Wolves Among Danes

by Dolly Nightmare

  Lie to them just like Noma did...

  Tears stream down her face, and she yanks her arm back and steps away from me. “No! I don’t want to go live with that nasty woman. I would rather stay here.”

  I look at her in shock as she backs up and pounds on the door begging, “Master, please let me back in! Please! I will be good!”

  “Margaret!” I hiss going to approach her, and I then say loudly, “I will bring you to Runa! You can work at the mead hall. It’s better than staying here!”

  I rip her away from the door, and she glares at me before she whips around and spits on me. I flinch as the big glob of spit rolls down my cheek and on to the ground.

  “I hate you, Ellie! I always have! You’re spoiled, you’re pretty, and you’re strong!” she hisses, and I then slap her across the face, and she gasps.

  I yell, gaining authority to my voice, “Enough! You’re going to stay with Runa! She is nice.”

  To a certain level...

  Margaret quiets down and looks away, and I huff loudly feeling bad about using violence, but I felt it was my only choice.

  I then drag her back to my horse, and she continues to look down at the ground rather than my face, and her cheek has long since turned red. I didn’t think I hit her that hard...

  And the rest of our ride to the mead hall is a silent one.

  Runa glowers at me and then at Margaret and then back to me. “You want me to take her?” She asks snarkily. “An English slave?”

  “Once an English slave. I have bought her freedom,” I state loudly and clearly, so she didn’t get confused about Margaret’s status.

  She drops the rag into the murky brown water residing inside a wooden pail. It seems we have caught her when she is cleaning the mead hall.

  Her forehead is glistening, her top is soaked with sweat, and currently no one was inside the mead hall. Probably too cold to leave their homes.

  She thinks about it before she asks, looking at Margaret, “Can she clean for me?”

  “She can clean,” I answer automatically.

  “Cook?” she questions next.

  “Yes, she can cook,” I answer.

  “Then I will take her but not because of you but because I need the help...She can sleep in the barn.” She growls at me slightly, never liking me, and even now she still holds some sort of resentment for me, for what I do not know, perhaps because I was an English woman.

  “Fair enough,” I mutter before turning towards Margaret, and she doesn’t meet my eyes but stares at the ground, frowning.

  I then walk past her, and I mutter looking at the ground, my chest squeezing in pain at the thought of her truly hating me because of everything, but I push the thought of it away, “I promise I will get you and the others to England. Just give me time...”

  And with that promise I make to Margaret, I promise myself that I will work more on giving my people the freedom they deserve and get them back to England. No matter what...I will find a way.

  Chapter 14

  The Butcher

  April 5th, 1001 AD

  The earth has long since thawed from that horrible and bitter cold wasteland. Winter is officially over, and the trees and land are beginning to get their color back to them. Though the lands are wet and marshy from the rain, making it easier for me to track prey, specifically hooves.

  My eyes focus on the deer from the tall grass. It grazes peacefully, and I slowly and quietly raise my bow, taking aim at it. I steady myself, the bow and arrow resting against the tip of my finger, as a soft breeze blows against me.

  I can’t let the deer catch my scent, so once the wind starts to pick up, I let it go, pointing it towards the deer and it shoots right into the lungs, my desired target. It will be a quick death, but some are stubborn.

  I quickly draw another arrow to get its other lung to make it go down quicker, but it is startled and begins to flee slowly, despite the arrow in its side.

  I follow it before quickly shooting the arrow into its other lung once more. Its footing becomes unsteady, and it collapses onto its side, it’s breathing shallow.

  At least it doesn’t scream. I hate when some of the deer do that. The first deer that I killed two summers ago let out a horrible scream, and I had no idea deer could let out such a terrible and sad noise. I felt guilty and every time I go hunting I pray they won’t scream like that one had that time.

  I wander slowly to its side, and its eye stares at me. I can’t help but feel guilt once more. I do not understand how the men in the village can so cold-bloodedly kill things without feeling a shred of remorse.

  Noma had told me, to get over the remorse I felt every time I went hunting, to think of everything as rats, no matter the size, and that the deer I felt bad about killing was nothing more than a big rat.

  It is still hard, and once the deer takes its final breath, I stand up muttering to it, “I’m sorry.”

  I place my bow onto my back, hooking it where I keep my spare arrows.

  I then begin to drag the heavy deer which weighs probably about what Frey does towards my horse, waiting patiently for me.

  Now the first time I went deer hunting with her she didn’t given me any trouble like some of the other hunters in the village had told me. She didn’t freak out, or really care as long as the antlers weren’t poking her.

  But the first time, I had taken precautions and rubbed the deer’s blood on her nose, so she didn’t freak out; however, she didn’t like me doing that and kept snorting and huffing at me. Once we got home, I rewarded her with an apple, after I had rid her of the deer’s blood, of course.

  This deer feels to be one of the heaviest I have brought down yet and I have trouble as I continue to drag it. I then sigh loudly as I drop the deer on the ground and I proceed to rip the arrows from its chest. One arrow was unrepairable while the other I could reuse; I toss the broken arrow into the bushes.

