In Thrall (2 page)

He let go of her, and rubbed his chin as though thinking. Then he stood, and reached a hand down to her.

“Stand.” He commanded.

After a moment, Zahira put her hand in his. Her legs were shaky as he hauled her to her feet. She was weak with hunger and fear, and worried she might faint.

“Take off your clothes.” He commanded. “Or I will be forced to tear them, and I wouldn't want to ruin such finery.”

Now her tears did fall, rolling down her face and dripping onto her neck as she obeyed. She had been stripped by slave-masters once before in her life, and those cruel memories came back to her now. They had pinched her skin and grabbed her breasts, even put their fingers in her mouth to look at her teeth as though she were an animal.

But she knew better than to disobey. She folded her gown, placing it on top of a barrel to keep it relatively clean. It was after all one of her only possessions. She left her sandals on and stood, one arm shielding her breasts and the other hand trying to cover her sex.

“Stop that,” he growled, reaching out to pull her hand away from her breast. Exposed, her nipples began to harden in the cool air. She could feel his eyes trailing all over her, taking in her breasts, her hips and the small patch of fine dark hair between her legs. She shivered. 

He moved closer - so close that she could smell the sweat on his skin and the salt in his hair. Swallowing hard, she willed herself to be strong. She feared what he would do next, but he only looked at her, rubbing his chin in that thoughtful way.

She had never stood so close to a man, and was discomfited by it. He towered over her, and it took her a moment to work up the courage to look up at him.

When he met her eyes she saw his expression had softened. “Well...” he said quietly, “you
are
a rare beauty. I can't say I am entirely disappointed.” A strange half-smile appeared on his lips. “I almost have a mind to keep you for myself. Would you like that, girl?”

Zahira didn't know how to answer. Would being his slave be preferable to being sold in the flesh market? There was no way to know. But she knew what he wanted to hear.

She swallowed hard. The tears had stopped, and a kind of numbness settled over her. “Yes, my Lord,” she replied. She hoped the flattery would appease him and he would leave her alone, at least for now.

To her surprise he threw his head back and let out a roaring laugh. “My Lord! Ha! That's a good one. I think I like that. Be sure to address me that way in front of my men!”

He laughed again, and picked up the blanket, tossing it back to her. “You belong to Leif Svensson now. You had better learn to accept that quickly. If you please me, you will lead a good life. I am chieftain of my village and I treat my thralls well.” He waited a moment, letting her absorb this. “If you prove to be too much trouble, the others will be clamoring to claim you. And believe it or not, they are all far worse than I.”

He climbed the steep steps to the hatch, stopping half way for a parting word.

“We reach home in a few more days. In the morning I will come again. You can walk with me on the deck for some sun. Or not - as you please.” He turned and left.

The girl put her clothes back on for warmth, wrapped the blanket around herself, curled on the floor and tried to sleep. She wanted to cry some more, but she was still numb, and it felt like she had no more tears to give.

….

When she woke, she tried to take the braids out of her hair. It had gotten snarled and tangled while she slept on the hard wooden floor, and it took a long time to fix it with her fingers. But at least it gave her something to do. With her hair finally unbound it fell in a dark curtain down to her waist. She tried to untangle it, wishing she could wash. She wasn't used to feeling so grimy.

Her captor – Leif - came down the hatch. When he caught sight of her with her hair out he stopped for a long moment, staring at her as if stunned. She felt her face heat as she blushed.

He recovered himself, and asked if she wanted to go up on the deck. It would be her last opportunity until they reached the raiders' homeland. She was full of dread at the idea of walking among the Northmen, but she also badly wanted to see the sunlight and stretch her legs. So she grudgingly let him help her up the steps and out onto the deck.

The light was blinding and she had to shield her eyes with a hand. Weak and shaky, she had no choice but to lean on him, and he led her across the deck possessively, but with surprising courtesy.

The boat sailed low in the calm water. There was only a light breeze on the air, but it was very cold. Zahira shivered and wrapped the blanket tightly around herself. Men rowed at the sides of the boat and paid her little heed. They were all covered in sweat, with muscles bulging and effort plain on their faces.

Leif led her to the head of the ship where there was space. A few men sat around, drinking and talking. One young man – she thought it was the boy who brought her food – sat on a bench playing a tune on a wooden whistle. They all stared at her, and she lifted the edge of her blanket to cover her lower face. The men laughed and joked with each other, but didn't come near try to touch her.

“Can you smell it?” Leif asked exultantly, as they stood at the side of the ship looking out over the water. “That's the smell of home.”

She thought she
could
smell it. There was a crispness on the air that was wholly unfamiliar. She had so many questions, but couldn't bring herself to ask. Instead she peered down at the waves and wondered if she should just try to leap over the side before he could stop her.

Leif shouted orders to his crew, and the young man dropped his whistle and hurried to obey. He approached with a piece of fish and some bread, and a tankard filled to the brim.

“This is my sister-son, Harald.” Leif clapped the boy hard on the back, causing him to stagger and slop some liquid over the side of the tankard.

“Thank you, Harald.” Zahira said as she took the food, honestly grateful. Harald didn't understand her, but he stood staring at her for a good while, his blue eyes wide.

The fish was the heartiest thing she had eaten in days and did much to settle her roiling stomach. The mug was filled with a bitter-sweet liquid she had never tasted, and it warmed her from the inside. She began to relax a little, unable to keep up the constant state of fear and anxiety she had existed in for days. She sat on a bench in the middle of the deck and enjoyed the breeze on her face and the sound of Harald's music.

