by Susan Wright
Drucelli tossed her head disdainfully. "That’s Ukerald. He’s been stuck too long in this backwater village that the dogs fight over like a bone. He hoped you brought word that he would be relieved of his burden."
Lexander nodded shortly. "I will convey a message, if you wish, Ukerald. I will be on my way as soon as passage can be arranged."
Drucelli placed her hand on his arm, drawing Lexander to the settle. I remained where I was, my hands clasped before me.
"There are many who are waiting for passage, and they will continue to languish here for some time." Her eyes caressed his face, and her hand still rested on his arm. He did not try to dislodge it. "The conqueror himself won’t travel with the seas filled with Noromenn. Swegn has laid claim to Danelaw, and he has many loyal warriors."
"I had no trouble when I arrived."
Drucelli let out a breathy giggle, leaning closer. "Coming from Viinland, you were in a Noroship, yes? Naturally they wouldn’t try to stop you, but no one else can get through. The ship from Stanbulin is weeks overdue."
I suddenly realized Ukerald was watching me. He saw my distress at the way his consort charmed my master.
In confusion, I averted my eyes and noticed a girl in the shadows. She was naked and crouching in the rushes, her fingers digging into the dirt floor. There was a clinking sound as she shifted—a chain attached to the collar around her neck was fastened to a nearby pillar. I couldn’t see much in the dim light, but her eyes were as brown as her hair, while her skin was exceedingly fair.
Drucelli stroked Lexander’s arm. "The Noroking will arrive any day to take back what is rightfully his. It’s a wonder the Frankish conqueror has held Danelaw for so long. We’ve secured the house and taken in supplies enough to withstand any siege. You’ll be safe here with us."
Ukerald looked more annoyed than not, but he didn’t protest. Lexander graciously inclined his head.
I was afraid that getting out of Becksbury would be a lot more difficult than entering it.
6
Perhaps I was still in shock from seeing the blacksmith strike off the moneylender’s hand. I did not want to destroy this pleasure house or these masters. Yet it was clear from the girl in chains that things were amiss here.
Ukerald made a motion, and a boy appeared. He wasn’t much younger than I, but he still had the awkward limbs of youth. He wore an unflattering tunic and baggy leggings.
"Take her to the slave hall," Ukerald ordered.
My last look at Lexander must have been clear to both Drucelli and Ukerald. I couldn’t help but lock eyes with him. I saw a flicker of anguish, and yes, of anger that I had insisted on coming here. Yet I doubted either Drucelli or Ukerald could tell. He was the master once again, detached and in complete control of himself.
I followed the boy to the adjacent hall. The walkway was covered by a pointed roof, but the sides were open to the muddy yard still shrouded in fog.
The slave hall was smaller, but it had the same wooden pillars and pitched ceiling, with a fire in the center. Two trestle tables were pushed against one wall with the benches upturned on top. It was as dark as the other hall, with a feeble light slanting through slits high above us. The walls were hung with tapestries, though these were far more threadbare and had been chewed into ragged holes along the edges.
There were no olfs.
The pleasure slaves were sitting in various positions on the dirt floor or crouching near the fire to get warm. They looked at me intently, as if they weren’t accustomed to anyone entering their hall. From my splendid attire, they assumed I was not a slave. They wore loose leggings and bulky tunics. The colors were dark—brown, rust, green, and gray.
I didn’t know how to explain myself. The boy who had brought me retreated in silence, and I could see from their wary glances that they were reluctant to question him in front of me.
I remained standing, my hands clasped and eyes downcast. I did not take the vordna pose of deference because it was not proper for a slave to bow to other slaves.
Ukerald arrived not long afterward, alone. The other slaves instantly knelt where they were, facing him. I remained standing since I had not been given an order. I refrained from looking at him directly, stealing glimpses. Ukerald had remarkably light russet eyes with the same bewitching kaleidoscope depths as Lexander’s.
Ukerald carried a thin, pale stick. "Take off those clothes," he ordered. He swiped the cane through the air, making a whistling sound.