  I then lift the front half of the deer, my arms trembling slightly from the weight, but I manage to toss the heavy deer on to my horse’s back once drawing close to it.

  I wipe at the blood that has smeared on my face from getting the deer on to my horse’s back, and I then grab the reins of my horse and begin leading her back to the village.

  The walk is long, and by the time I arrive, an hour or possibly two has already passed. The morning was officially over, and it was now afternoon, the villagers already busy and filling the street with chores to complete before the day’s end.

  I wander to the butcher, working hard on skinning the rabbits I provided him with yesterday. I see some skins he has already up for sale from the ones he’s finished along with the meat.

  He is quiet and always says very few words to me. When he speaks, it’s always in English all the while having a heavy accent.

  His eyes glance over to me, probably already picking up my scent as I have found out the butcher has a keen sense of smell.

  He is young, possibly in his twenties, with dark skin and long black hair in a braid similar to Frey’s and light brown eyes. It seems he has taken to the fashion here.

  From what I know about him, Noma bought him as a slave four years ago after Arvid and the others left but immediately put him to trade as a butcher instead of working for just her. So, he is on good terms with Noma and I, and he trades with me fairly.

  He is also smart and knows his fair share of languages from all around the world. From what I know he has been to many places and is far from his homeland, but he is accepted here as he shares the blood of a beast.

  That is what interested Noma the most when she saw him. Not the color of his skin, but the fact he shares the blood of a beast that isn’t a wolf, but something else altogether.

  All he says is that he and his tribe share the blood of what he called a leopard before he and his sister were taken by strange men. His sister was already sold to men in the East and he was brought here soon after.

  A leopard is a big cat with spots as he describes it and the closer I s
tare at him, the more I see he has spots decorating under his eyes that almost resemble tattoos.

  He is quiet as he waits for me to speak first.

  “How much for the deer?” I ask him in English.

  “Ten silver,” he says holding up all ten fingers with a heavy dialect.

  He wipes his hands of the blood from the rabbit onto a rag he has on the table, and he comes from within his tiny makeshift shop with a cloth to shield him from the sun.

  He inspects the deer, and I notice his fingernails are sharp like that of a house or barn cat, and I ask curiously, “What is your name? I know the people here like to call you Langley but what is the name you’re born with as I know that is a Viking name?”

  The man here has always interested me. He is something different, and I find for the first time I have asked him a question that isn’t business related.

  He is quiet once more as he runs his finger over the deer’s wound and he brings his blood-soaked finger to his mouth, licking the blood off his fingertip, his pupil turning to that of a slit the more the sun shines into his eyes.

  I normally look at such things with disgust, but I know he isn’t a human like many of the people here. I have grown accustomed to such things happening.

  When I feel he is not going to reply to me he finally does, “Adisa was my name given to me by my mother.”

  He then takes the deer off my horse with no problem and throws it over his shoulder. I watch in amazement as he carries it over to the table, flops it down and goes back under the cloth then through his things underneath the table.

  He is quiet, and he places down ten silver coins. He then asks me a question in return. “And why does someone so close to the chieftain need all this money?”

  I smirk at him slightly, collecting the money he has given me and sliding it into the pouch on my hip next to my trusty knife that had once saved me from an angry wolf. “To set my people free.”

  He raises his brows in curiosity, and he asks, being the most talkative I have seen him, “Your people...?”

  “I’m not from here either. I’m from England,” I state. “I was brought here to be a wife to the chieftain’s son, but he is currently away. I’m looking to set my people free who were purchased as slaves in this village. Some I won’t be able to save as they have been given to lands in the east and stranger places, but at least here I can do something.”

  “I see,” he mutters. “I have been to England once before, but my stay was short. I wasn’t needed there. I hope you’re successful as I would do the same for my people that were bought as slaves.”

  I smile at him slightly, and I say, not knowing what else to say and having things to do, “Have a good day, Adisa.”

  He nods, and he says, his eyes focused on the deer now, “You too, Miss Ellie.”

  I mount my horse once more, not bothered by some of the blood that had leaked from the deer’s wounds. My legs were tired, and I wanted a break. I almost had enough money to buy another English slave from somebody.

  This winter I couldn’t do much as every kill from a hunting session was needed for fresh food. Once the warm weather came, I immediately got busy with hunting and trading with the man I know now as Adisa and not his Viking name “Langley.”

  I look down at my pants, and I see blood on them. Great, another stain. At least they are my pants and not one of my dresses.

  When I hunt or do any other activity, I wear pants. I found it odd at first, seeing as I was taught that men could only wear them, but a lot of the Viking women wear pants into battle or when they hunt or train. So, I too started wearing them more often than dresses lately.

  Wearing dresses seems pretty dumb when I am this active and doing work suited for a man.

  As I make my way through town, I go by the mead hall and once more the hall is busy with men and women. Both Margaret and Runa are busy serving.

  I find myself smiling as I see that Margaret looks much healthier than when she was working as a slave. Her skin has a glow to it that it hadn’t before, and I then get interrupted by another horse trotting beside me. I turn my head to see Bard.

