Chapter 16
A man's voice cut
through the fog that was clouding her mind. 'She is stirring again, Sean.' Roisin
groaned as she lolled on the uneven planks of the boat, trying to raise herself
onto her elbows. The undulating movement
was making her queasy and her head throbbed from where she had been
struck. A hand pulled her sharply by the
ankle and once more she slid down flat against the boards of the hull.
'Make her drink more
elixir, Lorcan. Keep her silent.' A sour smelling finger and thumb pinched her
nose and as she gasped for air, the cloying viscous liquid slid down her throat
again. She tried to fight the
drowsiness, but failed. The voices faded
as unconsciousness once again set in
Kristr was pacing the hall,
hurling curses on his enemy. It was one
thing when MacRonan’s four men attacked him and left him for dead, but this was
his woman; he valued her more than life itself. “We must leave now! MacRonan
will not get away with this! He cannot
have had more than a quarter day’s sailing on us.” How frightened Roisin must be; he remembered
his own guilt at taking her hostage, the look of fear and hurt in those clear green
innocent eyes haunting him now.
Kerik sat stone-faced,
but finally he broke his silence. “With all my faith in Thor I believe that
MacRonan’s father Peter killed my beloved Aisling, the mother of Kristr.” He bit out the words. “But his offspring will not not be permitted
to carry out the same atrocity on Roisin.”
Johan observed his
friend as he stomped the length of the room, kicking the rushes on the floor.
'Kristr, I could not agree with you more, but you must prepare a plan.'
'And what do you
suggest? My personal plan is to find MacRonan, cut his ball sack into one
hundred pieces and feed it to Alfhilde of Jarlshof. You were the one that told me they were
working together.’
Johan was not perturbed
by Kristr's rage, but this fury would lead to poor decisions. 'I believe that
they will have sailed to Jarlshof, although MacRonan will assume that you will
follow him to Dubh Linn.' The tall quiet Irishman's skill at observation had
not let him down before. Johan, in his guise of Albert of Northumberland
remembered all too clearly the crushed golden torc that belonged to Alfhilde, in
the grimy hands of MacRonan.
'Well, Johan, we shall
sail on the morning to Jarlshof.' Kristr trusted his brother in fosterage with
his life, and now he had to trust him with Roisin's life too. He picked up the
remains of Roisin's braid, and held it tight in his fist. This was not the only
memento he was going to have of the woman who had changed his life. Placing the
plait in his pouch, he drew his sword. 'I will be in the blacksmith's forge,
sharpening my blades.'
Erik stood up. 'I am
coming with you, as is Knottr. We cannot allow you to travel on your own.' A
dry smirk crossed his face. 'That fiery red hair of yours matches your
temperament, and Johan will need our assistance to save you from yourself.' Knottr,
as usual, said nothing, his expression resolute. Kristr nodded his thanks. His
brother knew him well.
Johan was happy to be
leaving in a small group. If they entered the Jarlshof waters from the
less-used and poorly-defended North shore under darkness, it should be easy to
enter the settlement buildings.
Addressing Kerik as Jarl,
he said, 'It might be prudent to send messengers to some of the nearby
steadings.' Over a score of boys were fostered by Alfhilde at any time, and
when this was over Johan was sure that Alfhilde would no longer be fostering
young men or boys. Although a boy reached manhood at the tender age of twelve
summers, it was not uncommon for them to lay with women so early in life, but
bed-sport with the likes of Alfhilde was not normally introduced to those so
young.
'Consider it done, Johan.
If you are not back within a sennight I shall arrange a sailing to Jarlshof
myself.' An icy tone had replaced Kerik's normal booming baritone. He would
summon the neighbouring Jarls to an Allthing, where Alfhilde would face her
crimes.
Roisin tried to shake
herself from sleep, but her limbs would not co-operate. She strained to hear
the voices around her; the blindfold was still there, its rough weave pressing
against her cheek. How many hours had
passed? Was it days?
'Why did you cut her
hair?' It was a woman, the voice sounded familiar.
A man's voice responded.
