To Serve and Submit

by Susan Wright

  I couldn’t restrain my glee until Helanas sharply rapped my head in rebuke. “She will be unmanageable!” she snapped at Lexander. “Better to take only three slaves.”

  “You don’t know our Marja,” he retorted. “She will do all we ask and more.”

  His praise made me swell with pride. Yet whenever I was near Helanas, I turned away my face to hide my true feelings. My exuberance seemed only to amuse Lexander, and several times I grinned outright at him. I had noticed that the other slaves were too afraid of Helanas to even smile. Once, Lexander responded by clasping a beautiful new broach onto my travel cloak. I admired the green enameled vines, certain that I would not fail my master and violate the geasa.

  The morning I climbed into the longship after Ansgar, I gave a few twirls in praise of the sea spirits, hoping to gain their favor for this voyage. Lexander and Helanas reclined on padded benches under a yellow canopy in the prow. I stayed with Rosarin, Ansgar, and Sverker near the hold in the center, warm and comfortable in my suede tunic and leggings.

  Soon the red-striped sail filled with the wind and the ship sailed forth. I stood and swayed with the motion of the longship, allowing the rhythmic cadence to penetrate my flesh. It wasn’t long until the sea spirits were whispering to me, only this time I was able to respond through the chaotic tumbling of the water as it swelled and rolled. The spirits heard me with much joy, and I knew I wouldn’t sicken on this journey. I could add only a simple note to the vast cacophony of water life, but the sea spirits seemed pleased by my efforts.

  We sailed along the red cliffs toward the rising sun. Fjardemano was aptly named for its curved, quarter-moon shape. Each inlet and series of fields that appeared in the valleys was like a rare wine that went straight to my head. I laughed out loud at the straight plow lines marching in precision over the crests and the muddy cart roads running past farms and linking wealthy estates like Vidaris. Orchards gave way to fields, and everywhere flowers of all colors and shapes sprang up in the long grass. I have never known such a profusion of blooms growing wild.

  I ignored the stares of the other slaves, who had grown accustomed to my quiet, subservient ways. How could I explain my delight in what to them was a simple voyage? To me, every twitter of a bird I’d never heard before or the shape of a new flower seemed like a god’s blessing to savor.

  Eventually we turned away from Fjardemano and headed north into Nauga Sea. The wind picked up, skimming us across the small swells. The oarsmen seemed in fine spirits, reveling in the good seas. As they sang their songs, I communed with the sea and the sky, riding the waves while I flowed with the clouds overhead. It filled me up after the barrenness of Vidaris, like rain falling on parched, cracked ground.

  The trip to the southern coast of Markland was not as long as my first sea voyage, but the sun was in the west before land appeared ahead. Sparse woods fringed the hillsides. Here there were no fruit trees or endless manicured fields. Instead, there were grassy hills with sheep grazing in the folds and familiar sod longhouses with windblown roofs.

  I felt the singing welcome of olfs as I returned to my homeland and reached out with my senses to respond in kind. The boat turned and sailed into a narrow channel between the hills, some forming islands off the shore, until I could not tell where we had entered the bay. The grand bank protected the harbor and chieftain’s settlement of Tillfallvik. Boats thickly dotted the calm waters, fishing and transporting people or goods from one side to the other. Dozens of the larger ocean-going knaar with deep hulls were anchored with their square sails bound tightly to the masts. Slender longships like our own sailed in with guests who had been invited by Chieftain Ejegod to celebrate the longest day of the year.

  The shoreline undulated as we sailed by, the hills plunging into the calm waters forming small coves and inlets within the bay. My breath quickened at the number of homesteads and pastures. Then we rounded a promontory and there was Tillfallvik. Buildings crowded the steep sides of the hills, spreading along the shore and disappearing into the crumpled land.

  “Takes little to impress you,” Sverker muttered as I gawked. “Go to Viinland or Kjalarnes if you really want to see a city. Sigrid came from this pathetic backwater, and she never excelled like Bjorn.” He sneered at me. “But you’re from a paltry mud hole north of here, aren’t you?”

  “Hold your tongue,” Ansgar said under his breath. “Do you want to be noticed by our mistress?”

