by T S Florence
“Lucy?” Ragnar asked.
“The gorgeous mare that you are so kindly allowing me to use,” Rose said.
“Don’t name your horses,” Ragnar said, before he turned on his heel.
He could hear footsteps sounding behind him. “Why should I not name her? What does it matter to you? I know everything to you is about ownership and power, but if I care for something, I like to treat it with love,” Rose said.
“It will hurt more when she dies,” Ragnar said, simply.
Rose’s face changed to an expression he could not decipher. After a pause, she spoke quietly, “I will love her until then.”
“What is going on with your mother?” Ragnar asked.
“I don’t know if I want to tell you,” Rose clipped.
“Tell me,” Ragnar grumbled.
“Are you ordering me, as an owner?” Rose replied.
“Yes,” Ragnar said, immediately angry that he resorted to using such cheap tactics.
“She doesn’t love me any longer,” Rose said simply.
Ragnar was at a loss for words. He simply stood, watching, as Rose turned and walked back to her friend, much more quietly than she had approached him, just moments before.
44
Rose
Depending on whether or not the other merchants had wised up since the last several markets, Rose was betting that she’d make more on her sale that morning, than she would have made at all of her previous sales combined. It had been almost three months since her first sale, and since then, things had grown exponentially.
She was making far more than she could have ever expected, and she only wondered at the wealth that her father must have made over all the years that he had worked as a merchant. Of course, it showed, in the sheer amount of sheep and land that he had owned, up until his death.
After today, Rose would be buying her own land. She had spent the morning daydreaming of her own sheep. Of being able to cut out the process of having to negotiate with farmers for their sheep’s wool. Her profits would be even greater in her first season of selling her own wool and clothing made from that wool.
Her first customer was the same as usual. A god-fearing man named Egbert. Even more god fearing than the average Englishman. He was always at the markets just before dawn, ensuring that he could get the pick of the bunch of all the things he intended to buy. He was not an overly clever man, simply cleverer than most - which wasn’t hard, Rose thought.
“You’ve been buying this wool yourself,” Egbert said, as if he had discovered some great secret.
“I have,” Rose smiled.
“And you’re a woman,” Egbert continued.
“And you’re a man,” Rose clipped.
“Women ain’t supposed to be doin’ business like this. It’s ungodly,” Egbert said.
“Do you want the wool or not,” Rose said to Egbert.
“Why should I pay such prices for wool, to a woman?” Egbert shot back.
“Then go find someone who can provide you this quality of wool, in this quantity, for this price,” Rose said.
“Where’s your father? Or are you married? Where’s your husband then?” Egbert’s demeanour slowly transitioned to a sly creepiness.
“Not here. He should be here once he’s finished his sword training,” Rose said, becoming self-conscious.
“Father or husband?” The man asked.
“Husband,” Rose said. And when she said the word, Ragnar was who came to her mind. They were not married, but he was the only man who she could possibly fathom being married to. Yet, she did not expect him to come to the markets. He had never come to the markets. He had no interest. Trading things for money was not interesting to Ragnar, as he simply took what he wanted. Money was not necessary for men like him.
“Maybe I will wait for him to come by and see his sweet little wife,” Egbert said.
“Do what you wish, but do not crowd the front of my stall. I don’t want you interrupting my business,” Rose said.
“I think people will be more concerned whether you’re a godly woman or not. Seeing as you are new here,” Egbert replied.
“Frankly, I am not concerned with your god-fearing nonsense. Either buy my wool or I will send for my husband’s men to come and deal with you,” Rose said, not out of anger, but of fear.
“And who is this important husband that you are hiding behind,” Egbert smirked.
“Maybe you’ve heard of him. Ragnar Ragnarsson. Ragnar the Destroyer. Earl Ragnar of Fyrkat,” Rose said each word slowly. Watching the recognition, and then, followed by that recognition, fear, take hold on his face. “I see you have heard of him,” Rose clipped.
“So it was ten bags of wool I was after today,” Egbert said quietly, his demeanour changed.
Part of Rose did not want to deal with Egbert any longer. Part of her was fearful of him. But her father’s words sounded in her mind. Emotion is for family, not for business. Emotion and business have not place together.
“Add another ten percent onto our normal price,” Rose said.
“What?” Egbert said.
“For your treatment of me, as Ragnar’s wife,” Rose said mildly.
