by Susan Wright
His sharp tone couldn’t be mistaken, but why did he chastise me? Surely I didn’t know my place, but that wasn’t my fault. Yet I couldn’t seem to form my lips around a protest. I submitted to Lexander, not because he had earned it or deserved it, but because something inside of me surrendered to him. It was my first taste of life in his hands.
Two
I woke the next morning in a narrow room with a remarkable peaked ceiling. It was filled with a dozen slaves, each sleeping on a moss-filled mat, which were laid end to end along the walls. My fuzzy wool blanket was made of a much finer thread and weave than I was accustomed to. After sleeping my whole life on an earthen ledge in a pile among my sisters, it was luxury indeed.
The haushold was a remarkable structure. I learned later that the rectangular blocks were bricks made from clay deposits molded by hand along with the red earth of Vidaris. The slaves slept in one of four halls that formed a huge rectangle with a courtyard in the center. The fire hall was the longest, with the dining table at one end. The kitchen hall had rows of storerooms and a scullery. I noticed several round baking ovens in the kitchen yard when Lexander had brought me up from the baths. He informed me that the fourth hall had chambers for guests, himself, and his consort, Helanas. It was the first I had heard mention of Helanas, though it was to be expected that a man such as Lexander had a wife. He warned me their hall was not to be entered unless we were given express permission.
I shyly imitated the other slaves as they straightened their bedding, then dressed in my new woolen tunic and sandals. My legs felt strangely bare with such a short skirt, but it was warm enough to be comfortable. The shoes would take more getting used to, and I scuffed clumsily over the brick floor.
As they filed into the fire hall, I followed a frightened young man my own age. He had cried in the night, and his face was still streaked by traces of tears as we sat down at the long dining table. Niels had arrived at Vidaris a few days before me, all the way from Hop on the southern mainland of Viinland. I was envious of his experiences, but he seemed childish despite his advantages.
Several of our fellow slaves served us generous bowls of hot oat porridge. I sat on a bench next to two Skraeling girls, watching them sadly fumble with a flat wooden utensil. When I tried to use my fingers to eat my porridge, my hand was sharply rapped.
I dropped the bowl and turned in shock to find Lexander’s consort, Helanas, glaring down at me. A red silk veil was wrapped over her head and around her neck, trailing down to her waist, where it was belted with her pleated dress. With her tawny skin and full lips, Helanas resembled Lexander. But her dark eyes were cruel.
My knuckles throbbed, as Helanas ordered, “You will use your spoon or your food will be removed!” She caressed the heavy leather flap at the end of the rod.
Bjorn smirked from across the table, his patrician nose crinkling with distaste. From the other slaves’ expressions, I could tell they, too, thought I was a barbarian. Only the two Skraeling girls next to me stared into their porridge tremulously. It showed me how alone I was.
If I was lost in my new role, the tension among the elder slaves made things worse. After the meal, when I tried to step outside to see the clouds, I discovered that they were ordered to make sure we didn’t run away. I wanted only to get in touch with the spirits of Vidaris, but it seemed they thought I would try to go home. The slaves barred me from the outer doors, claiming we would all be punished if any of us left.
Rosarin, a girl with striking golden hair, took pity on me and led me into the section of the courtyard used by the pleasure slaves. The enclosed yard had benches and gravel pathways, but the greenery was more restrained than the abundant garden I could see through an open archway. That part of the courtyard was a veritable paradise in spring with exotic broad-leafed bushes and miniature trees in bloom. Braziers released scented smoke, warming the air.
I felt an otherworldly summons from within, but when I went to the archway, Bjorn blocked my way. “The inner courtyard is not for us.”
“It calls to me,” I tried to explain. But Bjorn shook his head firmly. It was the first time I had felt the presence of spirits in Vidaris, and my longing to commune with otherworldly creatures pressed on me like a sore. But Sigrid, the oldest slave, joined Bjorn to guard the archway. The spirits cast a craving inside of me to enter until I was almost determined to defy them.
Helanas arrived and my infant rebellion shriveled under her glare. Then my training began in earnest. Helanas ordered, “Gesig!” and the slaves all knelt in surrender. I tried to emulate the others, going down on my knees on a woven grass mat with my hands held behind my back.