  Sverker uneasily glanced toward Helanas and Lexander. He couldn’t do much more than taunt me, a habit he had picked up from Bjorn. I lifted my chin, remembering that Lexander thought me good enough to please the chieftain’s guests. I would trust my master rather than Sverker.

  We docked at one of the many timber piers jutting into the bay. Shipbuilding was underway. Workers were cleaving the great logs of the woods and bending the planks around the keels. Tillfallvik was known for its fine boats, and I was sure that some of my da’s nails were being used in those hulls, perhaps made from ore that I had unearthed in the fens. I had always imagined floating away on one of the longships that visited our village and had dreamed of coming here to the premier town of our misty land.

  Our oarsmen carried our belongings, and each slave had to hoist a bag or coffer onto our backs as we followed Lexander and Helanas. An open marketplace of frame and sod booths sprawled on a flat shelf of land beyond the docks. The sound was deafening as the merchants shouted, trying to get our attention, calling Lexander “magnate” in recognition of his powerful bearing. Unpleasant odors assaulted my nose—overly ripened fruit, soured meat, the tang of unwashed bodies, and hot seal tar. In small pockets where we were enclosed by walls on every side, the worst smells were masked by spicy incense burning in pots. But I loved the dizzying whirl of color and movement—something strange and different everywhere I looked.

  From the market we trudged up the hills, through narrow passageways between the buildings. Some were sod covered while others were capped by high-peaked roofs made of overlapping planks. There were animals everywhere: pigs in pens beside the doors, cattle shifting restlessly, and chickens roosting in the eaves. Soot from the hearth fires rained down, blackening my cloak and the dirt road, which had a ditch running down the center, full of unspeakable things. I even saw a dead rat with staring white eyes that had been half gnawed by its kin.

  We eventually reached the chieftain’s estate. It covered a broad hillside far back from the waterfront. At the gate, there was a sweeping view of the surrounding hills and most of the bay, including the grand bank beyond. But the terrain was so rugged that I could see only the mast tops of the boats moored at the docks.

  Lexander and Helanas gave commands to the porters, and I rushed to catch up. I could have easily gotten lost, unable to tell one structure from another.

  I could sense the power of the spirits of the estate, protecting everything within. The enormous fire hall sat on the crest of the hill, bristling with the horned skulls of cattle Ejegod and his ancestors had sacrificed to gain the gods’ protection. The olfs and spirits were clearly happy here, and I wondered if they were linked to those I used to play with on the fens. They gave me a glimpse of Jarnby, the smoke coming from the forge and my brother slogging through the mud with the sheep; then it was gone.

  We were lodged in a sod longhouse. It was dark inside, dug deep into the ground. Yet it was paved by quarried stones and was wide enough to form a row of rooms along a narrow hall. We were given our own space with a sleeping ledge. Sverker told us it was a measure of the chieftain’s respect for Vidaris that we were lodged with members of his own retinue.

  With Helanas lolling on the bedding we had brought, Lexander ordered us to kneel in a row. “You will submit to everyone who requests it,” he ordered. “If you disobey, you will besmirch the glory of Vidaris.”

  I murmured acknowledgment, not daring to look at the others. It was the geasa, spoken by my master himself. It was a sober reminder that I must be ever vigilant in this place. I only hoped I was
not given conflicting orders by the guests. I did not trust my own ability to see through the tangle to choose the right path.

  Then it was back to our normal routine with Lexander overseeing our grooming while Helanas was tended to by Sverker. She favored the slender redhead despite his sulky behavior, which I could not fathom. She punished me at the slightest mistake or imagined offense. Perhaps it was because Sverker was graceful and refined, suiting our mistress’s taste, while I picked up streaks of dirt and mussed my clothing during my dancing. I do know she never praised my constant obedience.

  Helanas had no cause to blame me as we prepared for the night’s festivities. I didn’t murmur as my hair was gathered tightly to the top of my head and tiny braids were formed into loops, interlaced with gold beads and tinkling bells. Then I was stripped and suspended naked from a pole by one leg. Lexander bound me so that my other leg curved back to my secured wrists. It was an advanced inverted pose, but I breathed deeply as I had been taught and relaxed as the intricate knotting supported my weight.

