To Serve and Submit

by Susan Wright

  The dogs began barking, breaking the hush, and my brothers called out to one another as they pastured the cows. My da’s elder sister hurried up to say, “I will put her things together.” I thought of my childish treasures secreted in a leather bag under the moss of our sleeping ledge, but Lexander put an end to that.

  “She needs nothing that I cannot give her,” Lexander said firmly.

  My mam passed the babe away, and I went to stand before her on the paving stones at the entrance to our home. Her hands gathered the damp folds of my cloak, as if to feel me there in front of her. She looked into my eyes and saw my need to fly. She had felt it herself long ago when she left her own people and followed my da from Helluland to live in Jarnby. She accepted what her vision showed her, as always.

  “I will see you as I spin,” she assured me, “and I will know if you do well.” With a narrow look at Lexander, she added, “Think on me if you wish to depart, and your father will come to redeem you.”

  “I will think of you always,” I promised, though I knew my own lack. Often I forgot my family when I went into the fens.

  Lexander smiled coldly at my mam, perhaps reading me better than she did. “You shall see; she will prosper in Vidaris.”

  With that, my mam reluctantly released me. Lexander silently held out a gloved hand to me. I couldn’t help but contrast my world with Lexander’s—his healthy well-muscled oarsmen, and magnificent longship piled with boxes and barrels of goods. Painted rattles of iron rings hung from the mast, making a merry jangle to ward off evil spirits. Perhaps because my mind was savage and unformed, I followed the shiny lure, willingly going with him.

  Lexander led me down to the waterfront as his crew readied the longship to launch. He lifted me up in one strong arm and deposited me on the deck. It felt as if I were standing on the curved, grassy roof of our longhouse. The green pastures spread along the river, with the darker hillocks of the fens beyond.

  “May the blessings of Arnaaluk be on my daughter!” my mother cried out.

  The crew lifted the sail and tightened the ropes as it filled with wind. The longship pulled away from shore, and my kin called farewell. I raised my hand until I caught a last glimpse of my brother, closest to me in age, standing next to our sister on the shore. Our longhouse was a low green mound among the others, with only the wooden doorway and a line of smoke to indicate it was my home. The nearby longhouses were all alike, with brown tracks and low palisades for the animals between them. Too soon, Jarnby melded into the fens, while the highlands were a formidable ridge beyond.

  We sailed into the Klaro Strait, its waters tinted a deep, icy blue. Fog hung thickly in the folds of the land, revealing an inlet or a strand of black spruce in the clefts. I held on to the smooth wooden side of the boat, swaying with the up and down of the waves. Listening to the creaking of the ropes that held the sail taut, I could hear the sea spirits speaking to me. Unlike olfs, spirits were disembodied and could reveal themselves only through visions. The sea spirits evoked endless depths and the creatures that flowed through their waters, dangerous predators and beasts that looked strangely like clouds or rocks.

  A light but steady rain fell as we sailed south into the Nauga Sea, leaving Markland behind. Lexander tried to give me skyr, thick, milky whey, which he said would sit easy on my stomach. But I couldn’t eat. He did insist that I drink some watered mead. I crumpled my day-meal of fried porridge my mam had given me into the sea to appease the spirits for my passage. I usually would give a sacrifice to the olfs on the fens, eating some myself as well.

  It wasn’t long before the rocking motion began to make me feel ill. The oarsmen passed comments about my condition among themselves, wagering on my ability to hold my stomach. I did, though I didn’t know how long I would have to endure.

  But none of that mattered. The sail bellied full, lifting me from the moorings of my life. In spite of my illness, I went to the bow to look ever ahead. Lexander smiled indulgently, reclining on a padded bench in the stern. It was as if my body underwent a paroxysm of grief, clenching and convulsing at leaving behind the land and olfs that I loved, while my spirit soared in front of the great vessel urging me ever onward.

  The journey across the sea seemed endless as the sun crossed the sky between the banks of clouds. I was groggy with nausea and fatigue when a shout went up. A light had been sighted. As we neared the island of Fjardemano, a great bonfire pierced the fog shrouding the banks, leading Lexander home. By then the day began to die, and we were in the gloaming.

