A fire was burning sluggishly. The smell of roasting pheasant was strong. Kol was sitting there on a log, holding his head in his hands. He looked up at her and she knew he would kill her if he had the chance. Ingunn was pale with rage. The other woman, Zarabeth realized now, had been beaten. She was bent, her eyes reddened from crying. She was in obvious pain.
“You found her,” Ingunn said, her voice flat.
“Aye, certainly. She is a woman and she was on foot. What would you have me do to punish her, Ingunn? A slave attempting to escape. It’s a severe crime.”
“Let her work until she falls over.”
“That is not enough,” Orm said. “Look at poor Kol. She brought him low, and his head will pound for days to come. Nay, her punishment must be something she will not soon forget.”
“Flog her, then, I care not.”
“Her flesh is so very white. I dislike the thought of marking her. Did you beat her, Ingunn?”
“Aye, I did.”
“Did you mark her?”
“I don’t know, for Magnus tended her.”
“There are other things I should prefer doing to her.”
Ingunn nodded toward the other woman. “Like the things you did to her?”
Zarabeth realized then that the other slave, that older woman who was thin and bent, her hair straggling down her back, had not been beaten. Orm had savaged her. He had raped her.
“Nay, Ingunn, I should do different things to Zarabeth. I shouldn’t want her to cry as much as that hag did.”
Kol spoke up then. “We must leave, Orm. There is no time to punish the woman now. Magnus Haraldsson will come for her, I know, for I know his reputation.”
Bein said, grinning, “I would like to punish her as well, Orm.”
“You shan’t take her, Orm! We will leave!” Ingunn was on her feet, shouting.
Suddenly Orm turned and backhanded her, sending her sprawling dangerously close to the fire. She cried out, scrambling away from the heat.
Orm merely rubbed his palms together. He was smiling, and again there was that glittering in his eyes, darkening them, but his expression was calm and his voice was even genial. “Do not tell me what I will or will not do again, Ingunn. Next time it will not go so easily with you. Now, I am hungry. Feed me and feed our poor slave here. After all her efforts, she must be in need of Bein’s pheasant.”
23
Zarabeth hated the dim half-light. It was nearing midnight, and yet that strange spongy light kept the night darkness at bay. She knew that regardless of darkness or light, Orm would come soon and he would rape her. He had watched her, saying nothing, merely sat cross-legged beside the fire, watching her. And Ingunn had watched him. As for Kol, he had vomited earlier, and now he slept. Bein had simply dragged the other woman to her feet and pulled her into the trees.
When they had come back, Bein shoved her to the ground and threw a blanket at her.
Zarabeth wondered if the woman was all right. She had never said a word, never acknowledged anyone else’s presence, merely done as she had been told, her head bowed, her shoulders bent. She had no front teeth and her upper lip had sagged in, making her look older than she probably was. Zarabeth had no idea where she had been captured. Her gown was ragged, her feet bare, her hair tangled and matted to her head. Zarabeth wanted to go to her, but to her astonishment, some minutes later the woman was sound asleep, snoring. Zarabeth sat with her back against a pine tree. She waited. Orm had fed her, but not enough, and he had known it wasn’t enough. He was toying with her. Her stomach rumbled and cramped with hunger. She needed to relieve herself, and finally, in desperation, she said softly, “Ingunn, I must go into the forest for a moment.”
Ingunn looked away from her. Orm said, “I will take you, Zarabeth.”
“Nay, leave her be! I will go with her!”
Orm grinned at Ingunn. “If she wishes it badly enough, she can kill you, then she will have to deal only with me. Do you want that, Ingunn?”
“I want us to leave this place. I want us to go to the Danelaw and buy slaves and land and build a longhouse that surpasses my father’s. I want us to be wedded, Orm.”
“All that? You must know that I have already been to the Danelaw and purchased land. Good farmland near the Thurlow River.”
Ingunn was obviously surprised. “You already sailed to the Danelaw?”
