To Serve and Submit

by Susan Wright

  But many days passed after I was perfectly recovered, and still nothing happened. Lexander usually took Rosarin or Ansgar to his bed at night, and occasionally the sisters joined him. Helanas favored Sverker and Niels because they were refined, and dispirited Kinirniq. I was the only one who slept on my pallet alone every night.

  Everyone took that as a subtle but effective sign of their disapproval, especially as the season warmed and not once was our longship launched to carry Vidaris to another estate. Even mild-mannered Niels grumbled about not being able to return to Hop for the annual Landfall celebration. Things got so bad that none of the others sat next to me at meals or spoke to me when we were at leisure.

  I was even lonelier without the friendly olf who had lived in the storeroom. In spite of the danger the olfs had put me in, I continued to leave the remnants of my bowl of milk there in vain, hoping to lure back the little creature. I was afraid that I had displeased the olfs in Tillfallvik somehow. Perhaps I could have done better.

  Then one morning as usual, Hallgerd ordered me to gather the washbasins. I was accustomed to doing the menial work because no one cared if my skin was chapped from the water or my palms were raw from scrubbing.

  I tried to be very quiet as I went into Helanas’ chamber, prepared for anything. The brick walls were covered in fine tapestries woven with patterns of birds and flowers unlike any I’d ever seen before. The bed was draped in gauzy white silk that shrouded the linens and embroidered pillows. It was empty, the cover twisted and trailing off. Kinirniq had spent the night with our mistress and was curled in one corner on the cold floor. I knew what that felt like. The young man rejected sympathy from the other slaves, but I had felt compelled to help him from time to time. One evening when Helanas was starving him to get some kind of emotion from him, I had given him my meal. Kinirniq had shoved the meat into his mouth with shaking fingers as I watched. It was only after he was done that I realized Lexander was watching us from the doorway. He seemed pained, a deep line between his eyes, and I thought I had angered him. But he left without a word to either of us, and I knew as if an olf had told me that he was pleased.

  Now I could do nothing for Kinirniq while he was in our mistress’s chamber. I went straight to the porcelain bowl that held the water Helanas had used to wash herself. It was the custom of my master and mistress to wash both morning and night, and I had seen how it greatly enhanced their beauty.

  As I lifted the blue bowl, Helanas emerged from behind a folding screen. Instantly I bobbed down deeply, knees bent and back straight, holding the vordna pose of deference. With my gaze resting on her feet, I could see when she turned away from me. That was my signal to continue with my duties. As I started toward the door, she smacked my head from behind. Perhaps she was testing me to see if I would spill the water. But there was also frustration in her blow, as if she knew she could not tame me despite my obedience. The restless fire that burned inside of me could never be quenched.

  With my head bowed, I waited, still holding the bowl. Naturally I didn’t speak—that would be grounds for real punishment.

  “Get out of here at once!” Helanas snapped. I bobbed deeper, then was on my way before she could change her mind.

  After dumping the water into the runoff trench in the kitchen yard, I returned the blue bowl to the scullery to be washed and replaced in her room. Then I went to Lexander’s chamber. I preferred his room even though there were no brightly colored tapestries. The brick walls were hung with weapons instead—swords and knives with jewels in the hilts and intricate handles. One had a massive curved blade.

  Lexander’s bed was very wide and low, covered by luxurious brown fur. I had once reached up to stroke it while washing the floors, and I longed to sink into it next to him. I wanted him to hold me as he had on the longship—tenderly, as if he truly cared about me.

  Lexander was seated in the window, a remarkable construct with small diamond panes of glass embedded in lead. Through it I could see the corn and oats waving in the fields, with the stream passing along the bottom of the hill. A window was a vast improvement over a smoke hole, which let in the weather along with light. Yet the other slaves said Lexander’s room was much colder in the winter than Helanas’ because of the glass.

  I bobbed down in the pose of deference, but when Lexander ignored me for the scroll in his hands, I went to the table. His basin was pure white, showing the cloudy water he had used to wash in. I bent down to pick it up with both hands, and I couldn’t help myself—I sniffed deeply because it smelled so like my master. I remembered his arms around me as he spent himself inside me. My eyes closed in pleasure.

