Season of the Sun

by Catherine Coulter

  Magnus would have killed any of the men if one had dared taunt him, if one had dared even look at him with a sly grin. He was frustrated and his body was tense, and his scalp was throbbing where Lotti had tried to yank out his hair. He strode down the center plank, then stopped and said to the silent men, “The child cannot hear. If you wish to play with her, you must be careful that no harm comes to her.”

  Tostig looked surprised. “Of course she cannot hear. Think you we are stupid?”

  “Aye,” Horkel said, “but the little one is not slow of learning. I taught her a word—‘raven.’ She can very nearly say it now.”

  “Aye, she’s a sharp little tick,” Ragnar said, albeit grudgingly. He wouldn’t hold the child in disfavor because of her bitch of a sister. His head still hurt from the blow she’d struck him. “She counted all my fingers and toes.”

  “Then why did you let her—?” Magnus broke off, shaking his head. He said nothing more, but walked to the stern of the vessel and set himself to brooding.

  By Odin, he had been a fool. He’d seen the child, but he hadn’t realized she couldn’t hear, yet his men had known very quickly. His blindness appalled him. He was the master of this vessel, and all its men looked to him, he was their leader, yet he hadn’t even seen something so obvious as the child’s lack of hearing.

  “The child saved her sister,” Horkel said to no man in particular, looking after Magnus and his stiff back. “But he will have her soon enough, I wager.”

  “Aye, but he won’t harm the child to do it.”

  Lotti did not again leave Zarabeth.

  That night it stormed and the sky was rent with lightning, slashing white bolts that left Zarabeth so terrified she could do naught but hold Lotti on her lap and, by soothing her, soothe herself. The vessel was sound, she knew, but it seemed to lurch up to crest the waves, only to careen wildly into the deep churning troughs with sickening loud thuds. She could hear the water washing over the sides, knew the men were bailing out the bottom of the vessel as quickly as they could. She heard Magnus’ voice shouting above the din. She heard the creaking of the mighty mast as the men took it down so it wouldn’t be broken in the storm. Zarabeth felt strangely calm. She didn’t understand her feelings toward Magnus, for they seemed to shift continually. But she knew deep inside herself that if they survived the storm, it would be his doing. In this, she trusted him.

  Oddly, she went to sleep.

  When Magnus entered the cargo area near morning, the storm almost spent, he very nearly smiled to see Zarabeth on her side, Lotti pressed against her, the both of them soundly sleeping. Without meaning to, he pulled a woolen blanket over them, for the early-morning air had become chilled with rain and wind. Zarabeth awoke suddenly and she stared up at Magnus. He said nothing, merely turned about and left the cargo space.

  Late that afternoon the Sea Wind sailed into the harbor at Hedeby, a deep-cut inlet protected from the sea by wooden palisades built in a protective curve far out into the water. There were tall earthen fortifications around the town, like a wide half-circle ending at the water’s edge. There were at least a dozen Viking trading vessels pulled up onto the land, for there was but one pier built out, and a trading vessel was docked on each side of it. Smoke rose from the number of huts that filled the inside of the fortifications. Smells mingled, bringing a heaviness to the air. There were wooden walkways through the town, connecting all the buildings to each other. And more people than Zarabeth had imagined, many more than in York. And all of them busy and talking and hurrying here and there on their separate tasks.

  She clasped Lotti safely to her as the men leapt out into the water and dragged the Sea Wind out of the water and safe onto the shore. She didn’t have a long time to wonder what Magnus intended. He called to her then. “Carry Lotti in your arms to protect her. Follow me.”

  Within a few moments her feet were on dry ground, and Lotti was staring wide-eyed at the endless stream of people. Men greeted Magnus and his men, and they returned the greetings. But Magnus didn’t stop. He said curtly to Zarabeth, “Stay close. Hurry. I have not time to waste on you.”

  She followed him, silent and staring as intently as Lotti. She saw slaves hauling goods on their backs and women carrying water in wooden pails from a central well. There were stout merchants hawking their wares before their shops. There was a runemaster carving his special letters on a bronze cask, a smithy hammering at a sword. Magnus finally came to a halt before a small wooden hut.

