Season of the Sun (16 page)

He had won.

She was crying when he held her close to him to
sleep. “You are mine now,” he said over and over as he stroked his hands up and down her back.

He took her to the bathhouse, where tubs were always full of hot water and the small room was filled with rising steam and so hot the sweat poured off. It was just past dawn and the sky was pink and pale gray with the coming of day. He said nothing, merely motioned for her to enter. He sat on a long wooden bench, leaned back at his ease with his arms folded over his chest, and told her to remove all her clothes.

It would never end, she thought, staring down at him. Slowly she shook her head.

“I have seen you naked. Why do you hesitate?”

She waved her hands around her. “There is light here and it shames me.”

“As you will,” he said, “but it matters not.” He rose quickly, jerked off her linen shift. She realized he enjoyed her refusal and her struggles. She stopped fighting. She owned only one other shift. When she escaped him, she could not go naked.

When she was naked and sweating, he sat her down on a wooden bench and stepped away from her. He quickly stripped off his tunic, which was all he had put on when he'd pulled her from his bed. She looked at him, standing there before her, strong and tall and so finely made. It hurt her to look at him.

“Come here and bathe yourself. You smell of sex and of sweat.” He gave her soap and a soft cloth. She scrubbed herself and it felt wonderful. “Straighten now and look at me.” Before she understood what he would do, he had doused her with a bucket of cold water. She yelled with the shock. She wanted to hit him, but he was dousing himself with another bucket of cold water, shuddering and cursing, thoroughly enjoying it.

“Now, come here and sit down and feel the steam
envelop you. Then we will have more cold water. It is the Vikings' way. The Saxons stink from the day they're born. We do not.”

She sat there silent, her flesh heating in the small room, the steam rising above her head. When Magnus lay beside her on the long bench and put his head on her lap, she tried to move away, but the bench was narrow and he held her still, his arms now wrapping around her hips. He turned his face inward and began kissing her belly. When he pulled back and let his tongue touch her, she heaved him off her. He was laughing, actually laughing. He pulled her against him. Their bodies were slick with sweat and he pulled her close, then lifted her.

He sat on the bench with her and widened her thighs until she was pressed against him. He lifted her again and guided himself into her.

“Magnus!”

“Hold still. Ah, there. Now, move, do as you please.” He folded his arms around her back and held her tightly. When she didn't move, he smiled, realizing she didn't know what to do. He clutched her buttocks in his large hands and lifted her nearly off him, then eased her back down his length again.

She gasped and locked her hands around his neck. He leaned closer and kissed her even as he worked her. He felt her excitement build, and because he himself was nearing his release, he quickly eased his fingers over her and felt her tighten and jerk against him.

Her body exploded into pleasure, and he kissed her hard, shoving into her until he could go no further, and he let himself go, heaving and gasping in the steaming hot air. He held her head against his shoulder and gently rubbed his hands up and down her back.

Her hair was wet and thick on her back, and he
lifted it to stroke her better. His fingers touched the slave collar and left it, scorched.

He eased her off him then and silently handed her the soap and wet cloth. She stood before him for a moment, utterly naked, her body flushed and weak and soft, and she hated herself and him and she was helpless against him. He saw it and accepted it and told himself he was pleased. He remained quiet, sitting on the bench, watching her bathe him from her body.

There was a small antechamber in the bathhouse. Someone had brought clean clothes for them. She closed her eyes. Someone had come in and seen them naked, perhaps seen him taking her and making her scream. Her fingers were clumsy on the fastenings of her gown.

He leaned down and picked up a clean dry cloth and wrapped it around her hair. He forced her face up with his fingers beneath her chin. She was scrubbed clean. He kissed her then and led her outside. The sun was bright overhead and the morning air cool. There were servants about, and slaves going through the gates in the palisade out into the fields. Why didn't they simply leave? she wondered. She would have, in an instant. Magnus halted her, pulling her toward him. He kissed her again, long and deep, in front of all his people.

“There,” he said with deliberation. “Now there will be no more questions.”

When Zarabeth came back into the longhouse, her hair was a damp mass down her back but she was gloriously clean and her face was shining. She tasted Magnus on her lips. She felt sore inside her body. She saw Lotti sitting with four other children next to Eldrid, Magnus' aunt. She was seated in front of the large loom weaving thread into cloth. She was as large as her sister, Helgi, Magnus' mother, but there were
hard edges to her that softened only when the children came to her. She hadn't yet spoken a word to Zarabeth.