Helanas circled, correcting our poses with harsh smacks of her crop. She adjusted me with skilled hands, prodding my lower back and pulling the hair on the very top of my head until I sat straight and tall, resting my buttocks on my heels, with my eyes downcast. After a few minutes of sustaining the pose, my body began to feel strained in places I had never felt before. But the older slaves held perfectly still and at ease.
Helanas ordered us to release, then slowly proceeded through a series of poses starting with the kneeling ones. Many of them made me blush at the way I presented myself, nether parts raised and offered for viewing or access. Thankfully Niels and the two Skraeling sisters were as awkward as I during the drill, so Helanas concentrated her attention between the four of us. I was sweating and shaking by the third pose.
Helanas frightened me in a way I hadn’t felt with Lexander. He had watched my every reaction, adjusting his response to my own. He had sent Bjorn away from the baths just when I was feeling most pitiful, so he could concentrate on me. Helanas, on the other hand, randomly swiped her crop at us as if bored and impatient, growing more harsh as the session continued. I doubted she even knew my name because she only addressed me as “girl.”
The older slaves were limber and stretched into graceful curves. They led each other on a drill of more advanced poses while the four novices watched. I doubted I would ever be able to balance and extend in a like manner.
After the long session, I was relieved when Helanas sent us off. The house servants assigned tasks to each of us. Some were also slaves, but they ordered us to do everything from refilling the braziers and water vats to brushing the brick floors and walls. A matronly freewoman named Hallgerd was in charge, and she used a long wooden spoon to smack heads and buttocks whenever we moved too slowly. Hallgerd was imposing, with wide copper broaches pinning a white apron to her pleated dress. There was a helping of her mistress’s ferocity in Hallgerd, so I did exactly as she ordered and received no undue attention.
At one point I stumbled across Lexander training the older slaves in the hall where we slept. It was the first time I had seen him that day. The slaves were all naked, and Sigrid was kneeling in front of our master. Lexander’s tunic was raised, and he firmly held the back of Sigrid’s head. Her hands were helplessly clasped at the small of her back.
I hastily retreated, but Lexander’s head turned. He took in my shock, then gazed down with approval at Sigrid, his hips pumping languorously.
I returned to my duties with a new understanding of how the poses would eventually be put to use. It unnerved me to imagine myself kneeling in front of Lexander like Sigrid had done. But part of me wished I could.
Late that afternoon, the pleasure slaves returned to the baths for our grooming. Lexander was waiting for us. I was grateful that he had a full dozen slaves to deal with so that I didn’t receive another prolonged scrubbing. But he seemed to delight in cleansing the tender parts of my body, as if to prove that he owned every part of me. The older slaves bathed each other, and by the firelight I could see they stared with envy whenever Lexander touched me.
From the talk I had overheard among the servants, our master and mistress came from faraway Stanbulin, the gateway to the Orient. My brother had nearly been right when he had called Lexander a Hun. Helanas was as fine as Lexander, formed near as perfectly as a woman could be—tall,
curvaceous, with powerful limbs and refined features. Her only flaw was her muddy-blond hair, which was very thin and lay close to her skull. The rest of her body was perfectly smooth, like Lexander’s. They rubbed lotion onto us to remove most of our hair as well.
Each of the slaves had their own special beauty, though we were all tall and slender, with lean limbs and lithe bodies. Rosarin appeared to be as haughty as Bjorn, but she was kind to me, trimming the front of my wavy hair so it flowed neatly like her own thick tresses. The two Skraeling sisters were like twin shadows, with dusky skin and the narrow black eyes typical of the icy north. The male that caught my attention was not the dramatic redheaded Sverker, but Ansgar, who had a calm reserve that was pleasant compared to the constant orders of Bjorn and Sigrid. Those two relished taking control whenever Lexander was busy elsewhere. I could tell the other slaves didn’t like it, but in spite of myself I couldn’t help but obey, refilling the baths and stoking the fire as ordered, all the while admiring their elegance.
