To Serve and Submit

by Susan Wright

Alga still clasped my hand, looking into my eyes as if she couldn’t believe what I’d said. But Gudren went into bargaining mode, seeing a way to finally pierce the mysteries I offered. “We are concerned that Marja is well cared for. After all, freya, why should you be interested in a doxy I found on the streets of Brianda?”

  Silveta drew herself up, her expression icy. “If you care about Marja, as you claim, you will leave her with me and mention this to no one. I will have my way. If you cause problems, then Marja is the one who will suffer.”

  There was silence as they considered this. Then Alga patted my hand, releasing me. They could ill afford to anger a chieftain’s wife.

  Gudren named a high price for me, but Silveta refused to bargain. She passed over the gold coins without a word. I wondered if despite their genuine feelings for me, Gudren and Alga simply considered me as one of their possessions.

  Then Alga kissed me, reminding me of the pleasure we’d had together. Gudren gruffly ordered, “Send word by our boats if you fall into trouble again, Marja. We will always be ready to help you.” His hug was not that of an owner. I wondered then whether he hadn’t demanded a high price to test Silveta’s desire for me. Regardless, they left me with fond, worried looks that I would never forget.

  Ten

  Silveta disguised me as her new maid, giving me a gray homespun dress and a white apron pinned at my shoulders with small bronze broaches. I kept my hair slicked down tightly and coiled against the back of my head. With the cap on top, I looked much like the other servants. For the first couple of days, I stayed locked in Silveta’s sleeping closet, even during meals, eating whatever she could bring back to me.

  Several days after the midsummer festival, when all of the guests had returned home, Silveta entered, looking disturbed. “The courier has returned.” She had secretly sent a messenger to Vidaris. “Lexander is no longer there.”

  “No . . .” I breathed, sitting back on my heels. Everything I had feared was true. I had delayed too long in reaching Tillfallvik.

  “Helanas questioned my courier. She doesn’t know where Lexander is. The courier didn’t leave my letter because I instructed him to put it only in Lexander’s hands.”

  Despite the anguish I felt, I was glad Silveta was handling everything. If the courier had given Helanas the letter, she would have discovered that I was in Tillfallvik. I had no doubt that my mistress would come to get me.

  “Where could he be?” I asked plaintively.

  “He might be here in town. But I can’t risk telling Ejegod’s men to look for him because of the exile. He will have to come to me. The problem is,” she said, considering me on my blanket on the floor, “what am I going to do with you?”

  I was gaining more understanding of the threat Birgir posed. The crafty warrior had bided his time, influencing Ejegod in many ways until the chieftain had come to rely on him. It was a masterful move that allowed him to use his influence on behalf of certain supplicants, becoming a welcome presence within the chieftain’s retinue.

  Every day I pressed my ear to the chinks in the boards, listening as the estate folk passed in the hallway. They were all Ejegod’s bondi with their women and children. Silveta told me that her husband’s most loyal bondsmen had aged along with him, and a handful had retired this winter to their well-earned estates, leaving their lusty sons to serve. These young men were Ejegod’s bondi, but they cleaved more naturally to Birgir, who was a seasoned warrior and natural leader. Birgir had kept a dozen of his best fighters and they were housed in a newer longhouse, while the others had left to claim land. These men were treated with the same respect as Ejegod’s bondi.

  “Birgir is too strong,” Silveta said, wringing her hands. “I watched him this midsummer, sealing alliances with as many of the magnates as he could. Even making deals with Viinland jarls.”

  Our chieftain was frail; anyone could see it. “I don’t understand why your husband allows Birgir to gain such power over him.”

  “Ah, that is the shame in this! Birgir plays with Ejegod, acting the loyal son.” She grimaced at her own failure to give Ejegod a child. “To an old man whose line ends with him, it is a strong lure. Birgir credits Ejegod with saving his people by giving them land for their names, and claims he considers the chieftain his true forebearer. Birgir swears that he will burn sacrifices to Ejegod’s family forever in praise of his spirit.”

