Season of the Sun

by Catherine Coulter

  She entered Olav’s shop, flipping the latch in the secret way Olav had taught her, and walked quietly to the living area. When she opened the skins that separated the two areas, she saw Toki look up, a frown on her face, for she expected Keith. When she saw Zarabeth, she paled. Her mouth opened to scream, but Zarabeth was faster. She was on her in an instant, her arm around her throat, squeezing hard as she felt her rage flow through her.

  “Listen to me, you lying slut, you damnable lying bitch. You keep your tongue still, do you understand me?” Zarabeth squeezed harder, heard a weak croaking sound, squeezed again for good measure, and hissed in Toki’s ear, “You miserable witch, I know you killed Olav. I know that you managed to keep Keith quiet about it. And you go free from punishment. However, you won’t keep Lotti. Now, let me look at you one last time. I wish to remember a face of treachery.”

  Zarabeth turned Toki in her arms, saw the terror in the woman’s eyes. She smiled down at her. With great pleasure Zarabeth struck Toki hard on the head with the knife handle. She watched the woman slide to the floor, and she was pleased. Her heart pounded. It would be the only punishment Toki would receive for murdering Olav. At least it was something. Lotti was already running across the room, crying softly, calling out Zarabeth’s name, her arms raised. Zarabeth crooned softly to her as she lifted her in her arms. “You’re safe now, little love, safe. You and I are leaving here now, and I won’t let anyone harm you.”

  She remembered her clothing but knew there wasn’t time. Both she and Lotti would simply have to make do with what they wore on their backs. She knew she looked a beggar, but there was naught she could do about it. It wasn’t important. Getting away from York unseen was important.

  She slipped out of Olav’s shop—no, Keith’s—and blended with the shadows and the near-darkness. She heard people talking, heard neighbors laughing, but saw no one. She hurried toward Coppergate square, wanting a last drink of water before she escaped from York. She knew she couldn’t carry Lotti much further. When she reached the square, there were people, people who knew her. Well, it wasn’t to be helped. She turned away, hiding in the shadow of the line of houses along Coppergate, and made her way swiftly toward the southern fortification of the city. There was a gate there, to keep out enemies, not to keep in the inhabitants of York. She would slip away easily.

  She felt a stitch in her side and lifted Lotti to her other shoulder. She slowed. Her breath was coming harsh and raw now. Her hair, sweaty and tangled, slapped her face.

  She saw the gate ahead of her, saw that only a half-dozen people lolled around the gate, thankfully, and she didn’t recognize any of them.

  Her eyes fastened on that gate; she saw nothing else. When she heard a deep voice say behind her, “Your stupidity passes all bounds,” she felt as if she’d been struck. She whirled about to see Magnus standing directly behind her, tall and powerful, raising his hands to capture her even as he spoke.

  She cried out, turned on her heel, and ran toward the gate, shuffling and bowed like an old woman from the stitch in her side.

  11

  Magnus stared at her, laughed at the appalled horror in her eyes when she saw him, then read the desperation, and frowned. He caught her quickly enough.

  “You’ve run your race, Zarabeth,” he said, and twisted her around to face him. So relieved was he to have found her so quickly, he hesitated at her obvious fear, only to have her jerk her arm free of his hold, back away from him, snarling even as she drew the knife from the folds of her gown, “You stay away from me, Magnus! Don’t make me hurt you. I must leave York and you, surely you understand that—you refused to fetch Lotti. I couldn’t leave her there with Toki. Now I’m going, and you have no choice in the matter. No, no, stay back!”

  To her fury, he laughed. He was laughing at her! She felt the blood pounding at her temples, felt herself begin to tremble with rage and fear and uncertainty. She cried out softly, wheeled about, and fled from him. It was foolish and useless. When he grabbed her arm again to jerk her back, she turned on him this time, so panicked she couldn’t think, her right arm lifted, the knife poised in her hand, ready to strike.

  He was so astonished to see her raise that knife on him that once again she managed to free herself, but the child dragged her down, pulling her off-balance. Zarabeth had but a moment to react, and she dropped Lotti, feinting to the side when Magnus lunged for her. He wasn’t laughing now, and she felt an instant of victory. But just an instant, for he looked at her as he would someone of no account at all, as if it couldn’t possibly matter what she tried to do.

