A Heart Enslaved

by A. M. Westerling

  Gisela clearly wanted to go home. All of a sudden her actions in confronting Wormtongue and his men became obvious to Thorvald—it was because of his promise to free her if she helped him find the truth. So desperate to return to Frisia was she, she had deliberately put herself in danger.

  Gisela didn’t want him. Rather she wanted to go home.

  He would see that she did, because then she would be happy. If nothing else, knowing she lived in happiness would sustain him through the long barren years ahead.

  First, he would fight his battle with Wormtongue.

  There was no point now in seeking out solace on his ledge. He turned and trudged back the way he’d come, cradling Odin’s Kiss in his arms.

  * * *

  Thorvald found Arni chopping wood behind his longhouse. His friend gaped when he saw Thorvald’s sword. “What? Is that your father’s sword? Where did you get it?”

  “Aye, it is. How I came to have it is a story for another time.” How it wounded to hear Arni refer to Odin’s Kiss as his father’s sword.

  Not his father.

  Wormtongue’s father.

  Of course Arni didn’t know that.

  Weariness consumed Thorvald. He had no desire to explain anything to his friend at this time.

  “I need to get my boat. Will you come? We’ll bring Magnus.”

  “You mean to face Wormtongue again at Sun Meadow?” With one mighty swing, Arni stuck the axe in the chopping block then dusted his hands.

  Thorvald shook his head. “Nay. We’ll go tomorrow early, before the sun rises. He feels he’s safe, he will not post guards.”

  “Well, my palm itches to feel my sword. I would welcome a scuffle.”

  “There is no time, for once we reach the Happy Wife we sail on to Kaupang. Will you come?”

  “What of Gisela? Do you mean to leave her here with Bertrada?”

  “I’ll bring her with us. Once in Kaupang, I’ll free her.”

  “What? After all you’ve been through for her? Now you free her?” Arni looked at him, a sorrowful expression carving his face. “Truly, this woman has made you stupid.”

  Any other man would have received a cuffed fist for that; Thorvald shrugged. Arni’s friendship had been true and for that his unruly tongue deserved to be excused.

  “Will you come and look after her after the trial? I know I ask much of you.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know if I’m going to beat Wormtongue.” It was true, he didn’t. He’d lost all taste for the fight.

  He had to muster the strength and, if he lost, he didn’t want Wormtongue to have her. For that, he must convince Arni to take her straight away.

  Arni looked at him, eyes narrowed. “Something eats at you and I feel you won’t tell me what it is.”

  “I fear for Gisela.” His reason sounded lame, even to his own ears.

  “Just yesterday, you told me how you would best Wormtongue. Now today you’re admitting your defeat before you even fight him? Has another Thorvald taken the place of the one I know?” He peered behind Thorvald’s back as if looking for someone, then stepped back and crossed his arms.

  The Thorvald you knew is no more, thought Thorvald, replaced by an imposter, a changeling. “I’ll not ask you for any other favors, I swear, but please, let me rest easy knowing she’ll be in your company as a free woman.”

  Arni crossed his arms and lapsed into silence, drumming the fingers of one hand against the elbow of the other arm.

  Thorvald waited, his breath coming in quick shallow rasps. He asked a huge favor of Arni, but he didn’t know who else he could trust with Gisela.

  Arni sighed and shook his head. “Nay. She is your woman and your responsibility. You claim you fear for her, then see to it you best Wormtongue. And one more thing.” He stopped and squinted at Thorvald as if he thought about the wisdom of what he was about to say.

  “Aye?” prompted Thorvald.

  “You tell me you mean to free her in Kaupang. Then what? You will leave her alone in a land that is not hers? How will she find her way? I say again, she is yours and should not be tossed away lightly because suddenly you fear Wormtongue.”

  Truly, Arni’s reasoning was sound. Thorvald was so caught up in the news from his mother that he’d lost his ability to reason. To free Gisela here would not aid her. He must see to it she returned to her homeland.