  Considering the chieftain’s befuddled state, I wondered if Birgir had done more than simply talk. Perhaps he, like Helanas, had drawn evil spirits here to help diminish the old man’s vigor. In truth, the olfs avoided both Birgir and Ejegod, even on the occasions when they danced on the high table itself. I did not sense anything specific, yet I could not forget that I had not felt the miasma at Vidaris until I escaped. As I had discovered, evil was much harder to detect than good, insinuating itself into people in devious ways. But the presence of evil spirits would explain why there were decidedly fewer otherworldly creatures in the estate than there used to be.

  “I cannot let you continue to skulk about in here,” Silveta decided. “The servants are already talking, wondering if your illness is serious. If they inquire too closely, they may realize you’re the Vidaris slave.”

  “What should I do?” I cried.

  “Do you never think for yourself?” she countered irritably. “No wonder the Sigurdssons wouldn’t let you go, the way you were clinging to them. As you are now, Marja, you’re a risk to me.”

  Chastised, I remembered Finn and how he had stolen from me because I had been too gullible. I had assumed that when I finally reached Silveta my task would be accomplished. But I would have to continue to fight for myself, even if I was not sure in which direction my path led. “Lexander told me to stay with you.”

  Silveta shook her head, closing her eyes briefly. I knew better than to speak. I had seen that look on Helanas’ face too many times.

  “Well, we must take the risk,” Silveta decided. “You don’t look like a pleasure slave now. Don’t start showing your legs or letting your hair go wild. You’ll have to act as my maid in truth. I’ve not had one since the last wench stole my key to give to Birgir.”

  “I remember,” I said quietly.

  Silveta considered me, recalling the service I had done for her. Then, having no other option, she began to explain what being her maid entailed.

  The masquerade began as I hid in plain sight. I soon realized that most people simply believed what was set before them, with few questions asked. I claimed I was from Kebek, with Ansgar’s tales of his home still fresh in my ears. My almond eyes, my most distinctive feature, were not uncommon in Kebek, where Noromenn were known to wed Skraeling.

  Silveta declared to anyone who inquired that she had purchased my bond from the Sigurdssons. But serving Silveta was nothing like my life with Alga and Gudren. Silveta expected me to sew and help the bondsmen’s wives keep her costly garments in good repair. Most were gifts from faithful magnates, elaborately embroidered by their womenfolk for the chieftain’s wife. I also fetched her wash water and dressed her hair, familiar chores from Vidaris.

  First thing each morning, I accompanied Silveta to the kitchens, where she doled out the food supplies, unlocking the tiny room that contained precious Auldland spices and the cellar for the wine and mead. She also directed the senior servants in the cleaning and laundry. She was truly the chatelaine of Ejegod’s estate with more serious responsibilities than Alga, who had plenty of time for leisure and play while her indomitable grandmother gave the orders.

  It appeared Silveta was safe from Birgir as long as her bondsmen were present to vouch for her virtue. Birgir could not simply force himself on her—common law decreed that any man who violated a jarl would be drawn and quartered. His bid for the chieftaincy would not survive such a crime. So Birgir needed to make it appear that Silveta had encouraged his advances, and she did everything she could to counter this claim by publicly snubbing him and his bondi.

  The first time I ran into Birg
ir, I was caught unawares. I had Silveta’s bedclothes over my arms as I took them to the washtubs. There was a friendly olf jaunting along beside me, as usual. I couldn’t understand why it suddenly leaped in front of me, holding its frail arms wide as if to stop me.

  Birgir was walking toward me with one of his bondsmen, speaking too loudly as usual. “If he wants the fishing rights, he must come here to win them. I will not give them for naught.”

  I missed a step, but it was too late to turn aside. I didn’t want to draw more attention to myself. So I continued on, my head bent and my eyes on the path, silently imploring the olf to help me.

  But Birgir saw me. He blocked me with one thick arm, bared in the summer warmth. “You’re the new maid for our freya, are you not?”

  I bobbed a curtsy, pitching my voice higher than usual. “Yes, freyr.”

  I couldn’t look up, but I felt the olf move between us, floating right in front of me to stop Birgir from recognizing me.

  To his companion, Birgir boasted, “So the haughty lady provides me with another pretty face. ’Tis generous of her, I must say.”

