Powerful Destiny

by Tricia McGill

  Was he really giving her a chance to make such a decision? Did he expect her to let the women and children of her clan become slaves of some Eastern merchant or just as awful to contemplate, the slaves of the Norsemen to do with as they pleased?

  Was she in a position to make such a choice anyway? Brigid stared down at her fingers, now twisting restlessly on her lap. There was a good chance he was simply playing with her. He could rightfully take her as his whore and she would be unable to do anything about it. If she fought him, then the other captives certainly would be shown no mercy. Feeling like an animal caught in a trap with no means of escape, she looked past him, wishing she had not when she saw his crumpled bed. Hastily she turned her gaze to one of the window openings.

  In her girlish fancies, her imaginations took wild rides where she pictured the man who would win her heart and her affections as a gentle man with excellent manners and a wise nature similar to that of her father. He would teach her about love and in turn she would give her heart over to him forever. Now, of course, it was the time to put such childish nonsense aside, and truly grow up. What a fool she was to imagine that this dream man would appear someday. Life was not like that. No, she would now have to face a future with this man here who was part savage, or face a future being scorned by her fellow Celts for refusing them a freedom of sorts.

  Brigid shrugged. “I really have no choice, do I? You are a man and my master. I cannot refuse your offer, as the alternate is one that is unthinkable—and foolish as you know well.”

  “For every problem we face there is a choice to be made. You are a sensible woman not some simple, untutored girl. But you are right in thinking I am your master.” It was his turn to shrug now. “My crew and most of the people here in my home village are sure I am simple in the head.” He tapped his temple. “Already the tales of how I rescued you and saved your life have spread far and wide and stories are being told of this woman who must be sent from the gods for turning my mind. Under any other circumstances all your women would have been given to the members of my crew as soon as we returned home, as trophies earned for a battle well fought.”

  Brigid had a feeling he was being more honest with her than he might have been with any other captive, and no doubt there was truth in his words, for why else would he have chosen her when he could pick any one of a number of his clan. Deep down she felt a twinge of pity for him, which of course was stupid. He could do as he wished.

  Rising, he walked over and tossed another log onto the fire even though it was in no need of it, for it now burned fiercely. He stood watching the sparks that his action brought about. It could be a lot worse, he was not ugly—in fact, he was a fine figure of a man, and perhaps if they met under different circumstances she might find him attractive. And until now he had not shown a vicious side to his nature. There was no repulsive odour about him as with some of the other men. His crew stank worse than swine on the voyage and she was certain they never bathed. Even the hair now securely fastened down Rolf’s back had a clean sheen to it, far different from the grease-laden strands of some of the men who likely had lice living on their filthy bodies.

  But no matter how this turned out, or how he treated her, it was never to be forgotten that he invaded her homeland and killed her father, along with his valiant fighting men, some of them no more than lads. Brigid swallowed a shuddering sigh. Her life as she knew it ended the night they were all slain by this man and his warriors on that far off beach, and loathe it she might, but her life had taken this new path.

  For a brief moment she contemplated refusing his offer and walking out of here to take whatever Fate decided for her. But that foolish idea was instantly discarded when she thought of her fellow Celts and how they would all suffer. Even if she chose death over life with the Norseman, they would all then suffer the same dreadful fate he had planned.

  Young Bjorn had attached himself to her as if she were his mother or his leader. How could she allow him to be the slave boy of some merchant who could take him off to a far distant land to live among infidels? And what of the other little motherless children? No, she must accept that this was her future.

  “Will you allow me to now go back and explain this to the other captives?” she asked. “And will the men of this town receive orders that our women are not to be ravished or mistreated in any way.” Inside she quivered, knowing she had no right to put these restrictions before him and he could well punish her for such impudence.

  He came back to stand over her, and reaching out, pushed a strand of her hair back from her brow. The small gesture was almost gentle, making her tremble, but she refused to show her fear, and lifted her chin. “On my longship my crew obeyed me, but I cannot promise that every man—or woman for that matter—will follow my orders now. I cannot know the movements of everyone who lives under my leadership, but I can promise you this, that if I find that anyone disobeys me then they will face death.”

  Taking hold of her hand, he pulled her to her feet. Brigid stared into his eyes, as he seemed to be trying to see inside her head. Whether it was the warmth coming from his large body or heat coming from the glowing fire, she felt sweat trickling down her back.

  Fully expecting his lips to meet hers as they did when they were in the sea, she was surprised when, without another word, he released her and went to the door. Brigid followed him on legs that seemed unsteady. Pushing the door open, he yelled out for Ingrid, and the woman came at a half run across the yard. “You will take Brigid back now and after she has talked to her people you will bring her back here.”

  If Ingrid was surprised by that order, she did not show it by so much as a flicker of her eyes. “She will be living here with me from now on, and you will continue to ensure that the other captives are cared for with food and any other requirements.”