  “Agreed. Gisela is my concern, not yours. At least would you consider sailing with me to Kaupang?”

  “Aye, Thorvald, I will. I’d rather stay here, where Bertrada keeps me warm and feeds me, but you’ve been wronged and for that I will do one last thing for you.” He grinned, an impish twist to the lips that barely appeared through the thick beard, “This time, when I come home, I have a good woman waiting for me. What could be better?”

  Aye, thought Thorvald morosely. What could be better?

  He would never know.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  They left Arni’s farmstead with night’s darkness cloaking their way. Gisela only had time to scrub the sleep from her eyes and give Bertrada a quick farewell hug before following the three men back towards Sun Meadow. They moved quickly, with no time for talk. Soon she saw the longhouse, shadowed in the dim light of dawn.

  She slowed, fearful of what would happen when they drew closer, which drew a scowl from Thorvald and a whispered “hurry” from Arni. As they neared the longhouse, it sat silent, all within sleeping.

  Magnus cast a longing glance towards it. “My chest and all my belongings lie within.”

  “It will soon be mine,” reassured Thorvald. However, his voice was weak, unconvincing and Gisela looked at him with narrowed eyes.

  She wondered why he brought her, but when she asked, he’d only told her to bring her belongings and so she did. Her sack containing her clothing and weaving bumped against her legs as she jogged, and, when she grew warm with exertion, she tied the sable robe about her waist.

  She also wondered about the sword now strapped to his waist, but when she asked him about it, his face turned bleak and he refused to answer.

  They made their way to the beach, and the men shoved the little merchant ship into the water. When only the bow stem remained on shore, Arni gestured to Gisela to climb in. Tossing her sack on board and balancing precariously on a rock, she grabbed the side and attempted to heave herself over. Her foot slipped on the wet stone, and she landed knee deep in the icy cold water. Arni took pity on her and gave her a boost, but Thorvald seemed not to notice. His indifference stung her soul as much as the cold fjord water stung her flesh.

  Dull-eyed and stone-faced, he ignored her. Very well, she thought as she settled herself on the deck of the little knorr, she would play the same game. So she did, lapsing into the same stony demeanor he carried.

  Sun Meadow grew smaller with every oar stroke. No shouts sounded, no figures pelted towards the beach. If Wormtongue and the others had seen them, they obviously had no interest in pursuit.

  Soon the Happy Wife rounded the point. Gisela couldn’t shake the fanciful notion that, as Sun Meadow disappeared from her sight, so too did any chance of gladness. Sorrow washed over her and she peered again at Thorvald.

  He stood at the stern, leaning into the steering oar with both arms wrapped around it. To her surprise, moisture rimmed his eyes and he blinked once, twice.

  He too wore a mantle of sadness, only he wore it as if it were a long familiar burden. A burden pulled snugly around him like an invisible suit of armor.

  The slosh of water reminded her of her duty and she went below to bail. It felt good to man the bucket, for without Bertrada’s help she had to bail twice as fast and fatigue numbed her mind.

  Her feelings for Thorvald were something best left unexamined. Love? How could she love the stranger he’d become? He’d lost all regard towards her.

  When they were first together he engaged her in conversation, gazing at her with eyes full of challenge yet tinged with respect. Self-assured, he had been
master of all. He had a goal then, one that drove him.

  But no more. That Thorvald was long gone.

  Nay, he’d shown indifference to her by pushing her away. As much as she wanted to bring back the man he’d once been, to explore her emotions towards him was pointless.

  As was her love for him.

  * * *

  A short distance past the long wharves jutting perpendicular into the water of Kaupang’s harbor, Thorvald found what he sought—a small beach where the Happy Wife could be pulled up safe and sound on dry land.

  “It leaks,” he said when Arni raised his eye brows. “We can’t tie up to a dock or we’ll all end up at the bottom of the harbor. Unless you want us to bail all night.”

  Arni grinned and shook his head. “I value my sleep.”