  The shore was backed by a red sandstone bluff, with the fluted sides starkly bare of plants. The sand of the narrow beach was the same distinctive red. At the top, a woven palisade stretched among the trees, blocking my view beyond. The fence was very tall, made of saplings that were bent around sturdy posts. I wondered uneasily who Lexander could possibly fear. A palisade such as this could defend against a Skraeling attack, not that there had been any in recent memory. The chieftains, under the direction of the overlord of Viinland, had made peace or pushed back any Skraelings who were inclined to raid. My mam had told me stories of those dark times when many of the Beothuk had been killed, mistaken for the vicious Skraeling tribes who lived farther inland.

  The longship was moored with a flurry of shouts as the oarsmen tied down the sail. I stumbled as I stepped onto the wooden dock, feeling as if the world were still moving around me. Lexander noticed my lack of balance and casually supported my arm, the first time he touched me since we had left Jarnby. I hardly noticed the useful dock, which allowed us to walk from the boat to the beach without wetting our feet.

  Lexander and I climbed a tall flight of wooden steps to reach the top of the bluff. The evergreens in Fjardemano were dense cones of bright emerald, unlike the spruce of my homeland, which spread dark scraggly arms against the sky. As we climbed higher, I could see the shoreline receding into the distance, with the bluff rising to form the dramatic line of vermilion cliffs. A mass of green conifers crowded the top.

  When we passed through a wide gate in the palisade, the sky was still bright enough for me to see a number of structures amid the clearings. Lexander took me up the gravel path to the largest structure, much longer than my old home. Sheer walls rose as if a god had chiseled them from the ground. The roof didn’t have grass growing on it, and the pitch seemed impossibly steep.

  It was so unlike the low, turf-covered duns of Jarnby that I gaped in surprise. I couldn’t accept what lay before me. I thought that my own confusion was interfering in my ability to sense the spirits of the place. It would have been easier if some olfs had appeared to lend me their aid, but there were none.

  We skirted the huge structure; then the gravel path began to curve back down. For a moment I was high enough to see the woven palisade encircling a series of low hills, scattered with wooden buildings and a few familiar sod longhouses. Leafy trees were swaying over small ponds in the clefts. Spreading far beyond the palisade were plowed fields, as red as the cliffs, while in the distance lay the shadowy forest.

  Since I could not commune with the land directly, I had to ask, “What is this?”

  Lexander gestured broadly. “This is Vidaris, your new home, Marja. Five dozen slaves and freemen live here, working the fields and running the haushold.”

  It was nothing like Jarnby, which blended into the green banks of the river. Yet despite its differences, Vidaris smelled the same—burning wood, cooked meat, human waste, and too many animals crowded together. There were more cattle than sheep, another indicator of wealth. As the dusk deepened, I was heartened to see that children ran about in the distance. Their playful shouts were almost drowned out by the mournful braying of hounds.

  The gravel path led back down to the stream. Lexander guided me up the steps into a small building next to it. The room was long and narrow. A light burned on the near wall, a tiny flame fed by the whale oil within a bubbled glass sphere. A glow also came from coals slowly burning out in the hearth in the opposite wall. Under my
feet were rectangular slabs laid a finger’s width apart. They were exactly the same size, slightly longer and wider than my hand, and laid together to form a flat, hard floor. My eyes followed the straight, crisscrossing grooves endlessly like a spell. I had never seen a room without a dirt floor before.

  “Master!” a young man called out as he ran up the steps. He was as clean and as white as a new-bloomed flower, with long curling brown hair. His tunic was belted with gold cord like the lacings that held his elegant, fitted shoes. I could feel how much warmer it was here in Viinland, but his scanty attire startled me. His face was without a beard, making him appear younger than he was.

  Lexander briefly caressed the young man’s hair. “See to my things, Bjorn. The men left my boxes by the haushold.” His tone indicated he expected to be obeyed without question. The young man spared only a brief glance at me as he left.

  “Is he really a slave?” I asked when he was gone.