But Ingunn was free with her speech. “Magnus has finally finished with you, I see. I am surprised you can still walk. Did you have that many men in York?”

“Who knows?” Zarabeth said to Ingunn, and nodded to Cyra, who stood behind her, a distaff in her hands, holding it like a weapon.

“He always liked to have Cyra in the bathhouse. You do not bring him new amusements.” Ingunn waited, but got no reaction at all from the woman. “I have already set your tasks. Get to work now.”

Zarabeth only nodded. She cared not what she did—churning the butter or mixing the grain flour with water in a large wooden trough to make the bread dough. Her arms ached from kneading the dough. In York she'd never made so much bread at one time, nor had she ever in her life seen such a huge butter urn. Yet, basically, they were familiar tasks and she escaped while she worked. She thought of escape. She closed her eyes as she kneaded the dough, and he came into her mind. Magnus had touched her, no matter how hard she had tried to keep him from her. He had touched her, the deepest part of her, again and again. It wasn't just the pleasure he had brought to her, though that had made her lose herself in those precious moments, lose herself into a beginning she had not before known could be. She looked down to see that the dough was properly mixed. She supposed that it was; she had never seen so much of it. It took her another hour to shape all the dough into small loaves and ease them onto the long-handled paddles. She laid them carefully over the hot ashes of the fire. Sweat covered her forehead. Her arms quivered from fatigue. She thought fondly of the bathhouse and the dousing with cold water Magnus had given her. Then
she thought of him taking Cyra there and doing the same things to her.

When she had finished, Ingunn was waiting with more duties for her. She sent her to the barley field with instructions to speak to Haki, who would tell her what to do. She went. The day was warm, but after the dim light of the longhouse and the close air, it felt wonderful to be outside. Haki was a bent old man with beautiful white teeth. He smiled when she came to him, and told her to go down the barley rows and pull out any weeds she saw and to wave her arms at any birds who dared to swoop down. She merely nodded and did as she was bidden. Her task was easy and mindless. Her stomach growled and she realized she had eaten nothing that day, for Magnus had dragged her to the bathhouse very early. She hoped there would be a meal soon. Heat poured down on her and through her. She was sweating freely and her back began to hurt from bending and straightening so many times. There were other slaves between the rows doing what she was doing. They were laughing and jesting with each other. She supposed she would become used to the work in time.

Time passed and the sun was in the western sky now. She was so hungry she felt faint with it. And thirsty, but Haki said nothing.

She wondered where Magnus was. She hadn't seen him since he had left her at the entrance to the longhouse that morning.

Finally Haki called to her to leave and return to the longhouse, for he had heard her stomach rumble. She tried to smile at him but could not quite manage it. When she came into the dim coolness of the longhouse, she immediately searched out Lotti. The little girl was listening intently to something Eldrid was saying. She noted the older woman was speaking slowly, pronouncing her words with great care, and she
smiled. At least Lotti was not to be treated as she was. It took her another moment to realize that Eldrid was teaching Lotti about weaving. Other little girls were there, all listening. None of the male children were in the longhouse. She supposed they were with the men, learning woodworking, learning to fight, learning to make weapons.

She picked up a wooden bowl and scooped some hot porridge from the huge kettle suspended by a chain from a ceiling beam.

“I have not told you to eat,” Ingunn said from behind her.

Zarabeth turned slowly to face Magnus' sister, and said calmly, “I have been working in the barley field. I have had nothing to eat since last night.” She turned away from Ingunn. In the next instant the wooden bowl was slapped from her hold and she cried out when the hot porridge spattered on her hands and arms.

“Careless slut! Pick up the bowl and place it on the counter. I will have you beating the flax now, if you have the skill for it, and if you do not, you will remain at it until you have gained some!”

Zarabeth forced herself to take deep breaths to regain her calm. She wanted to murder Ingunn, and that would never do, but she could not let this continue. For whatever reason, the woman hated her. She said then, her voice low and calm, “I am hungry, Ingunn. I will beat your flax into threads when I have finished eating. No, I have not done it often, for in York there were others to do it. Now that I have explained, you will please leave me alone until I have eaten. You will wait with your orders until then.”