  They camped that night on the beach, claiming one of the empty fire pits scattered about between the shore and fringe of trees. No one else joined them, and for that Thorvald could only surmise there would be no market tomorrow and therefore no need for extra moorage for merchants.

  They ate a simple meal of flat bread, cheese and dried fish, finishing off the contents of the leather bag Bertrada pressed into Arni’s hands the morning they left. Then Magnus headed into Kaupang for “a bit of fun” while Arni chose to remain behind with Thorvald and Gisela.

  The dark night settled heavily and if Thorvald’s mood was dark before, now it glistened black like freshly charred wood. He paced the beach, from the bow of their little boat to the trees, across to a half buried tree trunk silvered with exposure to the elements, then back.

  Oh, how Gisela had touched his heart. How he hated the thought of losing her, to surrender and admit she would never be part of his life. So close, he had come, so close to winning her over, he had been sure he’d seen her gaze softening towards him.

  He thought again of her foolish action the day of Karl’s return. Perhaps he’d over reacted, but it made him realize she was not a Viking woman. Her aversion to all things Viking meant she would never find contentment at his side. Rather, she would prove a continuing challenge.

  Arni, sensing Thorvald’s desire for solitude, threw another log on the fire before moving a short distance away. Pulling a knife and square chunk of wood from his pocket, he began to whittle, whistling tunelessly as he did so.

  In the light of the suddenly flickering fire, Gisela pulled her robe around her. With a hurt stare at Thorvald, she turned away and settled on the ground, using her sack as a pillow.

  Once Gisela slept, Thorvald stopped pacing and chose instead to sit and watch her, drinking in every movement, every sigh, imprinting them on his brain to remember at a later date.

  The court convened the following afternoon. Although his original plan had been to keep her close until after the trial, the more he thought on it, the more he realized it would be better to free her now. He’d wanted to cling on to her until the last possible moment but truly, she would distract him.

  He would free her tomorrow morning instead and see if he could find her passage home. Perhaps he could find a merchant who needed an extra set of hands on board, someone who traveled with his wife. The presence of another woman would provide some protection for Gisela.

  The thought of her leaving sat heavily in his mind. That would be it; she would disappear from his life like the dandelion fluff that scattered with the summer breeze. Like the dandelion fluff, she would set roots and flourish, growing into a life that did not include him. Doubtless she would find a husband. The thought of her lying with another man, of bearing his children, infuriated Thorvald, and he clenched his teeth so hard his jaw ached. What happened to her in the future was not of his concern, he reminded himself. He chose to free her and must live with his decision.

  The dull ache in his jaw slowly spread into his chest. He ran his fingers up and down the cool smooth blade of Odin’s Kiss. Hopefully the power of his father lived within the cool steel. Not his father, he reminded himself bitterly.

  Wormtongue’s father.

  If the power of its previous owner coursed through Odin’s Kiss, which man would the blade favor?

  His half-son or his changeling son?

  * * *

  “Cover your hair,” Thorvald instructed the next morning. “Hide your face as best you can.”

  “I thought slaves wore their hair uncovered,” Gisela said, annoyed with the sudden authoritative tone in his voice. After ignoring her, now he thought to tell her what to do. She fisted her hands and placed them on her hips. “Is that not one of your Viking ways?”

  “Slaves also obey their masters.”

  The implicit reference to Gisela’s encounter with Karl Wormtongue made Gisela flush. Heat crept up her cheeks, and she turned away to fumble through her sack for a linen square. Under his scrutiny, her fingers behaved like wooden pegs, and she fumbled to tie the scarf around her head, pulling the fabric forward to cover her forehead. Odso, at this moment the man watching her so intently made her feel like a useless sot.

  “Grab your things and come with me.” He strode off.

  Brow furrowed, Gisela gazed at Thorvald’s uncommunicative back as she followed him. Only the two of them walked into Kaupang. Magnus yet slept, snoring heavily, while Arni paid them no heed, busying himself with some task or other on the beached longship. What did Thorvald mean to do with her now? she wondered bitterly as she padded along. Would he sell her here?

