remembered his father telling him he had been arrested once for the supposed murder of his first wife, and beaten up during his detention, just because he was a Norseman. Now it was his turn to be detained for no reason and used for the guards’ amusement. The irony of it didn’t lessen the pain raking through his body. At least, unlike his father, he had not been chained to the wall, or even had his hands tied up. Small consolation, because the real suffering was not physical.
Questions swirled in his head, causing it to ache further.
Would he ever see Ylva again? He hadn’t even had the chance to explain to her what was happening. Would she think he had fled in the night and leave the village with her brother when she could not find him? Would she be waiting for him if, by some miracle he managed to get out of this? Yes, of course, she would be, what was he thinking? His grandmother, who knew she was carrying his child, would have rushed out to her as soon as she could and explained the situation.
Would he ever meet his baby, watch him or her grow? His family would provide for the child and Ylva if anything happened to him, that much he knew but still, he could not help but wish he’d be the one doing it.
Was he going to die of a fever in this hellhole, be beaten to death by the two guards eager to avenge the wounds inflicted on their friend, be killed for spite, just so that the reeve could get over the disappointment of not being handed the famous Icelander?
Anything seemed possible.
To his relief, when the guards had brought him to his house in town, the reeve had not been there. Another guard had told them that the man had been called on some urgent business after a riot broke out at the market in a village by the coast.
It was a reprieve but how long would it last?
Was it even a reprieve if he suffered at the hands of the guards in the meantime? Would he be able to stand to face them if they came again today? It was not worth agonizing over the possibility. He would know soon enough.
The spider appeared again, and scuttled across the ceiling.
“Get out of here, you fool,” Ulf grumbled in Norse. “Go live your life outside this pit. Go to your lady spider.”
As if he’d heard him, the animal stopped and hurried back the way he’d come.
Oddly comforted, Ulf curled up in a ball and tried to get some sleep.
22
Dawn was near. Suspended above the pale horizon like a beacon was the disk of the full moon. It was not, for once, shiny and light like a silver plate but heavy, as if ready to burst—and of an unusual, unsettling blood red color. Ylva shivered.
Was it a sign that their plan would work? Or a sign that Ulf was already dead?
No. He could not be dead. She could not afford to think like that.
To give herself courage, she took stock of the situation. In a pouch at her belt was the dagger with which she would “kill” Ulf. Hidden in her sleeve was the vial of blood she would use to create the illusion of a wound. To her right was Oslac, mounted on a white stallion that belonged to Sven. In front of them, leading the way, was the village goldsmith, Caedmon. As the only Saxon man in the village, he had naturally been chosen to play the role of her outraged father. Bringing up the rear was Ulf’s uncle, Torsten. With his auburn hair and brown eyes, he looked nothing like a Norseman and, of course, thanks to hisSaxon mother, he didn’t sound like one either. He would be her older brother, intent on avenging her honor.
In the end, it had been agreed that they needed at least three men, not only to carry Ulf’s “corpse” out of the cell and to the horse, but also in case the guards proved immune to Ylva’s pleas. Then they might have to fight, and this was not something she would be able to help with.
Steinar had understandably wanted to be part of the expedition, but he looked so much like a Norse warrior that it would appear suspicious. Wolf was out of the question. His face was too well-known in town. It would have to be down to the four of them, a seemingly Saxon family in search of retribution.
Ylva took in a deep breath when they rode through the town gate. This was it.
Wolf had explained where they should go. Being familiar with the reeves’ organization, he had guessed Ulf would be taken to one of the cells built in a thick portion of the walls, in the most noxious part of town. Ylva remembered avoiding the place on the rare occasions Mildred sent her on errands, being scared of the pitiful cries of the unfortunate souls imprisoned there, awaiting their pending execution. And now Ulf was one of them.
She forced herself not to dwell on that morbid thought. There was much to be done, she could not falter before Ulf was free.
The group dismounted by the cemetery, and made their way down the dark, narrow alleys that led to the cells.
“Good day. I am here to see the Norse prisoner before he dies,” she told the two guards stationed at the door.
As expected, her request was met with suspicion.
“How do you even know there is a prisoner in here, Norse or otherwise? And what business have you with him?” The tallest man, who had to be the one in charge, eyed her up and down.
“What do you think?” Ignoring the first question, she unwrapped the cloak she had been careful to keep closed until then, revealing her swollen stomach.
The second guard whistled in surprise. “I see.”
