by John Norman
The men, and the bond-maids, many in one another's arms, fell back to regard her.
She stood behind the Forkbeard, and to his left. Her back was quite straight; her head was in the air. She was not fettered. Her dress of green velvet, trimmed in gold, she still wore; it was torn back from the collar, as the Forkbeard had done in Scagnar, revealing the whiteness of her throat, hinting at the delights of her bosom; the gown, however, now, was discolored, stained and torn; much of the trip she had been fettered, her belly to the mast; also, on the right side, it was torn to the hip, revealing her thigh, calf and ankle; this had happened when, on the voyage, she had been put on the oar; her hose and shoes had been removed in Scagnar. She stood proudly. She was what the Forkbeard had sought; she was his prize.
"So that," said Ottar, his hands on his heavy belt, inlaid with gold, "is Hilda the Haughty, daughter of Thorgard of Scagnar!"
"Gunnhild is better!" said Pouting Lips.
"Who is Gunnhild?" asked Hilda, coldly.
"I am Gunnhild," said Gunnhild. She stood proudly on the arm of the Forkbeard, the white kirtle split to her belly, the black iron at her throat.
"A bond-maid!" laughed Hilda, contemptuously.
Gunnhild stared at her, in fury.
"Gunnhild is better!" said Pouting Lips.
"Strip them and see," said Ottar.
Hilda turned white.
The Forkbeard turned about and, one arm about Pudding, the other about Gunnhild, started from the dock.
Hilda followed him, to his left.
"She heels nicely," said Ottar. The men and bond-maids laughed. The Forkbeard stopped. Hilda's face burned red with fury, but she kept her head high.
Pet sleen are taught to heel; so, too, sometimes, are bond-maids; I was familiar with this sort of thing, of course; in the south it was quite common for slave girls, in various fashions in various cities, to heel their masters.
Hilda, of course was a free woman. For her to heel was an incredible humiliation.
The Forkbeard started off again, and then again stopped. Again, Hilda followed him as before.
"She is heeling!" laughed Ottar.
There were tears of rage in Hilda's eyes. What he said, of course, was true. She was heeling. On his ship the Forkbeard had taught her, though a free woman, to heel.
It had not been a pleasant voyage for the daughter of Thorgard of Scagnar. She had been, from the beginning, fettered with her belly to the mast. For a full day, too, the coverlet had been left tied over her head, fastened by the twice-turned, knotted scarf about her neck. On the second day, it had been thrust up only that the spike of a water bag could be thrust between her teeth, and then replaced; on he third day the coverlet was torn away and, with the scarf thrown overboard; Ivar Forkbeard, on that day, watered her and, with a spoon, fed her a bit of bond-maid gruel.
Starving, she had snatched at it greedily.
"How eagerly you eat the gruel of bond-maids," he had commented.
Then she had refused to eat more. But, the next day, to his amusement, she reached forth her mouth eagerly for the nourishment.
On the fourth day, and thereafter, for her feedings, he would tie her ankles and release her from the mast, her wrists then fettered before her, that she might feed herself.
After the fifth day he fed her broths and some meats, that she might have good color.
With the improvement in her diet, as was his expectation, something of her haughtiness and temper returned.
On the eighth day he released her from the mast, that she might walk about the ship.
After she had walked about, he had said to her, "Are you ready to heel?"
"I am not a pet sleen!" she had cried.
"Put her to the oar," had said the Forkbeard.
Hilda, clothed, had been roped, hand and foot, and body,on her back, head down, to one of the nineteen-foot oars.
"You cannot do this to me," she cried.
Then, to her misery, she felt the oar move. "I am a free woman!" she cried.
Then, like any bond-maid, she found herself plunged beneath the cold green surface of Thassa.
The oar lifted.
"I am the daughter of Thorgard of Scagnar!" she cried, spitting water, half blinded.
Then the oar dipped again. When it pulled her next from the water, she was clearly terrified. She had swallowed water. She had learned what any bond-maid swiftly learns, that one must apply oneself, and be rational, if one will survive on the oar. One must follow its rhythm, and, as soon as the surface is broken, expel air and take a deep breath. In this fashion a girl may live on the oar.
For a time the Forkbeard watched her, leaning on his elbows, on the rail, but then he left the rail.
