Ragnar & the Slave Girls (Ragnar the Dane)

by Byrne, Lily

  A great shriek came from outside, and the group took the opportunity to leave the death scene for some fresh air.

  “We’re cursed!” shrieked an old woman, tearing her hair. “Some spirit of the ancient times has come back to haunt and torment us for some terrible sin we have committed. We’re all destined to die or be captured!”

  The Danes stared as a man brought forth an object and handed it to Steinar. “They found this in Godric’s house.”

  It was the skull of a wolf, fur still covering it with the pelt left long enough to drape over a man’s shoulders. The jaw was fixed open in a rigid snarl and the eye sockets were filled with sparkling jewels. Ragnar took it and pulled it over his head.

  “You wear it, like this,” he said. “You can just about see through the jaws.”

  The English crowd shrieked with fear, so he hastily took it off and examined it at arm’s length.

  “Anyway. You’d have to pull it down over your head, with the top jaw over your forehead and the bottom jaw over your cheeks,” he mused. “Clever.”

  He looked up to see everyone staring at him.

  “Thank you, Ragnar,” said Steinar, suppressing an ill-timed laugh.

  “You know much about this,” said the old woman, gazing fearfully at the chestnut-haired Dane.

  “Well, it’s nothing to do with me. I don’t go round murdering innocent people.”

  “No,” interrupted a man. “Last year another Dane murdered an innocent Englishman.”

  The crowd murmured in agreement.

  “The silver-haired devil who escaped justice.”

  More murmurs of agreement.

  Ragnar opened his mouth to disagree but then remembered his own suspicions about Kjartan, the silver-haired devil. But it couldn’t be him, as he was imprisoned at home. Ragnar had rushed out in such a hurry he hadn’t even seen Kjartan this morning, had he? He tried to remember.

  “We’ll help you,” said Steinar to the English. “We’ll help you fight better.”

  “But we never see or hear the monsters,” explained a man.

  “How do they get in, then?”

  “We don’t know. The gatekeepers can never remember.”

  “It’s an enchantment,” muttered someone.

  “It’s magic,” said another.

  “Someone’s in league with demons.”

  “And why are they killing English and not Danes? It’s something to do with you.”

  “Silence!” bellowed Steinar. “Enough foolish talk. I’ll get the men together and we’ll make plans.”

  *

  “How could you be so stupid?” Ragnar glanced quickly round his home, as if Kjartan might be lurking somewhere, even though he knew it would be impossible to hide a baby, let alone a full-grown man in the single room.

  “I just wanted him out of our house,” retorted Aelfwyn. “He’s not the murderer.” And she didn’t want to think about how she’d felt when Kjartan offered to take her and Alvi away from Hallby. She loved Ragnar, her life and family. She didn’t want to leave them, but still …

  “How can you know he isn’t? He is a murderer. He’s done it before. What did he say to you? Did he try and sweet talk you into believing he was innocent?”

  Aelfwyn cowered before her husband’s wrath. She’d only seen him this angry once or twice.

  “Now there’s been another murder and you let him go before it happened. We have to find him and stop him. Where d’you think he was going?”

  “He – er - mentioned a cave, probably the -”

  “The secret lovers’ cave?” Ragnar smiled despairingly at her. “I’d better start there, then.”

  “Can I come?”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’m fed up with just staying at home with the baby. I never do anything. You’re always the one going out!” Her heart pounded and a surge of emotion would not be suppressed. “I can leave Alvi with my cousin. Please! Kjartan wouldn’t hurt me, I know it.”

  Ragnar frowned. “Well, there’s no time to waste, so make arrangements and we’ll go. It’s a good thing I love you, isn’t it?” He knew she wouldn’t stop arguing about this, so it was quicker to give in and discuss it later.

  Aelfwyn smiled triumphantly and gathered Alvi’s things. “Don’t leave without me,” she called over her shoulder as she carried him away.

  “No, kisa,” he replied. “Tiresome woman,” he mumbled to himself, but smiled at her boldness.