  There was an old woman within, and she gave Zarabeth a toothless smile. “This is a bathing hut,” Magnus said. “You will wash yourself and Lotti. I will return soon. Go nowhere else.”

  She wondered where else she could possibly go, but said nothing. She nodded and followed the old woman inside the hut. It was hot with steam rising to the thatch ceiling. In the center of the single room was a huge wooden tub big enough for two people. It was circled with thick iron bands. The woman silently handed Zarabeth a square of soap and left her. At the doorway she turned and said, “Yer husband is fetching clothes from his vessel.”

  Her husband. She merely nodded. Quickly she bathed Lotti, scrubbing the child until she was trying to get away from Zarabeth’s hands. She wrapped her in a big square of linen and set her on the woven mats that covered part of the floor. She took her face between her hands and said slowly, “Don’t dirty yourself, sweeting. I will be quick.”

  When Zarabeth was in the tub, she closed her eyes at the pleasure of it and leaned her head back.

  She awoke with a start, sensing something different. She opened her eyes to see Magnus standing over her, staring down at her, that intent expression on his face. She moved to cover her breasts, then realized that her hair, wet and thick and tangled, covered all of her.

  “I brought clean clothing for both of you.”

  Then he turned and squatted down beside Lotti. She was staring at him, her eyes wary. He smiled and withdrew a lovely antler comb from his tunic. Slowly, with patience that left Zarabeth bemused, Magnus combed the tangles from the child’s hair. Soon Lotti was leaning against him, and when he jerked too hard, she turned and pummeled his chest. Magnus laughed and told her to hold still, he was trying his best. Once her hair was long and untangled down her back, he rose. “You can braid her hair when you are through. I must go now.”

  Zarabeth simply stared at the doorway for long moments after he’d disappeared. She didn’t understand him. Not at all.

  By the time she had dressed and combed her own hair, it was late and her stomach was growling. There had been only a bit of dried salted meat to eat that morning. She took Lotti’s hand and they walked to the entrance of the hut.

  The activity hadn’t slowed. There were so many people, pressing together, but there was laughter too, and she heard some singing from the distance. The old woman was nowhere to be seen. The sun was still hot overhead, and Zarabeth eased down on a woven mat at the doorway, drawing Lotti onto her lap.

  She didn’t immediately notice the powerfully built dark-haired man who was striding toward her. When she did, she saw that he was smiling and coming directly to her. She felt something in her respond with hunger at the kindness she saw in his smile.

  She found herself smiling back at him. When he reached her, he said, “Good day to you, mistress. You and your daughter enjoy the sun?”

  “Aye. And a nice bath.” She waved toward the inside of the hut. “We were both very dirty.”

  “No longer,” he said, and suddenly he was standing very close, towering over her. Zarabeth drew back and quickly stood, letting Lotti down to stand beside her, holding her close to her side.

  “No,” she said, still trying to smile, “no longer at all.” There was no reason to fear this man. There were dozens of people about. He was being kind to her. “I have never been to Hedeby before. It is crowded, more so than York.”

  His smile didn’t slip, but he ignored her words. “Is it true you came with Magnus Haraldsson, aboard the Sea Wind?”
/>   She nodded, wary now, yet not understanding what it was he wanted.

  “He is a fool.” The man reached out his hand and lightly stroked a lock of her damp hair. She didn’t move, merely drew back very slowly. He still smiled at her. “You’re beautiful.” He touched her arm then, and then jerked her toward him, dragging her off-balance. “He’s a fool to leave you here unprotected. Ah, but you are beautiful.” He touched her hair again, wrapping a thick tress around his fist. She saw the hunger in his eyes, recognized it for what it was. “I have never seen such a color. And your eyes—that green is beyond what a man dreams of. I would have you. Come with me now and I will save you from Magnus. He’s a cruel man, all know of it, a savage who knows nothing of the needs of a sweet and gentle creature like you. He would hurt you, perhaps even kill you with his beatings. Come with me, quickly. I will care for you, treat you like a queen. Aye, quickly, come!”

