“Aye, piss on her,” said the man aloft, and tried to. She fled weeping under the poop. Laughter bayed at her heels.
Tauno stiffened for a moment. Then, ducking silently below, he swam to the rudder. Its barnacles were rough and its weeds were slimy in his grasp. He lifted himself with more slowness and care than he had used in scouting the kraken’s den. Because of sheer the tiller was about eight feet overhead, in that cavern made by the upper deck. Tauno caught the post with both hands, curved his chine, and got toes in between post and hull, resting on a bracket. In a smooth motion, not stopping to wince as the bronze dug into his flesh, he rose to where he could crook fingers on the after rail; and thus he chinned himself up.
“What was that?” cried a sailor on the twilit main deck.
Tauno waited. The water dripped off him no louder than wavelets patted the hull. It felt cold.
“Ah, a damned dolphin or something,” said another man. “Beard of Christ, I’ll be glad to leave this creepy spot!”
“What’s the second thing you’ll do ashore?” A coarse threeway gabbing began. Tauno reached Ingeborg. She had drawn one breath when she saw him athwart silvery-dark heaven. Afterward she stood most quiet, save for the wild flutterings of her heart.
He caught her to him in the lightlessness under the poop. Even then he marked the rounded firmness of her, the warm fragrance, the hair that tickled his lips laid close to her ear. But he whispered merely: “How goes it on board? Is Niels alive?”
“Until tomorrow.” She could not respond with quite the steadiness that Eyjan would have shown; but she did well. “They tied and gagged us both, you know. Me they’ll keep a while-did you hear? They’re not so vile that Niels has any use for them. He lies bound yet, of course. They talked about what to do with him while he listened. Finally they decided the best sport would be to watch him sprattle from the yardarm tomorrow morning.” Her nails dug into his arm. “Were I not a Christian woman, how good to spring overboard into your sea!”
He missed her meaning. “Don’t. I couldn’t help you; if naught else, you’d die of chill. . . . Let me think, let me think. . . . Ah.”
“What?” He could sense how she warned herself not to hope.
“Can you pass a word to Njels?”
“Maybe when he’s hilled forth. They’ll surely make me come along.”
“Well. . . if you can without being overheard, tell him to lift his heart and be ready to fight.” Tauno pondered a minute. “We need to pull eyes away from the water. When they’re about to put the rope around Niels’ neck, let him struggle as much as he’s able. And you too: rush in, scratch, bite, kick, scream.”
“Do you think-do you believe-really-Anything, I’ll do anything. God is merciful, that He. . . He lets me die in battle at your side, Tauno.”
“Not that! Don’t risk yourself. If a knife is drawn at you, yield, beg to be spared. And take shelter from the fighting. I don’t need your corpse, Ingeborg. I need you.”
“Tauno, Tauno.” Her mouth sought his.
“I must go,” he breathed in her ear. “Until tomorrow.”
He went back to the sea as cautiously as he had left it. Because his embrace had wet her ragged gown, Ingeborg thought best to stay where she was while it dried. She wouldn’t be getting to sleep anyway. She fell on her knees. “Glory to God in the highest,” she stammered. “Hail, Mary, full of grace—oh, you’re a woman, you’ll understand—the Lord is with you—”
“Hey, in there!” a sailor shouted. “Stow that jabber! Think you’re a nun?”
“How’d you like me for a divine bridegroom?” called the masthead lookout.
Ingeborg’s voice fell silent; her soul did not. And erelong the watchers’ heed went elsewhere. Dolphins came to the ship, a couple of dozen, and circled and circled. In the pale night their wake boiled after them, eerily quiet; their backfins stood forth like sharp weapons; the beaks grinned, the little eyes rolled with a wicked mirth.
The men called Ranild from his bunk. He scowled and tugged his beard. “I like this not,” he mumbled. “Cock of Peter, how I wish we’d skewered those last two fishfolk! They plot evil, be sure of that. . . . Well, I doubt they’ll try sinking the cog, for how then shall they carry the gold? Not to speak of their friend the bitch.”
“Should we maybe keep Niels too?” Sivard wondered.
“Um-m-m. . . no. Show the bastards we’re in earnest. Cry over the waters that Cod-Ingeborg can look for worse than hanging if they plague us further.” Ranild licked and lifted a finger. “I feel a breath of wind,” he said. “We can belike start off about dawn, when Niels is finished with the yardarm.” He drew his shortsword and shook it at the moving ring of dolphins. “Do you hear? Skulk back into your sea-caves, soulless things! A Christian man is bound for home!”
—The night wore on. The dolphins did nothing more than patrol around the ship. At last Ranild decided they could do no more, that his foes had sent them in the hollow hope they might learn something, or in hollower spite.
The breeze freshened. Waves grew choppy and smote louder against the hull, which rocked. Across the wan stars, inexplicable, passed a flight of wild swans.
Those stars faded out at the early summer daybreak. Eastward the sky turned white; westward it remained silver-blue, bearing a ghostly moon. The crests of waves ran molten with light; their troughs were purple and black; the sea overall shimmered and sparkled in a green like the green of certain alchemical flames. It whooshed and cast spray. Wind whittered through the shrouds.
Up the forward ladder from the hold, men prodded Niels at pike point. His hands were tied behind him, which made the climbing hard. Twice he fell, to their blustery glee. His garments were foul and bloodstained, but his blowing hair and downy beard caught the shiningness of the still unseen sun. He braced legs wide against the role of the ship and drank deep of the wet wild air.
Torben and Palle kept watch at the bulwarks, Sivard aloft. Lave and Tyge guarded the prisoner. Ingeborg stood aside, her face blank, her eyes smoldering. Niels looked squarely at Ranild, who bore the noose of a rope passed over the yardarm. “Since we have no priest,” the boy asked, “will you let me say one more Our Father?”
“Why?” the skipper drawled. ,
Ingeborg trod near. “Maybe I can shrive you,” she said.
“Hey?” Ranild was startled. After a moment, he and his men snickered. “Why, indeed, indeed.”
He waved Lave and Tyge back, and himself withdrew toward the bows. Niels stood hurt and astounded. “Go on,” Ranild called through the wind and wave-rush. “Let’s see a good show. You’ll live as long as you can play-act it, Niels.”
“No!” the captive shouted. “Ingeborg, how could you?”
She caught him by the forelock, drew his countenance down to hers in spite of his withstanding, and whispered. They saw him grow taut, they saw how he kindled. “What’d you say?” Ranild demanded.
“Keep me alive and I might tell you,” Ingeborg answered merrily. She and Niels mocked the last rites as best they were able, while the sailors yelped laughter.
“Pax vobiscum,” she said finally, who had known clerics. “Dominus vobiscum.” She signed the kneeling youth. It gave her a chance to murmur to him: “God forgive us this, and forgive me that He is not the lord on whom I called. Niels, if we ever see each other beyond today, fare you well.”
“And you, Ingeborg.” He rose to his feet. “I am ready,” he said.
Ranild, puzzled, more than a bit uneasy, came toward him carrying the noose. And suddenly Ingeborg shrieked. “Ya—a—a—a-ah!” Her nails raked at Lave’s eyes. He lurched. “What the Devil?” he choked. Ingeborg clung to him, clawing, biting, yelling. Tyge dashed to help. Niels lowered his head, charged, and butted Ranild in the stomach. The captain went down on his arse. Niels kicked him in the ribs. Torben and Palle sprang from the bulwarks to grab the boy. Sivard gaped from above.