He did, however, have Gorm watch her, with a spear. Twice in the afternoon Gorm struck away sea sleen from the girl's body. Once he thrust away one of the white sharks of the northern waters. The second of the sea sleen it had been which, with its sharp teeth, making a strike, but falling short, had torn away her green velvet gown on the right side from the hip to the hemline; a long strip of it, like a ribbon, was in its teeth as it darted away.
She had not been on the oar for half an Ahn when she had begun to beg her release; a few Ehn later, she had begun to beg to heel the Forkbeard.
But it was not until evening that the oar lifted, and she was released. She was fed hot broths and fettered again to the mast.
The Forkbeard said nothing to her, but, the next day, when the sun was hot on the deck, and he released her for her exercise, and he walked about the deck, she, though a free woman, heeled him perfectly. The crew had roared with laughter. I, too, had smiled. Hilda the Haughty, daughter of Thorgard of Scagnar, had been taught to heel.
Ivar Forkbeard left the dock, his arm about Pudding and Gunnhild, who leaned against him.
Hilda, head high, followed him.
Pouting Lips ran beside her. "Gunnhild is better!" she cried.
Hilda paid her no attention.
"Thick ankles!" said Pretty Ankles.
"She has a rowing bench inside her gown," said Olga.
"Broad in the beam!" laughed another girl.
Suddenly, in fury, Hilda struck at them. The Forkbeard turned about. "What is going on here?" he asked.
"We were telling her how ugly she is," said Pouting Lips.
"I am not ugly!" cried Hilda.
"Remove your clothing," said the Forkbeard.
Her eyes widened with horror. "Never!" she cried. "Never!"
The men and bond-maids about laughed.
"You have taught me to heel," she said, "Ivar Forkbeard, but you have not taught me to obey!"
"Strip her," said the Forkbeard to the bond-maids. They leaped eagerly upon Hilda the Haughty.
In moments the proud girl, naked, was held before the Forkbeard. Olga held one arm, Pretty Ankles the other.
"Gunnhild is better," said Pouting Lips.
It was true. But Hilda the Haughty was a superb piece of female flesh. In almost any market she would surely have drawn a high price.
She struggled, held. She had a fair throat, good shoulders; she was marvelously breasted; her waist was such that one could get his hands on it well; she might have been a bit broad in the beam but I had no objection to this; in the north it is called the love cradle; it was well adapted to cushion the shocks of an oarsman's pleasure; in the south she would have been said to be sweetly hipped; if the Forkbeard wished to breed her she would bear healthy, strong young to his thralls, enriching his farm; her thighs, too, were lovely, and her calves; her ankles, while not thick, as Pretty Ankles had asserted, were heavier than those of Thyri, or Pretty Ankles herself; Hilda was, of course, a somewhat larger girl; she was probably some five years older than Pretty Ankles, and a year or so older than Thyri; Gunnhild was larger than Hilda; she was also, I expected, about a year or two older. I had no objection to Hilda's ankles; I found them quite lovely; they would take a common girl fetter nicely, with about a quarter inch tolerance.
He examined her with great care, as he had his Sa-Tarna, and his animals, when he had inspected his farm.
He got up from his knees, where he had been feeling the firmness of her left calf and ankle.
Then he said to the bond-maids, "Take her to the whipping post."
The bond-maids, laughing, dragged Hilda to the post, stout, of peeled wood, which stood outside the hall. Ottar then, with a scrap of binding fiber, crossed and rudely bound, before her body, the wrists of the daughter of Thorgard of Scagnar; he then, reaching up, fastened her wrists to the heavy iron ring over her head. Her breasts were against the post; she could not place her heels on the ground.
"How dare you place me in this position, Ivar Forkbeard!" she demanded. "I am a free woman!"
"Bring the five-strap slave lash," said Ivar Forkbeard to Gunnhild.
"Yes, my Jarl," she said, smiling. She ran to fetch it.
"I am the daughter of Thorgard of Scagnar," said Hilda. "Release me immediately."
The lash was placed by Gunnhild in the hand of Ivar Forkbeard.
Ottar threw the girl's hair forward, so that it fell before her shoulders.
"No!" cried Hilda.
