He sat back in his chair and his men cheered. Some of the Malverne people cheered as well, but not all.
Laren turned to Erik. “My lord, what would you have Rolf do?”
He smiled at her, a smile of superiority at her woman’s ignorance, her lack of understanding of the way of men and of honor. He said slowly, “I would ransom the fellow from this powerful and wealthy family of his, and then I would keep him and chain him up. Olaf is right, it is just that I am not only right as well, I am also richer.”
There was much laughter, Thoragasson not taking offense, guffawing loudly, praising Erik’s wit.
Laren waited silently, standing motionless, outwardly serene and calm, then she turned to Merrik. “My lord Merrik, what would you have Rolf do?”
He said very slowly, his eyes never leaving her face, “Were I this Rolf, I would keep my word. It wouldn’t matter if the man was a slave or a king. I would take the man back to his kin. I would restore him.”
“You’re a fool, brother!” Erik shouted. “You not only lose a valuable possession, you do not even make the possession pay for his freedom!”
“Aye,” Thoragasson said loudly. “Honor comes not into it, Merrik. Your word given to naught but a slave means nothing, just as I said. Had Rolf given his word to one of his brothers, then it would have been different. But to this damned slave? Never! Let him be a captured king, it doesn’t matter.”
Laren waited until all the men and women grew silent once more, until one by one, they looked at her again.
“Tell us, girl,” Thoragasson said. “What did Rolf do?”
“He went to speak to his brothers. Ragnor told him to treat the slave just as you said, Olaf Thoragasson. Ingor told him to do just as Erik said.”
She paused and Thoragasson roared, “What did Rolf do?”
She looked at each man in turn, then said very quietly, “He could not decide. He trusted both his brothers yet he wasn’t certain which was right or if either one of them was right. He muttered and tried to reason it out, but he couldn’t. Time passed and his rage at his own weakness, his own failure to decide what to do, drove him nearly mad. Finally, in a moment of enraged madness, he took down his mighty sword, said good-bye to the slave, and ran his sword through the slave’s heart.”
There was a loud yell from Thoragasson, moans from the women, laughter from Erik, and nothing from Merrik, nothing at all. He didn’t move, his expression didn’t change. He did nothing, merely looked at her impassively.
Finally, when everyone quieted, Merrik said, “That isn’t the end of the Viking though, is it? What happened next?”
“Rolf came to himself once again. He regretted deeply what he’d done. Guilt ate at him endlessly, never giving him respite, and he couldn’t sleep nor could he eat, nor could he think about going araiding again. He withdrew from his brothers, blaming them for his loss of judgment. Soon he blamed them entirely for the death of his slave.
“The brothers were furious with his treatment of them. They bedeviled Rolf, telling him he was more a fool than the slave had been to trust in his word. Aye, they mocked him: he had lied to the slave, whereas they’d done nothing save offer their opinion, and he, Rolf, had asked for it, after all. But to kill such a valuable slave! It was madness and Rolf had done it, thus he was mad. They wouldn’t leave him alone. On and on it went until, finally, Rolf could no longer bear himself for he saw at last that they were in the right of it.
“He’d betrayed the slave, then he’d smote him. He knew there was but one way to make amends. He threw off all his weapons and walked by himself deep into the forest. He knew that sooner or later a wild beast would attack him and kill him. He wanted death; he actively sought death to release him from the man he’d become.”
Laren stopped because she didn’t know what happened next. Her head pounded and she was thirsty. She became suddenly aware of the raw pain between her thighs. She looked toward Merrik, for he was the cause of that pain. He was looking back at her, his expression unreadable to her.
Aye, she felt the rawness between her thighs, but she knew it was the pain of his indifference to her during the entire day and evening that hurt her more. She lowered her head, waiting. The people were still silent, so silent, she fancied she could hear the thick smoke rising toward the hole in the thatch roof. They had hated her story. They would throw things at her. They would ask to have Deglin back. Then there were moans and complaints, demands that she continue, but she just smiled at them and shook her pounding head.