'You told me she was to be a slave. Even I know that the Norse do not permit
their thralls to have the beauty of long hair. How else will you recognise
their lowly status?' Roisin would never forget that voice. She tried not to
shake in fear, glad for now that her muscles would not co-operate. MacRonan
intended to sell her as a slave. Her heart thumped as she thought that she
would never see Kristr, her father or Ciara again. What would Breda, her mother have done? Breda had been killed callously at the hands
of a man, and she had been skilled in weaponry. She offered a silent prayer to
her mother, to guide her with inner strength.
She had to stay alive for Kristr, for her family.
'Most men prefer their
bed thralls to look like women, not some dirty wench from the outhouses.' The
woman who spoke gave a snort of disapproval. She felt someone grab her by the
shoulder and turn her body over. A hand tugged on her hair. 'Maybe we can do
something with it.' She could not suppress a small cry of pain at the sharp
action.
The woman laughed. 'How
much sleeping draught did you give her? The Halfling is barely bigger than a
girl, no wonder she's still asleep.' Halfling. The woman was Alfhilde. She had
insulted her size when Kristr had brought her here on the way to the steading.
'I shall have Ethel and Ruth wash her when she fully wakens up.'
'What is she tries to
escape, Alfhilde?'
'She will not be able to
get very far, MacRonan.'
The voices faded as they
moved out of the chamber, and despite every best intention, she succumbed to
sleep again.
The main hall was empty
save for the two who ate their meal. 'So, Alfhilde, what is your plan for my
former betrothed?' MacRonan swallowed his mead in one gulp, and motioned to the
servant to fill his goblet again.
'My fosterlings have
been very disciplined over the winter. They have learned their lessons well.' MacRonan
guffawed. Lessons with Alfhilde were very varied and far ranging. She ignored his
phlegmatic expression of humour and continued, 'I think they deserve a
tournament. The halfing will make an interesting prize over the usual award of
coin.' She took a dainty sip of her own mead. 'And the winner can do whatever
he wants with her.' Oxen had more value than thralls. The punishment for
killing another man's livestock was greater than the punishment of killing a
slave.
'I hope you have not
forgotten our original agreement, Valkyrie. I want her first. It will give me
pleasure to take something away from the Halsrason the Great.' His tone was
mocking yet the jealousy he felt for his rival was there.
'As you wish. She is no
virgin anyway if she has been living with him on the fjords, there is nothing
else to do up there.' Alfhilde snarled, 'His father chose my sister over me
when she visited there. Gertrude's life should have been mine!'
MacRonan's head turned
sharply. 'You are mistaken. Kerik Halsrason took my mother, and she went willingly!
She even had borne him a half-Irish bastard.'
Alfhilde gave a hollow
laugh. She had not assumed MacRonan's could be so naive. ‘Your pathetic
Christian beliefs have blinded you to the real world of Halsrason! He had two
women. His own little harem in the frozen North. And who do you think that
half-Irish bastard is?' How could he not have seen it before now? 'Surely that
fine head of red hair reminds you of another.' She paused, waiting for her
words to sink through her companion's wax-filled ears.
He jumped to his feet,
drawing his blade in blind rage. 'Kristr Halsrason is Aisling's bastard! I will
gut his little wifelet now, and send her back to the fjords in pieces!'
A dagger flew past his
ears, the whistling of metal ringing in his head. The action shocked him back
into reality. 'She belongs to me, I paid you handsomely in gold, and you will
not touch her until I say so!'
Alfhilde stormed out of
the hall, shouting for her servants, her blond braids snapping against her back
with every step.
A firm hand shook her
shoulder sharply. 'Get up, Slave! You have slept long enough!' She startled
awake as she was yanked up by her arms onto a chair. Squinting her eyes to the
light as the blindfold was pulled off, her vision finally adjusted to see three
women standing in front of her. Alfhilde's lips curled into a sneer. 'Well,
halfling, let us see if we can prepare you to be a worthy prize.' Slave. This
woman did not even use her name.
The two women stripped
her clothes from her, and pushed her into a tub, scrubbing her thoroughly. She
moved to resist their meaty hands assaulting her tender skin but Alfhilde
raised a whip, and cracked it viciously, the snap cutting through the air.
'Next time it will be your flesh, Slave.'