Zarabeth bent down and picked up her wooden bowl. She heard a strange hissing sound behind her. She whirled about but wasn't quick enough. Ingunn brought the leather-thonged whip down across her shoulders. She felt pain sear through her and gasped.
She flung out her arms to grab the whip, but Ingunn was faster. She stepped back and struck again, so hard this time that Zarabeth fell against a huge cheese barrel and tripped. She was on her hands and knees now and the whip struck her full on the back, and she felt the wool of her gown split wide. She tried to fling herself on Ingunn, but the leather thongs struck her again, wrapping around her sides, the pain burning through her so that she gasped with it. It had to stop, but it didn't. Again and again the whip struck. She had to get up; she had to stop it. She shuddered with the effort to rise, and fell again to her knees.

She heard the women and children all talking, heard Cyra calling for Ingunn to kill the bitch. She heard Eldrid yelling at Ingunn to stop, but she didn't. She could hear Ingunn's deep, wild breathing. It only seemed to madden her more. Zarabeth's gown was shredded now, but she knew if she raised her head, Ingunn would strike her face and her chest. She felt blackness pulling at her and fought against it with all her strength. Then she heard Lotti, the strangled mewling sounds she made when she was distressed. Lotti was close now, and suddenly Zarabeth was screaming, “No, Ingunn, do not touch her! No!”

The beating stopped. Zarabeth raised her head, holding her shredded gown up to cover her breasts. Ingunn had grabbed Lotti and was shaking her hard. Then she was raising the whip to the child.

“No! You touch that child and I will kill you!”

Ingunn laughed. “She's naught but an idiot, your sister, and you are nothing but a slave!” She lifted the whip. Zarabeth jerked to her feet, only to fall forward.

“No!” she screamed. She realized it was only a whisper.

“B
y Thor's wounds! What are you doing? Ingunn! Stop it, woman!”

Magnus stood frozen, unable to believe what he was seeing. Ingunn was holding Lotti by the arm and had raised the whip. She was actually going to hit the child. He called her name again, but she didn't seem to hear him. She was panting, her breasts heaving, and she was focused entirely on the child. Magnus ran to her and grabbed her wrist just before the whip came down upon Lotti's back, wresting the whip from her hand.

She was white-faced, her eyes nearly black with uncontrolled fury. It shocked him, this viciousness in her. He threw the whip away, grabbed his sister's upper arms, and shook her hard. “What is the matter with you? Why would you strike a child? And with a whip! Answer me, damn you!”

Ingunn blinked at him, and he shook her again, but before she could answer, he heard Lotti making those raw mewling sounds and quickly turned to the child. She was running toward . . . He saw Zarabeth for the first time. She was on her knees, and was holding her gown up in front of her chest. Her hair was hanging down either side of her face, tangled and sweat-soaked. Her face was utterly without color.

He dropped Ingunn's arms.

He felt something in him twist and burn. He
watched Lotti throw her arms around Zarabeth's neck, saw Zarabeth's arms slowly come around the child's back.

Something was very wrong. He slowed himself. He reached Zarabeth but found that words wouldn't come to his tongue. He felt pain flow through him, raw and deep, for in that moment she fell to the side, taking Lotti with her, unconscious. He saw her back then, covered with purple welts from Ingunn's whip, saw splotches of blood where the whip had broken her flesh. Tendrils of hair stuck to her back. For a moment he was sickened with the shock of it; then black rage rushed through him like a wild fire. That he had brought her here for this.

He looked up to see his aunt. “Fetch hot water, Eldrid, quickly, and soap and clean cloths.” Without another word, he lifted Zarabeth over his shoulder, careful not to touch her back. It was then that everyone seemed to become aware of him and of what had happened.

Ingunn yelled, “Leave her to the slaves! Let them take her to the slaves' hut. She is an insolent female, nothing but a slut whom you have already bedded! Why do you care? You brought her here to be a slave and your whore! She will be well enough this night for your rutting. She is nothing, Magnus, nothing!”

Cyra tried to catch his sleeve. “The woman insulted your sister, she yelled at her and called her horrible names and would not do as Ingunn told her to do and—”

Magnus shook her off, knowing that if he touched her, he would likely kill her. He carried Zarabeth into the dark chamber and laid her on her stomach. Slowly he pulled the red strands of hair from the welts on her back. He pulled her shredded gown to her hips. He heard a soft sobbing and turned to see Lotti, her
small fist in her mouth, standing in the doorway, afraid to come closer.

“Come here, Lotti, and sit beside her. When she awakens . . .” He realized it would be difficult for her to understand. He left Zarabeth and went to the little girl. He lifted her, hugged her to him, smelling the sweet child-smell of her, then set her beside her sister on the bed.

