Viking Beast: Viking Warriors Series

by de Maupassant, Emmanuelle

  He looked from his friend to Elswyth. “Go, Thoryn, and take her with you. Ragerta will bring what you need. There’s enough moon for her to see by. She’ll find the plants and carry all to your hut.”

  Elswyth hesitated, as if disbelieving, then hurried after Thoryn.

  Only after they’d left did Sigrid come storming over to him, her face twisted in rage.

  “That bitch! She dared enter my chamber and took it! My new cape!”

  It was a rare thing for Eldberg to laugh, but he felt it rise in him now. The cloth in which they’d wrapped Thirka had been the same red as Elswyth’s dress.

  12

  Elswyth

  August 4th, 960AD

  Thirka had been fortunate, Eldberg’s quick-thinking had saved her from greater injury. She’d heal, if her wounds were kept clean. There would be scarring, but she’d walk again. The burns on her hands were superficial, her palms already accustomed to working close to the fire’s heat.

  Ragerta and I had worked quickly to prepare the unguent of honey, comfrey, and marigold, spreading it thickly, then wrapping it with strips of linen. We used the aloe where the burns seemed most severe—the back of Thirka’s knees and her lower thigh. To ease her discomfort, we mashed valerian root, steeping in hot water. This, she was to sip every waking hour. I’d find willow bark when there was more time, for that was the best remedy in subduing pain, and it was easy to chew. Perhaps the forest held witch hazel, too. Once Thirka began to heal, it would aid the process.

  “You have my thanks.” Thoryn clasped us both by the hand as we reached the longhouse. “If I can repay you, then let me know the manner, and it shall be done.”

  The night sky was already lightening, the fjord glittering beneath a low-clinging sun. The air was cool, thanks to a breeze blowing in from the sea, and all was hushed. The residents of Skálavík would sleep on another hour, although there was movement in the harbour. The fishermen were early to rise, pushing out beneath those violet-shadowed mountains.

  We all needed sleep, but the early morning light was too beautiful to turn from, and I had no eagerness to join the one who awaited me. Ragerta and I stood, watching as Thoryn retreated.

  “His mother died early in the spring. He’d been living alone,” said Ragerta sadly.

  “He has no thrall?” I’d noticed a woman’s touch in the woven coverings for his bed and walls, but the cauldron had been empty, and his tunic looked to have gone many days without being washed.

  Ragerta gave a small smile. “He sold her. Thirka says he’s promised not to have another woman in the house until she can join him.”

  “Well, she’s under his roof, now.” I gave Ragerta a nudge. “Perhaps that’s where she’ll stay.”

  “If the jarl permits it.” She yawned. “A strange night it was, and I’d say the gods had a hand in it. Many are the stories of lovers united after sore trials. Thirka’s accident may bring them together.”

  Aye, if the Beast has a heart and will let her go, I thought. I’d seen little of it until now, but nor had I expected him to act as he had, risking himself for one so insignificant in his eyes.

  The two sentries walking the perimeter of the longhouse had made their circuit and paused before us now.

  “Best get to bed,” said one. “The mistress will be shaking you out of it afore the cock crows twice.”

  “Unless you’d prefer to tarry with us?” The other gave a wink. “We’ll lie you down all right, but I can’t swear you’ll get any sleep.”

  “An attractive offer, I’m sure.” Ragerta rolled her eyes. “But I’ll take my own finger over a poke from you. ’Twill be cleaner, at any rate!”

  The guards laughed and gave Ragerta’s rump a friendly smack as we turned to go in.

  For a fleeting moment, I wondered if I might have run in those moments we’d been alone. Ragerta wouldn’t have stopped me.

  Don’t be ridiculous. You’d not have made it to the trees.

  But my time will come.

  Better to be patient.

  Watch and learn, and discover the best way.

  I’ll have only one chance.

  Inside the hall, Kellick, the lad who chopped wood and ran other errands, had stacked the trenchers and cups to one side, but they’d not been washed. That job might fall to me, besides many others now that Thirka was unable to help. Sigrid was happy to work her loom, but I didn’t imagine she took the dirty work of the household.