I had prepared myself to acquiesce to anything. I gracefully unwound the chain from my waist and looped it over my wrist. Then I undid the cloak and pulled off my dress. I draped the garments over my arm, then bent to remove my fur-lined Thule boots.
Ukerald gestured for the closest slave to take everything from me. I didn’t see which chest my garments were placed in, as the master commanded, "Take your positions."
The slaves shifted into straight lines, three abreast. There were eleven so I took the open space farthest away from the fire. It did not surprise me that this severe master had not ordered clothes to be brought for me. I remained naked.
Imitating the others, I knelt in lydnad, straight up on my knees with my head bent in obedience. I did my best not to shiver though I was already chilled.
"Anbud!" Ukerald ordered.
I dropped my hands to the dirt in front of me, pressing my face against them as I raised my buttocks high in the air. The pose presented my nether parts in full display. Ukerald walked among the slaves, muttering orders. I couldn’t see much but the boy in front of me, the one who had brought me here. His leggings stretched over his raised buttocks.
Ukerald prodded the boy sharply in the back with his cane. "A deeper curve, Matteus."
Matteus flinched at the point of the cane, and he thrust his hips higher. The master examined him critically, stepping around him until he turned to face me.
I went very still as Ukerald approached. His boots were near my plait, which curved down to the ground, still tied with the gay red ribbon. My toes were pointed correctly and barely touched, as Helanas had demanded.
Ukerald stepped behind me where I couldn’t see him. I tried to breathe slowly.
Without warning, the cane whistled through the air behind me. I felt a slash of burning fire rip across my hind cheeks. I gulped back a cry, letting out a strangled squeak. But the agony grew worse, spreading as my body shuddered, threatening to collapse to the ground.
Then his hands were on my hips, and I felt him prodding me from behind. The wound left by the cane flared in agony at every touch. Ukerald shoved his thickened tarse into me, forcing me to open for him.
It was too sudden, too humiliating to be used in this way. But even as I silently fought against him, my body began to respond.
His harsh breathing was the only sound in the hall other than the popping of the wet wood in the fire. Not a word spoken as he took me in front of the slaves. I was accustomed to Helanas’ whims, but this went beyond even her talent for persecution.
Even so, his pleasure had more to do with Lexander than me. I could almost see Ukerald sitting next to my master, toying with himself as he thought about violating me. He would use me to prod Lexander into revealing more than he intended.
Ukerald suddenly pulled away, as if knowing my mind had wandered to another man. I tensed at the sound of the cane slicing through the air. I couldn’t keep a cry from escaping. The pain seemed too terrible to endure, but the feeling spread and intensified, like my flesh was splitting. I longed to touch my skin to see if I was still intact, but I knew I would be punished for it. Each slight movement was torture.
"Gesig!" Ukerald ordered.
The other slaves rose up, sitting back on their heels. I followed a slight beat behind. Ribbons of fire blossomed as my abused flesh rested on my heels. Though I had been shivering from the cold, sweat now glistened on my skin.
Ukerald continued giving commands, taking us through a vigorous training that Helanas herself would have admired. We perf
ormed each pose several times, moving from kneeling to standing and bending poses, then back to kneeling ones. I felt the lash of the cane a few more times because I had difficulty holding the poses for long. I was sorely out of practice.
Ukerald pulled down the leggings of several slaves to strike them across their bare buttocks or to briefly use them for his pleasure. He struck others over the leggings, which must have lessened the pain. His long tarse hung out the front of his braies the entire time. He barely spoke, but there was an undercurrent of menace in his taut gestures. The slaves were terrified.
When we were again in the anbud pose, he returned to me. I thought he would take me again, making my wounds sting more harshly.
But he abruptly knocked me over. I sprawled on my side, looking up in astonishment. His boot went to my throat, pushing me down on my back.
I couldn’t help myself; my hands went to his boot, as he pressed against my neck. I couldn’t breathe. I writhed underneath him, scrabbling at his foot.
"You will unhand me!" Ukerald ordered.
