by Chris Bishop
‘It looks as though you gave a good account of yourself, boy,’ said the stout fellow who sat next to me. He quietly introduced himself as Aelred, though seemed reluctant to say why or how he came to be there.
‘So what do they want with us?’ I asked, knowing I was not going to like the answer. ‘They could have easily killed me back there but brought us both here instead.’
‘Pah! Don’t get your hopes up!’ warned Aelred. ‘They’ve spared you for a reason.’
‘Why, what’s to become of us?’
He gave a snort of derision. ‘Think of these bastards as being like alchemists; except it’s human flesh they turn into gold, not base metal.’
At first I wasn’t sure what he meant, then suddenly it dawned on me. ‘You mean they’re slavers!’ I said, horrified at the prospect and recalling how my elder brother and my sister had both endured a similar fate.
‘Aye, slavers. They’re probably taking us to the coast where they’ll sell us to others who’ll then carry us abroad. After that, as like as not you’ll wish they had killed you back there. Life will be brutal but, God willing, mercifully short.’
‘Surely there’s none here who could fetch enough to be worth their while?’ I queried, looking at the miserable group of men. Most looked to be too old or frail to be of any value and none appeared to be of noble worth such as might command a ransom.
‘Don’t worry about that. They’ll soon round up a few more to add to our number along the way.’
It was no wonder they hadn’t killed me. As slavers, I was worth more to them alive than dead, particularly if they realised who I was. ‘But you seem to speak their tongue,’ I said, having seen him translate for them when they spoke to Ingar.
‘A bit,’ he admitted. ‘I once lived near the coast and we sometimes traded with their kind when they needed food or fresh water after many days at sea. For that they let us be. When this lot caught up with me a week ago I thought to trade with them in the same way. I soon realised my mistake and, when they turned on me, I, like a fool, tried to make a fight of it.’
‘What of the others here?’ I asked.
He cast his eye over the other prisoners. All were bruised and dirty, having clearly been beaten into submission and with all the fight knocked out of them. Most were so dejected that it seemed they hardly dared to even look at us, never mind speak. Even Brother Benedict just hung his head in sorrow and seemed to be forever at prayer, though whether that was for his safe deliverance or for his mortal soul I couldn’t say.
‘Most of this lot are all long past making any attempt to resist,’ explained Aelred. ‘The poor wretches just suffer in silence and have scarce said two words to each other in all the time I’ve been here. I don’t reckon they’ll put up much of a fight even if we get the chance.’
‘The monk looks as though he could still be resilient enough,’ I said.
Aelred laughed. ‘That pious fool is all for turning the other cheek,’ he mocked. ‘He’ll not stand in our way but don’t count on him helping much if it comes to a fight.’
‘So what’s to be done?’
‘Nothing. At least, not unless the chance arises. Until then just keep your head down and your mouth shut. And try not to rile the bastards.’
Meanwhile the Vikings had set Ingar to help them pull a broken tooth from the man I’d struck in the face. It was clear from his cries that he was in considerable pain from where they’d tugged at a piece of twine which they’d first wound around what was left of the tooth, taking turns to yank it as hard as they could whilst others restrained him. Ingar eased them aside and gently persuaded the man to open his mouth wide enough for her to see the tooth properly. She then took a small twig which she placed in his jaw to keep it open as she reached inside and deftly pushed and then twisted the tooth with her bare fingers. The man writhed and tried to curse as she did this, but the tooth came free so quickly and so easily that we were all stunned into silence.
‘Why would she help them?’ I asked.
‘I don’t know, but if she can distract the bastards long enough that might give us a chance to escape,’ said Aelred.
‘And if not?’ I asked.
He looked at me long and hard. ‘If not, our fate will depend on what we’re worth. Those of us that fetch a goodly price will be sold readily enough, those that don’t will be killed. They might keep me alive because I speak their tongue but when that’s no longer needed they’ll not waste any more time on me.’