  *

  As Saehild sat with Ljotr, she watched a few of the men standing in a line by the fire, where the sorceress stood. As each man stepped up to her, she chanted some magical words and waved her hand in the air above his head in a pattern, the same each time. Then another man, like a blacksmith, took something from the fire with tongs, and pressed it to his comrades’ shoulders. Each man flinched, but controlled himself as the chant of the sorceress became louder. Then they stepped away, nodding to her.

  “What’s happening?” Saehild asked Ljotr.

  “He is marking them with Aegir’s Helm and the sign of Fenrir. She is directing the power of Fenrir into each symbol.”

  “What are those things?”

  “Come and see.” He led her over to the group and they paused to let her watch.

  The object the blacksmith pressed to each man’s arm was a piece of lead, with an eight-legged symbol carved into it. The legs sprouted from a circle containing a wolf’s head.

  Ljotr rolled up his sleeve to reveal an identical sign on his shoulder, which looked established instead of new and sore like the other men’s.

  “Why do you all have that?”

  “It’s to make us part of the group. If you’re marked, you’re free and no one can make you go back to your former life.”

  “Does it hurt?”

  “A little. You’re strong. It would be nothing to you.”

  “I’ll be next after they’ve finished him.” She grinned.

  The villagers in Hallby wore tattoos but nothing like this. She would be the first, but the best thing was that no one in the village would know. Her family and friends thought of her as the boring wife of a boring warrior, but she kept this part of her life secret. If only she could live like this all the time.

  She joined the men and soon reached the head of the line. The sorceress smiled at her and began the incantation, while the blacksmith pressed the lead to Saehild’s arm at the correct moment. A suggestive groan was forced from her lips. The man’s eyes widened and he pressed the lead harder onto her.

  “Tado, enough!” snapped the sorceress and he pulled it off.

  Saehild glanced at Ljotr’s inscrutable expression. Jealousy? Pride? Arousal? He gave his usual teeth-baring smile, even more intense than usual.

  “Like it?” said Tado, peering at the mark. “It’s one of our best yet.”

  “Yes. I do.” The image seemed to fit on her shoulder and the wolf’s expression changed as she moved her arm. She liked it there - it suited her.

  *

  “Men!” barked Steinar at the training ground that afternoon. “We must help the English in their time of need.”

  “Why?” asked a Huskarl. “What have they ever done for us?”

  Steinar ignored him as thunder rumbled in the distance.

  “They are being slaughtered by one or more people -”

  “Or creatures,” interrupted another. “Why don’t they hear or see the murderers? They must be demons.”

  The air filled with murmurs of agreement as a light warm summer rain began to fall.

  “They are not demons,” snapped Steinar. “We must -”

  “It’s women’s magic,” muttered someone. The thunder grew closer.

  “The gods are angry with the English,” said another.

  “We’ll draw their wrath if we interfere.”

  Steinar exchanged impatient glances with Bjarni. “So, are you all cowards?” he roared. “Don’t you want to fight and perhaps die a glorious death defending the innocent?”
<
br />   The men avoided his glare and kicked at the wet grass.

  “Call yourself Danes? Afraid to take on men in disguise? The wolf’s head mask proves that. They are men, not monsters.”

  More muttering in the ranks.

  “We’re the innocent ones,” said Solmund. “The English have brought down the vengeance of the gods. We don’t want to be punished, too.”

  Murmurs of agreement.

  “But the English are Christians,” Bjarni pointed out. “Their God doesn’t punish them. I know because my wife is English.”

  Disparaging laughter greeted his speech.

  “A god who doesn’t punish them?” queried someone.

  “I don’t believe that for a moment,” jeered another.

  “Better to stick to our own beliefs.”

  “This is hopeless,” whispered Bjarni to Steinar, who rolled his eye at him, his damaged eye hidden by the patch, of course.

  “I’m disappointed in you!” Steinar boomed at the Huskarls. “You call yourself warriors?”

  “That’s exactly it,” replied Solmund. “We are warriors of the Jarl, not the English.”

  The air became thick with cheers of assent. The Huskarls began to disperse, patting each other on the back and agreeing as the rain grew heavier.