Shivering and naked, she
was dried. Scented oils were rubbed furiously onto her body. The overpowering
aroma was causing her stomach to churn. She tried to think of Kristr and how he
had washed her and anointed her so lovingly after their first night of
lovemaking. She tried to resist as she was
dressed in a robe, so sheer that her pink nipples were seen clearly and the
small black curls at the entrance to her womanhood cast a tiny triangle of
shadow under the light delicate fabric. Forcing her to sit on a stool, the
women braided her much shorter hair into many strands and twisted each into a
circlet on her head. Under Alfhilde's watchful gaze, the whip twirling in her
hand, Roisin closed her eyes, shutting out the unwelcome sensations and
ministrations of the women, her thoughts on Kristr; she would not dwell on what
was to become of her at the hands of this jealous crazed woman.
A polished plate was
held in front of her face, and she looked at her reflection. Her hair, twisted
up and arranged on her head exposed her slender neck. She jumped and cried out
as she felt a cold piece of metal clamped around her throat, and the mirror was
held up again. Tugging in panic at the ornate collar, she pulled at it
frantically, but it would not budge. Her ears burned with Alfhilde's throaty
laugh.
'Now, Slave, you look
pretty, but you do not sound pretty.' Startled, Roisin's gaze followed her
captor as Alfhilde smirked, drawing two rows of golden bells from a chest.
Handing them to Ethel, she picked up the whip and dragged it slowly over Roisin's
back.
'Move and you will feel
twenty blows of my lash, Slave. Fifteen will easily kill you, and I will enjoy
sending your bloody corpse to your lover.' She blinked back tears. She could
not let Kristr remember her like this. She acquiesced, trying not to watch, as
Ethel wrapped a bell cuff around her slim ankle, securing them by twisting
copper wire around the hasp and crimping it shut. She repeated the process on
the other foot.
'Stand, Slave.' Alfhilde
curled her finger around the collar, forcing Roisin to stand. Alfhilde moved
behind her, and she felt a sharp slap on her buttock, causing her to lurch
forward. Her tormentor pointed across
the chamber. 'Walk to the chest and back.' Roisin did this, every step giving a
beautiful sound, but to her ears it was clanging, jarring and sinister. 'These
bells come from faraway lands, south of Arabia. This is how they keep their bed
slaves under control. Every move you make will be heard by all, and they will
know what you are, a slave.'
Without announcement, MacRonan
walked into the room, and leered at her. Roisin's blood ran cold under his
stare. Alfhilde laughed, 'Not yet, lusty one. After the display tonight you can
take her'
He laughed in sick
mirth. 'I shall look forward to it Alfhilde. Brothers should share everything, Roisin,
surely you agree?' When she refused to answer, he pinched her cheek and turned
on his heel. Kristr had you, so shall I.
Their small boat slipped
furtively in through the channel to the north of Jarlshof. The water was very
shallow; a larger boat would not have made it so far down the river. The men
disembarked quietly, each armed with sword, dagger and ax. Lowering the sail
and dropping the mast pole, the craft was easily concealed behind a rock.
Darkness was their friend tonight, the dim white glow of the full moon shed
sufficient light for the group.
Having spent so many
years here, creeping through the outbuildings was no problem for Kristr or Johan.
The occasional bark of a hound was easily silenced by tossing a sliver of dried
boar at the animal. If that did not work, the animal would be slaughtered.
'Stay here.' Johan
motioned to Kristr and the others to stay back as they reached the hall, a
yellow blade of light shining out through the ajar door. Kristr drew his
dagger, the polished steel glinting in the moonlight. Johan grabbed his arm,
'Nei. I said stay here, your emotions will drive your rage.' He was not sure
what he was going to see, but if it involved Roisin, Kristr's fury would have
them all killed before they had a chance to save her or themselves.
Johan crept up slowly
and watched the unfolding spectacle in horror.
Roisin was standing on a
dais in the middle of the room; her eyes blazing with a mixture of shame and
anger. The silk robe was so fine she may as well have been nude. A leash had
been attached to the collar on her neck.
'Turn, Slave.' Alfhilde
was standing beside her, the leash in her hand. He could hardly bear to watch
as Roisin, staring straight ahead, moved slowly in a circle, unable to stop the
jingling bells on her ankles, the sweet sound jarring against the bitter anger
evident on her face.
'Fosterlings!' Alfhilde
called out to the assembled group of young men. 'There shall be a tournament
for swordplay, archery, knife play and horse skills.' She pulled again on the
leash. 'The victor will win this thrall for their bed furs.'