  I swung from side to side as the pole was lifted. The bells dangling from my head rang out as I was carried from the room by Sverker and Ansgar. Their naked bodies were bound around and around with tiny, gold-linked chains. Everything was upside down, and my face was suffused with blood. Then I caught sight of Rosarin, bound in a standing pose with silk rope. Her arms were woven together over her head and her body was crisscrossed by knotted rope down to her ankles. Her legs were trussed together to her knees, barely allowing her to walk. Yet she moved as gracefully as always, her back perfectly straight.

  I was carried into the shock of the evening air, across the estate and up to the fire hall for the pleasure of the chieftain’s guests. Olfs played among the tables, stealing sips of wine and teasing the dogs, though I alone seemed to see them. My head spun, and I wasn’t sure if it was a daze induced by the pose or my agony at being immodestly displayed. Hands reached out to touch me as I was carried by, but the welcome dark kept me from seeing their faces.

  I think it was then that I truly understood my place. I had been a freewoman until my da sold me, but as a slave I had little more worth than those cows my family now owned. I was fondled and pinched, sometimes painfully, because my master willed it so. Yet even as these strangers probed me, I hummed with desire. It mattered not how long I might hang for them. When I felt Lexander’s hands checking the knots, tweaking my body to stimulate me even more, I almost passed out from the waves of pure pleasure.

  Through it all, a booming deep voice laughed and brayed, dominating the hall. Birgir Barfoot had led a hundred warriors and displaced families from Danelaw to our land. He was being feasted that night by the gathered jarls of Markland and Viinland. I saw only the guest of honor’s huge, hairy feet, bare of any covering, as it was said the warlord went into battle. I heard Bigir’s approving bellow as I swung near him, and I knew that he had surely seen me.

  An elaborate midsummer celebration was held the following night. Huge bonfires flamed throughout Tillfallvik, sending their smoke into the heavens on the longest day of the year to honor the Norogods. I danced in abandon around the fire, pleased to honor my da’s gods, until hunger drove everyone inside. The guests crowded around the tables filled with a sumptuous feast.

  Helanas dispatched the other slaves to serve various chieftains whom they wished to woo, but Lexander kept me by his side, perhaps because of my inexperience. I was responsible for the fine serving utensils brought from Vidaris—bowls, platters, horn cups, and flat spoons. Many of my fellow Noromenn used only their knives and fingers to eat, much like my family. Lexander and Helanas were more fastidious.

  They both were wearing fine linen and rich golden jewels, making me proud to belong to Vidaris. I particularly admired the ropes of embossed gold coins that hung on my master’s bared chest. I wore ivory ornaments: strings of carved beads, chunky bracelets depicting wild beasts, and a carved diadem that held my hair away from my face, letting it fall down my back in rich waves. My gold tunic was my best, and it was belted by a silk cord with cunning tassels.

  We were entertained by great saga tellers, who wove pictures in the air with words of daring deeds both past and present. The olfs delighted in the rousing tales and likely came from far away every summer to enjoy this fete. My favorite of the night was a story I’d never heard about the fire god Loji. My da had told me how Loji had married a giantess and fathered three children, one of whom ruled over a dreaded part of the Otherworld where evildoers suffered. But this story told of Loji’s intimate dealings with a giant stallion, which resulted in him giving birth to the most wonderful of all horses—an eight-legged steed ridden by the king of the gods. I listened in wonder with my mouth open until Helanas snapped that I gaped like an idiot.

  Servants circled with an astonishing number of dishes—live oysters, mounds of shiny fish eggs, slimy squid, baked mussels, and even an enormous smoked redfish that draped over one long table. Niels would have adored the lavishness of the roasted fowls stuffed with their own eggs and decorated with real feathers. I loved the honey-soaked cakes that were passed on large platters, and took as many as Helanas allowed me.

  At the great table, elevated on a dais, Chieftain Ejegod sat next to his wife, Silveta. The chieftain was much older than his bride, his third, according to gossip, but said to be beloved nonetheless. The ruling couple received a constant stream of gifts brought by the guests, and the chieftain loudly bestowed his own gifts on loyal Markland magnates.

