“You will not make Lotti leave, will you?”
He heard the fear in her voice and it angered him more than he could ever have imagined. “Don’t you care about yourself? Of course Lotti will remain where she is. Come, now, you have tasks to do. Tonight you will sleep wrapped in a blanket in the hall.” He sighed again as if he were sorely put upon, and she had an odd urge to laugh.
Ingunn put Zarabeth to scrubbing wooden plates and bowls and iron pots and spoons, which she did willingly, for it kept her to herself and away from the men. When she heard a woman’s voice, she didn’t at first attend. The woman said again, “Your name is Zarabeth?”
Zarabeth looked up to see Helgi, Magnus’ mother. Her face was flushed from the warmth of the hall and the wine she’d drunk. Zarabeth looked closely, but she saw no meanness in her fine blue eyes. Zarabeth remembered Magnus telling her about how his mother rocked and shook the huge butter churn. There had been love in his voice when he’d spoken of Helgi. She was a large woman, deep-bosomed, her hair silver, it was so light. She had a deep cleft in her chin, which she’d given to her son.
Zarabeth nodded.
“I have listened to Magnus’ men telling all about how he saved you from a certain death, for you had murdered your husband.”
“He saved me, that is true.”
“The other is not true?”
Zarabeth shook her head wearily. “No, it isn’t, but it matters not. He won’t ever believe me.” She shook back her damp hair and bared the slave collar. “I am nothing to him now. Nothing save a slave.”
Helgi sucked in her breath. She hadn’t seen the collar before, for the woman’s hair was long and the neck of her gown high. Why had Magnus done such a thing to this woman? “Why did he save you?”
“I believe he wanted revenge.”
“Mother! Leave her be. Don’t listen to her. She doesn’t ever speak the truth.”
Helgi turned to her Magnus. “It isn’t true that you bought her to gain revenge?”
“It matters not why I bought her! She is here, and here she will remain.”
“Yes, that is true,” Zarabeth said, her voice loud. “I have no choice, for so long as he holds my little sister, there is naught I can do.”
Magnus forgot his mother was standing in front of him. Furious, he grabbed her wrist, jerking her close to him. “You will not say that again, damn you! I have told you that Lotti will never be a lever for me to use, for anyone to use. The child is under my protection.”
“I do not believe you. You will threaten the child when you think it will bring me to heel.”
Helgi watched the two of them and wondered what would happen. Never had she seen Magnus so lost to control. Of her three sons, he was the one who remained firmly in command of himself in any situation. He prided himself on his mastery of others and of himself. He was always calm, his voice easy and low. Whenever he felt strongly about something, his voice deepened even more, but he never, never bellowed in rage, as he was doing now. Now he was acting like his younger brother, Jon, who yelled and cursed and carped with frustration and irritation and didn’t care if the whole farmstead knew of his feelings. It was a marvel to see this. Obviously Magnus cared deeply for the young woman with the wild nimbus of red hair around her face. He just didn’t realize it yet. Or perhaps he did, and he was fighting it as hard as he was her. Helgi laid her fingers on her son’s arm. “Release her, Magnus. You have never before abused a slave. You should not begin now.”
“Aye, go to your Cyra!”
He smiled down at Zarabeth then, but it was not a smile his mother liked. “No, I shan’t abuse you. And no, I shan’t go to Cyra.” He turned on his heel and went back to his father and brothers, who were singing loudly of King Harald Fairhair and how he had slain the rapacious Gorm of Denmark by strangling him with his long thick hair.
Time passed slowly. Zarabeth was so tired she felt light-headed. Yet there were always more bowls, more plates, more trays, more goblets. An endless stream. She saw from the corner of her eye that the other slaves were gone to their hut. But she was being punished. Many of the men were asleep, their heads on the tables, snoring loudly. The fire was banked, and no more smoke went upward to the hole in the roof. Many guests were stretched out in neat rows, each wrapped in his blanket. Ingunn came over to her, yawning loudly. “You work slowly, slave. You will not close your eyes until you have completed this.”
Zarabeth remembered Magnus’ words. Lotti is under my protection. Very well, then. She would believe him in this. Her little sister wouldn’t pay for anything she did. She smiled at Magnus’ sister and said, “Nay, I think not, Ingunn. I am weary and will seek out my bed now, as all the other slaves have done.”
Ingunn drew in her breath sharply. She hadn’t expected this. Her anger flared. “You dare?”
“Aye, I dare.” Zarabeth shrugged and turned away from the wooden tub filled with dirty dishes.
“I will flay the flesh from your back, you slut!”
Zarabeth saw the flash of unrestrained fury in the woman’s eyes, but she paid her no heed. She walked quickly away, toward the large wooden doors on the longhouse. She shoved them open and went out into the night. But the strange thing was that it still wasn’t night, not like night at home. This was the time of year when night didn’t fall. It was well past midnight, yet the sky was still gray with dim light, as if it were late afternoon and rain was coming at any moment.
It was warm, with a mild breeze blowing up from the viksfjord. In the distance, across the water the mountains were shrouded in magnificent shadow and low clouds. She vaguely remembered the endless dipping and rolling green hills from her home in western Ireland, and that billowing mist that blew off the sea, always warm and always damp. Here it was dry and warm and so beautiful she wanted to weep with the irony of it all. But there was really no irony in it at all.
She lowered her face into her hands and sobbed.
She felt his large hands encircle her arms, felt him draw her back against his chest. The sobs wouldn’t stop. She felt weak and out of control, and she supposed, vaguely, that she was, and she didn’t care.
Slowly Magnus turned her to face him and drew her into his arms. He felt the force of her tears, felt the convulsive shudders go through her body.