Roisin was conscious of
nothing but the deafening sound of blood that was pumping through her head, and
she barely heard the appreciative murmur that rustled through the
assembly. She concentrated on staying
upright against the panicked dizziness as the future loomed before her.
Through the noise and
activity of the hall, Roisin felt the world was moving slowly, she was only an
observer to the ongoing hideous display. She watched as Alfhilde motioned to
Ethel. 'Take her back to her chamber, she can be claimed by her champion
tomorrow.' Handing the leash to the thrall, Roisin followed her gaoler from the
hall, the bells tinkling around her feet? It was just as Alfhilde had said; the
sonorous jangle letting everyone know who she was, and why she was there.
Johan ran back to
Kristr. 'Hold him down!' he hissed to Erik and Knottr. Clamping Kristr’s mouth
shut, he whispered furiously in his friend's ear of what he had seen. 'I know
where she is going. Keep your temper and we will not lose her. Do you
understand?' Kristr nodded and growled behind Johan's hand. Johan was still in
control. His friends needed his particular brand of leadership tonight. He instructed
Knottr to scupper any boats that were in the harbour. With a nod, Knottr pulled
his ax from his back, checked his tinder pouch and marched off to the water's
edge.
'Erik, I need you to
keep watch on the door of the main hall, lest anyone leave the hall.' These
young foster boys would pose no problem for the tall strapping man. Johan and
Kristr crept along the side of the buildings, towards the smaller building,
keeping the soft pealing of the bells within earshot.
Following the thrall and
Roisin into the chamber, Johan pounced on Ethel, subduing her. He hoped that the
servant would absolve him of this attack, but Roisin's safety was of greater
importance. Roisin started to scream in fear until she felt a finger on her
trembling lips, and saw Kristr’s silver eyes staring at her with a mixture of
fear and longing. Tears started to well within her, as she tried to speak.
'Shhh, Sweetling.' I
have come to bring you home. Home. She was not sure if he meant her father's
rath, or his hall, but if she was with him, it would be home. He unclasped the
collar from around her neck, letting the leash drop to the floor. He gave her
reddened neck a soft kiss.
'I cannot move, they
will find me, and you.' She pointed to her feet and the bells. Slicing through
the furs left in the chamber, he pushed her gently onto the bed.
'Forgive me, my love.
This will not be for long.' He took the cut strips and bound her ankles
together, the soft fibres of the pelt trapping within the bells, muffling their
sound. He settled her tiny frame in his arms, and signalling to Johan, he left
to go towards the hidden boat.
When they reached the
little ship, he helped her into a sleeping sack, lined with lambswool. The thin
overly ornate clothes she wore had her shivering. 'Keep under the covers,
Sweetling, I will be back.' He drew a dagger from his belt and pressed the hilt
into her hand. 'You were able to use it before. Do not be afraid to use it
again.' Kissing her forehead, with great difficulty, he moved away from her
soft skin, and took his leave.
When Kristr crept back
to the main hall, he saw Erik standing over a number of youths. They had been
knocked unconscious, obviously as they had left the building. The alarm had not
yet been raised. Alfhilde and MacRonan were so confident in their deception
they had not made plans to prevent a raid.
'Has MacRonan left the
hall?' Kristr demanded.
'Nei, not yet. You know
you cannot kill him, Brother.' Erik wished he could cut the varlet's throat
himself.
'Then I shall maim him
before we leave.'
Kristr watched at Knottr
walked towards them, ax casually slung over his shoulder as if back from a day
chopping firewood. Knottr's mouth was grim, as he finally spoke. His task was
complete. 'The boats have been sunk. MacRonan will go nowhere. Those ships that
do not have a hole in their hull, currently smoulder. They will set ablaze
soon.'
Kristr strode into the
hall, and pointed his sword at MacRonan. The remaining boys leapt to their
feet, but their still unfilled frames would be no match for the seasoned Viking
warriors.
'Sean MacRonan, in front
of this assembly as my witnesses, I challenge you to a Holmsgang at the next
Allthing, or you forfeit your life now. For insults to me, and to my woman.' MacRonan may not have been Viking, but the
shame of not accepting a challenge would follow him for the rest of his days.