  “Stay away from me!”

  He moved slowly now, assessing her calmly, and she drew away, knowing she would use the knife if he forced her to it. Then she heard Lotti crying softly, her voice slurred and terrified, and she looked down at the child. In that moment Magnus grabbed her arm and began to twist the knife from her hand.

  She felt the pain roil through her arm and her shoulder, and she gasped with it and tried to jerk away, but it was no good. He had twice her strength and he was quite prepared to use it.

  She raised her other hand, striking at his chest, at his face, but he merely continued twisting her right wrist until she moaned, falling to her knees. He kept her down, still twisting, until with a sob of defeat the knife slipped from her numbed fingers and clattered to the ground. Lotti cried out and ran to her. It was the child who stilled Magnus’ fury. He would have doubtless struck her, but he couldn’t now, not with the little girl sobbing and trying to help her sister.

  He stood over her, breathing deeply to regain control. He held the beautiful knife loosely on his palm, saying, “I traded this knife for several quite exquisite soapstone bowls. It is to be a present for my younger brother, Jon. I would have been most displeased had you managed to escape with it. I would have had to buy horses and come after you. But you gave me time, Zarabeth, time to go back to Olav’s house and find a sobbing Toki with her husband. She said you had tried to kill her and she was demanding that Keith see the council and have you stoned, as befits a poisoning witch. But I told Keith that I would see to your punishment, and neither of them would ever have to fear you again. As you can imagine, that assurance did not please Toki. She wants your blood. She showed me the bruises on her throat where you had strangled her. She must have been most fond of Olav, for she has taken his murder sorely. And it is true, Zarabeth, I will see to your punishment. I have found you and you will go no farther. Now, get up, for I wish to return to the Sea Wind. I must decide what I am to do with you.”

  Her wrist throbbed and burned. She caught her breath and looked up at him. “Lotti,” she said. “I won’t leave Lotti here.”

  “You dare make demands of me? You dare toss your orders at my head? You are not my wife, you have nothing that binds me to you. What you are is my slave, nothing more.”

  “I won’t leave Lotti,” she repeated slowly, her mouth dry with fear and pain.

  “By Odin’s wounds, you beg for me to strike you!” Magnus realized he was yelling. He stopped himself, staring down at her, but in his mind he saw Toki’s hate-filled face. She would surely harm the child now. He looked at the little girl, terrified and silent, standing next to her kneeling sister, her small hand on Zarabeth’s shoulder. She looked up at him then, and he flinched at the fear on that small face. The child was innocent of any wrongdoing. He sighed, giving it up.

  “Get up. It is time to return to my vessel. You have sorely tried me, Zarabeth, and wasted my time. As for Ragnar, I do believe his humiliation at a woman besting him could lead him to seek your death.”

  “I don’t care.”

  “Ah, you would, if I chose to give you to Ragnar for punishment.” He took pity on her then, for he had won and she was bowed, a pathetic scrap at his feet, defeated and crushed. He would not harm the child, so he ended it. “Come, the child goes with us.”

  Zarabeth looked up at him, uncertain, disbelieving. “Do you swear it?”

  Irritated, Magnus said
sharply, “I do not lie, not like you. I will not tell you again.”

  He made no move toward her. Zarabeth got to her feet. She held out her arms to Lotti, but Magnus forestalled her. “You are tired and will hold me back. Tell the child she need not fear me, and I will carry her.”

  Zarabeth leaned down and gently stroked Lotti’s soft hair from her brow, saying softly, “Listen, sweeting, you needn’t be afraid of Magnus. He is large, ’tis true, but he won’t hurt you. Nay, don’t pull away from me. I swear it to you. Let him carry you now, all right?”

  Magnus said, impatient, “Can’t the child understand you? Must you speak to her as if she spoke another language?”

  Zarabeth ignored him. Finally Lotti nodded, and Zarabeth turned to Magnus. “She will let you carry her. Please, Magnus, she has done nothing to harm you. Do not hurt her.”

