“Aye, as red as the flames in the Christian hell.”
“You saved her life.”
“She won’t thank me for it, however, for I intend to break her.”
Horkel said nothing more, but he wondered silently at his friend’s depth of hatred of the woman. Every man had been rejected by a woman; surely Magnus wasn’t above a woman’s scorn, a woman’s perfidy. He went about his tasks, leaving Magnus alone to brood. There was always activity aboard a vessel, always some job to be seen to. But each of the twenty men were good and experienced and they knew what had to be done without instruction from Magnus.
The woman wanted her little sister. Magnus shook his head even as he recalled her request, her only plea to him. No, the little girl would be safer here; Zarabeth was wrong that Toki or Keith would try to harm her. Besides, he could not give in to her. Not on anything.
And so the evening fell and he did not go into the cargo hold to see to his slave. He left orders that Ragnar, handsome, brash, arrogant as a cock, and filled with boundless energy, guard her, and left to visit with a trader who had messages and goods to send to his father, Harald Erlingsson, earl and chieftain of the Gravak Valley. A powerful man, his father, a man who was beginning to feel cramped and crabbed about by King Harald Fairhair. He wondered what his sire would say about his bringing Zarabeth home with him. He would say something, for his father always spoke his mind, regardless.
Zarabeth finished the stew and felt strength seep back into her body. She moved slowly at first, waiting until she was certain she wouldn’t faint again. She rose. She didn’t have to bend over, for the stout wadmal covering was a good two inches above her head. She had to regain her strength and her wits. She had to rescue Lotti. She felt a numbing pain but ignored it. Magnus wouldn’t help her. She must help herself, and then she would escape from Magnus, from York. She would journey with Lotti south, to Wessex, to the land of the Saxons ruled by the great King Alfred. Her mind made up, she began to plan. Any pain she felt at leaving Magnus, she ignored. He’d left her no choice when he’d refused to get Lotti.
Ragnar was leaning against his oar when he saw the young woman pull back the otter pelts and emerge into the open vessel. She looked weary and dirty and afraid, and he felt stirrings of pity for her. Then he remembered that she had scorned Magnus and was naught but a murderess and now a slave. He called out to her, his voice rough, “Go back inside and come not out again. Those are your master’s orders.”
Zarabeth ignored his words and came toward him, saying as she made her way carefully along the center plank, “I have need to relieve myself. Please help me.”
Ragnar was on the point of telling her to relieve herself and be done with it when it occurred to him that Magnus might not be pleased. She was in a miserable state. There was no need, surely, to make her relieve herself in front of him and the other men. Such humiliation wasn’t necessary. Thus, he rose and motioned for her to follow him. Zarabeth ignored the ten other men who lounged about in the vessel, and went after Ragnar. In the folds of her skirt she held an ivory-handled knife that she had found in one of the trunks in the cargo hold. She had no intention of hurting this man, merely disabling him so she could escape. The knife represented freedom, and she would die before she gave it up.
Ah, Magnus, she thought, you will but hate me more, but I have no choice. She walked silently beside Ragnar.
He took her but a few steps from the Sea Wind and motioned her into the small dirty alley. “I will wait here and see that no one comes.
Hurry, for Magnus would not be pleased to see you out of the cargo hold.”
She nodded, her head down, the picture of meekness, and made to walk past him. Then suddenly she stumbled, crying out as if she had fallen into the alley. Ragnar, without thought, jumped after her, and when he did, he felt the sharp pain of the knife handle on his temple. He crumpled where he stood, his last thought that Magnus would kill him for his stupidity.
Zarabeth stood over him, panting, staring at the knife handle and shivering with reaction at what she’d done. She pulled him deeper into the alley, then quickly, silently, she moved swift as a shadow along the quay away from Ragnar, away from the Sea Wind. She’d struck a man, knocked him unconscious. The thought that he could even be dead terrified her. No, she wouldn’t worry about him. She had to get to Lotti and rescue her and then escape from York. She firmly rejected any thoughts of ever seeing Magnus again, for if she did, she doubted not that he would kill her for escaping him and striking Ragnar.
It was twilight when she reached Olav’s house, and no one that knew her had seen her. She eased up to the single window in the living area and looked within. She sucked in her breath, thanking Odin for her luck. Keith wasn’t there, only Toki, and by all the gods, she could handle Toki. Where was Lotti? Then she saw the child curled up in a corner, her face silent and still, her eyes wary, fastened on Toki, who was shuffling about preparing a meal. Zarabeth felt pain and anger twist in her belly. Had Toki already hurt Lotti? At the very least she’d terrified the child. Zarabeth firmly intended to gain revenge on Toki herself.
