Nena counted off the days until the camp would move—each one seeming to drag on forever. Every day she listened in silence as Jarl and Altene pieced together her life and the life of all Dor. Every day she continued to do the same about the Northmen, watching, listening and learning. Every seemingly insignificant detail, she committed to memory for her escape.
As the guard entered with their evening meal, it was an escape she hoped would come on the morrow. One more sleep and the day the camp was to move would finally have arrived. Everything would be disorganized. She would be free of the pole. Jarl would be preoccupied. She would have to slip among the prisoners and find the girl, but with the plain dresses Altene kept her clothed in, she would not stand out.
Jarl unhooked the chain from her cuffs and led her to a chair at the table. There were only two places set, which meant Altene would not be joining them. Nena breathed a thankful sigh of relief; she would be able to eat her meal in peace tonight. After she was seated, Jarl took his place opposite her, facing the door, as he always did. Nena knew it was so that he could see anyone who entered and keep her in his line of sight at the same time. During meals, though, intrusions were rare and usually brief. Once he ascertained it wasn’t an emergency, Jarl would send the person away with instructions to return later.
When the entry boards rattled, Nena turned to look, ever hopeful. Who knew when and in what form opportunity to escape would avail itself. Nothing she had seen so far prepared her for the woman who entered.
Jarl was, in fact, just about to send her away, but Nena’s response made him hesitate. For all her practiced mask, Nena was clearly shocked. She stared openly at the woman. Puzzled by her reaction, Jarl beckoned the blond Northwoman closer.
“Yes, Osa?” he asked.
“Apologies to bother you, my lord, but there is a question on the guard rotation when we break camp tomorrow.”
Nena was only barely aware of their words, so focused was she on this woman. Her blond hair, the same shade as Gunnar’s, was fastened with intricate braids coiled on top of her head. She wore light armor stained with blood from previous battles. Tall and strong, she carried sword and dagger and talked to Jarl as a man would. When their conversation was over, Nena’s eyes followed her to the doorway until the last trace of her disappeared beyond the flap.
She turned back to her plate of food, trying to process what she had just seen. Her curiosity was intense, but she dreaded the thought of having to ask Altene about it. She could clearly imagine Altene’s smug, superior look as she relayed the information as if she were speaking to a child. Or worse, if she thought Nena wanted to know badly enough, she would refuse to answer at all.
Jarl watched Nena pick at her food. Had he not just witnessed her strange reaction to Osa, that in itself would have told him something was amiss. Normally she wolfed down every bite to be away from him as quickly as possible. He wondered what had affected her so, but did not ask. There was no point. Her response to every single question, other than on the subject of moving her brother’s body, was always the same. “Ask your whore.” So he was shocked when she spoke.
“That woman,” she began, “she is a warrior?”
Jarl hid his amazement and took another bite, as if nothing were out of the ordinary, before answering. “Osa? Yes. She’s a warrior and a good one. We call them shield-maiden.”
Nena considered that information for a long moment. “So, she is unmarried?” she asked.
“No, Osa is married to Hansted. He is another warrior here,” he elaborated.
“Are they recently married?”
He thought about it briefly, then shook his head. “No, not recently. I don’t know for sure, but I think they’ve been married quite awhile—ten years, perhaps.”
Nena nodded as if it all suddenly made sense to her. “Then she is barren.”
“Osa? No, she has two children. They remain with her sister in the north while she and Hansted are on this expedition.”
Nena’s face was so shocked by his latest admission that Jarl felt obligated to defend them. “Between the two of them they will earn as much on this one journey as they would in three lifetimes of successful farming. Their children are with family and well cared for, and would continue to be so, should they fall and not return.”
“Are there others here—female warriors?”
Jarl loved the strange way she pronounced his words, each rolling of her tongue with guttural undertones. He wanted nothing more than to keep her talking.
“Yes. A few. Why does that surprise you? Are not all of your women raised to be warriors?”
“Yes.”
“Then what?”
“Our women fight only until they choose,” she said. “Or rarely until they are with their first child, if the number of men in the village is very low, and they are needed to fight,” she added.
That explained the barren question. “What if a woman does not wish to give up being a warrior? Can’t she continue to raid?” Jarl asked.
“No. And no