“I am very tired,” she said finally. “Please, I must stop now.”
There were gold coins amongst the silver, most pressed into her hand, and a beautiful pounded brooch, given to her by one of Thoragasson’s two sons. “It belonged to my mother,” he told her.
She tried to give it back, but he merely pressed it into her hand and closed her fingers over it. “I wish you to have it, Laren.” She watched him walk away from her. She didn’t even remember his name. He wasn’t more than fifteen, but he would be as big as all the damned Vikings, and fair-haired, his eyes blue as the summer skies.
As for Letta Thoragasson, she stopped in front of Laren and smiled down at her. It wasn’t a nice smile, it was filled with malice. “Listen to me,” she said finally. She reached out and grabbed Laren’s wrist and dragged her closer. “Don’t ever think you will beat me, for you won’t. I don’t mind that Merrik uses you. You are a slave, a whore, and that is what you are good for. He is a man with a man’s needs, and I admire him because he doesn’t seek to dishonor me by coming to my bed before we are wed. You are nothing more than a vessel for his lust. Take him into you now, for soon, once we are wed, he will sell you and I will not have to see your ugly face again.” She paused, then smiled more widely. “Oh aye, he will sell you for that is what I will demand for my wedding gift. Who knows? Perhaps my father will buy you and you will spend your miserable life telling him stories.”
She threw Laren’s wrist away from her. Laren stared after her.
“She is right, you know.”
It was Erik and he’d heard Letta’s words. “You are nothing more than Merrik’s whore and it will stop when he weds that little fool. Merrik believes a man should cleave to one woman once that woman is his wife. He dreams of finding a woman who is like our mother was to our father. It won’t happen with that one. He will bed Letta for a short time, even hold faith with her for a while, then he will realize that she gives him too little, and he will have other women, just as I have had to do. Sarla is different from Letta, but in many ways she is the same. No, you can believe Letta in this and you can believe me. Merrik will sell you once he weds. But it won’t matter to you, Laren, for you will be gone.
“If you are nice to me, Laren, I won’t let Merrik sell you to old Thoragasson. I’ll buy you and keep you here with me. Merrik will wed her and he will go back to the Bergson Valley to live.”
“Laren!”
Merrik was striding toward her. He nodded to his brother, then said, “Your story lacked force and passion tonight. Perhaps you are saving that passion for me. I trust so, else I will be displeased with you. Come along now, I wish to have you.”
Laren heard a laugh. She turned slightly and saw that Letta was sniggering behind her hand. She saw Merrik’s large hand extended toward her. Slowly, she placed her hand into his and followed him out of the outer chamber.
He released her hand the moment they were within the sleeping chamber. He didn’t look at her at all, just began to strip off his clothes. He said as he pulled his tunic over his head, his voice muffled, “What are you, Laren, a merchant’s daughter? An innkeeper’s niece? I know you weren’t a slave before two years ago. You’re too proud, and you were a virgin, something you wouldn’t have been beyond your childhood otherwise.”
She said nothing.
When he was naked, he turned to see her sitting on the side of the box bed, fully clothed, her hands in her lap. She was staring at him, at his flat belly, furred with soft blo
nd hair, then downward. Her face was flushed, her lips slightly parted.
“Stop looking at me,” he said, utterly infuriated with her for testing him so. “Have you no sense? Do you so quickly forget what I did to you last night? Take off your clothes and go to sleep. You must still be too sore for me to have you again.”
Still she didn’t move. His sex began to swell, he could no more prevent it any more than he could the rising of the sun.
“You want more of the pain you endured last night?”
She shook her head, still silent.
“Then cease looking at me, damn you! I played my part in front of Erik, but now I wish only to sleep.” His sex was jutting forward, hard and ready. His heart pounded; he ached with need for her, damn her.
She’d been looking at his face, but when she gasped, he knew she was staring at him again. He said nothing more, merely eased down onto the bed.
The chamber was dark now for she’d doused the oil lamp. He heard the rustle of her clothes, but didn’t move.