  “Yes. Bjorn is one of my treasures. You should look to him as your guide for how to behave. He is ever ready to please.”

  I stared after the beautiful slave as he ran back up the gravel path to the large structure. If my mother could see Bjorn, she would think him a godling, he was so fine. It seemed as if I had been granted a rare gift the day Lexander had chosen to sail up our river. But I knew there had to be a price for all that I would gain. It must be that way, as air gave way to water, as did water to earth, and earth to wind in an endless cycle.

  Lexander stepped close to me, and I looked up to his face. I was used to being taller than most people—a longlimbed, lanky girl. My softer, rounder cousins were always favored over me.

  He removed his gloves with practiced motions. “I should sluice you down proper before the bath.” He examined me, his full lips twisting in distaste. “Well, nothing left but to do it. Off with your clothes, girl. Put them over there by the door. The house servants may be able to use them as rags.”

  I squirmed at the thought of disrobing in front of him. “Here?”

  “’Tis time to rid yourself of false modesty, Marja. I own you now, and you will do as you’re told. Or you’ll do it with tears in your eyes.”

  My da had switched my brothers on occasion when they ran off without doing their duties. The switch left red slashes across the backs of their legs and stung like a hundred bees, they claimed. But da had never done it to me. My mam told him it was beyond my power that the olfs called me so.

  But Lexander did not look at me with indulgence, and he surely owned me as much as my da ever did. I slowly untied my cloak, hesitating until Lexander impatiently urged me to be quick. He went to pour a bucket of water as I dropped the scrap of wool that served as my cloak. Uneasily, I glanced behind me, but Bjorn was not in sight. I slipped my arms out of the loose sleeves of my tunic and pulled it over my head. Both were wet through from the generous spray of the sea. I tossed the soggy bundle down near the door, left in only my skin.

  “Stand still,” Lexander ordered as he dashed water from a bucket against my face and chest. I cringed, but the water was as warm as if it had lain in the sun. Lexander walked around and threw the rest on my rear. It poured off me onto the floor, running through the cracks and out a clever hole in the wall. I could hear the stream splashing on the other side.

  “Get into the smaller bath.” Lexander sat on the bench and pulled off his own splattered knee-high boots.

  Muscles aching from the rocking motion of the longship, I slid into the square pool, grateful for the water that covered me. It was warm and so clear I could see the mosaic tiles embedded in the sides and bottom, each a slightly different shade of blue. The pattern formed a sinuous wave in the floor and sides. It was cleaner and larger than the pools in the fens that I normally bathed in, and it was much warmer than the sea. Yet it felt empty. I couldn’t understand why there were no sprites delighting in the water. Sprites might be tiny invisible creatures, but they were able to touch this world much like olfs could.

  Lexander stood up, and with a mocking glint in his eyes, undid the cord of his pants and slid them off, leaving only his long belted shirt. I drew back. “You don’t mean to—”

  “I would take you if I wanted to,” Lexander interrupted. He went to gather a basket and brought it to the pool. “But as you are now, you hold no interest for me.”

  Stung, I crossed my arms over my chest as he stepped into the pool. The water reached just above his knees, well below the hem of his shirt.

  “Let’s get on with it.” Lexander sighed as he picked up his first implement.

  The brush was made of musk-ox bristles, cut to uniform length. It scraped my flesh unmercifully. The skin verily peeled from my body and burned from the foam he rubbed into the bristles. He scrubbed me down in broad swaths, muttering to himself about “years of filth.” Then he forced me under the water to rinse. If I had known what he had in mind for me, I would surely have chosen a simple rutting.

  As I righted myself in the pool, Bjorn returned to the baths. His face was a cool white oval in the dimness. His features were truly distinguished, particularly his aquiline nose. Lexander called, “Bjorn, come help me with this rat’s nest of hair. I only hope that there’s something salvageable within.”

  Bjorn obeyed instantly, his hands joining Lexander’s on my head. I crouched in the tub, shivering despite the warmth of the water. Darts of pain shot through my skull as they tugged and pulled at the small braids that held the waving mass away from my face. Throughout they exclaimed at the things they found—bits of cord and string, dried stems from flowers woven into the braids, and tufts of white and black wool. They amassed a motley pile next to the bath, and the more they stared down at me in disfavor, the smaller I felt.