She entered Olav’s shop, flipping the latch in the secret way Olav had taught her, and walked quietly to the living area. When she opened the skins that separated the two areas, she saw Toki look up, a frown on her face, for she expected Keith. When she saw Zarabeth, she paled. Her mouth opened to scream, but Zarabeth was faster. She was on her in an instant, her arm around her throat, squeezing hard as she felt her rage flow through her.
“Listen to me, you lying slut, you damnable lying bitch. You keep your tongue still, do you understand me?” Zarabeth squeezed harder, heard a weak croaking sound, squeezed again for good measure, and hissed in Toki’s ear, “You miserable witch, I know you killed Olav. I know that you managed to keep Keith quiet about it. And you go free from punishment. However, you won’t keep Lotti. Now, let me look at you one last time. I wish to remember a face of treachery.”
Zarabeth turned Toki in her arms, saw the terror in the woman’s eyes. She smiled down at her. With great pleasure Zarabeth struck Toki hard on the head with the knife handle. She watched the woman slide to the floor, and she was pleased. Her heart pounded. It would be the only punishment Toki would receive for murdering Olav. At least it was something. Lotti was already running across the room, crying softly, calling out Zarabeth’s name, her arms raised. Zarabeth crooned softly to her as she lifted her in her arms. “You’re safe now, little love, safe. You and I are leaving here now, and I won’t let anyone harm you.”
She remembered her clothing but knew there wasn’t time. Both she and Lotti would simply have to make do with what they wore on their backs. She knew she looked a beggar, but there was naught she could do about it. It wasn’t important. Getting away from York unseen was important.
She slipped out of Olav’s shop—no, Keith’s—and blended with the shadows and the near-darkness. She heard people talking, heard neighbors laughing, but saw no one. She hurried toward Coppergate square, wanting a last drink of water before she escaped from York. She knew she couldn’t carry Lotti much further. When she reached the square, there were people, people who knew her. Well, it wasn’t to be helped. She turned away, hiding in the shadow of the line of houses along Coppergate, and made her way swiftly toward the southern fortification of the city. There was a gate there, to keep out enemies, not to keep in the inhabitants of York. She would slip away easily.
She felt a stitch in her side and lifted Lotti to her other shoulder. She slowed. Her breath was coming harsh and raw now. Her hair, sweaty and tangled, slapped her face.
She saw the gate ahead of her, saw that only a half-dozen people lolled around the gate, thankfully, and she didn’t recognize any of them.
Her eyes fastened on that gate; she saw nothing else. When she heard a deep voice say behind her, “Your stupidity passes all bounds,” she felt as if she’d been struck. She whirled about to see Magnus standing directly behind her, tall and powerful, raising his hands to capture her even as he spoke.
She cried out, turned on her heel, and ran toward the gate, shuffling and bowed like an old woman from the stitch in her side.
11
Magnus stared at her, laughed at the appalled horror in her eyes when she saw him, then read the desperation, and frowned. He caught her quickly enough.
“You’ve run your race, Zarabeth,” he said, and twisted her around to face him. So relieved was he to have found her so quickly, he hesitated at her obvious fear, only to have her jerk her arm free of his hold, back away from him, snarling even as she drew the knife from the folds of her gown, “You stay away from me, Magnus! Don’t make me hurt you. I must leave York and you, surely you understand that—you refused to fetch Lotti. I couldn’t leave her there with Toki. Now I’m going, and you have no choice in the matter. No, no, stay back!”
To her fury, he laughed. He was laughing at her! She felt the blood pounding at her temples, felt herself begin to tremble with rage and fear and uncertainty. She cried out softly, wheeled about, and fled from him. It was foolish and useless. When he grabbed her arm again to jerk her back, she turned on him this time, so panicked she couldn’t think, her right arm lifted, the knife poised in her hand, ready to strike.
He was so astonished to see her raise that knife on him that once again she managed to free herself, but the child dragged her down, pulling her off-balance. Zarabeth had but a moment to react, and she dropped Lotti, feinting to the side when Magnus lunged for her. He wasn’t laughing now, and she felt an instant of victory. But just an instant, for he looked at her as he would someone of no account at all, as if it couldn’t possibly matter what she tried to do.