  “Go away. Leave me alone.”

  “Fear me not, for I would never harm such beauty as you hold. I have heard you’re his slave. You would be a fool to stay with him. Come with me now.”

  Then, without warning, he leaned down, yanking on Zarabeth’s hair so that she couldn’t move without pain, and kissed her hard on the mouth.

  Just as suddenly, Zarabeth heard an enraged cry. It was Magnus. In the next moment the man was whirled away from her and was staggering from the blow Magnus had given him.

  Then Magnus was standing over the man, and he held a knife in his hand. “You dare to touch what is mine, you craven fool?”

  The man held his jaw, then slowly rose. He shrugged, angered, for he had heard that Magnus was well-occupied. Well, no matter. There would always come another opportunity, another time. He said easily, “The woman was there, and she was willing. She waved me over to her and spoke sweetly to me. Would you not take what was offered from such as she?”

  Zarabeth was shaking her head, crying shrilly, “He is lying! He—”

  “Shut your mouth!” Magnus turned back to the man, his eyes narrowed. “Get you from my sight, else I’ll slit your miserable throat.”

  The man gave Zarabeth a melancholy smile and then took himself off. “He lied, Magnus,” she said, frantic now. “He lied! He came over to us and he was nice, but then he grabbed me and wanted me to go with him. I told him to leave me alone, I swear it to you.”

  He interrupted her, his voice savage and cold. “Enough! By Odin, to think I actually believed I could trust you alone for even a moment! You damnable bitch! Come, I know what must be done to you.”

  He took her arm and dragged her down the center wooden walkway. Lotti, clutching to her skirt, ran beside her. Past a dozen huts he dragged her, to the blacksmith’s. “Here,” he said, and flung her inside.

  Still she didn’t realize what he meant to do. She backed away, pulling Lotti with her. “What do we here?”

  “You are a slave. It is time you bore the mark of one.”

  Then she knew. “No, please, no, Magnus.”

  He ignored her and spoke to the smithy.

  As the sun lowered for the night, Zarabeth walked beside Magnus back toward the Sea Wind. He carried Lotti.

  Around her throat was a slave’s iron collar.

  She felt such humiliation, such hopelessness, she didn’t want to go on. Were it not for Lotti, she believed that she would fight Magnus until he was forced to kill her. She walked several paces behind him, like a dog.

  13

  When the Sea Wind took the sharp wind off the Oslo Fjord and veered into the viksfjord that led to the Gravak Valley and the home of many of the Haraldsson family, Zarabeth heard the men cheer. She looked out of the cargo area, curious. The men were sitting back on their sea chests, their oars still as wind filled the huge red-and-white-striped sail. She met the gaze of Ragnar, the man she had struck to escape in York.

  She wanted to shrink back at the barely veiled hostility in his eyes, but she forced herself to stand perfectly still.

  “What want you, slave?” Ragnar asked, taking a step toward her. His eyes were on the slave collar around her neck.

  “I wondered why the men were cheering.”

  “We near home. Another half-day is all, and then you will begin your life as a Viking’s slave. You will not like it, and I shall be pleased at your misery. The slave collar becomes you. It fits you well.”

  “What goes here, Ragnar?”

  Zarabeth marveled at the suspicion she heard in Magnus’ voice. He distrusted Ragnar? Surely he knew the man despised her.

  “Nothing, Magnus. Your slave here merely wished to know what the men were cheering about. I told her.”

  Ragnar turned away then and left them, whistling. She suddenly had the feeling that she was completely alone with Magnus, even though Lotti stood just beside her and his men were within feet of them, their voices a low rumble over the flapping sail.

  “The men take their ease now. The wind will stay at our backs until we reach the valley.”

  “And your home? You called it Malek?”

  “Aye.” He fell silent and his look was on the collar that encircled her neck. It looked heavy, too heavy for a woman’s slender throat. He hated it. Hated that he had done it. He turned away from her. “Stay in the cargo space. I want none of my men to succumb to your enticements.”

