Tattered

Chapter 10

The seas remained calm at the outset of our journey, a good omen for the days to come. The Norns, however, still seemed to be out to get me. On our first day out at sea I holed myself up in my cabin, nauseous and woozy from the constant rocking of the ship. My stomach seemed to be rebelling against me. Between fits of sickness, I cursed Breca, who I knew wasn't having nearly as difficult a time adjusting to the waves as I was. It almost made me wish that I'd gone by the land route, blast the distance and difficulties it held.

By the second day, thank the gods, I managed to find my sea legs. My gut still swayed dangerously whenever the waves became choppy, but at least I was able to walk about on deck without keeling over the side of the ship at every large swell.

Once I felt well again, I tried to interact with the rest of the crew as much as possible. It was not easy, and even though I'd grown to expect such treatment it was no less frustrating. They couldn't insult me- not to my face, at least, because of my status as princess and captain. But they could certainly ignore me.

As the rowers took a short break for meals, I walked up to Olaf to praise him for his fast rowing. One of the strongest men on board, Olaf already had a famous reputation on the ship, particularly for that glass eye of his. 

He claimed that he'd lost his left eye in a holmgang- a blood duel- with Harald Bluetooth, famed warrior of the Scylfings, and had in turn cut off his opponent's pinky. Even I knew from my very brief studies that Harald Bluetooth had truly been killed at least a decade before Olaf was born, but he told the story so passionately that neither I nor the other men cared to correct him.

"Your strength is impressive," I told him as he and his companions gulped down mugs of ale. "You must be a force to be reckoned with on the battlefield."

Olaf finished drinking then lowered his mug, not bothering to wipe away the ale dripping down his thick brown beard. His bushy eyebrows furrowed into a scowl.

"Thank you, your excellency," He replied with blatant contempt in his voice. He gave me a barely repressed sneer and walked away, the others following his lead back to their oars.

I clenched my fists and tried to take deep breaths. Whether it was due to the rumors about my parentage or the fact that I was a woman, I couldn't tell, but it made no difference. The effect was the same: I was being disrespected by my own men.

Gregor had tried to teach me how to command on the battlefield, anticipating that some day such skills would be to my advantage. Although I'd understood everything he taught me, I'd never had a chance to put it into practice until now. Obviously understanding the theory of it was not enough.

"A commander is respected and feared by his men," Gregor had told me.

I'd perked up. Inspiring fear was easy. I accomplished that without even trying. But Gregor, upon seeing my expression, had sighed and shaken his head.

"Fear is simple to master- it is earning respect that will be your true challenge."

And if the old man wasn't right once again. This was more than difficult- it was impossible! Dag was cordial and friendly, but even that was not the respect I desired, but the mere acknowledgement of the fact that I was his lord's daughter. To get my own recognition, I'd have to do more.

Speaking and socializing was Ingrid's strong suit, not mine. I had to accept that if I was to get anywhere. I just needed some way to show my own strengths, something that would be enough to impress them.

I'd been pushing the men hard, it was true. I needed to get to Ingrid as fast as possible after all, and Breca's ship, although still visible for the moment, was far ahead of us. We couldn't afford to slow down or take a break.