To Serve and Submit

by Susan Wright

  That’s when he recognized me. He grabbed my chin, taking in my face. “It can’t be! You’re the slave that Silveta used to trick me. Why did I not see it . . . You are a sorceress, aren’t you?”

  I tried frantically to breathe. Birgir would use me against Silveta. He could question her loyalty to Ejegod because she defied his edict of exile.

  But Birgir was not thinking of that now. His groin ground into my hip as his arm tightened around me. His other hand grasped my hair and pulled my head back until my neck was exposed. He bit down on my throat again, like he was going to rip it out. The pain lanced through me.

  “I never got to take you the way you deserve, pleasure slave.” He loosened his pants with quick jerks. Then he shoved me flat on the ground.

  His bulk pressing down on me brought it all back in a horrible rush . . . his sweaty, hairy stink . . . the sharp jab of his pendant . . . the sour stench of his mouth. With his weight on me, I couldn’t make much more than helpless squeaks as he pummeled into me. Like the first time, I was not ready. But my submissive nature kept me from panicking and blacking out as some might do under such an assault. Indeed, he noticed how I shifted under him to give my hips a better angle so my flesh wouldn’t tear.

  “You slut,” he growled. “Trained to be a filthy doxy . . .”

  Birgir could not sustain his pleasure. Like the first time, he had barely begun before it was over. Mercifully brief. Yet the beating that followed last time had been protracted. He rolled off me, finally allowing me to breathe.

  Then I heard his belt buckle clank on the floor. I couldn’t let him strike me. Not again! I was no longer under the geasa that demanded absolute obedience to Ejegod’s guests.

  I rolled to my feet, surprising him. His hands were on his pants, pulling them up.

  Before Birgir could turn to me, I grabbed the jewel cask from one of the carved chests. I swung it against the back of his head with all my might. He shifted to defend himself, but I was too quick. The cask cracked against his head, sending him reeling.

  As Birgir fell, I darted through the door.

  Eleven

  My attempt at escape ended abruptly when I reached the door of the longhouse. Niall and another bondsman were lolling there lazily, waiting for Birgir. Niall caught me with one hand. “Hold hard, there, missy. What are you running from?”

  They marched me back down the hallway, Niall’s hand biting into my shoulder. Then they saw Birgir, sitting muzzy-headed from my blow. The cask was overturned on the floor.

  Niall slipped one arm tightly around my neck. “Should I kill her?”

  “No!” Birgir grimaced at the blood on his fingers. “She’s that pleasure slave—the one who cast a spell last summer to unman me.”

  “Silveta’s maid?” Niall asked, craning his head to look down at me. “No, this is too rich!”

  The other bondsman helped Birgir get to his feet. The big man stood none too steady, and his gaze was unfocused. “I had my fill of her again, though I must say the price for this thin shank is too high.”

  One of the servants paused in the open doorway, gaping at the sight of us. “You there,” Niall called out. “You serve as witness. This girl lured Birgir into Silveta’s closet, then tried to kill him.”

  The woman stared at me openmouthed. I couldn’t deny it because Niall choked me into compliance.

  They marched me into the fire hall, my hands clenching at Niall’s arm. My kirtle swung open, revealing my breasts for all to see. This time it was much worse when I was dragged into the hall. These were not strangers. Their faces were familiar even as they gawked at me.

  Birgir kept rubbing his head and groaning, as if my blow had been a lucky one. He left it to the others to summon Ejegod for reckoning. In the uproar, the olfs scattered away, avoiding the rising anger.

  The chieftain emerged from his chamber, bent and moving stiffly. He paused at the rail, as if reluctant to come down when he saw Birgir surrounded by his men. Silveta appeared on the landing behind him, hardly distinguishable in the dim light except for her crimson gown and the bright sheen of her hair.

  The men in the hall began to shout for Ejegod to appear for reckoning. I knew it was over. There was nothing more Silveta could do to help me.

  But I was not Birgir’s target. He stepped in front of Ejegod, refusing to let the old man mount the dais. “Your wife’s maid attacked me! Is this how you return my loyalty, Ejegod? You conspire to slay me?”

  A growl arose from Birgir’s bondsmen. Even Ejegod’s men stared as if taken aback.