It was impossible. My throat was being crushed. Blackness descended as I gurgled. He would kill me.
I forced myself to release his boot, forced myself to clench my hands to my chest, trying to relax, to not fight the inevitable. Yet it was done too quickly and I couldn’t find that place of utter submission in the face of his assault. I had fought for my life against Birgir and would fight to save myself always.
I was near blacking out when he finally lifted his boot. I choked and curled on my side, coughing and trying to draw a breath. My hands clutched my throat.
Ukerald jerked my hair, ripping the red ribbon from my braid.
I’m not sure when he left or how long I stayed there in the dirt. I only knew that I had to survive.
Later, the morning meal was served to the slaves. My throat was swollen and I could hardly eat the hard rye bread and bland cheese. I had to stand because I couldn’t bear to sit on the rough bench.
I used the water bucket to wash my skin, twisting to see the bruises on either side of the raw stripes left by the cane. The wounds seeped, but thankfully there wasn’t much blood.
Since I was naked, I could not sprawl on the ground as the others did because it would press dirt into my wounds.
The slaves stayed away from me, too fearful to reach out. I understood and did not resent their silence. Several of them departed at the tinkle of a bell attached to a cord on the wall. One of the eldest, a big blond man who reminded me of the Sigurdssons merchant family, returned with a naked girl. It was the slave who had been chained in the main hall. She looked like she had been through even worse than me.
It seemed like a miracle when an olf followed them in. The olf responded to my burst of surprise and delight, darting over. It was such a relief to feel its soft light shining on me. Its chubby face was concerned, unusually so for such careless creatures. It pulsed in sympathy with my throbbing buttocks.
"No," the girl demanded. She was looking directly at me. "I want you here."
It was the first time any of the slaves had spoken to me. Curious, I started toward her.
The girl shook her head, making her fine brown hair fall into her eyes. "Not you! Him," she insisted, pointing to a spot near my head.
I realized she was talking about the olf. "You can see it?" I exclaimed in disbelief. Skraelings talked to the olfs, but I had never met a Noromann who could.
"Come to me," she insisted to the olf, stamping her foot slightly against the ground. She had swelling breasts, yet she was still boyish in the waist and hips. Her dark eyes looked up slyly from side to side as she kept her chin tucked down.
The big blond slave shook his head in exasperation. "Don’t pay any attention to Olvid," he said as he passed me. "Her mind has come undone."
Olvid put her hands on her hips, jerking her chin. "She knows what I mean."
I would not deny her. But my kinsfolk in Jarnby had thought me touched in the head because I spoke with the olfs. Surely I should not court that reputation here.
So I turned to the male slave. "Who are you?"
"Rimbert," he replied with the obedience of a well-trained slave.
"And the others?" I asked. Rimbert began to introduce the slaves, distracted from Olvid as I had intended.
At last some began talking as they told me how they had come to Becksbury. Most were Noromenn, but Drucelli had recently lured in several short Frankish boys who had followed the conqueror’s warband to Danelaw. Rimbert had grown up in Londinium while others had run away to come to town, only to find it nearly impossible to survive. I had struggled on the streets of the port of Brianda and could heartily sympathize. They had come to this house when Drucelli offered them food and a warm place to stay, often in exchange for some minor sexual favor. Once here, they were enslaved.
Barissa, the prettiest girl, had been sought out by Ukerald and seduced into leaving her home with promises much like those Lexander had made to me—a life of exotic adventure and high status as a companion to kings and emperors. But none of these slaves believed that anymore. The spirit had been beaten out of them, and most sat in dejected silence, unable to summon the will to describe the horror of their lives.
It was much like Vidaris, yet worse. I tried to ignore my pain, shivering continually in the damp cold. Now I understood why they wore such cumbersome wool garments.
Then Drucelli arrived for our afternoon training session. She strolled in, her silver girdle emphasizing the swing of her hips beneath her sky-blue dress. For a wonder, she smiled at us, much like an olf who had just eaten a bowl of cream. I wondered if she had been with Lexander and, unbidden, I could imagine him kissing this perfect woman, her head tilting back as he tasted her neck and cleavage. I hoped it was a fantasy born of my feverish state.
