She needed to be able to survive on land again. She had the medicine bag that Danuta had given her around her waist; it was so empty she had taken to wearing it as a belt. There was her fleece but it didn’t matter. She could survive without bedding. Wherever she was going, summer was coming.
‘So where shall we go?’ Og held out half a dozen little polished shells. ‘There’ll be people with food, there might be some trading, though it is late in the day.’
They strolled, Rian wobbling and giggling at her clumsiness. Whenever they paused, she felt she was swooning, as if her body no longer knew how to stand upright. The only answer was to keep walking. She gazed around her. She had never seen anything like this. So many boats and so many people. A hubbub of ropes and baskets, fish and bones. Houses built of stone with doors wide open and everywhere people calling, guffawing, examining goods or rifling through baskets. A woman stood looking out to sea. A boy ran past, a dog on his heels. A line of four slaves with heavy baskets strapped across their foreheads marched up from the harbour towards the broch, their ankle chains rattling.
A big buxom woman with a basket of cakes hanging from a leather strap around her shoulders showed them her wares, tempting them to something sweet. ‘Will you buy a honey bun for your honey bun?’
Og giggled like a naughty boy. He nudged Rian and pouted for a kiss.
‘Get lost!’ But she laughed, and he handed over a shell and they got a cake each.
‘Don’t tell Ussa, whatever you do. This is…’
The soft honey-flavoured cake was so delicious Rian thought she might cry again. She stuffed it into her mouth, feeling its nectar flood her. Her mouth, nose, belly and blood all swam with its sweetness. Her cheeks bulged with it and she had to close her eyes to stop the outside world from interfering with the wave of panicky joy that filled her. She opened them again to see the cake-seller laughing, her face lit with delight, her basket jiggling in front of her.
‘Best cake ever, eh?’ Og’s mouth was full too, and he had an arm around the shoulder of the woman, looking as if he might be about to do something extravagant like burst into song, perhaps, or dance.
‘Yum.’ It wasn’t exactly expressive but blinking at the woman she saw it was enough. Her hunger, her pain: she didn’t need to explain any of that. She wished she could stay with this woman and not ever have to see Pytheas again, or Li or Toma. Even Og, she thought, can go now too. The longing was to be in the company of a woman and not a tyrant. Ussa wasn’t a real woman. A motherly woman like this one, how she wanted that! But Og was saying his thankyous and goodbyes and they were parting company with the cake seller, and all Rian could do was make her reluctance to go obvious, and the woman nodded and smiled as if she understood.
Further on a fisherman was selling a basket of crabs. He had attracted a crowd of children with his antics. As he waved a crab about, enthusing about its excellent eating qualities, the other crabs in the box would begin to clamber over each other trying to make their escape. Rian knew how they felt. She too was looking for a way to run away. The man would almost clinch a sale and then turn to rescue his miscreant wares. He made a great show of being nipped by their claws, howling as if they had bitten off his finger, and the crowd tittered as he clutched his crotch and mimed a huge pincer with one hand. He was off on a story about a crab ‘so big’, his arms wide. Children stood mouths agape in front of him, backing away and shrieking when he waved a crab too close to their noses, giggling as he mock-hopped from a crab that he let get close to his toes. Meanwhile a cheery woman with a line of baskets of fish did a brisk trade from their mothers.
Rian wished she could giggle along with the children but the press of the crowd kept catching the wounds on her back, stinging like wasps. While Og haggled with the woman, exchanging some more of his shells for fish, Rian looked for somewhere she could slip away to, but as if Og could read her mind, he grabbed her by the arm and tugged her after him. As they turned they saw Ussa, and before they could merge back into the crowd she saw them too. Even at a distance they could tell that what she was saying wasn’t exactly an endearment.
Sale
‘We’re in for it now. Don’t say anything. I’ll try and talk us out of it.’ Og strode towards their owner.
Rian dragged herself along in his wake, glancing to each side, trying not to miss anything, wondering if there was anywhere she could run to.
