Viking Slave

by Griff Hosker

  I could see this man called Butar, appraising my mother. I did not know her age; I could never judge a person’s age. She must have had me when she was quite young for she looked younger than most of the other women and seemed to be about the same age as the Saxon princess. I know she laughed a great deal and played more with me than the other mothers did with their children. He smiled, “What is your name?”

  “Myfanwy and this is Gareth, my son.”

  “Well Myfanwy you might just have the right attitude to help you to survive. I will watch you.”

  She caught me staring at him. She tore the bread in two. “Eat while we have food. When the others become hungry, they will regret not eating any of this food. I fear we will not be offered more.”

  I did as I was told. “When will we reach their land?”

  She shook her head, “I know not. It depends on the weather and how far they sailed. When the Saxons came they only travelled a little way across the German Sea but these sometimes travel from the land of the ice.”

  “How do you know so much, mother?”

  “I listen and I learn. You will do well if you can do the same. Now get some sleep while we can. If a storm blows up we will get precious little rest.”

  Surprisingly I did get some sleep despite the fact that I thought that we would sail off the end of the world. I was in my mother’s arms and I was safe. Nothing could hurt me there. When I awoke the next day my mouth felt salty and I was incredibly thirsty. Olaf brought the water around. The other mothers and children tried to clamour for the water first but Olaf beat them back and served first my mother and then me with the precious liquid. I saw the hate in the eyes of the others and I did not care. I devoured the stale, rock hard bread and then peered over the prow again. The horizon was still empty. We had not reached our new home.

  After another two days of tortuous sailing a thin smudge appeared in the distance. It was land again. I would be happy to reach the shore. The main reason was my fellow slaves. They wailed and they complained. They were sick. Three small children, all girls, had died and their bodies thrown to the fishes. Their mothers were now looking drawn and haggard. My mother and I had continued to be treated courteously, compared with the others. I did not know why. I had expected the Saxon princess to have been afforded such treatment. I suspect their haughty attitude did not endear them to our captors. My mother and I grew closer and we were able to speak on that long voyage. We had rarely had that luxury. She told me of the land she had lived in before she had been taken. It was Cymri, the land the Saxons called Wales. Her father had been a warrior and a leader of his people. I wondered if that made her a princess. She had been taken when her father had been visiting the borderlands and she had been the only survivor of the savage ambush.

  She had shaken her head and become quite tearful at that point. That was not my mother who was strong. “I think my father died because I was with him. I was precocious and wanted to be a son for my father. I had begged him to take me on that journey and when we were attacked he protected me instead of fighting the enemy. He was a mighty warrior but he died and so did his oathsworn.” She shook her head and closed her eyes. When she opened them she said, “Now promise me that if you get the chance to escape you will do so. I do not want someone else to suffer because of me.”

  I was about to say no when she became angry and gripped my shoulders, “Promise me!”

  I was a little afraid of her and I blurted out, “I promise.” Deep inside, I thought that it would be unlikely that I would ever escape. How would I cross the mighty sea we had just traversed? I agreed to her request but I never thought that I would have to keep that promise.

  When the crew began to clean themselves up I knew that we were close to their home. That meant that I was closer to my new life as a slave and a parting from my mother.

  Chapter 2

  When we reached Harald’s home I saw my first fiord. It was much later that I learned the name but it was something I had never seen before. It was something I could never have dreamed up. We sailed through a rocky inlet which was as wide as our river. The rocks just rose straight from the water and it was hard to see how anyone could live here. Even the sea birds would have struggled to find a nest on those sheer walls. Suddenly we turned a bend in the fiord and saw a beach and there, perched on a rocky ledge, was the village that would be my new home. There were a few people waiting to greet us,; mainly women and children with a few old men and they stood, expectantly at the wooden quay. The ship was made secure and then the important passengers, the animals were taken off. The crew followed carrying their oars, weapons and treasure and then Butar, Olaf and Harald came to us with four men. The women were led off by the four men. Butar put his hands on his hips and looked at the six of us who were left grinning broadly. He pulled out a wicked looking knife and sliced our bonds. I noticed that Harald One Eye also had a sly smile upon his face.