“Your story is passing strange. Is it more than just a simple tale, I wonder?”
“That’s all it is, Merrik, a simple tale.” She could practically hear him thinking in the darkness, gnawing on questions about her and Taby. She sought to distract him, saying, “Letta told me that she didn’t mind that I was your whore because you could use me. I guess she meant you could practice on me, but I don’t believe you need practice. Well, perhaps you could have benefited from practice last night, but I don’t really know.” Ah, she heard him suck in his breath. She’d gotten her distraction all right. She hoped he wouldn’t strangle her. She continued, her voice mocking, “I fancied myself as some sort of target and your coming at me as a mighty sword. You didn’t miss the target, but it wasn’t a clean kill either, speaking as the target, of course. I suppose swords don’t mind so long as it is a kill for them. In any case, she is pleased that I will give you the use of my body until you and she are wedded.”
“She is more a child than Taby.” He was infuriated with himself that he’d spoken thusly to Laren. What he would do with Letta was his affair and no other’s. “On occasion,” he added, “most women are like children.” He rolled onto his back, staring up into the darkness. He said after a long moment, battling with himself to just keep quiet and ignore her baiting words, but he found he couldn’t, “I don’t like your insulting comparison. What nonsense is this—you a target and I a sword? What do you mean, I need more practice?”
“I mean that I asked Sarla about how a man and a woman mated. She assured me it didn’t hurt after the first time and even the first time it wasn’t bad if the man was gentle and experienced. It was pleasant for a while, she said, then she became very silent and said no more. Thus, perhaps you do need practice, Merrik. At least for that first time.”
He felt roiling anger at her, but more at himself. He’d been a clod. “Do you still hurt?”
“Aye.”
“I won’t practice on you again until you are completely healed and ready for me and ask me nicely. Now, you will cease your damned insults. Aye, they are insults, you just cloak them in your gentle guile.”
“I told you, Merrik, that last night would be the only time. It is a pity that I won’t ever know if mating can be pleasurable, but I won’t allow myself to become more interested in you, as a man, that is.”
“Then why were you staring at me, your eyes as bright as a child’s staring at honeyed apple slices? I showed interest only because my man’s body is like that. It responds when a woman stares, even you. There is nothing I can do to stop it. Not that I want to come inside you again, the gods know I don’t.” He stopped himself. He was making little sense, blatantly lying both to himself and to her. He was burying himself in a hole that would send him to the bottom of the fjord if he didn’t shut his damned mouth.
She said nothing. Absolutely nothing at all, and he waited and waited, unwilling to say more. Then he heard her breath even into sleep. He wanted to strangle her. By all the gods, practice! He’d learned well to pleasure women, his father had seen to that, as had the wonderful Gunnvor when he’d been but twelve years old, when she’d taken him in hand, literally. Surely it wasn’t his fault that he’d wanted her so badly he’d been forced to come into her before it was wise. Surely.
All awoke the next morning to a flood of rain. Tempers flared quickly at the enforced inactivity, men yelled at each other, fights broke out, children fought and shrieked with as great enthusiasm as the men. Even the animals were surly, a small goat biting one of Thoragasson’s men on his ankle. It was Cleve who suggested to Merrik that Laren continue the story. “Aye,” he said, grinning at the man he trusted with his life, “let her weave her magic around them. It will keep heads on shoulders, and hands from around throats.”
“It will do nothing about the goat,” Merrik said, but agreed.
And so it was still before noonday, when everyone had finally fallen silent, that Laren began again.
“ . . . Rolf wandered deeper and deeper into the forest. The thick canopy of trees kept the sun from warming him. He knew he was searching for a beast to kill him, but none appeared. Aye, there were lynxes and rabbits, even braces of pheasants that lurched into the air when he came upon them suddenly, but nothing larger than a fox.