  Earlier in the evening, Silveta had represented the goddess Freya in the midsummer fertility ritual. She had deftly used her knife to sacrifice the white birds and snowy sheep that were then burned on the square altar in the vi. This fire had been used to light bonfires throughout Tillfallvik. The ritual was mostly obscured within the standing poles defining the sacred space, but I had been impressed by Silveta’s righteous dignity. Now at the feast, her elegant hands moved deliberately when they weren’t demurely folded in her lap. Her beauty was half hidden behind a filmy sky-blue veil.

  Sitting at the table on the other side of the chieftain was Birgir Barfoot, a big man rivaling Lexander’s height. He wore a thick silver chain around his neck, with a medallion in the shape of a knotted cross bigger than my fist. His florid red cheeks and white-blond hair were striking but not attractive to my eyes. I had already become accustomed to the clean, sleek lines of my master’s face. I must confess that I hoped Birgir would not notice me. His meaty fist pounded the table in front of him, and I feared it would split asunder. The frail woman who was seated as his dining companion wilted with trembling.

  So passed my first midsummer celebration among the elite jarls. Late that night, I was captured by some guests and taken back to their room. There were two men and one young woman from Kjalarnes, far to the south. Their drawling accents were entrancing, and their languid gestures unlike any I had seen before. The men wished to see two women kiss and make love. I had recently begun my training in female arousal with Rosarin and the two Skraeling sisters, so I had some familiarity with the arts of pleasing a woman. They were much kinder to me than Helanas, so I relaxed as I kissed and licked the soft freya all over her body. It had not been my intention to become a lover of women, but I found I responded to her. The men began having sex with us before I had finished all I wanted to do, but lying next to her as we received them was enough to drive me into raptures.

  When they finally fell asleep, I escaped back to our room. Lexander used me to warm his pallet, but he barely touched me. With the blood still coursing through my body, I knew I could not lie quiescent. He was annoyed by my modesty, so I decided to entertain him by abandoning all inhibition and pleasuring myself. I began to stroke and rub my groin, building slowly, my hips lifting and muscles tensing, as my breath came faster.

  Lexander didn’t order me to stop, so I knew he was intrigued. Gradually I let go of all restraint, writhing against him, gasping out loud. That’s when he reached for me, his tarse eager and read
y. I didn’t care if everyone heard our passion, but his hand went over my mouth to keep me from disturbing Ejegod’s bondsmen on either side of the wall.

  Helanas scoffed at us, but then she allowed Sverker to enter her as well. Their muffled, rhythmic cries spurred me to a higher peak. It was far more satisfying than the hours I had spent with the Kjalarnes guests because I was with Lexander. Afterwards, falling asleep in his arms was the fulfillment of a dream I had longed for since I had arrived in Vidaris. With the tickling of the olfs at the edges of my mind, I wondered if they had helped spur Lexander into joining with me.

  During the day, Lexander instructed us not to be seen about the estate—even a priceless gift can be tarnished by too ready access. We slaves were to mingle with the guests only after sunset. So we were forced to confine ourselves in our room. The other slaves didn’t mind, but for me it was a torment I couldn’t endure. For once, I was too restless to obey, knowing there were so many new things out there to see.

  So I took to climbing up the grooved wainscoting until I could slip beneath the canopy tied over our room. I sat on the crossbeams that supported the pitched ceiling. From the network of beams, I watched the guests passing below in the hallway. I could hear if Lexander or Helanas entered the longhouse and was able to climb back down before they saw me. Even Sverker kept my secret. We had nothing as slaves except for what little we gave each other.

  Sitting in the rafters, I mostly saw Ejegod’s cousins and bondsmen. The highest-ranking guests, including one of the overlord’s sons sent to represent Hop, were housed in new buildings made of stacked logs, while the dozens of Markland magnates with their retinues were staying in common longhouses, some of which looked older than those of my village. My da’s uncle was the magnate of Jarnby, a position I had once thought quite lofty, but our village was so poor that he had visited Tillfallvik only twice in all his years.