‘And what about Ingar?’ I asked.
‘They’ll use her skills of healing to cure that poor sod over there,’ he said pointing towards the litter. ‘After that who knows? Most likely they’ll abuse her and she’ll end up bloated with the bastard child of some warrior whose name she’ll never know and who’ll she’ll never see again. Either that or she’ll die riddled with the pox. That just leaves you.’
‘Me?’ I asked. ‘Why am I any different?’
He pointed to my chest. ‘When they see that scar they’ll not reckon you’ve a day’s work left in you so will save themselves the trouble of feeding you. If I were you I’d tie your undershirt tight and try to hide it as best you can, unless that is you’d rather die now and get it over with.’
Concealing the scar was going to be easier said than done given that my hands were still tied. As I did what I could Aelred saw the scar more fully and was plainly shocked.
‘How the hell did you survive a wound like that!’ he asked.
‘Ingar tended me,’ I said. ‘She saved my life with her potions and goodness knows what else, though I don’t know how she managed it.’
‘Holy Mother of God! Do you not see what she is?’
‘What do you mean? She’s a healer. A good one I grant you, but nothing more.’
‘She’s a Celt, that’s what she is,’ he said as if that explained everything. ‘Therefore as like as not she’s some sort of sorceress or a witch.’
It was only then that I realised he was right. The symbols on her girdle and on the sides of the stone altar, not to mention others I’d noticed daubed on the rock face outside the cavern, were indeed of Celtic design. It also explained her flame red hair and the torc she’d worn around her neck. ‘She’s not a witch,’ I assured him. ‘She practises the old ways, that’s all.’
Aelred sneered. ‘Then she’s a witch. They’re strange folk, the Celts. I’ve heard that the women sleep with women and the men sleep with sheep.’
I laughed but wondered whether he would dare to say such a thing if he came across a Celt in battle. Edwin had once told me that he’d rather confront three Viking warriors than face a single Celt who was roused and intent upon a quarrel.
‘Well, at least if they think you’re some sort of warrior you might fare better than the rest of us.’
‘What do you mean?’ I asked.
‘I mean that if she can’t heal that poor sod over there they’ll give you a sword and set you upon him so that he dies fighting and thereby earns his place in Valhalla,’ explained Aelred.
‘But he’s half dead already! What kind of contest would that be?’
‘Don’t worry, it won’t be a fair fight. They’ll as like tie your legs together first or beat you near senseless before you start.’
‘And if I kill him?’
‘That’s what they want you to do, but if I were you I wouldn’t. You’ll get a much quicker death if you let him get the better of you – and probably a much cleaner one as well.’
‘So is he their chieftain?’ I asked.
Aelred shrugged. ‘More than that,’ he said. ‘He’s their Jarl. For what it’s worth he’s called Knut or something like it.’
With that, seeing that one of the Vikings was coming over I quickly finished trying to conceal my scar, but he was not so easily fooled. He all but ripped open my undershirt again to fully reveal my chest. For a moment he stood staring at it, then called others over as well.
As they clustered around me they all seemed strangely q
uiet, then one of them started shouting at me. I couldn’t understand a word he said but it was clear that he was growing angry, peering directly into my face and leaning in so close that I could smell his stinking breath.
‘He wants to know your name,’ said Aelred.
I had assumed as much but knew better than to tell him; instead, I just stared back at him. In the end the man went away again and seemed to be discussing my fate with the others.
‘Would you believe they’re actually afraid of you?’ said Aelred who seemed to find that amusing. ‘Be grateful for it, boy. It seems they’ve heard a rumour that you’re the one they call the warrior with the pierced heart or something. They’ve also heard that you’re supposed to have returned from the dead and, because of that, are afraid to kill you in case they offend their Gods by returning you to them before your time.’
‘Why? I’m as mortal as you are!’