  Silveta’s lips were compressed in agony. She stayed on the landing, watching over the heads of the men who were gathering. Perus stood grimly behind her.

  I managed a breath as Niall’s arm eased. “Birgir raped me!” I gasped out. All eyes went to my hanging kirtle, ripped asunder.

  Birgir pointed at me, seizing the moment. “Has she be-spelled you all? This woman was exiled for conspiring with demons. Do you not recall midsummer last, when reckoning was pronounced on this very floor? You yourself, Ejegod, cast her out after she attacked me.”

  To varying degrees, most of them did recognize me. Ejegod’s eyes widened as he peered closer. “No, this cannot be,” the chieftain murmured.

  Niall tightened his arm again, keeping me from defending myself. But he refrained from choking me into unconsciousness.

  Silveta cried out, “I know nothing of this!”

  “She attacked me at your behest,” Birgir countered, pointing up at her. “You and your husband have conspired with this sorceress to slay me. If I had not been stronger than her dark arts, she would have succeeded.”

  “That is false,” Silveta denied. “I bought her bond from a Djarney merchant. I have proof of it. You have mistaken her.”

  “Do not deny your hatred,” Birgir declared. “All have seen how you scorn me. You wanted me dead, freya. And your maid did your will for you.”

  “I wanted you to leave Tillfallvik,” Silveta said desperately. “That is all.”

  Birgir touched his head gingerly, still trying to shake off the effects of my blow. He confronted the old chieftain. “You cannot claim ignorance in this matter, Chieftain. Your own wife’s maid is a sorceress, declared so by you yourself. I call you out, Ejegod of Markland, to face me, man to man, to settle this now.”

  Silveta’s chest rose and fell as her lovely face contorted. “You’ve always craved my husband’s status, Birgir Barfoot! You contrive at this ugly reason to fight.”

  Birgir bared his teeth at Ejegod, ignoring Silveta. “I have sworn to you and been your loyal man. No one here can claim otherwise. Now that you’ve made a cowardly attempt on my life, I must defend myself.”

  Ejegod looked very old, standing before them uncertainly. But the faces around us were hard. Birgir brought a legitimate claim to duel. Anyone who heard his tale would accept that Ejegod must defend his honor.

  Silveta turned away in anguish, while Ejegod drew himself up. I could see what manner of a man he used to be in the sure way he pulled his knife and ax from his belt, hefting them in his hands.

  “No man accuses me of using a woman to best him,” the chieftain swore stoutly. “I defend my honor as I am called to do.”

  Everyone drew back. Niall still held me tightly, but I had no desire to protest now. I was sickened at how Birgir had used me to manipulate Ejegod into a fight.

  Birgir pulled out his huge ax, half again as long as Ejegod’s. The chieftain’s weapon looked merely ceremonial, while the edge of Birgir’s blade was stained dark from the blood he had drawn in battles in Danelaw.

  Birgir faced Ejegod, taking the measure of the old chieftain. Ejegod’s expression was strained, as if he felt betrayed by a man he had thought was a friend, nay, more than that—the son for which he had always longed. He had indeed been mesmerized into trusting Birgir.

  Ejegod took the first swipe with his ax, slicing the air in front of Birgir’s stomach. I wondered wildly if perhaps the chieftain could beat the warri
or, but Birgir blocked the swing with his own ax. Birgir snapped up his knife, going for Ejegod’s arm, but the old man dodged away just in time.

  The two men separated and circled each other, their feet scuffing through the rushes. Ejegod’s men shouted out encouragement to their chieftain while Birgir’s men seemed driven to fair drown out the calls with their own. Niall’s taunts near shattered my ears.

  Then Birgir leaped high at Ejegod. The old man’s legs were too slow and he was forced to fall back into the crowd. He was supported for a moment by his own men, who helped him regain his feet.

  I glanced up at Silveta, whose hand was over her mouth. She had little love for her husband, but I knew the horror she faced if he fell.

  The clash of metal echoed into the rafters as the men met again. Ejegod’s parries and attacks held a semblance of expertise. I could almost see him as a young man warding off challenges to his rule over Markland. Yet now his limbs were stiffened with age and his eyes were bleary from overindulgence.