  That brought a reaction from the large woman. Now her surprise was very clear, but she gave a brief nod. “And, they will now be free to come and go as they please and if I hear of any person ill-treating them in any way they will be punished. I will talk to you later about the duties the women and children will undertake.” Turning back to Brigid, he gestured with a hand for her to follow Ingrid, but as she drew level with him, he said in a low voice so only she could hear, “I will be waiting.”

  Feeling as if she now stood on a steep cliff, Brigid refused to answer, simply bowed her head before walking off, her back as straight as a stick. Ingrid said nothing as they walked side by side. The door to what had been their prison was firmly secured by a large piece of iron and once this was released, she looked down at it as if she had no notion what to do with it. As she then handed it to Brigid as if passing her a trophy, her face showed her bewilderment. A few women who were nearby going about their daily chores stopped to watch, and as Ingrid turned to walk off, they crowded around her, their questions clear. Although Brigid heard their whispered queries, she could not hear Ingrid’s response.

  When Brigid entered the dimly lit hut, Bjorn was the first to come forward to greet her. “Why have you been gone so long? What happened, and why are you holding that?” He pointed at the iron bar she still held. Brigid also looked down at it, before she turned and placed it against the side wall.

  By now the women and young girls were staring at her in question. Margret came forward, her son resting over her shoulder, and asked, “So, what happened? What did he want of you?”

  Brigid swallowed. Where should she start? What he wanted, plain and simple, was her. She walked over and sat on one of the bed spaces, hands in front of her on her lap. “You may believe this, or you may not, but he has given us our freedom.”

  “Our freedom? This is hard to believe. You mean we are now free to go as we please. We can leave here and walk away, never to return.” Margret patted the child in her arms when he began to whimper.

  “No, it is not like that at all.” Brigid shrugged and raised her hands, palms uppermost. The women were now all muttering. “I will be going to share his hut, and as long as
you do not disobey the rules he has set down, then you will be free to leave this space and will not be confined as you have been.”

  “So, you are telling us that we are only free of this prison but not free to leave at all?” Stella, the oldest women asked, with a gesture around their hut.

  Brigid chewed on her inner lip. “Of course, there must be rules to obey. We are his slaves are we not? It must be clear to all of you that we will never see our homeland again. If we try to escape, where would we go? The sea is in front of us and the mountains surround us. The strongest of us would not last long up in the hills without food or shelter. Even if we could find a ship to travel on, the sea holds many dangers. And what of your children? Even though they are used to snow and cold it is difficult to imagine how life would be as escaped prisoners. If we managed to secure a vessel, we have no seaman skills, and would be dead as soon as a storm hit such as the one we went through on the voyage here.”

  “We could follow the beach line and find shelter in the caves along the seashore,” Bjorn suggested eagerly.

  “And what if we should not find any caves?” Brigid asked. “What you suggest is simply dreams, child. We would be followed, tracked down and returned here to face a worse fate.”

  “So, you have resigned yourself to this, have you? This freedom that is no freedom at all.” Margret sat beside Brigit and set her now sleeping child down on the bed behind them.

  “What would you have me do? I resigned myself to my fate as soon as the shores of our homeland were left behind, as most of you must have done. We must think ourselves lucky that we have not been tortured or ravaged.” So, far, Brigid added to herself. The future was very fragile in the case of each one of them. The most fortunate would likely be the children and babes who were content as long as they received nourishment and had a warm bed to sleep on at night.

  “And what of his plan to move you to his hut and so to his bed? Are you eager to be his woman? Did you agree to his stupid idea of freedom for us simply, so you could taste the delights of being the wife of the chief?” This came again from Stella, and Brigid wondered at the stupidity of the woman. Surely someone of her advanced years could not think Brigid was content to go along with his wishes if there was a chance of escape.

  “That’s enough,” Margret snapped, glaring at Stella, who stood with arms folded across her skinny chest, a stubborn glint in her watery old eyes. “There has to be more to this than Brigid has so far told us.” She turned to Brigid and placed a hand on her arm. “So now tell us what condition this Norse has set, just so that we can enjoy his idea of freedom?”

  Brigid took a shuddering breath. She never intended to tell them the real condition that Rolf set, but could not bear the thought that any one of them might consider she would go willingly to his bed. “You will help with the chores. As he guessed, you are all the wives of farmers and have differing skills. Those among you who are used to working with the dairy animals will do so and those who are skilled with producing crops will likewise help out.”

  “And this is all he expects, is it?” Stella asked, now looking guilty from her outburst. “And what if we refuse?”

  “You will be sent to the next slave market to be sold to the first merchant who needs a new slave to add to his stock.” Brigid knew that was blunt but was beginning to tire of Stella and her opinions. “And believe me the older you are the least likely you would be to be treated kindly.”

  A small harrumph was all Stella responded to that. She sat on the nearest bed with a soft snort.

  “I suggest that considering your years and likely inability to work alongside the stronger women, you, along with the two girls, take care of the babies and children who are too young to work.” Brigid looked around at the other women, who all looked as if they were suffering differing forms of anxiousness.

  Margret patted Brigid’s hand. “So, you are to give yourself to the Norseman to save us being sold off like cattle at the market, is that so?” she asked softly.

