The first man Zarabeth saw when they boarded the Sea Wind was Ragnar. His arm was raised to strike her. She tried to show no fear, but she was raw with it. She saw Magnus merely shake his head at the man. Ragnar slowly lowered his arm, but his look didn’t change. She said nothing, merely followed Magnus to the covered cargo hold. He drew back the otter skins and set Lotti on one of the roughly woven mats that covered the wooden floor. “Stay here.”
Zarabeth sank down, drawing Lotti onto her lap. She was beyond tired, numb now, for she had failed yet won, for Lotti was safe, at least she was as safe as Zarabeth was. Would the child be treated as a slave when they reached Norway and Magnus’ home? How were slaves in that foreign land treated? Were they beaten and given little food? Were they as pitiful as the creatures in the slave compound?
Fear curled powerfully through her belly.
She wished she could have bathed; her own stench was beginning to bother her. As for Lotti, the child was scratching her elbow and Zarabeth saw a sore there that badly needed cleansing. She ran her fingers through her tangled hair, pulling out twigs and clots of dirt and mud. She could only imagine how she looked. Well, it didn’t matter. Magnus didn’t care for anything save humiliating her. She wondered if he was cruel. She wondered if he would hurt her. She fell asleep and didn’t stir the rest of the night.
At dawn the next day, the men of the Sea Wind cast off its ropes and left its moorings. She heard the sailors calling out to each other, heard Magnus tell the men to draw their oars. The huge square sail wouldn’t be raised until they were free of York harbor.
The motion was smooth and rocking and brought Zarabeth to full awareness. She wished it was still night. She wanted only the darkness. It represented a sort of safety to her, a sort of protection.
When the mighty square sail caught the wind outside the harbor, the vessel shot forward and the men cheered. She knew now they would pull the oars into the vessel and go about their other tasks. Her stomach growled. She turned to Lotti, took her small face between her hands, and said slowly, “Are you hungry, sweeting?”
The little girl frowned, and Zarabeth slowly repeated her question, miming eating. Lotti nodded vigorously and rubbed her stomach. Zarabeth patted her shoulder and said, more to herself than to her sister, “I will see if there is more of that stew Magnus fed me yesterday.”
She rose and went to the otter pelts and drew them back. The men stopped speaking. Slowly, one by one, all twenty of them stared at her. She saw Magnus bending over, speaking to the man Horkel, who held the steering oar. He looked up then, aware of the sudden silence, and saw her. Magnus frowned at her and quickly made his way along the wooden plank that ran along the center of the vessel. He ducked to the side to miss the wind-filled sail. As he passed it, he turned to look up the twenty-foot-high mast with its long cross spar, then nodded, as if pleased.
“What do you want?” He had shouted even though he was near to her now. She strained to hear him over the thick whipping sound of the sail.
She didn’t try to answer him until he was beside her. “Lotti is very hungry. Is there something for her to eat?”
Magnus had expected to hear something else from her, a plea for herself, perhaps. He should have realized, given her frenzy the day before, that her only concern would be for her little sister, for after all, she had risked her life to save the child. Wasn’t she hungry as well, damn her? Wasn’t there something for herself she wanted? Finally he said, “Get you back into the hold. I will have Horkel bring both of you something to eat.”
Zarabeth nodded and turned, only to feel Magnus’ hand on her arm.
“Do not come out again. Even though you look like a witch, my men at all times are woman-hungry, particularly away from their homes. If you value your woman’s endowments, you will remain within.” He paused a moment, then added, a frown on his face, “I will tie back the pelts so that there will be fresh air within the hold, and light.”
Zarabeth nodded again. Before she withdrew, she looked out onto the sea. The wind whipped her hair about her face, and she tasted the salty seawater on her tongue. It was becoming cooler, and she wrapped her arms about herself. Water slapped loudly against the sides of the vessel. She could make out the distant coastline. The men were still silent, watching, looking at her. Were they judging her? Did they believe her a murderess?
Not that it mattered. She went back into the cargo hold. Before too much time had passed, Magnus himself came into the hold. Not Horkel. He was carrying two wooden bowls filled with warm stew. He also had bread, soft and fresh, wrapped in a coarse woolen rag.
“Do not expect food like this for very long. It will take us five days to reach Hedeby, ’tis a large trading town in Denmark. I have some trading to do there before we sail north to Kaupang, up the Oslo Fjord.”
He was being kind, Zarabeth thought, somewhat confused. Was he coming to think that perhaps she had been telling the truth? Was he coming to believe that she hadn’t lied about why she’d told him she hadn’t wanted him? His next words blighted her, leaving her feeling hopeless once more.
“
You will cast no lures toward any of my men. They would take what you offered them, but they would give you nothing in return save their contempt. I have their loyalty. You are naught but a slave, a female slave, who has her uses, as I will use you this night. You want bathing, but no matter. Make yourself ready for me, Zarabeth, for I will come back when night has fallen and most of my men are asleep.” Unfortunately, as the words left his mouth, Magnus realized that Lotti was staring up at him, her wooden spoon held in her hand. He’d forgotten the child. He felt a fool; worse, he felt like a man who had gone into battle without a weapon. He felt like a naked man caught in a snowdrift. He gave Zarabeth a look that bespoke retribution, turned on his heel, and left the hold.
Zarabeth would have laughed had she been able to, but she wasn’t. She turned and mimed eating to Lotti. She was no longer hungry. The fresh sea wind came into the hold and she no longer felt ill from the stuffiness of the small space.
Time passes, Zarabeth thought, even though I lose track of the minutes and the hours, time still passes. And so it was. The night became another day that was hot and bright, the sun so harsh she wondered how the men could bear the hours under its searing heat. She played with Lotti, teaching her words, repeating them endlessly, speaking to her as she mimed ideas.
And she thought of Magnus, even when he wasn’t in her line of vision. The Sea Wind was a good sixty feet long, and at her center she was at least fifteen feet wide. The men had stacked their oars in the high wooden Y-shaped holders and were lolling about, nothing for them to do. She heard them speaking, and they spoke freely, for perhaps they didn’t care that she could hear them:
“I heard Tostig say that what Magnus would have paid for her in a brideprice, he paid instead in danegeld to the son in payment for the man she poisoned.”
“Aye, she killed the old man because she wanted his wealth. A woman is a fool, she has no cunning. I could have succeeded—”
“Aye, but the old man wouldn’t have wedded with you in the first place! You are ugly as a rutting boar and you have not what any man would want between your legs!”
There was laughter to that; then a man said, “She’s pretty, aye, I’ll give you that, but stupid she is, drawing Magnus in and then spitting on him. Why would she betray him? She’ll pay, though, you’ll see.”
“Aye, when she sees Cyra . . . by Thor, that girl would make any man hard as a stone. She’ll regret that she did.”
“Forget not Ingunn, a hard taskmistress, that one, whose tongue feeds on contention, despite her angel’s face. Life won’t be pleasant for the slave.”
And on and on it went, and Zarabeth wondered who Ingunn was. As for Cyra, Zarabeth remembered her well. She was also a slave, and she bedded with Magnus. That wouldn’t touch her, Zarabeth thought. She didn’t care what women crept into his bed, just as long as it wasn’t her. She wouldn’t be his slut.