  The watching men shifted as the fight did, keeping their distance from the battle. They parted around a table as the men came closer. Ejegod parried Birgir’s ax, then pinned it against the edge of the table. His arm drew back to swipe his knife across the warrior’s neck.

  It looked as if the chieftain would succeed. But Birgir sneered into the old man’s face. With a hard thrust, he drove his own knife into Ejegod’s belly. Ejegod’s hand opened and his own knife clattered to the floor.

  Grunting with the effort, Birgir slashed his knife downward, gutting Ejegod. As the old man staggered under the impact, Birgir spun, unloosing his ax and bringing it around to bite into Ejegod’s exposed side.

  A spray of blood burst out and a cry went up. Ejegod sprawled on the fresh rushes, red flowing out from his wounds in a great gush.

  Silveta ran forward to her husband along with his bondi. But it was too late. Blood stained his mouth, frothing with every pained breath. He couldn’t speak, though he tried.

  Birgir knelt down on one knee, his forehead on the hilt of his ax, praying aloud to the Kristna god to forgive Ejegod’s sins and grant him peace in heaven. I couldn’t bear to listen, but Niall murmured the words into my ear along with Birgir.

  The fire hall was hushed and tense as Ejegod’s body was born away by his bondi. Silveta went with them to prepare the chieftain for his journey to the Otherworld. Niall refused to let me leave his side. He looped a leather thong over my wrist and kept me tethered to him like a horse. Silveta would have to abandon me in order to save her own life.

  Casks and fine tapestries were carried down from the loft and out of the fire hall. Ejegod’s bondsmen kept uneasily away from the thick clutch of Birgir’s warriors and busied themselves with the preparations for the funeral. Birgir and his men stayed by the empty hearth, speaking in low voices. But their somber mood crackled with excitement.

  I was in the midst of Birgir’s men and heard their muttered words of preparation. They expected retaliation from Ejegod’s bondi, but for now the servants and estate folk accepted the duel as warranted. I could do nothing but crouch down beside Niall, dismally awaiting my fate. The sun moved slowly that day as I wondered if my death would be the next to come.

  I didn’t see Silveta until late that evening, shortly before sunset, on the point of land at the mouth of the bay. Amber beads were woven through her yellow crown of braids, dangling down like a crystal mourning veil. Her gown was deep red, the color of Ejegod’s spilled blood. Her face was pale and drawn. She let everyone see the terrible anger that burned in her eyes at what Birgir had done.

  An enormous crowd had gathered, everyone in Tillfallvik. The children were subdued, as their parents looked fearfully at the warriors led by Birgir. The chieftain was laid out in the middle of a longship with a black sail. All around his pallet were casks of mead, food, weapons, shields, tapestries, furs, and other goods that Ejegod would need on his journey to the Otherworld.

  The pitched wood piles inside the boat were set afire by Ejegod’s bondsmen, and the boat was pushed away from shore. Silveta stood at the water’s edge, her face glowing with the reflection of the flames. Soon, when the sail caught fire, it grew brighter than the orange sun sinking below the water. The wind carried the burning boat past the small islands at the mouth of the bay, out to sea.

  We stood in silence long after it grew dark, watching the flames dart up, until Ejegod was gone.

  Silveta turned, her eyes hollow. I was glad to see Perus beside her, supporting her arm. I couldn’t go to her because of the tether around my wrist, but Perus picked me out among Birgir’s men. I wanted to explain to him that I had not betrayed Silveta and Ejegod, but his contempt was clear.

  When we returned to the fire hall for the traditional feast to celebrate Ejegod’s life, it was even worse. Ejegod’s chair, with its snow-lynx cushions, was left empty in the center of the table. Silveta sat stone-faced next to it, not touching her food, while Birgir glared from the other side.

  The burly man had complained to his men throughout the day of an aching head. He was in a foul mood despite his victory. I sat on the floor, next to Niall at the end of the table. Silveta studiously ignored me, but Birgir shot me a sour glance every once in a while, letting me know he was not through with me yet. I cringed when I remembered the beating he’d given me. Now he intended even worse. Some of his men had openly speculated that he would allow all of them to use me. He cared not if I survived.