  Her craw was filled to overflowing and she gave him an utterly false smile, saying, “Enticements, Viking? How odd that sounds. Perhaps I am a sweetmeat?”

  “Mayhap sweet between your thighs, but no place else.”

  She turned away, defeated by his distrust, but not for long, for she was too curious to hide herself in the cargo space. She sat in the opening with Lotti on her lap and watched the huge rising mountains on either side of the fjord, mountains jutting upward, their tops cloud-sheathed, covered with thick pine forests. How could one farm here, she wondered, when everything was so densely covered with trees? The water was so clear and so blue that it nearly hurt the eyes to look at it, particularly with the bright sun striking off it. The thick wadmal sail bulged and the men who held the ropes to control it struggled, their muscles clenching and twisting with the force it took to control the huge sail in the fast wind at their backs. The mast creaked with the pressure, and the man at the tiller was sweating and swearing loudly.

  The air was cool and the sun hot overhead. Zarabeth couldn’t imagine the land frozen with snow and cold for five months of the year, not now, now with all the vastness of the green and blue and the softness of the air. She closed her eyes a moment. She should have been coming here as Magnus’ wife, not his slave, but the collar around her neck, dragging on her every moment of the day, told the endless truth.

  She turned when Horkel said to her, “Do you know about the midnight sun?”

  When she shook her head, he continued, “It is high summer, and here there is almost no night. The sun still holds its course in the sky even when it is midnight. We call this time the season of the sun. Alas, in the winter, the sun scarce ever shows itself, and its season passes. You will become used to it, in time.”

  “It is very cold?”

  “Aye, and the days are short and become shorter still. But there are feasts and games and nights filled with songs and drink and laughter.”

  Two hours later, the men began to shout and point. Zarabeth looked toward the shore and saw a wooden pier stretching out into the water. Beyond it was a narrow beach covered with pebbles and driftwood. A wide path wound its way upward from the beach to a wide flat expanse of ground, cleared as far as the eye could see. In the middle of the flat ground was a circular wooden palisade some eight feet high. Beside the palisade were fields filled with rye and barley and wheat, shining gold and brown under the sun. She saw men and women alike working in the fields. Would she be doing that as well? The wide fields went to the very edge of the tree line. Magnus had used every bit of land available to him.

  “This is my farmstead, Malek,” Magnus said with simple pride; then, just as suddenly, bitterness
filled him and he added, “It is your home now as well. But you do not come to it as I had wished.”

  “It is beautiful,” Zarabeth said, and meant it. He did not respond. The next minutes were busy as the men lowered the sail and took down the heavy mast. Two men jumped from the vessel to the wooden dock and tied the heavy ropes around the thick wooden stakes. Others began to empty the cargo hold of its goods.

  “Come,” Magnus said. “The men will unload and then all will come together this night for a feast.” He pointed upward to the people who were pouring out of the wide palisade gates, waving wildly.

  Ingunn, daughter of Harald, and younger sister to Magnus, looked down at the woman who was walking beside her brother across the beach. It was the way the woman walked, the proud set of her shoulders, that told Ingunn the truth. He had brought home a wife. She felt her flesh chill. What would she become now? The woman was beautiful, aye, she could tell that even from this distance. That red hair of hers, so vivid and lush. She felt Cyra stiffen beside her and felt a moment of pity mixed with pleasure at the woman’s comeuppance. No longer would Cyra dare to disobey her orders. No longer would she show her sly ways. No longer could Cyra use her, Ingunn, to gain her own way with her brother. But then again, they had shared an unlikely partnership and now it would be at an end.

  Ingunn felt her hands clenching at her sides. She waited, dreading meeting this woman who was Magnus’ new wife. Magnus’ son, Egill, was standing beside her, his hand over his eyes, shading them from the harsh sun.

  “There is a little girl beside the woman,” he said, pointing a finger. “See, she’s holding the girl’s hand.”

  That gave Ingunn a start. Had he married a widow, then? She hadn’t expected that.

  “Her hair is strange,” Egill said after another moment. “It’s redder than any of the reds in Grandmother’s tapestry. I hope she lets me touch it. I wonder what it feels like, hair like that.”