“The third day of his wandering, he came to the edge of a small meadow. It was the most beautiful meadow he’d ever seen and he knew he’d never seen it before, and he wondered at that, for he’d grown up here, hunted in this forest. Yet here was this beautiful meadow, carpeted with flowers of all colors, and the sun warmed his face and his body. Suddenly, as he stood there, wondering perhaps if his wits were failing him, he saw on the far side of the meadow a beautiful creature that looked like a small horse. It didn’t move, just stood there, sniffing the soft morning air, its thick white tail swishing. But somehow, Rolf knew the animal wasn’t the least afraid of him.
“The creature was ducking its head up and down, as if inviting Rolf to come closer. Rolf slowly walked toward the animal. He realized as he drew closer that it wasn’t a horse at all, or any other kind of animal he’d ever seen before. It turned to face him fully now, and he saw a horn growing upward in the middle of its forehead. And the horn was gold.
“He walked to the creature and slowly reached out his hand.
“The creature snorted, then stretched out his beautiful white head and laid his muzzle in Rolf’s palm.
“ ‘Who are you?’ Rolf asked, surprising himself that he would speak aloud to a creature.
“To his utter astonishment, the creature said softly, ‘I am a unicorn, Rolf, ah, but I am also more. You are weak from wandering about in the woods. Go back to your longhouse, then tomorrow return here.’
“The unicorn turned then, rearing onto its hind legs, its beautiful white mane and tail arching and flying, and galloped back into the depths of the forest. Rolf would swear he heard the voice calling to him, ‘Do not forget your weapons tomorrow, for ’tis dangerous in the forest.’
“Rolf went back to his longhouse, stunned that it took him only an hour to return. His brothers were relieved to see him and gave him good food and wine and ceased in their bedeviling of him. They clapped him on the back and told him how happy they were that he’d come back. He found himself telling them about the unicorn and describing it and its beautiful gold horn. He told them that the unicorn had spoken to him and told him to return to it on the morrow. Didn’t they think that curious? What did they think of this creature who had suddenly appeared to him?
“He then asked his brothers what they would do. Ragnor wondered if his brother had lost his wits and dreamed about this strange creature. He said only, ‘You said the horn was of gold?’
“And Rolf said, ‘Aye, ’twas of pure gold if my eyes weren’t deceiving me.’
“Both brothers fell silent, deep in their thoughts.”
Laren paused, then smiled toward Olaf Thoragasson. “If you were Rolf, my lord, what would you do about t
he unicorn?”
Olaf Thoragasson pounded his big fists on his thighs. “Why, I would kill the creature and cut away its golden horn. I would sell it to the richest prince in the world and become just as rich myself.”
After the cheers had died away, mostly from Thoragasson’s men, Laren turned to Erik. “And what would you do, my lord?”
Erik gave her a long, lazy smile. “I would not kill the creature. I would bring it back to my longhouse and I would treat it as tenderly as I would treat a woman. It speaks, and thus I would gain its trust. It would have a mate. I would find that mate, and keep them together. Surely they would have offspring and then I would have more golden-horned creatures. Thus I would become even richer than Olaf Thoragasson.”
The cheering filled the smoke-hazed room.
Finally, Laren turned to Merrik. “And you, my lord? What would you do?”
Merrik was stroking Taby’s hair. He looked up at her as she spoke. He was silent for many moments, then shrugged and said, “I would do naught of anything so quickly. I would return to the meadow and see what the magical creature had to tell me.”
“A man of strategy,” Thoragasson said, nodding his head in approval. “Continue, girl. Tell us what happened.”
“This time Rolf did as Merrik advised. He didn’t want to react so quickly. He’d already done that and lost himself a friend and a slave of great talent, and, he suspected when the night was at its darkest, some of his honor. The following day, he returned to the meadow. He’d wondered how he would find it, but just as suddenly, he stepped through a thicket of maple trees, and there it was, the sun shining brightly down upon it, the flowers wafting out sweet scents in a light breeze. The unicorn stood on the other side of the meadow, calmly watching Rolf walk to him. He allowed Rolf to muzzle his head. He allowed Rolf to stroke his golden horn.
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