  “Ragnar seems to think he knows who’s behind all the murders,” said Bjarni to Steinar. “He’s probably looking for him now.”

  “Think he’ll need help?” The light of battle grew in the commander’s eye.

  “Don’t know. I’m sure he’ll tell us if he does.”

  *

  In the cave, Kjartan hurried around gathering all his possessions and getting ready to leave. Then a wolf howled outside, making him jump. A wolf? In daylight? He tiptoed to the cave entrance to investigate.

  He couldn’t see a wolf, but noticed something like wolf ears behind a pile of rocks, so he drew his sword and cautiously approached.

  *

  “He’s probably gone,” puffed Aelfwyn. “He promised he would.”

  Even though she wasn’t carrying Alvi, she still couldn’t keep up with her husband as he strode past the river to reach the caves. Fortunately the storm had passed over, but the stones were still wet, making it even harder for her to match his pace.

  “I can’t believe you trusted him. You still haven’t told me how you know he isn’t the murderer. He could have allies who are doing the killing. He could be the leader.”

  “I don’t think so. I’ve got a feeling.”

  “Is this one of your womanly intuitions?” They had now reached the hills where the caves were, so he stopped walking and half smiled down at her.

  “Yes.” She grinned back, waving her hands in a fake mystical way.

  He sighed. “I can never be cross with you.”

  A metallic clang made them jump and they flattened themselves against the rock.

  Ragnar peered round the edge.

  “I knew it!” he exclaimed, and strode towards the noise.

  Kjartan sat on a large stone in the clearing between the rocks, examining a wolf’s head fashioned in the shape of a mask in one hand, thoughtfully tapping his sword against the rock with the other.

  “So, you’re part of the gang?” Ragnar grabbed him by the collar and pulled him up to standing.

  “What?”

  “Don’t bother denying it.” He indicated the wolf mask.

  “I just found this here!”

  “I’m not as trusting as my wife.”

  Ragnar pushed Kjartan to the ground and raised his sword, but Kjartan kicked his leg, making him hop in pain and allowing the white-blond Dane to scramble up. But before they could start fighting, Aelfwyn screamed and pointed behind them. Several men in wolf masks ran out of an opening in the hillside, brandishing a motley collection of weapons, shouting incoherent threats. Their footsteps clattered on the hard rock like an army on the attack. They surrounded the two Danes, and one grabbed Aelfwyn.

  “See!” shouted Kjartan. “I’m not one of them!”

  The wolf men didn’t speak, just moving as one to attack the resisting Kjartan and Ragnar, who fought as hard as they could, with no success. Four men dragged each of them into the cave entrance.

  One concentrated on Aelfwyn, even though she struggled too. He sniffed at her face and she quailed at the sensation of being so close to such a strange man-beast.

  “Pretty,” he said, eyeing her body. Then he slung her over his shoulder and carried her off in the same direction as the others.

  *

  Ragnar resisted the wolf men so violently they had to knock him out to take him away. Aelfwyn screamed and screamed, and Kjartan fought against his bonds with all the strength he could muster, but it didn’t make any difference. They still carried Ragnar away.

  “Where are they taking him?” demanded Kjartan of the guard.

  “We haven’t had luck lately. The gods need a sacrifice, and he’s different to the rest of you Danes.”

  Aelfwyn burst into sobs, too terrified to hide her feelings.

  “Then we’ll take more women and give them children, they’ll grow up in our family, make a huge army and we’ll be invincible.” The light of madness in his eyes showed through the wolf’s head mask.

  At the mention of babies, Aelfwyn whimpered. Her breasts began leaking milk for Alvi, who she might never see again.

  The wolf man turned to her.

  “You bring forth milk? You have a baby? Ah, you will be a good fertile woman for us.”

  She shuddered, wishing she could prevent the milk pumping out. It soaked her dress and ran down her ribs.

  “It shouldn’t go to waste in the meantime.” He ripped off his wolf mask, sprang across to her and ripped her dress at the neck, suckling at her breast, groaning as he did so, licking and biting and slobbering, pressing against her. She tried to back away but he clasped her to him.