  I frown, and Bard says, looking inside the mead hall that has its doors open then at me, “I see your friend Margaret isn’t a slave anymore.”

  “And?” I question him, my eyes narrowing, my smile long gone.

  “Strange isn’t it...” Bard states before he says, “I don’t think Runa would buy a slave.”

  He then reaches out towards me, wetting his thumb, and he wipes the blood off my cheek, saying, “And I see you have been keeping busy with trade.”

  I crinkle my nose and slap his hand harshly, and I say, guiding my horse to move away from Bard, “It’s none of your business what I do...What do you want, Bard?”

  He chuckles at me, still following me as he rubs his hand that I had slapped. “You know my offer is still on the table...Your husband Frey isn’t here, and he could most definitely be dead by now.”

  “Frey is not my husband. I do not love him, nor have I agreed to marry him,” I state sternly, my eyes trained forward. “I am a free woman, and I will decide who I will marry.” I then give him a side glance, and I say, “and I don’t think you are that special man.”

  Bard frowns at me, and he says, “You know if you marry me you will benefit, Ellie. I can help you bring your friends back to England, and you can get to visit England yourself. Without me, you won’t be able to do it.”

  “Yeah,” I say, turning around and sneering at him as my horse trots faster. “Just watch me.”

  I then kick the sides of my horse, making her go faster and to get away from Bard who is getting on my nerves. I don’t look back as my horse picks up speed and travels back to our home, letting Bard know I will never be interested in his offer of marriage.

  Once I am there, I get off my horse and begin to wash the blood off her using the water from the stream nearby.

  I scrub at her sides until all of her white fur is no longer red or pink, stained with blood, and my mind starts reeling with thoughts.

  If Frey is dead who would I marry? I don’t feel love for anybody here, and I have never felt my heart beat for no one but Frey, if I can count the times he used to call me cute as a child.

  Though that wasn’t love, I don’t think. I was flustered from his straightforwardness, and I was being lustful creature, I was around that age after all.

  But he truly is the only one who made me flustered in my lifetime. So, if he comes back will I feel the same way? Will my heart beat for him differently?

  I sigh heavily through my nose, and I leave the barn after feeding my horse a bit of honey for being good for me today.

  Men seem to be on my mind after getting bugged by Bard over his proposal.

  I hate these thoughts...and in the end, I can only see myself being alone. I can’t see a man being at my side. Especially someone like Frey or Bard.

  April 6th, 1001 AD

  “Nothing for me today, Miss Ellie?” asks Adisa who had already traded with somebody else for the day, that somebody providing him with a large elk with teeth marks in its neck.

  I frown as I sit on top of my horse, and I reply, “No...There is nothing for me to hunt. Not even a rabbit or anything. It seems somebody is trespassing on my hunting grounds.”

  I glare at the elk on his table, and it isn’t long before he catches my gaze.

  Adisa grins as he stares at me and he says, confirming my thoughts, and I notice his canine teeth are sharp, “A man came here early this morning with the elk, and he only asked me to pay him three silver...No offense, Miss Ellie, but if this man is a constant supplier, I will be going to him from now on.”

  I feel anger course through my veins, and I ask, only seeing red at this point, “Did the man have tattoos on his face?”

  “He did...” answers the butcher with a grin stretching ear to ear.

  Adisa can be an evil man when he wants to...he is fair, but I suppose he will go with the route where he earn
s more money—his fairness to me ending with a better bargain.

  I grind my teeth, kicking the sides of my horse, not even saying goodbye to Adisa, and my eyes search the crowd in the village looking for that shithead Bard. He is trying to put me out of business so I can’t make money on my own. He knows this...

  The more I think about it, the angrier I get, and as I search frantically for his face, I see Runa who is just getting back from buying some food from the vendors. I slow my horse before asking her quickly and angrily, “Have you seen Bard?”

  She replies, her golden eyes narrowing at me, “No, I haven’t.”

  I click my tongue at her and kick the sides of my horse again, my eyes still searching for the sleazy bastard. I swear I am going to murder him for doing a ploy like this.

  As murder weighs heavily on my mind, I see the bastard leaning up against a tree by the woods, tossing a coin up and down and once he sees me, he grins smugly.

  I sneer at him, quickly making my way towards him, and I yell at him once nearing him, “Do you think you can steal my buyer away from me just like that?”

  “I do. If it gets you to marry me, I will do anything,” He says.

  “I will kill you,” I hiss.

  He tuts at me and says, “Ellie, you can’t murder an innocent civilian just because you don’t get your way.” He straightens his back, tossing one of the silver coins at my chest, and I catch it. “You will never free your slave friends like that.”

  I grip the silver coin in my hand as I seethe, my chest rising and falling in anger.

  “I mean, all you have to do is marry me, and you can have everything you want. You don’t have to worry about freeing your friends yourself. I don’t see the problem,” he explains with that cocky grin of his.

  “I don’t love you,” I growl out at him. “So why would I marry you?” I question him.