He took her face between his hands and said slowly and calmly, “Stay beside her and smile at her when she awakens. All right?”

Lotti swallowed and slowly nodded. There was such fear contorting her features that Magnus wanted to yell with fury at it.

Instead, he gently lifted Zarabeth onto her side. There was but one welt that had snaked around her back and made a narrow red mark just below her breasts. He drew another deep breath and eased her back onto her stomach.

Eldrid came into the chamber. Behind her was a slave carrying a rushlight. She fastened it into the holder on the wall.

Magnus began washing Zarabeth's back. He didn't look at his aunt, merely said, “Tell me what happened.”

“I am too old for this nonsense, nephew,” Eldrid said. “I am teaching the little girl, just as you asked of me, but the sister, 'tis too much, Magnus. Ingunn hates her and wants her gone from here—that, or dead. What could I do? The child tried to help her sister, and Ingunn turned on her. What could I do?”

Magnus said nothing. He was washing the welts on her back. “Have you one of your herb remedies? She will have pain, and I would stop it if I could.”

Eldrid shook her head. “Juice of the elderberry would do her good, but there isn't any. Only in the fall, perhaps in October. The woman is young, she
will bear her pain as so many do, without your liking or disliking it.”

He hated Eldrid in that moment, but he had no choice but to keep her here. She and Helgi, his mother, could not bear each other, so Eldrid had come to live with him some five years before. She had birthed no living sons to see to her well-being. She was sour and hard, except with children. Yet she had not protected Lotti. Ah, perhaps she had tried, but she was an old woman, depending on Ingunn as well as on him. And Ingunn had seemed as a berserker going into battle. He drew a deep breath and lightly patted a welt that had drawn blood just above her hips. He cursed then, soft and long, and looked up to see Lotti staring at him.

“Zarabeth,” Lotti said, and lightly laid one small hand on her sister's shoulder.

Magnus said slowly, “She will be all right, Lotti. I promise you.”

Zarabeth stirred some minutes later. She was lying on her stomach, and surely that was odd. In the next instant she realized that her back was on fire. Pain swamped her, and she hissed out her breath. She felt his hand on her arm, heard his voice next to her face. “Hold still. I can do nothing for your pain, I am sorry. Just hold still and breathe slowly and deeply.”

And she did, for she really had no choice. She didn't open her eyes, but said, “Lotti. Is she all right? Ingunn was going to hit her, and I couldn't . . . couldn't stop her, I couldn't make my body move to stop her.”

“I stopped Ingunn. Lotti is fine. She is sleeping now, next to you.”

“Thank you.”

“You won't be scarred.”

She opened her eyes and stared at him. “I wanted to kill your sister, but I couldn't reach her. I saw her
raise that whip on Lotti and I heard her laugh, and then . . .” She shuddered with the memory of it, and Magnus, feeling furious and helpless and hating both feelings, said, “Try to sleep now.”

“I'm very hungry. That is what started it all. I was so very hungry, and I simply wanted to eat some porridge.”

“I will fetch you something.” He left her lying there on her stomach, her face washed of color, even her vivid red hair seeming faded and dimmed, hanging damp and tangled beside her face.

He walked to the cooking counter of smooth wooden planks that held wooden plates, knives, spoons, and trays. He was aware of the painful silence in the longhouse. His men were staring at him, as were the women. Only the children seemed unaffected, and he heard them taunting each other, laughing, challenging. He heard Egill yelling for a wager with another boy.

Ingunn was behind him, saying quickly, her voice low and furious, “Do not believe her, Magnus. She lies, I know it. She disobeyed me, refused to work. What was I to do? She thinks that since she is your whore, she need do nothing save watch the rest of us work. Believe not her tales, Magnus! You already know her for a liar, a murderess.”

He turned slowly, a bowl in his hand. “Please put some venison stew in the bowl, Ingunn.”

Ingunn drew back. “For her? For that slut? I would rather stick a knife in her black heart.”

“Do as I tell you.”

“No, damn you, I won't!”

“Then you will no longer be welcome in my house. I am master here, and I will be obeyed in all things.”

He hated using that kind of threat, but he saw no other way. Ingunn took the bowl from him and turned stiffly away. He watched her, thinking that he had never before witnessed such unfairness in her, such
viciousness, then quickly rearranged his memory. Oh, yes, he had seen her drawn into jealousy before, and her fury had been uncontrolled. It had been over an arm bracelet another young girl had refused to give her. She was jealous of Zarabeth, and, fool that he was, he had taken all Zarabeth's weapons. He had made her a slave. He had placed her at Ingunn's mercy.