  Lastly they brushed, each taking a side, snagging the snarls and making the pain flash through my tender scalp. But I closed my lips tight, refusing to let them know how they hurt me. It was like the invisible hands that plucked at me in the fens, pinching and tweaking the very lashes from my eyes. I had learned that you don’t show weakness or evil spirits will take more than they need, just to delight in your torment. So I sat as straight as I could, bracing myself.

  When they were done, Lexander lathered my hair, soothing the fierce burning of my scalp with creamy lotion. Bjorn made me lean over and poured buckets of water on my head, rinsing again and again until they judged my head free of vermin and grime. Bjorn took the brackish pile pulled from my hair with an expression of frank disgust, his fine nose turned away. He tossed it far beyond the stable yard and carefully washed his hands when he returned.

  Lexander concentrated on pinning my hair to the top of my head with two bone combs. “Tell Sigrid to bring my meal to table. She will serve me tonight.”

  A flicker of resentment passed over Bjorn’s face, and I learned later that he competed with Sigrid as a favorite of Lexander’s. He inclined his head gracefully. “As you wish, Master.” He withdrew with a measured gait that was the height of grace.

  Lexander turned and caught my wide-eyed stare. “As I said, Bjorn is perfectly trained. You will learn soon enough. You, too, will draw all eyes when you stroll through a room, and be able to please a patron with the slightest touch.”

  I held my breath, remembering the days on the fens that I had dreamed away, thinking of what it would mean to be a pleasure slave. All I knew of pleasure was the artless rutting I had enjoyed with some boys in Jarnby. But the way Bjorn moved held a deeper promise of what I could become.

  I thought we were finished, but Lexander emptied the dirty water in the bath through a plug in the bottom. I realized that was why no sprites could settle in the tub. Then Lexander filled the bath again by tilting an enormous vat that swung out from the fire, pouring in a stream of freshly warmed water.

  The second brush he used was softer, but the burning foam was more copious. He moved the brush in firm swirls across my neck, down my back, and under my arms. Every finger was scrubbed from my knuckles to nails. As he moved downward, briskly rub
bing between my legs, I felt a sudden rush of heat. Bracing myself against him for a heady moment, I longed for a more sensual touch. The feeling persisted even as he continued to treat me like a root he had pulled from the ground, to be scraped clean before being pounded for mash. Then he clipped the nails on my feet and hands and let my hair down to trim it evenly above my waist. Several ragged handfuls were thrown aside, and I was glad Bjorn had been sent away so he wouldn’t see me shorn like a sheep.

  The cleansing left me shiny pink and throbbing. My nipples stood erect, having received far too much attention. Even my toes felt distinct, aching like new-grown buds. He smeared salve on the chilblains on my hands and feet, soothing the sores that always burned raw in the winter.

  Then Lexander examined me, bending me over the bench and bringing the small, round lamp close. His fingers prodded my crotch, pulling at the nether lips and questing inside me. At first he was gentle; then I gasped as he slid his finger in fully deep.

  “You’ve been broached,” Lexander declared thoughtfully. “Why such girlish modesty? Your first lesson, Marja, is that blushes can be appealing on occasion, but a steady diet of them is tiresome.” I tensed, feeling his finger still deep inside me. It wiggled in emphasis. “Who did this to you?”

  I was hardly able to speak in such a position. My hands clenched against the padded top of the bench. “Boys of the village.”

  “Oh? Were none special to you?”

  It was difficult to think, but one memory sprang to mind. “There was a trader who came to Jarnby. He was from Tillfallvik. He said he helped the chieftain launch a great knaar, and the big man tossed him a copper. He gave it to me.” I didn’t add that I had given the copper to the olfs because they were jealous of their gifts.

  “And you fell in love with him,” Lexander finished.

  I shook my head as he pulled away. “No.”

  Lexander’s brows rose. “That is the first you’ve said that interests me.”