  Still hiding behind the olf, I scurried around them.

  “Don’t be so quick, sweet fitte!” Birgir called after me. “Every maiden should have some pleasure, and I’m the man to give it to you.” The two men brayed with laughter, entertained by my fright. Little did they know that I had already felt the full extent of Birgir’s lust.

  I blessed the olf over and over, promising all of my milk the next morning for its service. Surely Birgir would have seen who I was, staring directly at my face as he did, if not for the intervention of the olf.

  After that, the otherworldly creatures kept me informed of Birgir’s whereabouts. When he walked the paths, I stayed inside. If he came near the kitchens, I slipped outside. For meals, I ate with the other servants at one of the distant tables, keeping my back to the dais at all times.

  Mostly I stayed near Silveta, because she always had a bondsman with her. It was seen as a mark of honor to have her father’s bondi in her retinue, reminding everyone of her status in Viinland. From Perus, the more loquacious of the two bondsmen, I discovered that Silveta’s father was a chieftain, controlling a series of rich valleys along the coast of Hop. Perus had known Silveta since she was a child, and they had a way of speaking shortly, conveying much to each other but little to others. Perus was a man in his prime, a widower who ignored every woman on the estate. But I heard the malicious comments of Birgir’s men, made to besmirch Silveta’s good name. On seeing them in private, as I did at times, I knew that Perus showed no softer feelings toward her. He was intent only on surviving his post. Both of Silveta’s bondsmen were cold, distant warriors who never asked questions of me, merely accepting my presence and reserving judgment about my trustworthiness.

  One morning, I accompanied Silveta and Perus to the loft in the fire hall where Ejegod spent most of his time. It was both his bed and receiving chamber. I had never been inside, but I caught a glimpse of him in a great chair, wrapped in furs despite the warmth.

  I waited with Perus on the landing, high above servants who were cleaning the tables after the meal. A handful of men lolled on the benches near the open doors. Since it was full summer, the fire in the enormous hearth had been allowed to go out.

  Perus went down to relieve himself. I felt exposed on my perch above the others. With the double doors propped open, the interior of the hall was far more illuminated than usual. I could see the olfs jumping along the rafters that crisscrossed between the walls, swinging from the banners. The corners of the hall were filthy, piled with soggy rushes and debris. They had been fouled by the large number of guests at midsummer. This morning, Silveta had ordered the servants to gather the rakes so the mess could be mucked out.

  Suddenly the olfs ceased their spirited hopping, pausing to stare at the doors. A few of them faded away in front of my eyes.

  Birgir’s voice boomed outside.

  I ran quickly down the stairs and slipped into the shadows below. I barely made it in time.

  Birgir entered, calling that a pod of whales had been sighted in the bay. The place boiled over as men rushed in all directions, some up the stairs to tell Ejegod and others past me to the kitchens for supplies. I pressed against the wall within the striped shadows cast by the steps.

  Birgir set off for the docks, followed by most of the men. I breathed a sigh of relief, knowing he would be gone for some time.

  Then the last man returned from the storerooms, carrying a sack of wine over his shoulder. Niall was one of Birgir’s most loyal bondsmen. It was said Niall was bedding a wash girl, and he came right into the servant’s longhouse and took her in front of everyone.

  Niall stopped at the sight of me. “Ah, the shy maid who scurries about staring at the ground! Are you lying in wait for me, dearling?”

  I bowed my head, hiding my face, as I was wont to do now. “Silveta is . . .” I faltered, gesturing upward.

  Niall lowered his voice as he stepped closer. “If your freya doesn’t need your services at the moment, I can think of one who does.”

  I thought he meant Birgir, and my breath caught. “No.”

  “Yet your eyes plead so lovely,” Niall declared, stepping under the stairs with me. “I think you mean otherwise.”

  I tried to look away. But he was too close. I could see only his broad chest and stained leather belt. The wine sack sloshed as he set it down.