His sister returned with the bowl and handed it to him, saying nothing now.

He said very quietly, his eyes never leaving her face, “If you touch her again, I will take the whip to you and let you taste it on your back. If you ever put your hands on Lotti again, I will take the whip to you with even greater force. Do you understand me?”

“By Thor's hammer, she lied! I did nothing to her that she did not deserve. Just ask Cyra! She saw everything the slut did, ask her!”

“Do you understand me?”

“Why do you care? Did you not bed her? How many men had her before you? She bragged on how many men she'd had in York and how all she had to do to you was smile. Why do you still care?”

“Do you understand me?”

She realized in that moment that she no longer knew this man who stood in front of her, this man who didn't care about the truth or about her feelings, this man who was obviously against her now, who hated and scorned her, all because of that slave he'd brought to Malek to take her place. Nay, she no longer recognized this man who had been her defender when she'd been a little girl. He was now a stranger to her. She felt fury and defeat, and it took all her resolve to hold to her control. She said, “Aye, I understand.”

“Good. Never forget, Ingunn, for I shan't.” He left her then, aware that every man and woman in the hall
was watching them and wondering. He had no intention of saying anything at all. He was appalled at his sister's loss of control, at the ferocity in her.

He fed Zarabeth until she was too weak to chew more. When she finally fell asleep, he picked Lotti up and took her into the children's chamber. He laid her down, smoothing the soft ginger-colored hair from her forehead.

“Sleep well,” he said, and leaned down to kiss her cheek. “I will take care of your sister, I promise you.”

Lotti smiled and closed her eyes. Magnus looked up to see his son sitting up on the far side of the bed. The boy looked infinitely miserable. Magnus walked to him and drew him onto his lap, even though he wasn't a child any longer. He spoke softly, so as not to awaken the other children. “Do not blame Lotti, Egill. She is only a little girl and she loves her sister. Would you not have tried to protect me had someone threatened me? From what I see, she is also fond of you. Do not hurt her, and do not treat her like your aunt Ingunn does.”

The boy nodded. Magnus had no idea if his words would go to his son's heart. He hoped so.

When he returned to Zarabeth, she was asleep. He laid a soft white cloth over her back, gently eased her clothing off her, and got into bed next to her. He did not sleep for a very long time.

He fed her the next morning, bathed her back, and told her not to move. Zarabeth said nothing. She was stiff and her back ached, the muscles pulling and twisting, the flesh hot and blistering.

Magnus turned in the doorway, studying her pale face. “Do not worry about Lotti. Eldrid is looking after her.”

“Thank you,” she said, her voice dull.

She slept fitfully the rest of the morning. She could hear the activity clearly from the outer hall. She could
hear Ingunn's voice, and she felt herself tensing with fury. She slept again, then awoke to a voice saying, “I see you are awake.”

She felt fear despite herself. “Aye, I am awake, at least now I am.”

“Do you intend to remain lying about for the rest of the day?”

Very slowly Zarabeth raised herself on her elbow. “You hurt me, Ingunn. My back pains me.”

“Ha, I barely touched you, lying bitch! You carry on to impress Magnus, but he has guessed what you are about. Even though he has rutted you, he isn't stupid. His senses are returned now. You betrayed him before, lied to him, and now he knows what you really are. He has left, but were he still here, he would not protect you.”

Zarabeth felt the blood pounding through her as her anger built, anger and fear that Ingunn had spoken the truth. “I did not betray him!”

“Keep to your lies, I care not. But you will cease your laziness and rise. There is much to be done and I cannot do it all. You take, yet return nothing. That is not the way of the Vikings, and you are but a worthless slave.”

Zarabeth forced herself to sit up. She realized she was naked and pulled the woolen blanket to her chin.

Ingunn looked at her long and hard, the ungoverned hatred she felt toward this woman growing so that now it nearly choked her.

“Know the truth, slut. Magnus does not know what to do with you. He doesn't want you now, for he has had you and known not the pleasure he receives from Cyra, but you pretend to such pain that he cannot turn you out now. He wants to sell you, he told me but hours ago, but you are here crying and whining, so what can he do? I could tell him that all this is naught but an act, a sham, but I do not want to hurt
him. You did quite enough of that, did you not? So now he has a worthless hag sleeping in his bed and gets nothing from her save what her skinny body offers to him. Just look at you—you are a witch, a bedraggled slut!”