The Forkbeard touched her back with the whip; his fist held the handle and, too, beneath his fist, folded back, were the five straps. He tapped her twice.
"No!" she cried. "Please, no!"
We fell back to give the Forkbeard room, and he shook loose the straps and drew back his arm.
The first stroke threw her against the post; I saw the astonishment in her eyes, then the pain; the daughter of Thorgard seemed stunned; then she howled in misery; it was only then that she realized what the whip might do to a girl. "I will obey you!" she screamed. "I will obey you!" Ivar Forkbeard, experienced in the disciplining of women, did not deliver the second stroke for a full Ehn. In this time, she screamed, over and over, "I will obey you!"
Then he struck again. Her body, again, was struck against the post; her hands twisted in the binding fiber; her entire body rubbed on the post, in agony, pressing against it; tears burst from he eyes; she was on her tiptoes, pressing against the post; her thighs were on either side of the post; but the post did not yield; she was fastened to it.
Then he struck again. She writhed, twisting and howling. "I ask only to obey you!" she cried. "I beg to obey you!" When he next struck she could only close her eyes in pain. She could then scarcely breathe. She gasped. No longer could she howl or scream. She tensed, teeth gritted, her body itself a silent scream of agony. But the blow did not then fall. Was the beating done? Then she was struck again. The last five blows were delivered with her hanging in the binding fiber, her body against the post, her face to one side of it. She was then released from the post and fell to her hands and knees. The beating had been quite light, only twenty strokes. Yet I did not think it would be soon that the daughter of Thorgard of Scagnar would wish to find herself again at the post. The beating had been, though light, quite adequate to its purpose, which was to teach her, a captive, the whip.
No female forgets it.
She looked up at the Forkbeard in misery.
"Bring her clothing," said the Forkbeard.
It was brought.
"Garb yourself," said the Forkbeard.
Painfully, almost unable to stand, tears in her eyes, inch by inch, the girl drew on her garments.
She then stood there among us, bent over, tears staining her cheeks. She wore the dress of green velvet trimmed with gold, it torn from the collar, it ripped at the right side.
She looked at him.
"Remove your clothing," he said.
She stripped herself.
"Gather the clothing," said the Forkbeard.
She did so.
"Go now to the kitchen of the hall," said he. "In the fire there, burn your clothing, completely."
"Yes, Ivar Forkbeard," she said.
"Gunnhild will accompany you," he said. "When you have burned your garments, every bit of them, then beg Gunnhild to set you about your duties."
"What duties, my Jarl?" asked Gunnhild.
"Tonight we feast," said Ivar Forkbeard. "The feast must be prepared."
"She is to help prepare the feast?" asked Gunnhild.
"And serve it," said the Forkbeard.
"I see, then, the nature of her duties," said Gunnhild, smiling.
"Yes," said Ivar Forkbeard. He regarded Hilda. "You will beg Gunnhild to set you about the duties of a bond-maid."
"Yes," said she, "Ivar Forkbeard."
"Hurry now," laughed he.
Weeping, clutching her clothing, she ran to the hall. The men and bond-maids laughed muchly. I, too, roared with laughter. Hilda the Haughty, daughter of Thorgard of Scagnar, had been taught to obey.
The shrieking of Pouting Lips, as she yielded to Gorm, supine, kicking in the furs, rang through the low, smoking hall.
I thrust Thyri from my lap, and seized Olga by the wrist, as she hurried past, throwing her across my knees. She, laughing, was fleeing Ottar who, drunkenly, was stumbling after her. I pulled Olga's face to mine and our lips met, I forcing my kiss to her teeth. Her naked body, collared, suddenly responded to mine, and she reached for me with her hands. "My Jarl!" she whispered. But I thrust her up, holding her by the arms, into the hands of Ottar, who, laughing, threw her lightly over his shoulder and turned about. I saw her head and shoulders, and her body, to the waist, over his shoulder, her small fists pounding meaninglessly on his back. He carried her into the darkness and threw her to the furs. "My Jarl," whimpered Thyri, crouching beside me, touching me. With a laugh, she crying out with pleasure, I took again the young lady of Kassau, the bond-maid, Thyri, in my arms.
Pretty Ankles hurried past, carrying a great trencher of roast meat on her small shoulder.