'Your woman?' How do you
know I have not planted my seed in her belly? Such a tiny little thing. She
will probably die bringing my black-haired son into the world. We are brothers,
you and I. She was not fussy which son of Aisling's laid with her.'
Kristr saw red, lunged
at MacRonan, slicing his left arm open. Screaming in rage at the second injury
to his limb, he tossed a flaming bowl of fish oil at his enemy. Kristr jumped
back, and MacRonan made for the door, sword drawn. Although there was but five
summers between the men, Kristr was easily besting the pudgy MacRonan, as he
drove him from the hall over the carpet of heather that covered the barren
ground, sparks flying from the swords as Kristr rained blow after blow onto MacRonan’s
blade, the weaker man's lack of skill and strength evident as he deflected less
and less. Finally, Kristr's sword struck his left shoulder; MacRonan yelled in
pain but held on to his sword nonetheless.
'It will be your manhood
next, you waste of seed!' Kristr meant what he said.
Looking to the flames
licking up around the destroyed boats, the eerie orange glow casting ominous
shadows over his already darkened beserkr features, MacRonan knew he would not
have the reserves to escape his enemy alone. It was Lorcan who always fought
his battles; and he was nowhere to be seen.
'I will not take part in
your Viking Holmsgang, Halsrason.' In the dark, MacRonan stopped swinging his
sword. Confused, Kristr strode towards him, determined to end his life, but
skidded to a halt as he realised how close they were standing at the edge of
the cliff. He knew from experience that it was not high, but the rocks and
waves at the bottom had claimed many an animal's life. Another animal will be
pushed off them tonight, Kristr thought grimly.
'You will never get the
pleasure of killing me, but I will haunt your soul for all eternity, you Mother
thief!' With that he threw himself over the edge.
Kristr howled in outrage,
the sound tearing through the night. It was a hollow victory, but the night was
not yet over. By the light of morning there would be nothing but gaudy rags
clinging to the black rocks below. He would claim his trophy in the cold light
of day.
It was time to find his
brothers. Running to the hall, he was confronted with the scene of Erik, firmly
holding a twisting shrieking Alfhilde his grasp. His expression was like iron,
no trace of the good nature that he normally countenanced around women. Her time
had come and she did not deserve any mercy. Seeing his brother, Erik swept Alfhilde's
legs from under her, forcing her to her knees.
Kristr stared down at
his former mentor and lover. 'You were going to take my Roisin as a thrall!'
'She is Irish, what does
it matter? There is no law against taking slaves; only your father was
soft-hearted enough to fall in love with one.'
'She will be his wife,
you jealous troll.' Erik's fury nearly matched that of his brother. 'We should
never have come back near you, and your abusive ways.' He threw her roughly
into the corner. And after you stand trial at the Allthing, you will never
foster again!
Be sure to come back next week for chapter 17!
Thank you to:
Bedford Viking Boat (its the one hidden in the rushes) - copyright GR Bush www.grbush.com/
the Norway Boat is Copyright Jomme flickr.com from his ‘Norway 2008’ set and Eva’s little boat
E. Paterson for the Viking painting
Bio
Maria MacAuley is from Derry, Ireland and has a degree in Celtic Languages. She is married to the love of her life, and they live in relative peace with two cats.
She has a secret wish that her husband will investigate his Nordic family tree further and whisk her off on a longboat to Hammerfest to view the Northern Lights.
If Maria were to choose her favorite tense, it should be the subjunctive, and is always keen to discuss same over a pint of Guinness.
~*"No portion of this story may be copied or shared without the direct permission of the author."*~
Just placing
my lips upon her delicate palm sends shock-waves through me. My world turns
brilliant. Just as fireworks look in the darkest night sky.
Her
breathing is growing rapid. Almost a perfect match to mine. I feel as if my
cock is about to explode. I don’t want that. I’ll only allow that to happen
within her, deeply thrusting and enjoying the feel of her moist heat wrapped
around my cock. 
Just placing
my lips upon her delicate palm sends shock-waves through me. My world turns
brilliant. Just as fireworks look in the darkest night sky. 
Her
breathing is growing rapid. Almost a perfect match to mine. I feel as if my
cock is about to explode. I don’t want that. I’ll only allow that to happen
within her, deeply thrusting and enjoying the feel of her moist heat wrapped
around my cock. 