  “No, Margret, I am not giving myself to him, I am saving us all from far worse fates than those which would come in the future if I refuse. As I said, our lives will never be the same again, so we must choose the safest path for all of us. And as I am the one who has been given this choice there was little I could do but agree to his demands.” Brigid stood and Bjorn and the small boy who had been by her side all through the voyage clutched at her, the smaller child burying his face in her skirts.

  “Will we see you again?” Bjorn said on a small sob.

  Brigid patted their heads. “Of course, you will. I am not going to another settlement, I simply have to sleep in another hut. But you will be able to go outside and who knows, perhaps make friends with these strange people.”

  “Never,” Bjorn said gruffly. “I will never be friends with a Norse child. My father told me they are all heathens who worship the gods of Satan.”

  Going down on her haunches, Brigid took hold of one of his hands. “I also was told many stories about them by my father.” She shrugged. No point in adding to the fears of the child. “But we have not been so badly treated since arriving here, have we? You have a full belly and somewhere warm to sleep at night. My father also told me that we must make the best of whatever befalls us in life. You are now free to take a look around. The woman named Ingrid will give you orders of where you are to work.”

  A tear trickled down Bjorn’s cheek and the smaller boy began to cry loudly as Brigid stood and wiped her hands down the side of her skirt. With a small sigh, she nodded to the women and turned for the door.

  Margret came alongside her as she made to open the door, whispering, “May God be with you, Brigid. And may I suggest that if you do not fight the Norseman but show him meekness he may well treat you with more gentleness.” She nodded. “You are not a simple girl. You know my meaning?”

  Brigid knew well what the older woman meant. Without the smallest intention of being meek, she nonetheless bowed her head. If he expected anything but a fight from her he was sadly mistaken. “Do not worry about me, Margret, and thank you. I think life will not be as bad in this strange land as we envisioned while on the journey.”

  With a small wave, she opened the door. A weak sun was trying to break through the low clouds as she followed Ingrid back to the hut that was to become her future home, and the man who was now about to own perhaps her body, but never her heart.

  * * *

  Rolf paced back and forth, stopping now and then to kick at the burning log on the fire. Perhaps it was as his men suspected and secretly talked about over their drinking horns, their leader has lost his mind. No woman ever had the same effect on him as the Celtic woman, and more than a few had shared his bed. The difference was that the others all came willingly. Never in his life was he forced to make such offers to get a female to his bed.

  With a grunt he flopped onto his chair and took a swig of the mead the servant girl poured for him after Brigid left to go back to pass on his order to her clanswomen. The girl was given orders to fetch clothing for the Celtic female who would be living now in his hut. Head bent, she simply nodded before scampering out. Barely more than a child, he held no fears of her bearing jealous thoughts of Brigid as some of the other females who had shared his bed in the past might. This thought was not brought on by vanity on his part, he merely knew how some of the woman lusted after being known as the woman of the leader.

  Assuredly, the Celtic woman would have to stand up to the women of his clan, but he felt sure she was up to this challenge. The way she did not back down to him on the voyage, and on their return to his country, showed him that she was a strong-willed woman. Even so, he knew there was a fight ahead to get her to come willingly to his bed.

  A knock on the door told him that Ingrid had returned with Brigid. Feeling a lot as he did as a raw youth when being taught by an older woman of his clan how to behave with a female for the first time, he took a long gulp of his mead and called for them to enter.

  Ing
rid pushed Brigid before her and turned to leave. Rolf stopped her, saying, “Take heed of my orders. There is to be no talk amongst the women—or even the men—or questions asked. You will ensure that the Celtic women are treated with kindness, if not respect. If word gets back to me that just one of them or the children has suffered cruelly, punishment will follow. Is that clear?”

  The large woman nodded, her face showing not one glimmer of how she felt about the situation. Rolf had no notion of whether his orders would be carried out, or if any of the slaves would be mistreated, but there was little he could do now but hope that the promise of punishment would suffice.

  “You are clear about my orders for the tasks they will carry out. My trust is with you to be fair and ensure they are not given labour that is beyond their skills.”

  She nodded her head again and then left. Silence followed the closing of the door.

  The Celtic woman stood with her head held high. Rolf gestured for her to come sit by the table. She obeyed, sitting upright as if ready for flight.

  “Your fellow Celts understand what they are to do and the risk and punishment if they do not work alongside our women?” Rolf poured a mug of mead and pushed it towards her, saying, “Drink.”

  Without a word, she took a sip. Her face showed her dislike and she placed the mug back on the table.

  “You do not like our honey drink?” he asked, which was a useless question, for she made it clear it was not to her taste.

  “No, I find it too sweet for my liking.”

  “So, tell me, what do you like to drink if not our mead.”

  “Any juice of fruit, apple or berry is more to my taste.”

  Rolf stood and walked around the table, scratching at an ear. He was unused to discussing simple needs such as what a female preferred to drink and realised that this was the first of many small things he would have to learn about this woman.