  Though I was weary, the prospect pleased me. The more I was needed for other tasks, the less time I might spend in Eldberg’s bed, and the more I’d learn about this place I’d come to.

  I paused at the curtain. Was he awake? The bed creaked, and I heard a sigh and a grunting snore. Would he even know if I didn’t join him? I could sleep on a bench in the hall—like the other thralls. But, he would know when he woke, and it served me in no way to stir his anger.

  Wearing my shift, I took my place beside him. He sighed again and turned, his arm coming over me, pulling me close.

  I stiffened at his touch, but he was still asleep, and dreaming—of something that disturbed him, it seemed, for he cried out, though not loud enough to wake himself.

  He tossed and mumbled, then curled back to me once more. And I lay listening, as his murmurs became words I understood: “No” and “Find her”.

  He pulled me tighter to the curve of his body, and his lips found my neck.

  “My love, my love…”

  And with his caress, he repeated the name of the woman he dreamed of.

  Bretta.

  * * *

  In the weeks that followed, Thoryn came to the longhouse each morning, escorting me to his home to attend Thirka. In his care, she flourished, healing more quickly than I’d expected.

  He’d offered Eldberg twice her value, and they were to wed as soon as Thirka could stand unaided.

  The jarl did not speak of it, merely purchasing two thralls to replace her—a married couple of Norse blood and older years, enslaved during a raid to the north. Though Sigrid kept Ragerta and me busy, the work became easier, with more shoulders to bear the burden.

  Eldberg’s moods were varied—at times angry, at others, considerate. There were days when he kept me in his bed, watching as he caused my tension to build, edging me toward release, making me shudder with passion I could not withhold.

  I endeavoured to close my mind against all that shamed me, accepting that a thrall had not the privilege of choice. What shamed me most was my desire to be comforted and caressed. I wanted to defy him, yet fought the impulse to reach out. A strange intimacy had grown between us, and it was as if two different men resided within him.

  Despite these thoughts, I didn’t forget that I was his captive, and he my master—for as long as it amused him. When that time was over, I knew not what would come. He could dispose of me in whatever fashion he saw fit—selling me in some far-off market, to whoever paid the best price. Selling my child, too, if it lived.

  The need to escape remained with me, though I knew not how I would realise such a plan. To stow away on some trading vessel would likely take me from one danger to another. To attempt a crossing of the mountains would be madness. The river which had brought me to Skálavík swept the edge of the settlement only to flow into the fjord. I might follow the water’s path as it had brought me to this place, but I knew not if anything remained of Svolvaen.

  If my old friends had survived, did they think me dead, or that I’d colluded with Skálavík to bring about the events of that terrible night? It pained me to think of it. The friendships I’d made had been precious to me—hard won as they were.

  Astrid. Ylva. Torhilde. Helka… And Eirik. Was it foolish of me to hope they might still live? Hadn’t I seen the longhouse set afire and heard the screams of those within? Hadn’t I witnessed Eldberg stand over Eirik and plunge his blade into his body?

  I oft saw Eirik in my dreams, so vividly—his shoulders squared for battle, his sword raised in defiance.

&nbs
p; To reach Bjorgen would be my best chance. Jarl Ósvífur would grant me protection, surely, honouring my position as Eirik’s widow. Perhaps, Helka and Leif had survived the attack, and I’d find them safe there, although it hardly seemed possible to hope. If they were alive, wouldn’t they have come and bargained for my release?

  Still, I needed to believe there was a place for me, somewhere beyond Skálavík.

  * * *

  Wormwood for stomach cramps, milfoil to stop bleeding, burdock to ease aches in the bones, and feverfew to subdue a headache. I touched each plant as I recounted them to myself, then broke off a stem of lavender, rubbing it between my fingers. Lavender for sleep. There were many others I recognised—mugwort, chicory, chamomile, angelica, yarrow, and plantain.

  I’d grown the same plants in Svolvaen, using them in so many combinations when I’d been seeking a cure for the disease that plagued us. Little had I known, then, that the answer lay in the caves of the fjord, where a particular seaweed grew thick on the walls.