  “Get off her!” Kjartan snarled, and his efforts to escape redoubled. At last he managed to break his bonds and leapt towards Aelfwyn’s attacker. Strangling him until he let go of her, he then pushed him away with all his might. The wolf man stumbled and fell against the rocky wall, hitting his head and slumping down.

  Kjartan watched to make sure he didn’t get up again, then turned to the hysterical Aelfwyn and worked on loosening her bonds. She made such a terrified, senseless burbling noise it scared him, so he drew her dress back over her bruised breasts and put his arms round her.

  “He took my milk - he bit me - he would’ve raped me …” she whimpered into his chest.

  “Sh-sh-it’s alright, I’m here,” he soothed, stroking her hair. “Just let me free you.”

  “Don’t let me go yet, please. Please just hold me.” She shook so violently he couldn’t undo her bonds anyway, so he did as she asked, still stroking her hair and back.

  She looked up into his eyes and even though he tried not to, he felt such a surge of lust he trembled with it, and kissed her.

  Moved by how gentle he could be - unlike all the other times he’d molested her - she felt comforted being held and kissed after the smelly, rough wolf man biting her breasts, clawing at her body and pressing his hardness against her. For once, Kjartan wasn’t pressing anything against her except his lips. She gave into the feeling, her head starting to spin.

  But he tasted different, and his beard was less tickly than Ragnar’s, and she gently pushed him away.

  “Sorry,” he said. “You know I’ve always liked you.” He set to work on the rope tying her wrists. “And sorry about all those other times I mistreated you. I’m just depraved.”

  “Thank you. You’re not so bad.”

  *

  “Where’s Ragnar this afternoon?” asked Bjarni of Steinar. “Isn’t he on duty?”

  “Haven’t seen him since this morning. When did you last see him?”

  “Er - the same.”

  Not wanting to talk about the stew and tunic incident, Bjarni changed the subject.

  “What ar
e they doing now?” He indicated the novice Huskarls.

  Steinar reeled off a list of warm-ups, exercises and duties, but Bjarni didn’t listen, too busy thinking about the whereabouts of his best friend.

  “Can you let me go for a while? I have to check Ragnar’s house again. I’ll be back to supervise planting.”

  The commander nodded, so Bjarni strode off.

  Knocking on the door, he waited for an answer to no avail. He tried the door and it didn’t open, so he stood for a while, wondering what to do.

  “Hallo.”

  Aelfwyn’s cousin Gytha, her own baby strapped to her chest, held a sleeping Alvi too. Her face was red with the effort of carrying them in the warm weather.

  “Where are they? Aelfwyn asked me to look after him hours ago, then she never came back. I can’t give him milk forever.”

  “Hm. Can you keep him for a bit longer? I’ll find out where they are, don’t worry.”

  “You - you don’t think they’re inside do you? D-dead?” Her face paled.

  “We’d better check.”

  The door seemed to be stuck, so it took Bjarni a few attempts to break through it. He burst in to find a silent, cold house with no sign of blood or fighting. The door had simply swelled in the seasonal dampness.

  “It’s alright,” he called to Gytha. “They aren’t here.”

  She crept in, peering around.

  “So where are they, then?”

  *

  In the main cavern, the sorceress examined Ragnar, peering into his eyes and pulling at his hair and beard as he lay unconscious.

  “Hm,” she said. “He’s not what we want.”

  She turned to the wolf men. “You’ve failed. You need to bring me someone to help our cause.”

  The men avoided her eyes and shuffled their feet.

  “Well? What is your excuse?”

  They backed away from her but she slapped the nearest one in the face and he cowered.

  “Take him away. He may be useful later,” she ordered, indicating Ragnar. “What about the woman he was with? Bring her instead.”

  *

  Later that day, Bjarni hurried home. He’d been so deep in thought while overseeing the crop planting that Steinar questioned him, but he didn’t reveal why he was so distracted.

  Reaching the front door, he stepped through it with a lift of his spirits, but Saehild waited inside.