To her amazement, though, Ussa only sent Og back to the boat. She scoffed at the fish, took all of his remaining shells off him, or those he showed her, and then grabbed Rian by one ear. ‘You come with me.’
Rian stumbled beside her along a muddy passage between houses, up some rough stone steps and into a kind of courtyard surrounded by open-fronted buildings. Inside them and spilling out across the yard a market was in full swing: fabrics and clothes, skins and hides, food, drinks and trinkets. One whole side of the square was taken up with animal skins of all colours and sizes, from small gleaming otter pelts to huge brown bearskins. One corner had the stench of tanneries and mountains of leather goods were stacked behind ferocious-looking men armed as if for battle, not just for bartering. At one side a bustle of traders haggled over bolts of rough woollen cloth and Ussa led her towards them.
Nearby a woman clucked and minced around a customer, making a great show of measuring and pinning. Behind her was a rainbow of cloth and, through the drizzle of her pain, Rian tried to appreciate the wall of fabric. There were so many colours in it she could not imagine how they were all made.
‘Time to dress you up for sale.’ Ussa led her up to the woman, whose round face lit up with avarice at the sight of her. When she had dealt with her customer, she ushered Ussa into her stall, stroking the white pelt of her coat. As Ussa gave short, guttural instructions, the tailor turned her attention to Rian, nodding. She reached out and touched Rian’s hair, then her gaze ranged up and down her body, sizing her up.
After an agreement was reached, Rian was taken behind a curtain and ordered to scrub herself clean. The woman spoke to her in Keltic and Rian knew enough now to be able to tell she was trying to be kind. She tutted over the lashmarks on her back and made Rian stand still while she smoothed fat onto the lacerations. It stung. The sleeveless dress the old woman dressed her in was plain, but woven through it were threads of yarn the colour of primrose leaves, and it was belted with a pale leather thong. There were sandals of a similar leather – Rian had never worn anything so delicate on her feet – and a pale green shawl. ‘Green like your eyes,’ the old woman said, fussing about, plaiting her hair and coiling it first one way then another, standing back from her to view the effect. Rian began to see that this woman had once been handsome. There was something graceful in how she held herself and her pudgy face was lit by blue eyes, bright as a May sky. After the woman rubbed oil into her hair to make it shine and painted her face with coloured pastes, Rian felt like a woman for the first time. She wasn’t sure if she liked it or not.
Ussa had got Og and Li to lay out her wares on a sheet of sail cloth and she was strutting about, trying to draw people’s attention to the glinting weaponry and gems. She added a bronze necklace and bangles to Rian’s outfit and made her stand in the centre of her display. ‘Smile, you ungrateful little bitch, you might never get another chance to be tarted up like this.’ Whenever Ussa noticed that her smile had faded, a finger nail pressed into one of the welts on her back brought the grimace back to her face.
She drew plenty of admiring glances and Ussa encouraged anyone who showed any interest to look closely. One of the leather traders, a man with piggy eyes and a too-tight jerkin came and poked at her, making her open her mouth so he could look at her teeth, squeezing her arms between his fat fingers, complaining about how thin she was.
Ussa stood watching, hands on hips. ‘We’ve been at sea, and she can’t hold her food on the water. She’s no use to me. She’ll fatten up no problem, if that’s what you want. I los
t one of the crew at sea so we lack muscle on the oars. I’m needing a straight swap for a man who can row, ideally, or a good offer.’
‘She looks like she’s fading away.’ He kept his hands on her longer than he needed to, but he wasn’t interested in buying her.
After she had been standing in the sun for what felt like hours, the tailor woman came over. With a cheery smile, as if delivering the best news of the day, she said, ‘The Chieftain’s asked for a slave display shortly over at the broch, you should take her there.’ Then she whispered something in Ussa’s ear that made them both cackle.
Ussa clapped an iron shackle around Rian’s ankle, with a substantial chain attached, and walked her clanking up to the broch as if she were a cow. Just to the left of the entrance was a line of five people: three men, one older woman and a boy. They were all chained to a large metal hoop set into the wall of the building. Ussa stood Rian at the end of the line, ran the chain through the hoop and back to the shackle around her leg.
