Maidensong (5 page)

 
“I believe you are a very clever girl with a quick tongue and possibly a decent memory.” Astryd squinted at her in frank appraisal. “But you’re no skald. No doubt you’ve heard one or two and thought
to imitate them to avoid thralldom. But if you were truly a
student of the
Havamal,
you’d know that there’s nothing you can do to change your fate.” Astryd’s blond
brows knit together. “All you can do is meet it with
courage.”

 
The lady’s eyes gleamed when she saw the amber
hammer at Rika’s throat. The hammer was simple but elegant, and Astryd’s pursed lips told Rika she thought
it far too fine for the neck of a slave.

 
“
You can start by giving me that
little
bauble you’re
wearing,” the Dragon of Sogna said. “Thralls have no
possessions of their own, you know.”

 
Rika bit her lip as she slipped the thin leather strip
over her head and placed the hammer in Astryd’s wait
ing palm.

 
The Lady of Sogna directed her attention to the whole group of new thralls. “Take off your clothes, all
of you. You’re no doubt infested with lice and fleas.”
Astryd turned to the serving girl who’d brought the
horn of mead to Bjorn. “Evja, burn their clothes and get
them all something more fitting to their new station.”

 
So this is how it starts,
Rika thought. In order to re
make them into slaves, they first had to strip away who
they were. She slipped her garments over her head, determined it would not matter to her. In her mind, she
would clothe herself with the dignity of her art. Her bare skin didn’t quite get the message though, as
gooseflesh rippled over her despite the sunshine.

 
After Ketil pulled his tunic over his head, Astryd
took the garment from him and ran the fine fabric through her fingers. It was soft and supple as water
compared to the stiff linen she herself wore.

 
“
Save the clothing of these two.” Astryd ordered her
serving girl as she pointed to Rika and Ketil. “I may find a use for their garments, after a thorough clean
ing, of course.”

 
Rika’s cheeks burned. The men at swordplay looked
on and jeered, as she and the rest of the thralls were
paraded, still naked, to the ironworker. A circle of ugly
gray metal was bolted around her neck, a dismal re
placement for the little amber hammer.

 
At least now if I decide to drown myself, I won’t need loom stones
. Rika had already
cheated the waves once. She wondered whether giving
herself to the sea constituted meeting her fate with
courage, but then she thought of Ketil. No matter
what happened, she couldn’t choose to take the water,
for his sake.

 
Evja gave them all shapeless garments of coarse
undyed wool. Though Rika was grateful to cover her nakedness, the rough cloth chafed against her skin and
rubbed her nipples raw.

 
Then Astryd reappeared with her shears. She seemed to take perverse delight in snipping off Rika’s waist-length hair in uneven chunks, hacking and saw
ing at her thick tresses. Magnus had never allowed
anyone to cut her hair. It shimmered like a sunset rain,
he always said. As the long locks fell to earth, Rika
squeezed her eyes shut, willing herself to remember
Magnus brushing her hair when she was little. He al
ways smoothed out the snarls she got into. How she
wished he were there to smooth her out of this one.

 
She ran a stunned hand over her shorn head. Her father would be heartsick if he could see her now. Re
lieved of its weight, her remaining hair curled snugly
around her ears and across her forehead.

 
Then Astryd sent Ketil to work felling trees with a
group of other male thralls. Rika was tasked with
scrubbing privies. The harsh soap, a combination of
lye mixed with ash and fat, reddened her hands and
made her eyes burn. After she finished that chore, As
tryd ordered Rika to join another group of women
who were processing yarn by dragging it through a
shallow vat of cow urine.

 
As Magnus’s daughter, she’d never so much as assisted with meal preparation before. Her days had
been filled with practicing the countless tales her fa
ther never tired of teaching her. She mastered the secret art of runes and could carve them with skill in wood or stone. The lilting tunes she coaxed from her little bone flute were admired in many a hall.

 
But now, she was only a drudge. And Astryd seemed
intent on foisting all the worst jobs of the household
on her during her first day of servitude. She caught the
woman glaring at her more than once, but Rika
schooled her features into a bland mask. If the Lady of
Sogna thought to break her spirit with drudgery, Rika
was determined Astryd would fail. She would not allow the Dragon to see the pain in her blistered palms.

 
Or her blistered heart.

 
Besides, she knew the real villain wasn’t Astryd. Oh,
the Lady of Sogna was unpleasant and bossy
, but she wasn’t the one to
blame for Rika’s misery.

 
That honor belonged to the man who’d dropped her into Astryd’s grasping clutches. That toad-eating,
louse-bitten, unfeeling waste of skin—Bjorn the Black.

Rika clamped a hand over her mouth, not believing her eyes. The Dragon of Sogna had dressed for
nattmal
in Rika’s fawn-colored tunic. It’d been
scrubbed clean, but every seam in the fine garment
bulged. Perhaps the heir to Sogna growing in her belly was to blame, but Rika thought Astryd looked like too
much sausage meat stuffed into too small a bladder.

The lady stopped in front of her. “You have something to say?”