  “Now then, Saxons, you are here in your new home. Before you are assigned to new masters you have a task to perform.” The lower part of the boat was empty. He pointed at the bottom. “Your animals did not have the luxury, as you had, of sticking an arse over the side. We want all that valuable fertiliser collecting and putting in these sacks. Olaf will oversee the work. When he is happy then you get to go ashore.”

  Tadgh said, “Do we get shovels.”

  Butar translated for Olaf. Bearing in mind Olaf’s previous reaction to any kind of dissent I thought that this was brave but the old gnarled warrior suddenly cracked his face into toothless chortle. Butar smiled, “Use your hands!”

  The others hesitated but I heeded my mother’s words and took a sack and descended into the bottom. I saw a nod of approval from Butar. I began to grab handfuls which I dropped into the sack. The smell was bad but I had smelled worse. Some of it had dried into hard lumps which made collecting easy but some of it was liquid slurry and that was harder to harvest. The others behind me hesitated and then I heard a crack and suddenly the other five each had a bag and had joined me. They glanced belligerently at me as though I was the cause of their work. I just kept working. When I had filled my sack I looked at Olaf who pointed up the gangplank. I swung the steaming pile onto my back and tried to climb up the short ladder. The dung was heavy and as, as I reached the top I began to overbalance. In a heartbeat I was pitched forward by Olaf’s hand and found myself balancing precariously on the narrow plank. Thankfully I regained my balance and I struggled to the quayside.

  Butar was there supervising the division of the spoils. He turned when he saw me, “Take that up the hill. You will see the dunghill before you. Then return here with the sack.”

  By the time I returned the other boys had filled their sacks and were heading up the hill. Butar restrained me as I tried to get back aboard the ship. “No it is done, little one. You did well. Go to the river and wash.” I began to take off my short tunic.” He shook his head. “That will need washing too. Jump in and wash everything.”

  The river might have been icy cold but it felt good as I jumped in. The smell soon went and the icy water woke me up. I washed as quickly as I could. The main reason was I did not want to be in there when the others jumped in. They would pay me back for their own punishment. I managed to reach Butar by the time the others trudged slowly down the hill. My little run from the river had warmed me up but as I stood there I began to shiver. Butar took off his fur cloak and draped it around my shoulders. I wondered why but I was too grateful to ask and I just wrapped it tightly around my shoulders. The warmth gradually came back into my bones.

  The other boys were almost blue with the cold when they emerged. Butar did not spare them a glance he just strode up the hill to the palisaded settlement. Olaf trudged behind with the flat of his palm ready. I could see that everyone was waiting for us and we ran to our mothers when we saw them. I hesitated and went to return the cloak to Butar. He smiled and shook his head. I also noticed that my mother seemed happier than the others.

  Butar stood
next to Harald One Eye as he translated his words. It was obvious that Butar’s role was to assign the slaves to the warriors. The princess and her companion were led to Harald’s sharp eyed, thin faced wife. They did not look like they would have a happy time. Then the other women were each given to a different warrior. My mother was not and she stood, calmly, with us six boys and the gaggle of girls. Tadgh was given to Olaf who had an evil grin on his face. The younger girls were all given to their mothers but the boys were apportioned randomly. Some to the same owner as the mothers but others were not. Finally there was just my mother and me. Harald One Eye said nothing but smiled and everyone left.

  Butar turned to us two; the last ones left. “You are to be my slaves. Your mother already knows this. You,” he struggled to say Gareth and it came out Garth, “young Garth will look after my aged father.” Despite my best efforts and those of my mother I became Garth. My mother fared even worse. No-one could get their tongues around Myfanwy and so she became, ‘my love’ to Butar who took her to his bed and ‘Butar’s woman’ to the rest of the village. Those who had come with us from Northumbria called her Butar’s Whore but only when they thought my mother and Butar were out of earshot.