Under their tutelage, a new Marja appeared. My hair, which Lexander had despaired of, was commented on most favorably. The bronzed layer on top shifted and glistened gold at the slightest movement, accenting the waves that grew tighter near my face. My almond eyes were green with brown flecks, much like ordinary moss, but they were framed by startlingly dark brows and long lashes. The misty light of the fens had given my skin a fairer glow than Rosarin’s, even though she was blond. How could I not admire this new Marja who appeared in the silver mirrors of Vidaris?
As the days wore on, the stringent physical and mental discipline of training was difficult, but I was warm and well fed for the first time in my life. I missed my mam, but sometimes as I went about my duties, I felt as if she were near. Then I knew she was thinking about me, and I willed myself to reach her across the distance. Our inua was too weak to truly commune, but the spirits of the land, air, and water lent us their aid so our minds could touch.
She must have felt my anxiety born of confinement in the haushold. I went outside only during our daily trip to the baths. And that wasn’t enough to make me stop missing the wind and the rising scents of the warming season on this beautiful island. I did everything I was told with one eye on the sky, watching for the sudden rain squalls that poured into the courtyard. The fields outside were green ing with new growth, and the trees budded with flowers that Ansgar said would give way to fruit, ripened by the full-bodied sun. I longed to go into the woods or kneel to sing to the tiny sprouts that appeared in the grass alongside the gravel path. But I never escaped the watching eyes of my fellow slaves.
I was like one of the brightly colored birds in the inner courtyard, kept in a fanciful cage and singing with frantic hope that I would be released. I soon realized that was why the spirits of the garden kept calling me, to right the wrong that Helanas had done by caging those pretty creatures for her amusement. Early one morning before the dawn mist lifted, I woke before the others and managed to sneak into the courtyard. I lifted the tiny latch and felt a burst of gratitude from the red bird as it flashed out. Carefully I re-latched the cage, fearing there would be terrible repercussions. Yet I also freed the other two birds, blue with orange throats, before sounds from the kitchen hall forced me to flee. As I returned to our hall, I sensed the spirits within the courtyard were finally appeased.
Later that day, an olf revealed itself to me. I was fetching a cask of pressed-seed oil in the storeroom for Hallgerd when I heard faint, bell-like laughter. It was up high, near the thick slanted beams of the ceiling, so I knew it couldn’t be one of the other slaves. It was like the sound I heard on the fens whenever the olfs beckoned me. This time it circled the room, seemingly delighted with my eager interest. Then a whisper dropped into my ear. “Cheerful wayfarer, cheerful giver, cheerful worker doth gain all!”
It disappeared in a puff of scent that was so rich and earthy that I breathed in deeply. As it faded, I was alone again and knew why. The otherworldly creature was taunting me for my discontent. I had forgotten my earliest lesson—a happy heart was the way to peace. I resolved to freely accept my confinement and no longer pine. When the missing birds were never mentioned within hearing of the slaves, I knew the olf had somehow deflected suspicion from me.
After that, I brought the olf the remnants of my bowl of milk every morning, which it licked clean sometimes as I sat nearby. As the days passed, I began to see through the shimmer in the air the shape of the little creature of the land. It was neither male nor female, as all olfs were, and its smile showed small pointed teeth. Many times I found the floors of the hall were cleaned in the night. Then I would sit in the storeroom and sing songs to entertain the olf. It cheered me to know there were otherworldly creatures here that I simply couldn’t see, but once I had proven myself to them, perhaps they would acknowledge me.
Then one night, only eight slaves were sent to bed. The four eldest, including Bjorn, remained in the baths with Lexander and Helanas. It was not uncommon for us to be trained in small groups, so no mention was made of it as redheaded Sverker led us back to our hall. I laid my head down near Niels’ feet, as always. But as the others fell into soft snores, I heard the soft laughter again. It was the first time the olf had reached for me outside the storeroom.
I could not resist the lure. The olf laughed again, making a mockery of my obedience as if knowing at heart that I was as mischievous as it was.
I was dressed only in my sleep shift, and my bare feet didn’t make a sound. By now I had scrubbed every brick and knew exactly where to step. Naturally, the laughter led me through the fire hall into the kitchen. As I stepped into the kitchen yard, the gravel path beckoned to me.