“No, my lady.” Rika forced the smirk from her face. “Except . . . that color suits you.” She guessed the Lady of Sogna must be desperate indeed if she thought
dressing in Rika’s clothing would turn her husband’s
wandering eye back to her. Rika could almost pity As
tryd, if not for her shorn head and throbbing hands. But Magnus had always said desperate people are dan
gerous people and the Lady of Sogna was clearly desperate for her husband’s attention.
Rika expelled all the air from her lungs in relief
when Astryd moved on.

She sent Ketil into the great hall with Surt, a thrall
he’d worked with all day. Slaves were allowed to eat after the fighting men had been served, but Rika
couldn’t think of food. All she wanted was to wash the
reek of privies and cow urine from her tired body. She
decided there’d be no better time to sneak into the
steam bath than when everyone else was feasting in
the long main hall.

 
After slipping into the bathhouse and lighting the
fire to warm the stones, she stripped off the scratchy
tunic. Rika scrubbed it while the room filled with heat.
She might have to put it back on damp, but at least it
would be clean.

 
When the stones for the steam bath were hot enough, she poured a dipperful of pine-oil water on
them, releasing a soothing cloud of steam. She kept
adding water till the small room was filled with milky-
white moisture. Then she felt her way to the smooth
wooden benches.

 
Every pore in her body opened. When she was cov
ered with a glistening sheen, she fingered along the
wall and found the birch switches left there. Rika used
one to scrape off the sweat and dirt. She was ready to
dash into the next room where a cool bath barrel
waited for her to rinse in, when she heard the stamp of
booted feet at the threshold. She skittered back up the benches, climbing into the farthest corner.

 
“Someone has started the bath for us already.”

 
Rika recognized Bjorn’s rumbling bass through the pine-scented cloud. Another dipper of water hissed on the heated stones. She pulled her knees to her chest and made herself as small as possible, trusting the thick steam to hide her.

 
“
That’s the story of my life, little brother. Everything
is always handed to the
Jarl
of Sogna on a new trencher.”

 
Rika heard
the swish of clothing being peeled from the two men’s
bodies, the scrape of leather boots toed off against the stone floor. She made out hazy flesh-toned forms and realized they’d see her too, if they happened to glance her way. She could only hope they wouldn’t notice her if she kept still.

 
“Come now, little brother. Don’t be surly. Jealousy doesn't become you.”

 
“
Jealousy isn’t what I’m feeling right now, but if you
want the truth, the title of
jarl
doesn’t become you much either, Gunnar.” If Rika had to guess, she’d have said she heard barely bridled anger in Bjorn’s even tone.

 
“That’s a bit more candid than I’m used to.” Gun
nar’s laugh didn’t convince her that he found Bjorn’s
remark funny.

 
“
I expect it is. When I’m gone, you al
low no one near you who’ll dare tell you the truth.”
Bjorn’s voice sounded closer now. The stair-
stepping benches sagged with the weight of the men as they settled on the lowest level. At least, Thor be
thanked, they’d turned their backs to her.

 
“
You’ve filled our father’s hall with mercenaries
who’ll say anything you want for the privilege of sit
ting at your table,” Bjorn accused.

 
“Indeed I have.”

“To what end?” Rika heard frustration in Bjorn’s voice. “I wasn’t gone that long on the walrus hunt, no more
than a couple of months, but I come home to find the whole fjord miserable over your horde of men. What
good are they? They didn’t even fend off the raid last
month. My crew cleaned up the mess for you. Again.”

 
“
We weren’t here when the raiders came,” Gunnar
explained. “You see, little brother, if you want to be a
leader of men, you must realize that they need some
play as well as work. I’d taken the men inland to hunt.
Besides, the raiders only hit the outer farmsteads. They
didn’t dare come all the way in to Sogna. No harm done.”

 
“
No harm?” Bjorn demanded. “Ask Gimli Bluenose
and you’ll get a different tale. The raiders took his
milk cow but left her new twin calves to starve. We
brought back the cow, but nothing can bring back the
calves. Every
karl
in Sognafjord has a similar story.
How could you allow it to happen, Gunnar? As jarl,
you can’t stand by and let the land be raped by strangers.”

 
“Ah, the land.” Gunnar’s voice was oily and taunting. “Always the land.
Even though you hunt and trade and go viking with
the best of them, you always did have dirt under your
fingernails, didn’t you,
little
brother? Or wanted to?”

 
Bjorn ignored the jab. “I’ll admit I’m land hungry,
but you’re neglecting your holdings, and you can’t.
The farmers look to Sogna for protection. You can’t abandon them like that.”

 
“You forget yourself, brother. Don’t tell me what I can or cannot do.” Gunnar's tone frosted over, colder and sharp-edged. “Are you not my sworn man still?”

 
In the silence that followed, Rika heard the steady drip of condensed moisture pattering from the ceiling beams to the stone floor.

 
“
Ja,
Gunnar, I’m still your man,” Bjorn finally said. “I’m no oath-breaker.”

 
“Good. Then listen and know my mind, little
brother.” Gunnar’s voice dropped and despite the heat,
a shiver ran over Rika. The
jarl
might speak freely to his kinsman, but what might he do to a
thrall who’d heard his secret thoughts?

 
“The world is changing,” Gunnar said. “We can take
a few lessons from the Franks. Why should I be con
tent with just Sogna? I need the men who eat at my
table to expand my holdings. 1 inherited the fjord from our father, but when my son is born, he’ll have more to look forward to than I did.”