Rian looked at the other slaves. The boy and the youngest man looked frightened but the older woman and men seemed indifferent to everything around them, their faces showing no emotion at all.
‘Don’t look at them. Look at him.’ Ussa pinched her arm, and pointed at the man stepping out from the door of the broch.
The Black Chieftain was huge, a fortress in human form, dressed like a battlement in black leather studded with stones. Everything about him was big and dark: his beard, his eyes, his hairy hands. There was no mistaking why he was the Black Chieftain. Rian shrank at the thought of what being his slave might mean. He had first choice of the captives.
He said something to a tall, grey-haired man to his left, then turned to the line of slaves, stepping a little to his left to stand directly in front of each of them in turn and looking them up and down. Rian was last. He looked her up and down a second time and leered at her as if he wanted to eat her. He turned to the grey man at his side. ‘That one.’ He gestured towards the middle of her chest with a finger. ‘And those.’ He made a tiny downwards flick with the digit towards the boy and the biggest of the three men, then turned away and strode off towards the market. The grey man turned to Ussa and the other traders and set about negotiating the sale.
Ussa stood, legs apart, her eyebrows raised at her small triumph. ‘I’ll take him.’ She pointed at the second biggest man. His face was misshapen but his arms and legs were thick with muscle.
The grey man waved one of the other traders across, who unlocked the slave Ussa wanted and gave her the chain. She tugged at the slave like a dog and walked away without looking back at Rian.
‘There’s a feast tonight,’ the grey man called after her, ‘you’ll be welcome.’
She turned and nodded acknowledgement, then strode off sharply, keeping the chain so tight the slave had to skip after her.
After the grey man had made arrangements with the traders he took Rian and the boy slave into the broch. An old woman led Rian into a side chamber and set her to work with a quern.
Black Chieftain
A team of people were cooking at a central fire pit watched by the Chieftain who sat on lavish furs. Behind him was a wooden carving like those on the prows of some of the boats in the harbour, demonic animals with wide eyes and bared teeth. The place seemed to be seething with monsters: two improbably large and malicious looking dogs sat on each side of the big man. They too scrutinised the activities at the fire: a roasting boar on a spit and several smaller spits of fish and fowl, bread cooking on flat stones and a cauldron of something green.
Rian was surprised to see Ussa and Pytheas on a bench to the left of the Chieftain. To his right were two younger versions of himself, neither quite so large nor quite so black. To their right was a woman wearing a colourful gown, fat gold torcs and bangles on both arms. She got up when she saw the new slaves enter and spoke to them in the guttural dialect they used. Rian’s companion scuttled off obediently to the other end of the room.
‘You don’t speak our tongue.’ The woman spoke Keltic. Rian shook her head. ‘Serve ale – see.’ She pointed to a bald servant with a barrel.
Rian hurried to obey but could not fail to see the woman’s frown. This was the Chieftain’s wife, she assumed from her age and dress.
The bald barrel-master confirmed that this was indeed Maadu. Rian took a jug and proceeded towards the Chieftain. He reached around her waist and she flinched at the touch. Another servant brought him a dish of the prize cut of boar and this mercifully required the attention of both of his hands. She filled his drinking horn and stood holding it where he indicated. Ussa ignored her, speaking in the local tongue with rapid fluency to the Chieftain who nodded along.
Beside Ussa, Pytheas sat wearing a waistcoat of fine fur that Rian hadn’t seen before. His hair was clean and tied back neatly and his eyes darted about with curiosity. When she had stepped up he had nodded to acknowledge her presence but no more, but when the Chieftain addressed him he responded in Keltic and glanced in Rian’s direction, speaking slowly as if he wanted her attention.
‘See this?’ Pytheas thrust up his sleeve to reveal a bracelet of beads the colour of autumn leaves. ‘Amber! I want to learn where it comes from. I met a man today in the market who told me you may be able to take me to where it is found.’ He looked expectantly at the Chieftain.