“Not a fair price at all,” Egbert skulked, as he fished through his fat purse of coins, most likely annoyed that his own attempt to drive down Rose’s prices resulted in him paying even more than he would have otherwise paid.
Rose’s day went much more smoothly than her first sale. She sold her entire stock before the sun was past the middle of the sky, and was home, with her earnings, shortly after lunch.
“I’m buying a farm,” Rose said to Ragnar, as they passed each other in the hall.
She heard Ragnar’s footsteps stop behind her.
“Why?” He asked.
“To improve my profits,” Rose said, without looking.
“Farms are not safe to live on. They are targets for raiders,” Ragnar said over his shoulder.
“I will hire men to guard the farm. I will be earning enough,” She said.
“You will not live on that farm,” Ragnar said to her, his voice low.
“I will. Because I have the money to purchase back my life,” Rose said, eyeing him.
“Since when?” Ragnar asked.
“Since this morning,” Rose said. She had already separated a bag full of coins. An amount that would be equal to a slave’s life.
“Here,” She said, handing him the bag.
“It’s not enough,” Ragnar growled.
“You wouldn’t know what’s enough,” Rose clipped.
“There will never be an amount that’s enough,” Ragnar said, his voice so coarse that it sent a shiver down her spine.
“You are the one that should be begging for forgiveness. You abandoned me for four years, Ragnar. Stop with your anger. Stop with your skulking. You did this,” Rose snapped at him.
“Why should I ask for forgiveness? I have never apologised to any man I have faced in battle. I have never given back anything I have rightly won in battle,” Ragnar growled.
“You did not defeat me in battle, and you did not win me in battle either,” Rose said, her voice shaking with anger. “You purchased me on a beach on a cold morning, when I was still a child. I was cold and fearful and did not understand a word you said. And now I am home and I am buying back my freedom,” Rose gripped the sides of her skirt, bunching her hands into fists, so that Ragnar could not see her hands shake.
“That’s not fair,” Ragnar said.
“This? This is entirely fair. Slavery is not fair. Marriage is not fair. Women should not need to rely on men simply to be free in this world,” Rose said.
“And now I am free,” Rose said.
She turned and walked to her room.
Ragnar
“She already had a place lined up,” Torsten said, his voice low and formal.
“She’s already packing her damn things,” Ragnar said. “How did it change so quickly. Things were going well, and now she’s turned ha
lf-mad,” He sighed, knowing that his anger was only making things worse. He hadn’t been his normal joyful self for nearly a year.
“She’s asked Brenna to move out there,” Torsten said, cautiously.
“Of course. And you will go with her,” Ragnar said.
“I wouldn’t let her live out there alone,” Torsten said.
“You will make sure Rose is safe, as well,” Ragnar said.
“Of course, I will continue in your service, if you would allow it,” Torsten said.
“I want you to report any news of Rose to me, as well,” Ragnar said.
“Yes Ragnar,” Torsten said.
He knew that he needed to calm his anger, or Rose would not speak to him at all. But he needed to speak to her.
“You have a place for purchase already?” Ragnar asked Rose.
“How do you know?” Rose asked, pausing before continuing, “Torsten,” she said.
“He is still my man,” Ragnar said.
“I know,” Rose accepted.
“When will you make the transaction?” Ragnar asked.
“I am leaving now,” Rose said.
“I will come,” Ragnar said.
“I don’t need you to come,” Rose said. But a hint of desperation in her voice made Ragnar curious, and so he decided he would go.
“I’m coming,” he said, he voice final.
They spent the morning readying the horses for the short ride outside of Newcastle’s gates. The farm was nestled amongst green sprawling fields, filled with fat, woolly sheep.
“It looks expensive,” Ragnar noted.
“It is expensive,” Rose said.
“You made this money quickly,” Ragnar said to Rose.
“Men often don’t know the true worth of what they own,” Rose glanced over at Ragnar as she spoke those words.
“But you do,” Ragnar said.
“I must,” Rose said.
The man was waiting out the front of the property with a wife and two small children.
“Did you bring a scribe? We cannot read or write,” the man said to Rose as she approached.
“I can read and write,” Rose said.
“How can I trust you?” The man said, looking between Ragnar and Torsten.
At that, Rose handed the man a heavy bag of coins. The man’s eyes widened as he peered inside.
“I did not expect- not all at once,” the man stuttered.
“I don’t like outstanding loans,” Rose smiled.
“It feels like more than what we agreed,” the man said.