‘Because they’re superstitious heathens, that’s why. Their whole creed speaks of warriors who live for ever in Valhalla, so one that comes back from there is treated with awe and respect. Remember, they fear the dead far more than they do the living.’
‘But I didn’t die!’ I protested.
‘Well, with a wound like that you should have.’
‘So what will they do with me?’
Aelred shrugged. ‘I don’t know. But I’d guess that your reputation will pretty much seal your fate. I reckon they’ll use you so that Knut can earn his place in Valhalla. Either that or they might keep you in the hope that you bring them luck. If that’s so and they find you’re not the talisman they take you for, I wouldn’t want to suffer whatever cruel plans they devise for sending you back to whatever hell you’ve come from.’
Chapter Four
Had I not been weakened by my wound, I was certain I would have killed at least three of the slavers before being taken. To me they looked to be nothing more than a band of wastrels. None of them had much in the way of war gear and all were roughly dressed in skins and furs with just a few amulets on their arms which I assumed was their personal wealth. Of the two who had remained at the camp, one was a hunchback and the other had but one hand, having presumably lost the other whilst fighting. Such was a fairly common wound in battle but men who’d suffered thus tended not to fight again for fear of losing the other hand as well!
The camp was a temporary one; a base where they could keep their prisoners secure whilst they looked for Ingar in the hope that she would have the skill to heal their Jarl. Despite this, from all I’d seen I was certain he would die within days and was surprised they hadn’t put him to the sword to relieve his misery. However, whatever respect they had for him didn’t stop them moving on as, having had Ingar do what she could for him, they wasted no time before setting off again. Two men led the way with the line of captives, yoked together by the neck and with their hands tied, following in single file. Aelred and I were set to lugging the litter on which Knut still lay, for which purpose our hands were freed but we were still roped together lest we tried to escape. Two more Vikings brought up the rear of the column, together with the hunchback who was leading a mule on which they’d placed all their belongings, including pots and pans, plus a few weapons, some provisions and a small sack containing their meagre hoard of spoil. All the others stayed close beside the captives ready to beat or cajole any who looked to be lagging behind. One of them wielded a stout leather whip for that very purpose and, still feeling weak from my wound, I was struck several times in a futile attempt to make me walk faster. In fact it served only to slow me down, but I was obliged to keep moving for fear that if I couldn’t keep up or seemed to be finding the burden of carrying the litter too hard, they would kill me where I fell. I was also anxious to be on hand to help poor Ingar, though how I thought to achieve that I cannot say.
At length we left the forest and after travelling some distance without even a brief rest, reached a place where they planned to spend the night. It was actually a circle of ragged and weathered standing stones set atop a grassy mound, too small to be called a hill but high enough at least to give a good view of anyone who approached, be they friend or foe. The stones were of a kind which were erected long before our time and usually marked the site of a burial ground or possibly a single grave and as such were considered sacred. Doubtless the circle also served as a place of refuge in times of danger and would have originally been encircled with some sort of ditch or fortification to keep it secure and make it easy to defend. The stones themselves reminded me of a group of old men, each bowed in reverence towards a much taller stone in the centre. Whatever their purpose, when Ingar saw them she looked hesitant about entering the circle and protested loudly. In the end she had no choice but was first taken under guard to fetch water from a small stream which meandered through the vale below. When she returned she was set to preparing food for us all.
During this time Brother Benedict still kept himself to himself, saying little except in prayer and focusing instead on remaining alive. He seemed anxious not to align himself with anyone who looked as though they might cause trouble and that, I assume, included me. I therefore sat with Aelred.
‘She’s lucky,’ he said as we assessed our position. ‘The fat one over there is their chieftain now and he’s claimed your woman for himself. You may not like it but believe me that’s good news for her as she’ll only have one of them to abuse her.’
‘She’s not my woman,’ I said simply, though I knew he was right even though I doubted it would make much difference in the end. The man would tire of Ingar sooner or later and then she would no doubt be passed between the others like so much baggage.