  “I am not a monster. I do not hurt children.”

  “Don’t lie! I know what you Vikings do to anyone—even children—on your raids! You spit them on your swords, you fling them—”

  “You will be silent now. I will not hurt her. Unlike you, Zarabeth, I do not lie.”

  She sighed, getting hold of herself. She believed him. At least Lotti would be with her. She had won, in a sense, if by any stretch being a slave could be called winning.

  “If you had escaped York, where would you have gone?” He sounded pleasant as he walked beside her, Lotti’s head against his right shoulder, only mildly interested.

  “I don’t know. I thought perhaps to Wessex, to King Alfred’s court. I could have served some rich lady there, sewing perhaps.”

  He snorted. “Your stupidity yet amazes me. You would not have survived a mile from York. There are outlaws, Zarabeth, and you are but a lone woman. Had you escaped, you would now likely be dead, raped until you bled your life away. But now you are safe again because you have a strong man to protect you. You will sew for me now, and do whatever tasks are assigned to you. You will learn quickly to obey. It will be good, for I grow tired of your ceaseless demands and complaints.”

  She said nothing, merely looked straight ahead. They passed people who knew her, and she was aware that they were talking of her, but she paid them no heed. She saw familiar buildings, familiar patches of gardens. “I will miss York.”

  “Aye,” Magnus said, his voice laced with sarcasm, “doubtless it is a town of noble inhabitants. Like its people, its beauty is also astounding. You can smell them as well as see them.” He waved toward a pile of refuse, whose odor was foul. “Listen, woman, these people would show you not a shred of kindness were it not for me protecting you.”

  She sighed. “You are right, I doubt not, but I don’t really understand why no one believed me.”

  “I do not wish to hear your protestations of innocence again. There is my vessel, hurry, for we sail as soon as our feet are on board. I have no further wish to remain here.”

  The first man Zarabeth saw when they boarded the Sea Wind was Ragnar. His arm was raised to strike her. She tried to show no fear, but she was raw with it. She saw Magnus merely shake his head at the man. Ragnar slowly lowered his arm, but his look didn’t change. She said nothing, merely followed Magnus to the covered cargo hold. He drew back the otter skins and set Lotti on one of the roughly woven mats that covered the wooden floor. “Stay here.”

  Zarabeth sank down, drawing Lotti onto her lap. She was beyond tired, numb now, for she had failed yet won, for Lotti was safe, at least she was as safe as Zarabeth was. Would the child be treated as a slave when they reached Norway and Magnus’ home? How were slaves in that foreign land treated? Were they beaten and given little food? Were they as pitiful as the creatures in the slave compound?

  Fear curled powerfully through her belly.

  She wished she could have bathed; her own stench was beginning to bother her. As for Lotti, the child was scratching her elbow and Zarabeth saw a sore there that badly needed cleansing. She ran her fingers through her tangled hair, pulling out twigs and clots of dirt and mud. She could only imagine how she looked. Well, it didn’t matter. Magnus didn’t care for anything save humiliating her. She wondered if he was cruel. She wondered if he would hurt her. She fell asleep and didn’t stir the rest of the night.

  At dawn the next day, the men of the Sea Wind cast off its ropes and left its moorings. She heard the sailors calling out to each other, heard Magnus tell the men to draw their oars. The huge square sail wouldn’t be raised until they were free of York harbor.

  The motion was smooth and rocking and brought Zarabeth to full awareness. She wished it was still night. She wanted only the darkness. It represented a sort of safety to her, a sort of protection.

  When the mighty square sail caught the wind outside the harbor, the vessel shot forward and the men cheered. She knew now they would pull the oars into the vessel and go about their other tasks. Her stomach growled. She turned to Lotti, took her small face between her hands, and said slowly, “Are you hungry, sweeting?”

  The little girl frowned, and Zarabeth slowly repeated her question, miming eating. Lotti nodded vigorously and rubbed her stomach. Zarabeth patted her shoulder and said, more to herself than to her sister, “I will see if there is more of that stew Magnus fed me yesterday.”

