The Viking's Hold (First 11 chapters)

Chapter 10: Assaulted

Wasting no time, Aelswyn summoned her servant, to help change her dress for one more appropriate to her task. She settled for an old gray one, a little tight at the chest and slightly shorter than usual, perfect for wandering around in the mud. The woolen fabric was thick enough to keep her warm without the need of a cloak, giving her more freedom of movement. She got rid of the knee length veil, her braided hair only covered by a head-rail[i] falling on her shoulders. Feeling ready, she dismissed Edith and quickly made her way to the yard.

She was set on inspecting the storage areas, pens and stables. She needed to be sure of her numbers if she was to estimate the need for supplies. Later, she would assemble the household. The tasks had to be redistributed; the laundry and kitchen servants were frazzled by the pressure of catering for an increased number of occupants. Lost in her thoughts, she barely noticed the frantic activity in the yard. Men ran everywhere, carrying various building materials. She wondered what had gone through their minds, and decided that she was not bothered. As long as they were not causing damage…

She quickly checked on the food storage, noting the level of barley, wheat and rye, the number of cheeses and the amount of dried and salted meat and fish left. They also had peas, carrots and parsnips, as well as quite a few apples and seeds, but that wouldn’t last more than two weeks with four hundred more mouths to feed. She moved on to the livestock's sheds, surveying the goats, pigs, cattle and poultry, getting more worried by the minute. Where was she to find such amounts of food at this time of the year?

Cutting through the yard again, she walked to the stables. Two very muddy men were erecting an isolated room, further against the rampart. The plank walls were starting to take shape. She gave it a glance, and shrugged. What was that for? These people were really too weird for her.

She approached the horses, ensuring they had been brushed and fed. With their riders dead, she feared for their welfare, but it seemed that at least another person cared about them. Fresh straw had been spread on the ground. The last stall was empty; she would have to inquire what happened to the stallion that should have occupied it. Horses were expensive; she should have been notified if any of them got ill or worse. Or was he at the blacksmith’s?

Too caught in her task, she didn’t register the two men slipping in behind her, until they grabbed her and threw her on the ground in the empty stall. The first held her from behind, pinning her wrists in her back with one hand while gagging her with the other; the second knelt between her legs and started groping her breasts. She bucked and kicked, to no avail. Jerking her head, she managed to bite hard on the first man’s finger, ignoring the sickening taste that filled her mouth. He pulled his hand away, allowing her time for a single scream, before he took it down again, slapping her hard. She almost fainted from the pain, her lip was bleeding.

He cursed in Norse, and then spoke in Anglisc: “You bitch! Keep quiet or I will chop your tongue off! Because of you, Saxon whore, our Chief punished us; he gave us a slave’s work. When we’ll be finished with you, you’ll be worth nothing. He’ll get rid of you and marry a true Norse woman, not a Christian weakling! We are doing him a favor!”

The second man scoffed and took the hem of her dress, pushing it up her legs. Aelswyn thrashed violently, not giving up without a fight, even though she knew all was lost. .

Sven was on his way to see the progress on the bathhouse, when he heard a high-pitched scream. He froze in his tracks, listening. A thud, followed by a male voice, seemed to be coming from a nearby shed. He remembered the place: it had to be the stables.

Stealthily, he pushed the door enough to peek inside. It was quite dark, with only one high, narrow window allowing the light in, and he could hear a commotion at the bottom end. Unsheathing his sword, he prowled in, and reached the last stall unnoticed.

Two men were assaulting a woman, probably a servant, judging by her clothes. He couldn’t discern her face. It was masked by a hand whose owner he recognized under the grime. He snarled, furious. Despite having only a view of the other man’s behind, he was fairly certain of his identity. It was them again, the warriors who had attacked his Lady’s servant. He thought he had been clear, warning that he would not tolerate them defying his orders anymore.

The girl’s legs were bare, her skirts lifted to her groin, her assailant fumbling with the fastening of his breeches. Sven thrust his sword through the offered back, before kicking the other man in the face and slashing his throat. He moved so fast that they didn’t have the time to defend themselves. He didn’t care. They didn’t deserve to die as warriors.

He wiped his blade on a ball of straw and turned to the young woman. She had pulled her dress down to her ankles and was shivering, sitting in the straw. He crouched at her side and gasped: “Lady Aelswyn! Is that you! But how? What are you doing here?”

When she didn’t talk, he grabbed her shoulders and pulled her to her feet.

Too distressed to think of what she was doing, she got hold of his tunic, and nestled her sore face in the space between his chest and shoulder.

Sven was petrified. How did she expect him to react? He had done many things in his life, yet comforting a wounded woman wasn’t one of them. Feeling uneasy, he folded his arms on her, rocking her lightly. He had seen his sister doing that; it seemed to work on babies. He whispered softly: “Calm down, you are safe now, they can’t hurt you anymore. Hush, I’ve got you, my Lady, do not fear…”

Progressively, he felt her relax against him. It was about time; he was seriously starting to lack ideas. “Are you better now, my Lady?”

She nodded in response, still snuggled in his arms.

“Can you walk to the kitchen? I think you could use a drink.”

She nodded again and pushed herself free from his embrace. He supported her for the first steps but she quickly moved away. He held her back when they reached the doorway, a look of concern on his face. “You cannot walk out like this my Lady.”

In the daylight, he could see the bruise darkening on her cheek, her split lip, and the explicit handprints on her dress. Cautiously, he rearranged her head-rail to cover the damage, and enveloped her in his cloak.

“Now we can go,” he said.

[i]Piece of fabric worn by Christian women, covering the head and neck.