  Yet, even so, I was concerned about Silveta. Surely Birgir would not hesitate to take her now.

  Indeed, as the cups were filled one last time at the end of the meal, Birgir stood up. “It pained me to challenge my old friend, Ejegod Oddason, on this day. I regret that he saw fit to succor a sorceress in his household, one who has attacked me repeatedly.”

  Silveta’s knuckles were white on her cup, and she spilled the mead as she set it down. But she didn’t speak.

  “By right of conquest,” Birgir thundered, “I hereby claim the chieftaincy of Markland. Ejegod’s goods and chattel are forfeited to me.” Birgir smiled down at Silveta. “Including his wife.”

  Silveta leaped to her feet. “Never! I would rather die than let you put your hands on me.”

  “Be grateful I let you live after your treachery,” Birgir hissed.

  “This estate is mine by right of my marriage contract with Ejegod!” Silveta retorted.

  Ejegod’s bondi were starting to shout as well, having expected no doubt to compete for Silveta’s hand and estate themselves. The man who held both would be the favored candidate for chieftain. Several men called, “You claim too much!” and “The magnates choose their chieftain!”

  A cousin of Ejegod’s, a tall man who was not smart, but who had by way of his kinship the better claim to become chieftain, came forward to defy Birgir. But Birgir pushed over the table and abruptly ran the cousin through with his knife without even responding to his challenge. Birgir’s men suddenly leaped onto the dais from the floor, swinging their mighty war axes at Ejegod’s older bondi.

  Servants screamed and scattered as pockets of fierce fighting broke out. Birgir grabbed Silveta, who screamed in shock and outrage. Perus tried to block him, but was cut down by an ax to the back of his head.

  I cried out, but Niall dragged me to the rear of the dais, watching the fighting with his ax hefted in his hand. Tethered to me, he couldn’t attack Ejegod’s bondi. Birgir’s warriors clearly had the advantage in both weapons and ferocity. Those they didn’t cut down were forced from the fire hall.

  Birgir slung Silveta over his shoulder amid her screams. He carried her up the stairs and into Ejegod’s solar. The door slammed shut behind them. Abruptly, Silveta’s screams broke off.

  I ran to the end of my tether, but Niall jerked me to a stop. “There’s nothing you can do for her, my sweeting. She has gone to the fate that Kristna decreed the day we arrived in this fine land.”

  Perus lay crumpled half under a table. His eyes were wide open, but there
was no life in them. Too many other loyal men lay dead or dying. Silveta was being raped by Birgir. I was alone and would soon be at the mercy of a dozen bloodthirsty men.

  “Please,” I begged Niall, “take me away. I will do whatever you wish, please you in a thousand ways, only don’t give me to these men this night.” He laughed, but I added, “You’ll barely get your fill of me with all of them to have their turn. Surely tomorrow is soon enough for that. Spare me this one night, and you will be pleased as you’ve never been before . . .”

  A greedy light came into his eyes. With Birgir gone and satisfying his own base needs, who was to say what Niall deserved? “Come,” he ordered, taking me by the arm.

  We circled the downed men, escaping under the loft into the kitchens. Frightened servants and cooks screamed and ran when they saw Niall, his ax held ready. He slipped into the cheese room, where pans of milk were covered by cloths and the cheese rounds were stacked on shelves. The narrow room was cool and smelled of curdled milk. I knew the olfs must come here often to filch crumbled bits of cheese. But there were none to be seen now. They must have fled when the fight began.

  Niall dragged the heavy table against the door to block it. With his tether still binding my wrist, he declared, “You had better be true to your word, or I’ll let my friends have a turn when I’m done.”

  I went down on my knees, thrilled that I had managed to avert certain disaster, even if I had only delayed the inevitable. I swiftly untied Niall’s trousers. Silveta would likely say I was shameless for servicing Niall, but I knew no other way. I licked and sucked his thick tarse with abandon. His bemused moans said he had never felt a woman’s lips on him before. I remembered all I had done to rouse Gudren, and the sensations that Lexander taught me that he liked best. I pleased Niall as I knew how, drawing it out, not letting him spill too quickly, urging him higher and higher into ecstasy. He had a fortitude that was admirable, giving me plenty to work with.