  She rose and went to the otter pelts and drew them back. The men stopped speaking. Slowly, one by one, all twenty of them stared at her. She saw Magnus bending over, speaking to the man Horkel, who held the steering oar. He looked up then, aware of the sudden silence, and saw her. Magnus frowned at her and quickly made his way along the wooden plank that ran along the center of the vessel. He ducked to the side to miss the wind-filled sail. As he passed it, he turned to look up the twenty-foot-high mast with its long cross spar, then nodded, as if pleased.

  “What do you want?” He had shouted even though he was near to her now. She strained to hear him over the thick whipping sound of the sail.

  She didn’t try to answer him until he was beside her. “Lotti is very hungry. Is there something for her to eat?”

  Magnus had expected to hear something else from her, a plea for herself, perhaps. He should have realized, given her frenzy the day before, that her only concern would be for her little sister, for after all, she had risked her life to save the child. Wasn’t she hungry as well, damn her? Wasn’t there something for herself she wanted? Finally he said, “Get you back into the hold. I will have Horkel bring both of you something to eat.”

  Zarabeth nodded and turned, only to feel Magnus’ hand on her arm.

  “Do not come out again. Even though you look like a witch, my men at all times are woman-hungry, particularly away from their homes. If you value your woman’s endowments, you will remain within.” He paused a moment, then added, a frown on his face, “I will tie back the pelts so that there will be fresh air within the hold, and light.”

  Zarabeth nodded again. Before she withdrew, she looked out onto the sea. The wind whipped her hair about her face, and she tasted the salty seawater on her tongue. It was becoming cooler, and she wrapped her arms about herself. Water slapped loudly against the sides of the vessel. She could make out the distant coastline. The men were still silent, watching, looking at her. Were they judging her? Did they believe her a murderess?

  Not that it mattered. She went back into the cargo hold. Before too much time had passed, Magnus himself came into the hold. Not Horkel. He was carrying two wooden bowls filled with warm stew. He also had bread, soft and fresh, wrapped in a coarse woolen rag.

  “Do not expect food like this for very long. It will take us five days to reach Hedeby, ’tis a large trading town in Denmark. I have some trading to do there before we sail north to Kaupang, up the Oslo Fjord.”

  He was being kind, Zarabeth thought, somewhat confused. Was he coming to think that perhaps she had been telling the truth? Was he coming to believe that she hadn’t lied about why she’d told him she hadn’t wanted him? His next words blighted her, leaving her feeling hopeless once more.

  “
You will cast no lures toward any of my men. They would take what you offered them, but they would give you nothing in return save their contempt. I have their loyalty. You are naught but a slave, a female slave, who has her uses, as I will use you this night. You want bathing, but no matter. Make yourself ready for me, Zarabeth, for I will come back when night has fallen and most of my men are asleep.” Unfortunately, as the words left his mouth, Magnus realized that Lotti was staring up at him, her wooden spoon held in her hand. He’d forgotten the child. He felt a fool; worse, he felt like a man who had gone into battle without a weapon. He felt like a naked man caught in a snowdrift. He gave Zarabeth a look that bespoke retribution, turned on his heel, and left the hold.

  Zarabeth would have laughed had she been able to, but she wasn’t. She turned and mimed eating to Lotti. She was no longer hungry. The fresh sea wind came into the hold and she no longer felt ill from the stuffiness of the small space.

  Time passes, Zarabeth thought, even though I lose track of the minutes and the hours, time still passes. And so it was. The night became another day that was hot and bright, the sun so harsh she wondered how the men could bear the hours under its searing heat. She played with Lotti, teaching her words, repeating them endlessly, speaking to her as she mimed ideas.

  And she thought of Magnus, even when he wasn’t in her line of vision. The Sea Wind was a good sixty feet long, and at her center she was at least fifteen feet wide. The men had stacked their oars in the high wooden Y-shaped holders and were lolling about, nothing for them to do. She heard them speaking, and they spoke freely, for perhaps they didn’t care that she could hear them:

  “I heard Tostig say that what Magnus would have paid for her in a brideprice, he paid instead in danegeld to the son in payment for the man she poisoned.”

  “Aye, she killed the old man because she wanted his wealth. A woman is a fool, she has no cunning. I could have succeeded—”