“It is. you can use the extra pay for your children to be taught how to read, write, and count” Rose said, “these are the most important things.”
A piece of parchment that already had words written on it was drawn out of a saddlebag.
“And this will go into your husband’s name, this Ragnar fellow?” The man said, not bothering to look up at Ragnar.
Rose’s eyes shot up to Ragnar, wide with surprise. “I-” she began, but was obviously at a loss for words.
“You’re putting this in my name?” Ragnar asked.
“I didn’t have a choice,” Rose said.
“What else is in my name?” Ragnar asked.
“What?” Rose said.
“Do you use my name when you deal with other men in the markets?” Ragnar began to piece together how Rose had so easily dealt with other merchants in such a short space of time.
“Men do not like to trade with an unmarried girl,” Rose clipped.
“So you take the benefit of my name, without actually marrying me?” Ragnar asked.
“Hold on, you’re not actually married?” The man interrupted.
“Shut up, peasant,” Ragnar said.
“Ragnar,” Rose hissed in embarrassment.
She turned to the man. “this property will be in his name, it does not concern you who operates here,” Rose said, before turning to Ragnar.
“You do all of this for freedom, yet I still own everything,” Ragnar found the situation humorous.
“Yes, it seems it isn’t so easy to separate myself from you as I thought,” Rose clipped.
“Shall we just marry to save you the trouble of these nonsense contracts,” Ragnar said.
“No, Ragnar. I am still operating separate to you,” Rose said, her face growing red.
“But you hold all this contract that says this land is mine?” Ragnar said, confused.
“Yes, but it is mine,” Rose said.
“Well, not really,” Ragnar said, with a smug look on his face.
“I can put it into someone else’s name. Torsten’s for example,” Rose turned to Torsten, who was not listening to a word they had been saying, for he and Brenna were giggling together about something entirely unrelated.
“It’s mine,” Rose said, her eyes challenging.
“I know,” Ragnar conceded.
The man stood silently with his wife and children as Rose signed the parchment, and then told the man where to put his scribble - an uneducated man’s signature.
Ragnar began to see the difficulty that a woman faced without a man standing behind her. Maybe one day, women, with their cleverness, would reach a point in history where they did not need to rely on man to do what they wished. But this was not that point in history.
“Let me look after the contract,” Ragnar said.
“Why?” Rose said, looking at Ragnar suspiciously.
“It is an important thing. I will keep it in my treasury,” Ragnar said.
“As long as I have access to the treasury,” Rose said.
“Of course,” Ragnar said.
Ragnar demounted his horse and looked inside the house. It contained two rooms and one large living room, where the cooking and eating took place.
“You would leave my house to live here?” Ragnar asked.
“I would,” Rose said.
“Very well. Well, you know where my treasury is. Good luck with your business,” Ragnar said.
He mounted his horse, kicked into its stomach, and did not look back. If it was freedom from him that she wanted, then that is what he would give her. Free the girl. If she returns, it was meant to be.
Rose
Rose was making more money, more quickly than ever before. But there was one problem. One thing that was going to make everything just a little more difficult. One thing, or person, growing in her stomach.
It was in the middle of summer. A bead of sweat ran down her back, under the excessive layers of clothing that she wore in an attempt to hide the small bump that was beginning to take place.
She was packing up her morning stall when a woman covered in a tattered cloak approached her. Rose’s stomach turned into a twisted, uncomfortable ball of nerves.
“You sit here, mixing with merchants and traders, with dirty money? This is not what god intended for chaste women,” The lady said.
“God did not intend for woman to abandon her daughter, Elsbeth,” Rose said back.
“I did not abandon you. You joined the heathens. You lay with a heathen,” Rose’s mother hissed.
“I had no choice, I was a child,” Rose’s voice quivered.
“I can only pray for your salvation,” Elsbeth said, before she turned and walked away.
Not a moment longer than Elsbeth had left, Jack arrived on horseback. “Did she make it here?” Jack asked, breathless.
“Yes,” Rose said, quietly.
“Rose, she’s half mad. She has been since you were taken. Her mind never returned to normal,” Jack said.
“You don’t even know what she said,” Rose replied.
“I know it would have involved eternal damnation and some other nonsense about god or heathens or vikings,” Jack said, “It’s always more or less the same,” he finished.
“Thank you,” Rose said.
“For what?” Jack asked, as he looked into the crowd, searching for their mother.