I joined the slaves in kneeling, facing Drucelli. Olvid was right next to the mistress, having not moved far from the door. The olf hovered over her, but Drucelli seemed not to notice it.
"You know what to do," Drucelli purred.
The slaves fetched a bundle from a chest and spread it out on the floor. It was heavy canvas, like the material of a sail, but was worn soft with use. I helped pull it out flat, but Olvid only pretended to take part. She was still preoccupied with the olf, looking up to one side, her lips moving as she spoke to it.
Drucelli also carried a cane, but hers was longer and more flexible than Ukerald’s. She enjoyed swishing it through the air, making that distinctive whistling sound. I cringed with the other slaves every time. Ukerald’s blows were still ringing in my flesh.
The slaves disrobed and deposited their garments on the upturned benches on the tables. It was time for the arts of sensual pleasure.
Drucelli announced, "The girls on Olvid, and the boys on Matteus."
We separated into groups and I followed the girls.Their expressions of disgust were clear as they approached Olvid’s dirty body. Perhaps that’s why Drucelli had ordered it. Barissa began to kiss Olvid. With Barissa’s beautiful heart-shaped face and voluptuous body, I wouldn’t have minded having her lips on mine, but Olvid remained impassive.
Two girls each took a breast and began to mouth her nipples. Drucelli flicked her cane against another girl’s back, leaving a short mark. It was not the terrible full-armed swing that Ukerald gave us, but it was enough to make her flinch. The girl quickly crouched between Olvid’s thighs and began to lick her crotch. Her eyes were closed.
That left me without a traditional position to take. Before Drucelli could chastise me with her cane, I knelt at Olvid’s feet and lifted one in my hands. They were as dirty as the rest of her, but I had no choice. I lowered my lips to kiss her toes. I tried to brush the worst of the dirt away when I could, but was forced to lick, then gag when Drucelli wasn’t watching. Olvid hardly moved.
Despite Olvid’s disinterest, the girls slowly brought her to climax. They began to shift and exchange glances as Olvid started to twitch, then flung her arms up as if to stop the gir
ls. They held her down as she writhed beneath them. I clutched her ankle to keep her from kicking me.
The olf grew increasingly agitated as Olvid burst out of control. My silent, desperate questions were answered by the olf in a vision of Ukerald standing over her—he slammed his fist into the side of Olvid’s head and she went flying across the room. As she lay on the ground, her limbs began to twitch uncontrollably.
The horrifying sight disappeared along with the olf in a puff of white vapor.
Olvid convulsed, her thrashing and guttural cries going on and on. I noticed the boys kept on pleasantly tormenting Matteus, who was responding despite Olvid’s fit happening not an arm’s length away.
Drucelli never took her eyes off us. It sickened me. Ukerald had done this to Olvid and Drucelli enjoyed it.
If I could have gathered every slave and walked out right then, I would have done it. It seemed impossible to bear it a moment longer.
But I had to endure. It wasn’t enough to free these poor slaves; we had to make sure that Ukerald and Drucelli were stopped for good. I would do whatever it took to burn this house to the ground.
Drucelli called for us to each take a partner, and I was paired with a well-endowed young man with a strapping chest whose name I had forgotten. At his first tentative touch, I almost shrugged him off, too shaken to desire any intimacy.
But Drucelli’s eyes were hard and appraising. I would have to be a slave for a little while longer. I had to abandon my freedom, even in my own mind.
So as my partner stroked my body, I concentrated on making it pleasurable for him. Likely he had little enough enjoyment in his life. I lost myself in his fine body, becoming mesmerized by his well-defined chest and the hard muscles in his arms. He responded vigorously, taking his time to stimulate me into passion before he took me.
As his body pressed into me, his desire purely driven, I relaxed and finally sank into my most submissive state. I rested in that deep place inside of me that was always accepting, always molding myself to the needs of the moment.