‘Don’t even think to cross him,’ warned Aelred. ‘He kills without warning, does that one. What’s more, he takes pleasure in it. Only the other day he was in a foul mood and slew a captive for no good cause, cutting him down where he stood and not even bothering to bury him. I doubt the poor wretch even knew what he’d done wrong.’
‘That doesn’t make much sense,’ I said quietly. ‘If they plan to sell us surely they should keep as many of us alive as they can?’
‘Perhaps,’ said Aelred. ‘But these rogues haven’t the sense they were born with! So just do as I say for now and keep your head down and save your strength for when we get our chance to escape.’
‘Much good would that do me,’ I said ruefully. ‘Because of my wound I seem to tire too quickly to do much in the way of fighting. That’s why I was so easily taken.’
As we waited to be fed, Ingar looked at Knut’s wound once more. She had taken to giving him something to ease his pain so that he lay quietly enough, barely moving and with his eyes half closed. Yet even from where I sat I could see that he was none the better for having been carried along on the litter for much of the day. The wound itself was still raw and bleeding and, as Ingar sniffed it, I could tell from the look on her face that he was not long for our world, despite her ministrations.
‘They’ll finish him sooner or later,’ warned Aelred. ‘So you’d best be ready. They want to be about their business of collecting more slaves and he’s just slowing them down.’
I’d already resolved what I would do when the time came. They would no doubt release my bonds and give me some sort of weapon which, once I’d sent Knut to Valhalla, I would use to send at least a few more of them to follow in his footsteps. I knew that with my own wound I couldn’t hope to kill them all but decided it was better to die fighting than to be sold as a slave.
* * * * *
Supper for us that night was just stale bread and water, whilst the Vikings drank mead and gnawed on legs of cold mutton. Afterwards they set two guards whilst the rest settled down to sleep. Ingar was clearly expected to share the new chieftain’s blanket and knew better than to resist. He took her roughly several times that night but she made no complaint, preferring to suffer in silence rather than endure a beating which she knew would be the punishment if she failed to please him.
In the morning, wi
th her bonds left untied, Ingar went once more to the stream to wash herself. Once cleansed, she brought us yet more stale bread, water and a few half-chewed bones left over from the night before. I managed to speak with her briefly, saying I was sorry for all she’d endured.
‘Better to suffer the groping of one than of them all,’ she reasoned.
‘But if you are with child as you’ve said, then surely you can no longer be certain as to who is the father?’
She managed a smile. ‘Don’t worry, Matthew, all remains as I told you. Your daughter is safe enough, for it was foretold that I would bear the children of two men, not just one. They would share my womb and be born as twins, yet they would be as different as night and day.’
I knew so little about such matters that I wasn’t even sure whether it was possible for a woman to conceive the children of different men at the same time, but I accepted what she said. ‘So will you endure his attentions or will you…?’
She didn’t let me finish. ‘What you’re thinking is not an option for me,’ she said firmly. ‘I’m pledged to be a healer so could not consider taking my own life, much less that of my unborn children.’
I actually meant to suggest that she use her skills to kill the chieftain, not take her own life, but then realised the answer would have been the same. ‘If you have your chance you should take it,’ I said, noting that her hands had not been retied and thinking of the freedom she had in being allowed to go down to the stream, albeit never without a guard.
She hurriedly inspected my wound. ‘Don’t worry,’ she advised. ‘I doubt you were sent back from the dead only to die in bondage. Your chance to free yourself will therefore surely come, so just be ready and be sure not to waste it. Until then be patient and compliant. Whilst your wound seems to have settled always keep in mind what I told you – that if you abuse it your heart may well burst within your breast.’
* * * * *
I assumed that the plan would be to remain at the stone circle for a few days to give Knut a chance to heal but early the next morning a man I hadn’t seen before arrived at the camp and went straight to speak with the chieftain. Whatever news he bore seemed to cause great excitement among the slavers.