"Mead!" called Ivar Forkbeard, from across from me. "Mead!" He held out the great, curved horn, with its rim filigreed gold.
Pudding and Gunnhild knelt on the bench, snuggling against him, one on either side. But they did not run to fetch his mead. That duty, this night, befell another.
Hilda the Haughty, daughter of Thorgard of Scagnar, stripped as any bond-maid, from a large bronze vessel poured mead for the Forkbeard.
The men laughed.
She, though free, poured mead as a bond-maid. They roared with pleasure. Mighty insult had thus been wrought upon Thorgard of Scagnar, enemy of Ivar Forkbeard. His daughter, stripped, poured mead in the hall of his enemies.
Too, they had taught her to heel and obey. Rich was the pleasure of Ivar Forkbeard.
He reached out his hand, to touch the daughter of Thorgard of Scagnar.
She shrank back, terrified.
The Forkbeard looked upon her, amused. "Would you care to play in the furs?" he asked her.
"No," she said, shuddering.
"Let me play," whimpered Pudding. "Let me play," whispered Gunnhild.
"Do not misunderstand me, Ivar Forkbeard," whispered Hilda. If you order me to the furs I shall obey you, an swiftly. I will comply with your slightest wish, exactly an promptly. I will do whatever I am told."
Pudding and Gunnhild laughed.
Ottar stumbled up, putting his hand on one of the posts. By a length of ship's rope, he had tied Olga to his belt. She looked at me; her eyes shone; her lips were parted; she put out her hand; I paid her no attention; she looked down, fist clenched, and whimpered. I smiled. I would use her before the night was done.
"It is said," intoned Ottar, "that Hilda the Haughty, daughter of Thorgard of Scagnar, is the coldest of women."
"Do you find men of interest?" asked the Forkbeard.
"No," she said. "I do not."
Ottar laughed.
"Are you not curious," asked Ivar of the daughter of Thorgard of Scagnar, "what it would be to feel on your body their hands, their mouths?"
"Men are beasts!" she cried.
"Their teeth?" he asked.
"Men are hateful," she wept. "They are terrible beasts, using girls as their prey!" She looked about at the bond-maids. "Resist them!" she cried. "Resist them!"
Pudding threw back her head and laughed. "Resistance is not permitted," she laughed.
"Throw her in the furs," cried Pretty Ankles. "Then she will learn whether she knows what she is talking about or not."
"Throw her in the furs," cried another bond-maid. "Throw her in the furs," called yet another.
"Throw her in the furs," cried the bond-maids.
Hilda shuddered, terrified.
"Silence!" called out Ivar Forkbeard.
There was silence.
"What," asked Ivar Forkbeard of Hilda, "if I should order you to the furs?"
"I would obey you immediately," she said. "I have felt the whip," she explained.
"But of your own free will you would be unlikely to enter upon the furs?" asked Ivar.
"Of course not," she said.
Gorm, who had now disentangled himself from Pouting Lips, joined the circle about the table, where we sat, others standing. She was behind him, combing her hair with a comb of horn.
"She is Hilda the Haughty," laughed Ottar. "She is the coldest of women!"
Hilda stood straight, her head high.
"Ottar, Gorm," said the Forkbeard. "Take her to the ice shed. Leave her there, bound hand and foot."
The bond-maids shrieked with pleasure. Men pounded their left shoulders with the palms of their right hand. Some pounded their plates on the heavy boards of the wooden table.
Ottar delayed only long enough to untie Olga from his belt. He had tied her there by ship's rope, knotted about her stomach. He left the rope about her stomach, but, with a free end, pulling her arms about one of the roof posts, tied her hands together.
He then left, following Gorm, who had dragged Hilda from the hall.
She tried futilely to free herself. She looked at me, agonized. "Untie me," she begged.
I looked at her.
"My body wants you, Tarl Red Hair," she wept. "My body needs you!"
I looked away from her, paying her no more attention. I heard her moan, and rub her body on the post. "I need you Tarl Red Hair," she whimpered.
I would let her smolder for another Ahn or two. By that time her body would be ready. To my slightest touch it would leap, helpless, squirming, in my arms. I would use her twice, the second time in the lengthy use of the Gorean master, that use in which, over an Ahn, the female slave or bond-maid is shown no mercy.