  “Marja,” Lexander said.

  Guilty, I straightened up. “Yes, Master?”

  “Pick up the basin.”

  My hands slid under the curved base. I turned to leave, but he added, “You will stand in the center of the room and hold your arms straight out.”

  I wasn’t at my most graceful as I tried to determine the exact center of his chamber.

  He seemed amused. “Your only fault, Marja, is that you are sometimes too literal in your desire to obey.”

  I immediately faced the window where he was seated and lifted my arms out so the bowl was level with my shoulders. My stomach tensed and I felt the strain in my arms and back.

  “Good, keep holding it up like that.” Lexander looked back down at his scroll as I tried to adjust my grip on the basin. It was made of fine porcelain and would shatter into a hundred pieces if I dropped it. I was always very careful when I carried the basins because one stumble and they would be destroyed.

  Lexander didn’t look at me as my arms gradually began to shake and every part of my body clenched, holding up the basin. But I had always been strong, and since coming to Vidaris, I had worked my body in many new ways.

  I wanted desperately to please Lexander, to have him praise me again and touch me with desire. My breath came sharp and fast as I called on everything inside of myself to withstand the burning across my shoulders. It felt like a vise was squeezing my chest, like I was drowning.

  Still I held the basin, repeating my mantra in my mind. “Obey, obey, obey . . .”

  My vision blurred as sweat began to flow down my forehead and spine. I forced strength into my arms to hold the basin; I couldn’t fail!

  Finally Lexander came to stand in front of me, and that made me even more determined. Tears streamed from my eyes, and my head felt as if it were going to burst. I couldn’t even count my heartbeats, they were going so fast. My hands slipped on the basin, and for a moment I thought I was going to drop it.

  As it slid away from me, I collapsed beneath it, catching the basin and somehow bringing it safely down to my lap. Water sloshed over the edge and onto the stones.

  I sprawled out, letting the basin carefully down to the floor. I never imagined something so ordinary could cause such torment.

  Lexander reached down and touched my cheek, showing me the wetness on his fingertips. “See, Marja. It’s not so difficult to make you cry. If one only knows how.”

  I struggled to sit up, my arms shaking. I had failed, but he wasn’t annoyed with me. With a flush of excitement, I leaned toward him. Our eyes connected, and I knew he wanted me.

  He hesitated for only a moment. Then he lifted me and put me onto the bed. Tugging off my tunic, he pressed me down into the fur. I wanted him to lie with me, but he drew the edge of the fur over me, wrapping me entirely in the softness. His hands pressed the fur against my body, stroking me through the supple hide. I could feel every finger as he rubbed me from my face to my toes. The fur felt cool on my bare, sweaty skin.

  Then he kissed the tears on my face, kissing my closed eyes as I relaxed under him. His lips caressed my neck, then my arms, which still trembled from trying so hard to please him. He held me in the fur, not letting me touch him. I felt like I was being buried in silk when he finally took me.

  He pressed his face in my hair as we rocked, murmuring my name over and over a
gain. I squirmed and fought the enveloping folds, wanting to touch him, to hold him as he held me. But I was forced to take it as he wanted, unresisting and compliant, until he shuddered inside of me.

  When he finally pulled away, I was still wrapped tight within the fur. I felt safer than I’d ever felt before.

  With a final stroke of my hair, Lexander stood up. His voice was rough, but he was composed once again as he ordered, “From this day forth, you will not speak, Marja. Not to anyone, not even to answer a question. Not until I give you permission. Do you understand?”

  I looked up at him, astonished at his request.

  “Say it,” he commanded. “It will be the last words you speak for many a day.”

  My fingers dug into the dampened fur. “Yes, Master,” I whispered.

  The other slaves tormented me for my silence. Even gentle Rosarin thought I was trying to gain their sympathy and attract attention with my ploys. I was slapped and scolded, but still I didn’t speak. If anything, my silence only increased their dislike for me.