  I was fitted with my wooden collar, the mark of the thrall, as were the other women and slaves. The exception was my mother. At the time I did not understand but as the months passed by it became clearer. The collar felt uncomfortable and I wondered how I would bear it. I discovered that the human being is an adaptable animal and within a few weeks I barely noticed it. Old Ragnar was the half blind father of Butar and he had just one arm. He was scrawny and he was cantankerous. After one week with him I was not sure that I would be able to cope but, as with the collar, I adapted.

  Ragnar Haraldsson lived almost like a hermit outside the palisade. He had his own hut tucked into the rock face. It was a good walk from the village. Butar led me up the slope. He had given me a clean tunic to wear. I idly wondered where he had got it but I discovered that later.

  “My father is the oldest man in the village and he is very independent. The trouble is that he cannot see well enough to look after himself and his one arm prevents him doing simple tasks. Your job is to be his arm, his eyes and his guard. You will leave him, at night, when he is abed and you will return in the morning before he wakes.” He looked at me as though he expected a complaint. I nodded. “You are a strange one Garth. I saw that on the boat. You seemed calm when they were angry and you were willing when they were not. I can see that you and your mother are different. It is why I asked Jarl Harald for the two of you.”

  It may sound strange but I felt proud that I had been selected. I might only be a slave but I was a chosen slave. It is important to find good in life; it makes it easier to bear the disasters when they come. He paused before the door. “Always announce yourself. He has sharp ears and knows where the door is. I would hate for you to get an axe in your head. He was a fearsome warrior in his time and could take a maiden’s pigtail with an axe.” I wondered why anyone would want to do that. “ I will tell him who you are. You will need to learn our language quickly.” He rapped on the old wooden door. “Father, it is Butar.”

  The door was held to the wall by a piece of leather and Butar had to lift it slightly in order to open it. “Who is that with you?”

  “I told you he has good ears.” He changed to his own language. “It is a thrall from across the sea.” He told me what he said. The old man shouted loudly and I did not understand one word. Butar shook his head. “He says he needs no foreigners. We will return to the village and I will get some food for him. You can bring it back. He may be in a better mood later. ” Butar spoke, for a time, to his father who seemed to argue with his son. I peered around the room. I could see that it had been cut into the rock and the sleeping part was in a cave. I wondered how warm that would be. The furniture was basic, there was a table and the old man was seated on a log which had been carved into a chair. His missing arm was his right one. I could see how that would have been a problem for a warrior. He was thin but I could see that, in his prime, he would have been a powerful warrior. He kept turning his head when Butar spoke and he reminded me of a bird. Butar sighed and, shaking his head, we left.

  As we walked down I asked, “Lord, how will I avoid having an axe in my head.”

  He laughed, “Firstly I am not lord. You just call me master and secondly you are clever. I will teach you the words to say.” By the time we reached the village I could say. ‘It is your thrall, Garth the Saxon!”

  I was still not confident but I was determined to earn this warrior’s respect. My mother was busy working in Butar’s hut. It was the second largest in the village and only Harald One Eye had one which was bigger. There was even a separate sleeping section with an actual bed. It just convinced me that no matter what Butar said, he really was a lord. Mother just smiled and continued preparing the food. She never shirked work.

  “That will be where you sleep.” He pointed to a pile of straw by the fire in the middle of the room. It was better than the bed I had had before. He then spent the time until the food was ready teaching me words. I may not have been strong but I had a good mind and could learn quickly. As long as the old man didn’t speak too quickly I would be able to speak a little with him.

  I took the metal pot with the stew, the black bread and the jug of beer up the hill. Both were heavy and the hill was steep. When I reached the door I was out of breath. I laid Ragnar’s food on the ground and rapped on the door. “It is your thrall, Garth the Saxon.”