‘It’s no mystery where it comes from,’ snapped Ussa.
‘The Amber Coast.’ The Chieftain nodded. ‘They say it washes up on the beaches.’
‘I would like to know this place,’ said Pytheas.
‘Did you get to know this little kitten?’ The Chieftain pawed at Rian with one greasy hand while waving for his drinking horn with the other. Maadu was frowning at her. She tried to step back out of reach but his stretch was long and he grabbed her skirt and tugged her towards him. As he pulled, the dress fabric forced her to shuffle his way. His hand rode the material up. He groped around the back of her leg. She couldn’t restrain an ‘ow!’ as his fingers scratched one of the belt-wounds on her thigh, and he looked round in surprise.
‘Well, did you?’
Pytheas failed to look embarrassed and said simply, ‘What do you think?’
‘I think you probably prefer boys.’
Pytheas looked at Rian and the Chieftain followed his gaze, reaching again up her skirt and once again producing a wince.
‘What’s the matter with you?’ He tugged her closer. He emptied his drinking horn in one gulp then tossed it aside and used both hands to lift up her dress and the under-slip.
Rian wanted to disappear into the floor as her thighs and buttocks were displayed to the room. There was a wolf-whistle and then another but the Chieftain silenced them with one hand. Seeing her wounds, he kept on lifting the material which snagged around her waist.
‘Strip her!’ he shouted to the old steward who had brought her in and was now standing behind them. ‘What’s this?’ He kept her skirt raised with one hand, poking at the welts.
His fingers were rough. The wounds stung and Rian’s eyes welled with tears of shame.
‘Damaged goods, that’s what this looks like. A good slave, my arse.’
He was shouting, presumably at Ussa and Pytheas, although by now Rian could see nothing as her clothes were being tugged unceremoniously over her head.
She stood naked, her bare back with its lattice of strap-marks revealed for all to see. There were titters and murmurs around the hall.
‘It’s revolting. I can’t look at it,’ said the Chieftain. Rian turned her head and saw the disgust on his face, his nose crinkling as if she had a foul smell.
‘Get rid of her. She is soiled. Soiled and bloody. You didn’t tell me that when you sold her.’ He was shouting at Ussa.
The steward was bundling her out of the Chieftain’s view towards the stairs. He thrust her crumpled dress at her and she clutched it in front of her
, wanting only to get out.
As she shuffled up the staircase in the dark, she heard Ussa. ‘It’s only a whip wound. It will heal in no time. She needed to be disciplined.’
And the Chieftain’s wife’s voice. ‘I need an extra hand on the farm. I’ll take her with me.’
Mousa
Immediately after the meal, the Chieftain’s wife, Maadu, took charge of Rian. She had put her dress back on and was sitting at the top of the staircase listening to what she could catch of the mealtime banter that went on below.
Maadu’s big form loomed. She was carrying a lamp. Rian backed against the wall to let her pass but she stopped. Her eyes gleamed in the flickering light, scrutinising her.
‘Off with that.’ She gave a tug at Rian’s dress, pulling her into the landing beside the stairs.
Rian breathed in the shame and pulled the garment once more over her head.
Maadu put the lamp on a shelf and rummaged in a trunk. She pulled out a jerkin and a skirt made of a thin, dirty brown cloth. She tossed them at Rian. ‘That’ll do for now. It’s summer. And you’ll need that.’ A rough blanket followed. ‘Now, up again.’ She pointed back to the staircase.
Rian climbed the final flight, clutching the rags to her, aware of the big woman following her and of her naked back.
The top floor of the building was nothing more than some woven sticks under the roof. It was smoky and stuffy and the wickerwork was uneven with plenty of gaps. There were three other bundles of rags, indicating other people would be here later. Maadu put the lamp on a shelf again and pointed to a space. ‘Sleep there tonight. Tomorrow morning I’m going to Mousa, early. You’d better be ready. Let me see that back.’
The Walrus Mutterer Page 13