  Lexander paid little attention to me, so I had nothing to ease my ordeal except for the memory of the winged ship that had taken the other slaves away. Now that I couldn’t speak, I was free to think of that glorious vision without fearing I would inadvertently reveal what I had seen. Anytime I wanted to, I could recall its gleaming shape receding into the darkness and feel the anticipation of knowing that the greatest adventure lay before me. My only bitter regret was that I would have to leave Lexander. I knew that my desire to submit would be sorely tested when I was torn from him. Sometimes just the thought of our inevitable parting almost rendered me in half, even though his command of silence hurt me so.

  But sitting in the courtyard one day, my arms around my legs and the brilliant sun on my face, I realized that Lexander had given me a gift, a way to escape the confining walls of the haushold and everyone in it. Unable to reach out, I dove into myself and found a deep well of stillness that allowed me to accept even the most excruciating lessons. As much as I longed to venture into the world, I began to slip into trances. During our training, I held the poses and breathed until I was one with each form. Even while cleaning, my usual humming was stilled. My thoughts that had once flowed into the sky to flit among the clouds and treetops now shrank down to each brick, as I lovingly examined its fine surface cracks, listening to every scratch of the brush, every drop of water, every distant footfall.

  Though I had been outwardly submissive before, in silence I learned to sink to the very depths of my inner nature. There I found a place inside of myself that could never be tarnished or breached. This restless fire that fueled me would not die, but would return to the Otherworld with great glory when my earthly life was ended.

  Time was suspended, and I lost my grip on the day-today. Everything eased into one single flow of obedience. The only thing that stirred within me was a constant yearning for my master’s touch. I flamed into life whenever Lexander was in the room. Even as I obeyed Helanas and endured her punishments, I watched Lexander. Sometimes when she hit me the crease appeared between his brows, as if he would like to intervene. But he never did, and I soon believed it was a half-imagined fancy.

  My thirst was quenched only when the slaves were taught the art of pleasure, learning how to stimulate every part of the body. I came to know my fellow slaves in a way I had never imagined. Rosarin had a languid yet deep response that shook the room when she peaked. The softness of her flesh and the sweet scent of her skin were enticing. Now I knew why so many men loved to bed Rosarin. The two Skraeling girls were taught as a team to titillate us, and they took that to mean they would not be separated, which cheered them. They dove into their training with a lustiness I had not seen before, and I was never unhappy when I was ordered to stimulate them or receive their attentions for myself.

  To my surprise, Sverker was my favorite partner. I truly admired Ansgar more for his kind nature, but he was too tentative a lover to suit me. Kinirniq was so dispirited that he seldom could respond, though Helanas seemed to revel in forcing us to try to revive him. But there was too much darkness woven into the fiber of Kinirniq. Sverker, on the other hand, burned hot and fast with an engrossing frenzy that was magnificent. He preferred me to the others, perhaps because he could be selfish with his desires, with plenty of encouragement from Helanas. They knew that I loved to be overwhelmed during sex, but that didn’t stop his enjoyment. Sometimes Sverker caught me when I was going about my duties, and without a word, took me there and then. Sometimes he pressed my head to his groin so I could lick and suck him to satisfaction. Slaves were not supposed to touch each other outside of our training sessions, but I kept his secret. It bonded us together despite my silence, a precious closeness in the midst of my silent isolation.

  I shared passion with my fellow slaves whenever I could, and in those moments I truly lived. With Lexander, I could only watch as he took his satisfaction from the other slaves, for their enlightenment or his own enjoyment. He never chose me to serve him. I longed to be the one who pleased him with every indrawn breath or groan. Helanas didn’t choose me to touch her either, but that was from disdain, while Lexander had more exalted motives. I couldn’t understand why, but I knew I must bow to his plan.

  So I was astonished when one day Niels, Rosarin, and Ansgar brought in to decorate the hall boughs that were covered in red, orange, and yellow leaves bigger than my hands. It didn’t seem possible that the summer had slipped away so seamlessly, almost without my notice, when I had always been attuned to the seasons, watching them come and go like a jealous lover.

