Viking Tribute

Chapter 9: Dinner Time

 We were escorted to the Lord’s house, and showed into a private room. It wasn’t very spacious, most of it occupied by a large bed. There were no openings other than the door, and the heating was provided by the hearth in the common room. I felt trapped. Once in this room with him, there would be no escape.

I shrank at the realization, my courage wavering. I had promised to be willing, but how could I pretend when the thought of him sickened me?

“You will assist me for bathing, after which the servants will take care of you. You will eat in the longhouse before serving me in the Hall. Do not make a fool of me, or I will not be lenient.”

Reluctantly, I bowed my head and followed him to the nearby bath house. It was a small building, half buried in the side of the hill. It opened on two bath tubs, one filled with warm and the other with cold water, with a sweat room at the back.

I blushed when he began to undress, not bothered by my presence. These people had no decency. I focused my gaze on the bare rocks of the opposite wall.

“Look at me!”

I jerked and complied, keeping my eyes on his face.

“You are my bedslave, there is no shame for you in seeing me naked. Soon you won’t even be a maiden anymore. Get to work now woman.”

I was baffled. What did he expect me to do?

Impatiently, he gestured towards the shelves.

“I’ll get in the bath, and you will wash and cut my hair. Hurry!”

He lowered himself in the water and I stumbled in my haste, bringing him a block of soap and keeping the ivory comb and the scissors at the ready. While he scrubbed his body, I watched the sharp instrument. I didn’t consider killing him, but I was tempted to do a severely botched job.

He handed me the soap and gave me a stern glance, guessing what I had in mind. Sighing, I proceeded to massage his scalp with foam, rinsed it and untangled his rough locks.

“I should use oil, it is damaged,” I muttered to myself.

Still, he heard me.

“What are you waiting for? Do it.”

Reluctantly, I poured scented oil in my palm and combed it through his hair, before washing it again.

“How much do you want me to cut?”

I followed his instructions and was proud at the result. Years of cutting my brothers’ hair had paid back.  I refreshed his beard and gave him an appraising look. He was indeed handsome.

Climbing out of the bath, he walked lazily to the sweat room, and I watched, aware that it was what he expected. He had good reasons to be proud.

A while later I was bored out of my wits. I sat aimlessly on a bench, waiting for him to be finished. He had been going in and out of the small room and into the cold bath several times, and didn’t seem to grow tired of it. Strange custom.

I was comforted in my opinion a moment later when two servants burst in, bringing him fresh clothes, and swiftly undressed me. Again I blushed, but didn’t protest. He had seen all of me earlier and would do more later. For the second time in one day, I swallowed my pride.

Why did they do this? The sweat room roasted and the cold water shocked you frozen. I had been scrubbed to an inch of my life and submitted to the most unpleasant bathing torture. Now I stood beside the hearth in an undyed dress of itchy wool, the collar weighing on my neck. I was glad it was taken off earlier or I would have burn marks.

A slave with gray hair smiled gently at me.

“Are you Anglish?”

I beamed in delight at hearing a familiar accent. My heart stirred in hope; could he help me regain my freedom? He radiated peace and kindness.

“Aye, I am Mercian. And you?”

“I’m from Wessex, I was captured in a raid a few years ago. You are Jarl Einarr’s new slave, aren’t you? Let me get you some stew, he insisted that you would be well fed.”

I rolled my eyes at that, and the man laughed.

“What is your name? I am Aidan.”

He gave me a large bowl and a spoon.

“I’m La… I’m Sunngifu.”

Nodding, he added a plate with buttered slices of rye bread and berries.

Sitting on the low bench, likely his bed for the night, I started eating. All of a sudden, I was ravenous.

“You haven’t been his long have you?”

My mouth was full, and I nearly choked. Flushing, I shook my head.

“He is not as bad as he seems. He is harsh, but fair. Be obedient and loyal to him, and he will treat you well.”

He was trying to reassure me.

I cocked an eyebrow:

“And if I rebelled or tried to escape, what would he do?”

Aidan froze:

“Never ever consider it, for your own sake. Jarl Einarr doesn’t understand mercy.”

I rushed towards the Mead Hall, carrying a large tray. A strong gust of wind caught me from the side and I nearly let it fall. I walked between the seated men and women, placing my burden in the center of the main table, in front of my owner.

Lifting my head, I took him in and gaped. I had never seen him in his finery. On the boat he wore solid, practical clothes and before that a chainmail tunic. His woolen cloak doubled in fur, held by a gold and silver brooch, was  thrown over his shoulder, revealing an embroidered silk kirtle. On his chest was a silver pendant of some pagan symbol, and on his arms matching armbands. He was magnificent.

My mind clicked and I remembered how they addressed him: Jarl Einarr. He was not a simple raider but a high ranking nobleman in his homeland. Was my father aware of this?

He signaled to me to come to him and I looked around, searching for an access to his side. He smirked and his gaze went to the floor. Mortified, I understood. I had to crawl under the table.

When I emerged beside him, he made me kneel on the ground, until the end of the meal. Fortunately, they didn’t have time for a full banquet, or it would have lasted hours. Only three courses were served, before they brought more mead and ale, and the women left.

He told me to stand and so I did, wincing as the blood returned to my legs. I was pulled down to his lap, to my utter humiliation. I began to push away when he glared at me, a clear warning in his eyes. Aidan’s words resonated in my mind, urging me to stay still.

I stiffened, expecting a brutal groping. His hands skimmed along my back, down to the side of my hip and thigh, repeatedly. I nearly scoffed at my change of status; I had gone from bedslave to petted lapdog.

Yet it was not hurtful and I quickly stopped noticing it. After a while, my eyelids grew heavy. I was warm and comfortable and couldn’t follow the conversation. Nestling my cheek in the soft fabric, I dozed off.