Bein said, “Aye, and we traded furs and hides and some sea ivory from walrus tusks. We even sold some slaves and—”
“Enough, Bein. Now, Ingunn, when we reach the Danelaw, we will buy more slaves. We already have two, and they are both fine, do you not agree?”
“Take the one over there for your men’s lust, but leave Zarabeth here. Let her go. She will survive or she will die. I care not what happens to her now. Let us go, Orm, and be free of this land and of my father.”
“But you wanted me to avenge you. You begged me to sell this woman, for she had deceived Magnus and thwarted you. Your woman’s words confuse me.”
Ingunn got to her feet. “I will take her into the forest now. I too must have some privacy.”
He shrugged, not moving when they left him.
“He will rape me, Ingunn. You know he will. Do you want him to do that?”
“I won’t listen to you. Hurry now or he will come.”
“You’re afraid of him. There is something wrong with him, Ingunn, surely you see it.”
“Hurry!”
But he was there soon enough, watching as the two women straightened their gowns.
“It is time for Zarabeth’s punishment. Should you like to watch, Ingunn?”
“You will beat her?”
He shook his head. He was smiling, that strange calm smile. His eyes glittered in the dim midnight light.
“What will you do to her?”
“I will have Kol take her. Is that sufficient punishment?”
“Kol is ill from the blow she gave him.”
“Ah, then Bein.”
“He cannot. He raped the other slave. He is old and has not sufficient powers.”
“Then I am the only one left. She really must be punished. Go back to the camp, Ingunn. I will bring Zarabeth back when I am done with her.”
Magnus knew they were close, but not close enough. Already Orm and his party would be boarding his vessel. Perhaps they were pulling on the oars this very minute. Perhaps they were already sailing due south to Hedeby. He closed his eyes against the pain of losing her. So much loss. Too much. Where would Orm take her? Magnus knew he hadn’t protected her as he had pledged to when he made his vow to her.
“By Thor, I don’t believe it!”
Magnus turned at Eines’s shout.
“Come here, Magnus, look! They’re close, very close, not more than three hours ahead of us. Look at these tracks! Is the man a fool?”
“Aye,” Ragnar said. “A stupid fool. Does he not care that someone could be following him? Does he think you a coward? Has he lost all his wits?”
Magnus felt fierce purpose fill him.
Ragnar said quietly behind him, “Ingunn is with them.”
“Aye, I know. Our horses are blown. Let them rest, but no longer than an hour.”
They were all exhausted, their muscles cramped and stiff, but not one of them complained. They hunkered down and ate dried beef and hard flat bread.
“What will you do with Ingunn?” Ragnar asked as he chewed the tough beef.
“I will give her back to my father. It will be up to him to decide what is to be done with her.”
Ragnar looked at him, and his voice was firm and strong. “I will take her, Magnus, if your father agrees to it. I will beat her, doubt it not, if she behaves churlishly. I can control her.”
Magnus smiled at his friend. “I believe you are the one who has lost his wits, Ragnar.”
Zarabeth faced Orm from a distance of six feet. Her gown was tattered and filthy. Her hair was matted and tangled down her back. She felt exposed and more afraid than she ever
had in her life. Ingunn was walking away, her head lowered.
“Ingunn, no! Do not leave!”
She paused but did not turn back.
“I am not an ill-looking brute, Zarabeth. Why do you not want me?”
She looked at him then and saw the honest puzzlement on his face. She very nearly laughed. His eyes were calm as his voice. There was no madness in him yet. Still, he terrified her. He unbuckled the wide leather belt at his waist, all the while watching her.
“If you rape me I will kill you.”
He smiled. “You are a woman. You speak nonsense, yet I do not like to be threatened by you, Zarabeth. If you don’t wish to feel my belt against your back, keep your tongue in your mouth.” He raised the wide belt with the sword still deep in its scabbard.
She kept her eyes on his face and repeated, “If you rape me I will kill you. You will have to kill me first to protect yourself, for I swear it to my Christian God and to your Viking gods as well.”