She watched Leif, too. He talked and joked with them in their own language, while they drank and ate. Out here, she could see that he had long scars in several places on his shoulders and back. His eyes were blue, his hair was long, blonde and clean and shone in the light. He looked fairly young, but the girl couldn't place his age, since he looked so foreign to her. He didn't seem like a monster, out here in the sun.

After a while, she was put back in the hold. Harald was her only occasional visitor, bringing food. She was always polite to him, as he didn't touch her or try to frighten her. She didn't see sunlight again until after they had landed.

….

Harald and a scrawny, older man came to fetch her. She'd sensed the boat pulling ashore and had been nervously waiting for some time. She felt somewhat perverse for being so relieved that they had finally reached the foreign shore. But she'd had more than enough of the dingy cargo hold, and thought anything would be better than that.

They bound her hands together so she couldn't fight them, but she didn't try to resist. What would be the point? No one was coming to help her, and she was in a land of strangers that didn't speak her language.

She wind was cold, and the light was over-bright after the darkness of the ship. Zahira had to squint her eyes almost shut. She couldn't make out much, but saw that they approached a huge log building. Small houses, then huts, then shacks, made up the village. All of it was situated on a gentle hill and looked to be surrounded by farmland.

There was a welcoming party already waiting for the raiders as they came up to the village. Older men, women and children embraced their returning men. It was an oddly heartwarming scene.

She scanned for Leif, and saw him with his arm around a stout blonde woman. Zahira stared in astonishment. The woman was dressed as a man, in leathers and trousers, with a small sword hanging at her belt. She wondered if she was Leif's wife, and how she would feel about him bringing home a harem slave.

She had no more time to wonder, as Harald handed her off to a group of women in drab clothes. They ushered her into the hall. Zahira was so numb and faint that she didn't pay much attention to what was going on. They put her in a room, and untied her hands, talking to each other enthusiastically.

It was obvious why they found her such an oddity. They had hair ranging from blonde to light brown, with hair in plaits or braids, or cut short above the shoulders. They were all blue eyed.

Some of them had freckles on their faces, and some were tanned from the sun. They were built solidly – made hard and muscular with manual labor. Their hands were rough. A few of them were very pretty, in a foreign way. And they all wore thin metal collars around their necks.

The oldest – a graying woman who was clearly the one in charge – looked her up and down critically, picked up her hair and rain it through her fingers, and touched the sleeve of her somewhat dirty finery.

The room was very warm, for which the girl was grateful. There was a fire-pit right in the middle of the room, and the women and girls bustled about hauling water for a bath. Zahira rubbed feeling back into her wrists.

“Clothes off.” The older woman said. Her accent was thick but she pantomimed the instructions. She picked up the clothes as Zahira discarded them. “For wash.” She explained, and took them away. They were efficient and brusque but not cruel, as they helped her into the hot water and began to scrub the dirt from her skin. Oddly enough, it felt almost familiar. And the warmth and water was comforting. She had to try not to fall asleep.

It was probably not entirely necessary to have quite so many women in the bathing room, but it seemed they all wanted to look at the new thrall. They enthusiastically washed and brushed her hair, and brought her a dress to put on. It was a deep blue shift – finer than the clothes they wore, but still rough to touch.

The woman, who introduced herself as Hilde, explained that she was to rest until the evening when she would be brought before the chieftain in the dining hall. She was given water and bread, and led to a tiny room with a little bed stuffed with straw. The food did little to ease her hunger, but she felt queasy anyway and wasn't sure she could have eaten more. She lay on the straw pallet. It felt wonderful to be clean, and the mattress felt like the most comfortable thing in the world after the hard floor of the boat. Soon, she was asleep.

She was woken by the door being unlocked. Drowsily, she sat up, and Hilde came in, followed by the woman she'd seen before – the one in trousers. The woman had a handsome, yet stern face, and looked the new slave up and down. They talked for a moment, obviously discussing Zahira, and Hilde beckoned for her to follow.

They led her downstairs, and as they opened the large double doors to the main hall, noise assaulted her. The hall was filled with Northmen. They sat feasting - tearing food apart with their hands and licking the grease from their fingers. Drinking from their huge drinking horns, belching loudly. Some stood, pushing and shoving or embracing each other. Somewhere a group was loudly singing a song.

The women propelled her forward, walking her down through the middle of the hall. Zahira felt the heat of her face as the Northmen all turned to look at her. They laughed and called out to her, and she was almost grateful not to understand. One of them grabbed his crotch pointedly. After that, she fixed her eyes forward.

Leif was seated on a large chair on a dais, at the back of the hall. He was talking with the men seated in smaller chairs to his left and right. To her horror, she recognized one of them as the red-bearded man she had tried to attack at the harem.

Just like that, the protective numbness was gone, and she began to tremble in fright. The big man took a big drink from his tankard, then leered at her while liquid dripped down his beard. His teeth were crooked, some missing, some rotting. The girl averted her eyes, trying to keep the disgust from her face.

Leif looked up at her, as the women released her arms, lightly pushing her toward him before turning to go.

“Ah!” He exclaimed loudly, “here is my little prize!” He spoke in her language, and the men to either side laughed as though it were a great joke.

As they watched, he took the girl by the arm and pulled her roughly toward him. He put his heavy arm around her waist while he laughed and joked with the men. Zahira could feel the heat of him through her thin layer of clothing, and the strength of his arm, holding her imprisoned in its circle. Somehow, it made her feel protected – at least from the other brutes who jeered and grabbed themselves.

Leif talked with his companions, and gradually the men stopped paying attention to her. She could smell roasting meat. Watching everyone eat, her stomach began to rumble and she realized how incredibly hungry she was.