  “I think you agree.” One finger lifted my chin, and his arm went around my back to hold me against him. It was fairly masterful without being hurtful. I went very still. He brought his mouth down on mine, tasting me, feeling my lips. His black beard and mustache were clipped short, and his lips were full and firm. My body responded in spite of myself. Niall was everything that Gudren was not—dominating and passionate. He became wildly aroused merely by kissing me.

  His hand dropped to my breast. I gasped into his mouth, and that inflamed him more. His palm cupped my breast, squeezing—

  “What are you doing with my maid!” Silveta demanded.

  Niall pulled away slowly, as my hands scrabbled on him, trying to push him faster. His black eyes were amused as he licked his lips at me. “Delicious! Just as we thought.”

  Silveta stood there with her arms crossed. Behind her was Perus, sneering slightly. Any hope I had of gaining his trust vanished.

  Niall resettled his wine sack on his shoulder. “Very tempting, my dear, but I’ve got a whale to slaughter. I shall redeem your pledge later.”

  With a laugh, he went past Silveta and gave a mocking salute to Perus. I blushed at the contempt in Silveta’s eyes. When Niall was far enough away, she hissed, “How stupid must you be? Now Birgir will never rest till he has taken what Niall has tasted.”

  “I was hiding and he caught me.”

  “You didn’t even try to stop him.” Her voice lowered so Perus wouldn’t hear. “I know what you are. But can’t you have some dignity while you’re in my hands? Have you no self-control?”

  “My apologies, freya.” I didn’t know what else to say.

  Silveta sighed heavily. “I think you must go stay in town. Perhaps Torgils would take you in. But I fear he would recognize you as the Vidaris slave, and he would doubtless tell the chieftain.”

  “You’re sending me away?” I was torn between wanting to stay so Lexander could find me, and eagerness to get away from Birgir and his men.

  “Yes, until . . . you are claimed.” She wouldn’t risk naming my master. “You’re a danger to me here.”

  Chastised, though I didn’t know what I could have done differently, I followed Silveta as she organized the servants in cleaning the fire hall. Some stayed behind to rake the floor and pile the mess in a cart that pulled up to the doors. I went with Silveta and the others to gather bundles of new rushes and wildflowers. They laughed and sang as if it were a holiday from their normal chores, and the olfs danced along with us. But I couldn’t be merry. With Lexander gone, a
nd Silveta casting me away in disgust, I would soon be alone again.

  That night, Silveta slept in Ejegod’s chamber, as she did from time to time. The couple still tried to conceive an heir, but I could tell by the way Silveta girded herself that it was not a pleasant duty. Ejegod got drunk as usual during the night-meal.

  I stayed in Silveta’s closet. Only she had the key to the new lock, which had been installed since last midsummer. She entrusted no one with it, not even her bondsmen, for fear someone would take it from them. She escorted me there with Perus, and neither bothered to speak to me.

  But by late morning, no one had returned for me. Silveta must have simply gone from Ejegod’s chamber to the morning meal, then to work. All of the olfs had left for the fire hall as soon as the meal was served, anxious to pilfer bits from the plates of unwary diners.

  Earlier I had heard deep, rumbling voices in the hallway, but it had been quiet for some time. I would be lucky to get the browned remnants of porridge from the bottom of the pot if I went to the kitchen now. So I unlocked the door. The sound of the metal scraping seemed very loud. I pulled it open a crack to peer down the longhouse.

  A hand smacked the door, pushing it against me. Birgir’s face appeared, framed by yellow-white hair. “So you finally emerge, pretty little maid! I’ve heard you’re eager for some rutting.”

  I tried to close the door, but it was no use. Birgir pushed me back as if I were a babe. Then he slammed the door shut behind him.

  It was like a terrible nightmare. I put my hands to my face, desperately hoping to keep him from realizing who I was.

  Birgir grabbed me and pulled me against his sweating body. His touch was cruel, making me cry out. His teeth scraped against my mouth, drawing blood, as his fingers dug into me. Before I knew it, my apron had been pulled off and the buttons ripped on my kirtle, exposing my breasts. He bit my neck, then the white flesh of my breasts.

  I screamed. “Stop it! No!”

  His hand went over my mouth, cutting off my breath. I struggled for air. He was looking into my eyes, enjoying the panic he saw there.