  The herb garden had been Bretta’s and had grown neglected, nettles growing through the rows of plants. Not that nettle leaves weren’t useful, but they couldn’t be allowed to swamp everything around them.

  Sigrid shouldn’t have allowed it to become overgrown, but it wasn’t my place to correct her. Instead, I resolved to tidy it a little each day.

  This morning, I was looking for fennel and thyme. With comfrey and marigold, they’d make a good salve for Elberg’s eyelid, which still wept and seemed unwilling to heal.

  Beyond the little garden, where the grass grew long, I spotted the frothy white flowers of giant cow parsley. Now there was a source of retribution! A drop of sap from its stem into each eye would burn his vision entirely, but it struck me that I would never, now, want to inflict such a thing upon him.

  With passing time, the urge to take my vengeance had faded. I might easily have concealed a knife and slit his throat as he slept, but I’d lost the taste for such revenge.

  When I fled, I vowed, it would be without blood upon my hands.

  Still, I jumped at the feel of Eldberg’s touch upon my shoulder.

  “Mixing your potions, thrall?” He plucked the thyme from my fingers, raising it to his nose.

  “For you, my lord.” I held out all I’d gathered. “You’ve allowed me to help Thirka, and I’ll help you, too, if you’ll permit it.”

  “You find my injury unappealing?” The old hardness was in his voice. “I’m not handsome enough for you?” He grabbed me by the shoulders. “’Tis easily remedied, for I may have my fill of you without either of us seeing the other’s face.”

  “Nay, my lord. You’re too easily offended. I thought only to ease the discomfort of this wound that’s so long in healing.”

  He let go, and a shadow passed over his features—a fleeting glimpse of remorse, I thought, for his having spoken harshly.

  It was not his way to take back words spoken or to apologise, for he was jarl, and there was no necessity to explain himself, but he drew me to his chest.

  “I came to find you on an errand of my own, and it shall serve both purposes, if you wish to attempt the curing of me. The merchant who sold us the aloe some months ago has returned, and his ship carries other remedies. ‘Twould be well to create a chest of medicines. Thoryn tells me of your skill and, having knowledge, you should help me choose, for I trust your judgement as well as any healer in Skálavík.”

  It was a great compliment—the first I’d heard from his lips, but I knew better than to appear too pleased, or to set any store by it.

  Rather, I tilted back my head, offering my lips, which he took with eagerness, bold and demanding, wrapping me within his arms as he claimed my mouth thoroughly.

  It was enough, that kiss, to rouse his manhood and, when he broke off, he was breathing heavily. Shrugging off his tunic, he lay it flat upon the row of chamomile in which we stood, and guided me to lay upon it.

  “You cannot mean… not here!” I protested, but he had already loosened the fastening of his trousers, and his hand was beneath my skirts.

  “I am jarl, and it’s my wish. As for your modesty, worry not, for the plants grow tall enough to conceal us.”

  And there was no arguing thereafter, for he claimed another kiss and moved between my legs, his flesh hot in mine.

  * * *

  It was with some lightness of heart that I walked by Eldberg’s side to the harbour. I’d never been permitted farther than Thoryn’s hut—and only then in his company. At other times, I’d been under the watchful eye of Sigrid or the longhouse guard.

  Like Svolvaen, Skálavík’s heart lay in its harbour—but it was more than a place of fishing. As we descended the headland, Eldberg told me that merchants often visited, trading for Skálavík’s whalebone and whale oil, hides and herring, axes and arrow heads, and blades of all description. The forge was worked by six strong men, whose skill attracted many in pursuit of fine weapons. The metal came out of the very rock above the settlement, with many to extract for smelting.

  In return, Skálavík purchased amber beads from the Baltic lands, soapstone, salt, silks, other fine cloth, and grain, too. The land here did not lend itself to the growing of such crops, and much barley was needed for bread and ale.