He was on her before she could move. He slapped her hard. She staggered against a tree, lurched forward, and slumped down to her knees. He stood over her, looking down at her, rubbing his hands together.
She pushed her hair from her face. Her breathing was harsh; her cheek felt raw. She should simply let him take her. She shouldn’t struggle against him. She should endure.
But something deep inside her rebelled. She didn’t want to be passive; she didn’t want to submit. She didn’t want to force herself to endure, to silently suffer whatever he would mete out to her.
She raised her face then and said, “If I do not kill you, Magnus will.”
He raised his hand again, fisted it, then very slowly lowered it back to his side.
“I am as brave as Magnus but far more daring, as you know yourself. I am as strong as Magnus. As boys one of us would always win in wrestling and weight lifting. But he took one path, doing what his father demanded of him, wedding with that silly girl his family had selected for him, taking his grandfather’s homestead, Malek, becoming naught but a farmer and a trader, whereas I . . . I wanted to . . .” He frowned as if waiting for the words to come into his mind. He was silent for many moments; then he shrugged. “I have known more women than Magnus. I would pleasure you more than he does. You come from the Danelaw. I will return you there, to your home, and you will live well with me and not know any want. There is no reason for you to fight me.”
“There is every reason. Magnus is my husband. He is kind and loyal and he loves me.”
“He has deceived you, you stupid bitch. And those are words one would say of one’s father. They are not the words a woman should say of a man who gave her passion. Kind? He is weak and looks not to himself to take what he wants. Loyal? Aye, Magnus is loyal, for his brothers would kill him were he not. He is part of them, not a man separate.” He saw that his words were having no effect. It infuriated him, but still he smiled, saying easily, “Like me, Magnus enjoys a variety of women. He will not hesitate to take them in front of your nose, be you wife or no. Did he not take Cyra with you there, watching? Did he not mock you with her presence?”
“I thought you said you knew more women than Magnus.”
His mouth tightened with irritation. “Of course I do, ’tis just that Magnus will take whatever female lives at his farmstead. He never ventures away for a woman as I have done.”
She whispered, “Ingunn . . . do you not plan to wed her? Do you not plan to keep me as your slave?”
He laughed and rubbed his knuckles over the thick reddish-blond stubble. His look was cunning. “If you come to me willingly, I could make Ingunn your slave.” He leaned down then and began to wrap a thick tress of her hair around his hand. “I would breed a babe off you with hair this color. A man who would command men, a man strong and powerful, a man who would rule all of Norway, all of England, a man who would make King Alfred’s sons look like puking infants.”
“I would kill any child of yours.”
She had pushed him too far. His eyes glittered dark and wild. She knew it, but still she wasn’t fast enough. He grabbed her arms and pulled her to her feet. He did not strike her again, merely ripped the front of her gown to her waist. She was wearing a shift beneath it, and he ripped it as well, baring her breasts.
His belt lay on the ground, the sword in its scabbard still hooked over the leather. She didn’t struggle yet, knowing instinctively that if she did, he would strike her again, and perhaps this time she would lose consciousness. She had to be alert, she had to act when she found the chance. She was stiff in his arms, but nothing more. His breathing was ragged and deep, and within moments her clothing was in rags around her bare feet.
“By Thor, you are more than I expected.” His hands were rough on her breasts as his mouth came over hers.
His hands pressed against her belly, and he was trying to wedge her legs apart. With a growl of frustration he pulled back and began to yank and pull at his tunic. When he was naked to the waist, he pulled her against him, moving his chest against her breasts, and he was groaning.
He released her for a moment to jerk off his trousers and rip off the cross-garters from his soft leather boots.
Zarabeth leapt for his sword. She had it in her hands, was trying to jerk it from its scabbard, when he was on her, his hands wrapped around her hair, and he was pulling her inexorably backward, and she was crying with the pain and with the bitter taste of failure.
He jerked the sword from her hand and threw it some feet away. He was naked now, over her, and suddenly he threw himself between her legs. He was smiling down at her and his eyes were filled with triumph.