  I heard no reply but I steeled myself and lifting the door slightly, opened it. Thankfully no axe came my way and I hefted the pot and the jug into the room. He was seated still on the carved wooden chair next to a fading fire and he was asleep. I placed the pot of food next to the fire and then fed the fire. I could see that he would need more wood and I was about to get some more when he stirred. His eyes opened and then widened when he saw me. His hand went to his axe. “No sir, I am your thrall. Garth the Saxon! I bring food. Butar!” My phrases were exhausted and I waited for the blow which, thankfully never came. I took the lid from the pot and held it to him. He sniffed. My mother is a good cook and I could see he liked the smell. I gave him the bread, which he snatched from me and he began to eat.

  I went outside and looked for the log pile. There were a few logs but not many. I put them in my arms and went inside. I put some on the fire and then placed the rest next to it. He looked up at me. I pointed to his axe and mimed cutting wood. He shook his head. I pointed to the small pile of wood and spread my arms. He said something which I didn’t catch. When I didn’t do anything he pointed to the wall where there was another, smaller axe. I took it down and then realised that the small axe he had was a fine weapon, it was a throwing axe. The other was a more functional axe. I was learning the old man’s ways.

  As I went outside I tested the edge and found that the axe was dull. I sharpened it on the stone outside the door and then began to chop the wood. It was harder than it looked and I did not seem to be making headway. I was suddenly aware of the old man behind me. When he laughed I turned around, “No, No” was all that I caught. The rest was indecipherable. He put his good arm on my right and moved it the way he wanted me to then he did the same with my left. Finally he took his own axe and swung it one handed to show me the action. This time, when I swung the axe a chip of wood flew off. The old man showed me the direction of the next cut and soon the chips were littering the ground. I laughed. I was cutting logs! He tapped me on the shoulder and mimed for me to bring them in. I did so and then he took me back outside and made me pick up all the chips which I also carried in. I saw that he had a wooden pail next to the fire. This was obviously his kindling.

  I noticed that it was getting dark and wondered when he would sleep. He shouted something at me which I didn’t understand. He waved his arm at me. I repeated the word he had said and he nodded, “Go!” I had learned another word.

  I felt afraid as
I raced through the woods and down the hill. I had no idea what kind of monsters lived up here. There were all sorts of trolls, aelfes and fairies who could bring harm upon you. I would need to make a sacrifice to the gods of these woods when I found out who they were. We had no forests such as these at home on the river. I gripped the wolf head charm my mother had given me on the ship and I felt happier. There was a guard on the gate. He looked at me suspiciously until I said, “Garth, Butar, thrall!”

  He laughed and waved me through. I almost burst through the door and my mother’s face became cross. “Gareth, I thought I had taught you better. This is not your home. This is the master’s house. Next time, knock.”

  “Sorry.”

  Butar said something in his language and I repeated it. He laughed. “Well done. You have now learned the word for sorry. Let us hope you do not have to say it too often.” He came over to examine my head and my mother frowned. “I am just checking that my father did not throw an axe at him.”

  I smiled, “He had his food and he showed me how to cut logs. I took in the logs and the kindling and he told me to go.”

  Butar ruffled my hair. “Well done Garth, then you have earned your food. Sit and eat.”

  I wolfed the food down for I was starving, having only eaten bread and water the past days. Butar and my mother seemed oblivious and they talked incessantly. When I had finished my food I drank the small beer they had poured for me. I was tired but I was curious. I waited for the conversation to die and Butar took a drink and I asked, “What made you come to our village?”

  “Gareth!” My mother was outraged at my rudeness.

  Butar held up his hand and smiled, “Let him ask his questions. It is a reasonable one and it shows he has an inquiring mind.” He stood and poked the fire to make it burn brighter and hotter.

  “We are, as you can see, a small village. I know that you have only seen a little of it but there are many empty huts. Last year a terrible disease laid waste to us. I lost my wife, my son and my three daughters. My mother died. Everyone in the village lost someone from their family. Most of our slaves died. Harald One Eye had gone a-Viking before and knew that your land was peaceful and unprotected. He decided to lead his own raid for the first time. That way we could find women to replace those who died and get slaves who would work for us.” He smiled at me and emptied his beaker. “Does that answer your questions?”