  I touched the waxy leaves, feeling like a young child again in my wonderment. Had I been silent for so long?

  The others didn’t notice, and it seemed as if they had stopped seeing me. I moved through Vidaris doing as I was told, always compliant, always ready to please, never a thought for my own desires . . . except for Lexander. I glanced over at my master, who was seated at his desk. He was writing a letter on a thin piece of birch bark, scratching it with a bone stilo.

  When the slaves finally left, I carried the stool to the next oil lamp hanging on the wall. My pitcher had just enough oil to fill the rest of the lamps in the fire hall. My attention was on Lexander as usual. Yet there was intensity in my gaze, a tension in my body that had not been there before. Why, I wondered, had he done this to me?

  I neatly filled the reservoir of the lamp, standing on my toes to see through the glass. It made an oily mess if it overflowed, so I was very careful. As I settled the wick and climbed back down to move to the next lamp, Lexander didn’t look up. But he must have sensed something, because he abruptly ordered, “You will take off your tunic, Marja. Then finish your work.”

  It was as if he knew I had awakened. With a shiver, I slid my tunic over my head and dropped it at my bare feet. He watched me climb the stool and stretch to fill the lamp.

  Lexander put down the stilo and began to pleasure himself, leaning back in his chair. I felt a growing anticipation. He was indulging himself in me, finally. I almost gasped as I stepped down from the stool, my thighs rubbing against each other.

  Again and again, I went through the ritual, bending and lifting the stool, moving it to the next lamp, climbing, straining to reach, the careful slow pour, then climbing back down again. I grew moist knowing what would happen next. He was obviously waiting so he could finish with me. I wanted to show him how much I had learned this summer, how much I desired him.

  I slowly placed the empty pitcher on the stool under the last filled lamp. I was ready for him.

  Lexander stood up, straightening his loose pants. As he came closer, I thought that he would take me. But his expression was remote, as if he was already thinking of the next thing he needed to do. I was stunned, left dangling over a precipice.

  “You may have one word, Marja.”

  I didn’t even have to think. “Why?”

  Lexander smiled. His hand slid up my thigh, trailing to my waist and curving arou
nd my breast. I drew in my breath, every fiber of my being alive to his touch. Then his finger barely brushed my stomach, dropping down between my legs.

  “For this,” he murmured.

  I shuddered in the grip of a shattering release that caught me unawares. He was so close, watching the waves of climax overtake me, that I could feel his breath on my face.

  Then he was gone, and I was left alone again, sagging down next to the stool. He had tuned me to his slightest touch. Perhaps it was the long silence or simply my nature, but Lexander had revealed the sensual power I possessed.

  With my new awareness, I helped prepare Vidaris for winter. The storerooms were packed with bales of sun-dried fish, barrels of salted mutton, and smelly bladders of sea-mammal oil and sheep tallow. The stacks of firewood under the kitchen sheds grew to momentous size, while the silos were filled with grain and hay to feed the livestock through winter. When Skraeling traders came, Lexander bartered sacks of grain for whole hides of walrus, casks of ivory tusks, and sealskin sacks filled with fetid tar for waterproofing the roof of the haushold and the barns.

  As the cold settled on the land, our exile by Ejegod had long repercussions. No new slaves arrived in Vidaris. Lexander was forbidden from returning to Markland, and the people of Viinland didn’t want to be associated with Vidaris while we were denounced by a regional chieftain.

  The only break in our routine was when we woke one morning to find Helanas had sent Kinirniq away with a passing Kebec trader, as a gift to the inland nobility in an effort to curry their favor. It reminded us of the consequences of failure. Kebec was a rustic place, more Skraeling than not, and it wasn’t the grand fate the slaves dreamed of. They talked sometimes of the lives they would lead as companions to emperors and queens in exotic climes. Yet none of them seemed overeager to venture into the unknown. I sometimes wondered whether they would be more ardent if I could tell them of the marvelous winged ship, or if it would simply frighten them.