He reared up to position himself. She lurched up, her fists pounding into his face. Her nails scored his cheeks and she felt the flesh tear away, felt his blood well over her fingers. He roared with anger and pain. His hands were around her throat and his fingers were squeezing hard and harder still and she felt pain in her chest, building and building, and she knew she would die now. He was cursing her and there was madness in him and now the madness was him.
Suddenly his hands fell away from her throat and air surged into her lungs. She coughed frantically, sucking in air.
“Hurry, Zarabeth!”
It was Ingunn. She stood over an unconscious Orm, his sword in her hand. She had struck him hard from behind with the sword handle.
“Is he dead?” Her voice ripped out, a curious croak, and the pain of it made her shake.
“No, no. We must hurry.”
Zarabeth pushed him off her and jumped to her feet. “I’m naked,” she said, staring down at herself dumbly.
“Here!”
Zarabeth caught Orm’s tunic. She pulled it over her head. It came to her knees. It smelled of him.
“Horses, Ingunn. We must get the horses, else we won’t have a chance!”
“Nay, Kol is awake, as is Bein, and the horses are kept close, you know that. We will go on foot. We can hide. Hurry, else he will awaken and catch us!”
Zarabeth wanted to kill him. She stood uncertain for a moment, then quickly gathered together the leather cross-garters he’d ripped from his shoes and tied his hands behind his back. Then she tied his ankles.
“Hurry!”
She stood over him for a moment, staring down at him. “He is mad, Ingunn.”
“I care not, come along! He will kill me as well as you if he catches us.”
Ingunn grabbed the leather belt and shoved the sword back into its scabbard. Then she stared at it as if it were a snake to bite her. Zarabeth grabbed it and wrapped the belt around her waist and cinched it. It hung low on her hips, but it held there.
She had no shoes, but it didn’t matter. She ran, Ingunn at her side. They were deep in the forest before they halted, each holding her side.
“A moment,” Zarabeth said. “A moment, Ingunn.”
Zarabeth leaned against a tree, the pain sharp in her side, air ripping painfully through her throat, and she felt light-headed. Her stomach cramped from hunger. She r
aised her head to see Ingunn on her knees, her head lowered.
“Why did you save me?”
Ingunn sucked in great gulps of air.
Zarabeth waited. She could hear her own breathing, sharp in her ears, and Ingunn’s as well, both harsh and ugly in the stillness of the forest.
“Why, Ingunn?”
“I came to realize that he had changed. I had refused to believe my father when he told me of the things Orm had done. You see, I thought I knew him, and I loved him.” She shrugged. “Whenever I met him he made me believe in him, even though I began to guess that something had happened to him. I don’t know what it was. But he used to be so . . . happy and gentle in his ways, at least toward women. He changed, Zarabeth.” She rose then and looked back the way they had come.
“He will come after us any moment now. To kill me. To kill you as well, after he has raped you. If you want to live, we must hurry now.”
Zarabeth staggered forward. It was dark now, finally, and they were running across a narrow strip of swampland that gave into another thin forest of pines, then stopped at the edge of the viksfjord.
“Faster,” Ingunn said from behind her. “He will find us, by all the gods, I know it.”
“Nay, we will beat him.” She prayed as she ran, prayed to her Christian God, to each of the Viking gods in turn. The pain in her side was unbearable, but she merely ran hunched over, holding herself, her breathing hoarse, her throat burning.
They stumbled in the boggy ground, falling several times, helping each other up, only to run and stumble again.
When they heard the horses coming they both slammed to the ground, uncaring of the mud and wet. Zarabeth’s hands were filled with swamp mud. Her face was pressed into the wet earth. She thought of the last time she’d lain on the ground, waiting helplessly for Orm to come capture her. And he had come, and he would come again. The sword was heavy, dragging down at her side. She wasn’t helpless this time.
The horses were coming closer. There was no long grass in this boggy swamp to hide them, only short marshy reeds, and Zarabeth knew that at any moment Orm would see them.
Season of the Sun Page 28