  The place was a bustle, people jostling to peruse the many goods on sale. The scent of cook-fire smoke mingled with the pungent odours of fish and livestock, while buyers haggled noisily. We made our way past stalls of meat, nuts, and cheeses, the marketgoers parting as Eldberg approached, making way for their jarl—and eying me with curiosity in no manner concealed. I’d picked out the chamomile from my hair and smoothed myself as best I could, but I felt the shabbiness of my appearance, for the dress I wore had been on my back near three weeks without washing, since I’d no other to replace it.

  Our destination was a ship anchored in the bay, from which a small rowboat had been sent, waiting for us at the pier’s end. Eldberg jumped straight in and held his hand to help me board.

  “This captain prefers to remain on the water with his cargo—it being of particular value.” He nodded at the man standing on deck, watching our approach. “It suits me well enough, since it offers more privacy for our transactions.”

  A rope ladder was cast down the side, enabling us to climb up, hand over hand.

  I was surprised at once by the size of the vessel and its orderliness. The deck was broad and mostly clear but for neatly looped coils of rope. The sails had been well-tied, enabling the ship to sit perfectly still at anchor.

  “Selamlar, Yusuf.” Eldberg inclined his head slightly before touching his forehead and heart.

  “Barış seninle olsun, arkadaşım,” the man replied, offering the same gesture of welcome in return.

  The captain smiled, his eyes flickering swiftly over me before returning to Eldberg. Behind him stood eight of his crew, each as nut-brown as their captain, with legs planted firmly and their eyes upon us. Though they appeared at ease, each wore a weapon at his belt.

  “And peace be with you, my friend,” said Eldberg, moving forward to clasp the other’s hand.

  “You have something special to trade today, yes? A treasure with eyes like jewels and skin of ivory.”

  A cold wave broke through me, hearing those words spoken haltingly in the Norse tongue. I looked fearfully to Eldberg. Was this the moment after all, when he would fulfil his threat? If so, then there was no greater fool than I, for I’d begun to believe Eldberg would be sorry to lose me, when the day came that I made my escape.

  “Ha!” Eldberg answered with clear amusement, the corner of his mouth twitching. “She is mine to sell, but were I able to part with her, I’d ask for sapphires large enough to match those eyes, Yusuf.”

  “Forgive me.” The captain dipped his head. “I merely assumed…”

  Eldberg’s grand reply was almost as disconcerting as my belief that he might sell me. He spoke, truly, as if I were precious to him.

  “In this case, I have s
ilks and bracelets of gold, carried from Constantinople. It is these you come for, yes, to adorn this cherished plaything and make her fit for your harem?”

  “You change not a whit, Yusuf!” barked Eldberg, clearly enjoying this game, though my own temper rankled to hear them speak of me thus.

  “You may tempt me with your trinkets later, though I warrant you have nothing to offer that can compare to the enticement of her bare skin. She needs no fine garments to make herself beautiful to me. I’d keep her naked all the day and night were it not that I must drag myself to attend other matters occasionally.” Eldberg met my eyes, and his own were laughing still, caring not that anger flashed in mine.

  “But, of course, a woman’s natural state is always most desirable,” the captain replied, and I saw a hint of lasciviousness as he looked upon me again, no doubt imagining me without the cover of my gown.

  Eldberg cleared his throat and composed himself, asking more seriously, “It is medicines I come for, Yusuf. Like those you traded before, when I was unable to greet you and Thoryn came in my stead.” He turned his face, indicating the burns that had healed. “The aloe was effective, and we would purchase more, together with samples of other ingredients you recommend. If they prove potent, we shall buy greater volumes next time you sail to us.”

  “I see you are not just fortunate in your company but wise, Jarl Eldberg.” The captain touched his heart. “And it will be my pleasure to supply all you require.”

  Turning, he uttered instructions in his own tongue, sending two of his men below deck. They returned with a chest.

  Opening it, Yusuf brought forth a ceramic pot sealed with wax. “One silver piece for an amphora of aloe, my friend. For the rest, I shall prepare a small vial of each spice from my personal store and explain their properties. For this, in good faith, I make no charge, but shall return with the spring tides and greater volumes—from which you may purchase as much as you wish. If it pleases you, I would trade for the furs you harvest this winter. Your foxes are particularly fine, and I have buyers who await them back in the east.”