  Puzzling, though, he didn’t head into the town proper where she would expect the slave market to be. He turned instead towards the harbor.

  A jumble of sturdy masts spiked the air, their yard arms resembling the bony ribs of a giant beast outlined against the brightening sky. Shouts echoed through the air. Men of all sizes and shapes dressed in everything from Slavic furs to woolen tunics and leggings carried sacks or bales or pushed barrels down the docks. The rumble of wood staves on wood planks almost drowned out the shrieks of the ever present sea gulls wheeling overhead. After the silence of the fjord at Sun Meadow, the noise battered Gisela, and she pressed her fingers against her ears for a moment to block the sound.

  “Come.” Thorvald gestured and, without waiting for an answer, turned onto the first wharf they encountered. His footsteps thumped while he walked past ship after ship, openly searching the crew on each. He must not have found what he sought, for they moved on to the next wharf, and then the third.

  She trailed behind, pondering his angry mood. Scowling repeatedly at the cat calls of the sailors delighting in the sight of Gisela, he stopped when he apparently found what he sought—a knorr, a bit smaller than the Happy Wife. An elderly couple coiled rope while a young boy stacked oars. A crude pen held three goats with a couple of crates of chickens tucked up against one side.

  “Wait here,” he said to Gisela, then hailed the man. He vaulted onto the boat’s deck and within a few minutes returned. “I’ve found you passage home with Olaf and his wife and grandson.”

  “What? Passage for me? What do you mean? Are you not about to sell me?”

  “Nay, I am not.”

  “I don’t understand. Why do we go with them? What of you and Karl?”

  He ignored her questions. “They sail for Francia but their slave died, so they’re shorthanded. They’ve agreed to take you as far as your Rhine River in exchange for your help.”

  “Help?” she echoed stupidly. What was he up to now?

  “You shall earn your passage and help with the oars, the sail, the animals, bailing.” A glint filled his eyes and one corner of his mouth lifted up as if his sense of humor struggled to break through his dour mood. “I know how practiced you are at that.” Then his face settled once more into a stone mask.

  Her heart swelled with the small jest he’d made, a glimpse of him she cherished for an instant. Then the import of what he said sank through her brain. He talked of passage for her! Did that mean she would be returning to Frisia? Would he accompany her?

  Nay, why would he? she thought. He would win his battle and resume
his life at Sun Meadow. Without her. He didn’t want her. She knew that; he’d made that clear. Her heart shriveled into a little ball of pain. She shouldn’t feel like this—bereft and abandoned over the actions of a Norseman she wanted to hate—but she did. She couldn’t tell her heart to behave. She struggled to pay attention as he spoke again.

  “Whatever needs doing. They are not pleased you’re a woman, but I’ve told them you’re strong and well versed in the ways of a ship.”

  “Do I hear you correctly? Do you say they take me home?” She cocked her head. “Please, do not torment me. Am I not your chattel?”

  He reached out and lifted her hair to loosen the knots on the cord holding his Thor’s hammer, slipping it off her head. He placed the necklace over his head, adjusting the token so it hung visibly on his chest. He clasped his hand around it then briefly, whisper soft, he caressed her cheek. “You are free.”

  His gentle touch bewildered her and she jerked away. “What?”

  “I give you your freedom. You are now a free woman and as such, able to come and go as you please. You wish to return to Frisia, then so be it. These people have agreed to take you. Now go with them.”

  What ailed her? She should be bursting with happiness, but she struggled with the pain in her heart. He rejected her, tossed her away like fish guts to the sea gulls. It made her shrewish. “I don’t understand your heathen ways.” Her eyes snapped. “One minute I am yours, the next I am not.”

  “There’s a slave market here. I could sell you and appear before the court with my restitution. But I don’t. Instead I free you. I ask you, is that the action of an uncivilized man?”

  “You free me? What of our bargain?”

  “What matters the bargain? We struck the bargain so you could return to your land.”