I knew Bjorn could return to our hall and raise the alarm that I was gone. It was not to be taken lightly—I had seen Helanas punish a slave several days earlier. She had hung Sverker’s wrists from a rope and forced him to balance on a narrow rod. He’d stubbornly held out as we were ordered to watch. Niels had broken down long before Sverker, crying for him. But eventually Sverker began to beg forgiveness and pleaded for his torment to end. Helanas watched with her arms crossed and a smile on her face until he sobbed with pain. I wanted to turn away but was dis turbingly captivated by the sight. That night, I had thrashed on my bedding unable to sleep, feeling frustrated and feverish, as if I were battling an evil spirit.
As I stepped foot outside the kitchen yard, the olf ’s laughter disappeared over the curve of the hill, following the path to the palisade above the beach. The muffled rush of the ocean and the rich scent of the flowering trees lured me forward. Even with the specter of Helanas hanging over my head, I couldn’t retreat.
When I reached the gate, I could see the source of smoke beyond. A bonfire was burning on the beach with a roaring rush of sea wind.
I scurried along the top of the crescent bluff, keeping within the shadow of the palisade. That’s when I saw people standing near the bonfire. One looked up, and I ducked down among the hillocks of grass, realizing it was Lexander. I froze, expecting him to come seize me.
But Lexander was speaking to the four eldest slaves, his voice carrying up to me. “... and now you understand what your fate will be. You have completed your training; I bid you farewell.”
As he finished speaking, a marvelous sight appeared on the water. A giant bird was skimming across the ocean with its wings slanting up toward the moon. I forgot my shivering as it swiftly approached the beach. It was as if a god himself had taken the form of a fantastic eagle and flown down from the heavens.
As the bird drew near, into the light cast by the bonfire, I realized the two wings were the triangular sails of a mighty ship larger than any I’d ever seen before. The moonlight made the white sails glow. I had never seen a ship with two masts before, or with cross posts that slanted down toward the bow and thrust high into the sky in the stern. The hull of the ship was flattened, unlike the sweeping curve of the boats I knew, and there was a high platform in the rear.
The four elder slav
es were illuminated by the fire, their expressions rapt. Earlier in the baths Bjorn had been as jealous as always, but now he had eyes only for the mysterious ship. It drew up, dwarfing the dock, silent except for the splashing of the water against the hull. I wanted to touch the side, to see if it were truly made of smoked glass, as it appeared to be.
Silhouettes of men working on the ship moved against the white sails. I didn’t hear a sound, but a rope ladder was let down to touch the dock.
Lexander gestured to the ship. “Go now and give glory unto Vidaris.”
Bjorn didn’t even spare a glance for Lexander as he jostled to be the first to reach the dock. He climbed quickly and disappeared over the side. Sigrid was more hesitant, but she and the other two slaves went up as well.
Lexander followed them, climbing as if he had done so a thousand times. For a moment I thought he was departing with the slaves. I almost rose to follow, but Lexander soon dropped back down onto the dock. As he approached the fire, a rare satisfaction lit his face and his full lips softened into a smile.
The sails shifted, and the ship slowly began to turn away from the dock. There were no oarsmen, so its silent motion seemed magical, as if the hand of a god reached down to guide the craft. A rush of excitement filled me as it sailed away. I desperately longed to go with it. If this was my destiny, then I could endure anything Helanas did to me. Oh, what joy to be carried away by a great bird! To see magnificent places far away from these isles. It was a reward I could scarce hope for as I followed the white sails with my fervent eyes.
But I should have been watching Lexander, because by the time the ship disappeared into the darkness he was standing at the gate.
“You will come with me, Marja,” Lexander ordered.
Trembling, I knelt before Lexander in the large fire hall. My sleep shift was muddy at the hem, and my palms were smeared with grass. I expected Lexander to summon Helanas, but he lounged on the padded bench looking down at me. I was spoiling the pristine floor. I was sure I would have to pay for the mess I was making as well as for my transgression in leaving the haushold.
