by Jen Black
A numbing cold gripped Emer. The fleeting thought that she ought to ingratiate herself with Flane popped into her head, for he was the only person who could stop Katla carrying out her threats.
“I might ask when a longship will go to Skye,” Katla added with a malicious smile, “and get rid of you that way. Or I might choose to earn good silver by selling you to a passing trader. But as long as you are in this steading, you must work for your food.”
Emer could think of nothing to say. Her anger had gone, and left her feeling sick with despair. Flane was her only hope in this situation.
***
When Emer sat down to eat that evening, her fingers were sore from pushing a bone needle through fabric. All that afternoon she had stitched linen according to Katla’s instructions, even though she had confessed that sewing had never been one of her skills. The stitches came up uneven no matter how hard she tried, and she could never keep to a straight line. It had taken her two hours to stitch a hem. The moment Katla saw it, she ordered her to rip out the stitches.
Emer had never faced another woman’s jealousy. Here, in her father’s steading, Katla had the power to make Emer’s life a misery, and was exercising it. There were no weapons Emer could use in retaliation, and worst of all, she realised she had been naïve in thinking Katla would send her back to Pabaigh. The woman would simply sell her to a passing ship.
Emer broke her bread with trembling fingers, soaked up the juices and headed for the hall door the moment her platter was empty.
Flane caught her wrist as she passed by him. “Where are you going?”
“Katla has ordered me to sleep in a slave hut this evening. She does not like me sharing your bed space.”
He groaned, shut his eyes and pointed to the stool she had just vacated. “Sit. Katla cannot tell you what to do.”
She looked at him uncertainly. “But….”
“I will deal with Katla.”
He spoke firmly, and there was no doubt in his voice. Emer glanced over his shoulder, caught Katla’s furious glare and hastily got up again.
His palm on her arm stopped her. “Wait; listen to me. There are things you should know.”
Emer sank back to the stool one more, her hands curled into fists. Her skin rippled and shivered at the thought of all Katla’s hostility behind her.
Flane realised people listened to their conversation, and grasped her arm. “Come with me.”
He led her across the hall, pointed to his bed space and waited until Emer perched on the edge of his mattress. He frowned and stared at his nails, as if sorting words and phrases in his mind.
Emer waited anxiously.
He cleared his throat, kept his gaze on his nails, and spoke so softly Emer had to lean close to catch the words. “My parents died when I was Oli’s age.” He flicked a swift glance at her. “I was luckier than Oli, because my father and Skuli Grey Cloak were good friends. Skuli took me in and treated me as one of his family, and for that I owe him a great debt.” He shifted his weight from foot to foot, and finally looked her directly in the eye. “He longed for a son to follow him as chief of the steading, and I’m the nearest thing he has to a son. He hoped his daughter would agree to marry Snorri Longnose, but she wants to marry me. So to please Skuli, I have agreed to marry her.”
“Yes, I know. She told me.”
Flane’s jaws flexed and relaxed. “She tells everyone I agreed to marry her!” He slammed one clenched fist into the other palm so suddenly that Emer shrank back from him. “But by Thor! I’ve regretted it ever since, but how can I go back on my word? I feel obligated even though I know Skuli favours Snorri Longnose. It is only because Katla insists on me that Skuli agrees to it. Things were already complicated before ever I found you, but you have made the problem ten times worse.”
Emer caught her breath, intending to point out that it had been his decision to bring her from Dublin, but already he was speaking again.
“Marriage to her will bring me a great many good things. Gold, for a start, and a man will travel far after gold, as I’m sure you know. I would gain the leadership of this steading, and above all I will have a home and family of my own…all the things I lost when I was twelve years old.”
“Oh.” An image of Flane, long-legged and stick-thin, flashed across Emer’s thoughts. No wonder he looked after Oli. He knew exactly how the boy felt. The despair and loneliness she had felt these last few days was something Flane and Oli had known for years, always looking in, hoping for the warm acceptance she had lived with as her birthright. Emer swallowed around the lump that formed in her throat, and blinked more than once. Weeping over hurts long passed would be silly now.
“In a little while, once she and I are married, everything will become easier.” He eyed her carefully, as if checking her response. “Katla must defer to me then, and she will have to accept you.”
Emer shook her head in denial. “I disagree—”
“I want you as my bed slave,” he said sharply, cutting across her words. “She will accept you, because I wish it. There will be a place for you in my life. What’s the matter?”
Emer had tipped her head back and closed her eyes in rejection. At his question, she opened them and gazed at him. “If you think the prospect of life as your bed slave thrills me, I have to tell you it does not.”
“There’ll be no objection from anyone.” Impatience coloured his words.
Emer stabbed herself in the chest so hard it hurt. “I object, you selfish man! I am a free woman of my people, not your slave!”
If she’d spoken in a foreign language, he could not have looked more puzzled. “I paid good silver for you at Dublin. That makes you my slave.”
“But I should never have been there!” Pride and the injustice of it all lifted her to her feet to face him. “Do you think that bedding two women in the same household will bring a peaceful existence? She hates me already, and that will only get worse. She’ll fight me in every underhand way she can and you probably won’t even notice. Our children will be taking pot shots at each other with toy bows and arrows, and that’s if she doesn’t stab me one dark night before I have time to produce a child. It’ll be that, or she’ll poison me,” she added recklessly.
“She wouldn’t dare—”
“Of course she will. Every time you’re out of sight, she’ll attack me over some trivial thing.”
“Then she will be punished.”
“You won’t even know what she’s done unless I tell you. She won’t fight me like men would, out in the open for all to see. She’ll do it when you’re out hunting—”
“You have a fine imagination,” he scoffed.
“And you don’t know much about women!”
He gritted his teeth and glared at her for several moments. “You,” he said at last, “can go back to the slave market!”
“Well, isn’t that typical! Everyone has to warp their lives out of shape just so you can live yours the way you want it, Flane Ketilsson! What a hero you are!”
His hand jerked, and then halted. Had she been a man, he may well have hit her out of sheer frustration. His clenched jaw, compressed lips and hard stare turned her anger to fear in a heartbeat. He looked as if he wanted to say something, and then thought better of it, turned and stalked toward the hall doors.
Emer swallowed and sat down rather suddenly. Her hands trembled, and she felt winded, much like the day she fell from her galloping pony. Few people, she imagined, took such a tone to him. She had attacked and ridiculed him in the hall where their argument may well have been overheard and had very likely succeeded in alienating her only friend in the steading. In doing so, she had very likely sealed her own fate.
Folding her arms, she bent over and dipped her head toward her knees.
***
Flane strode down to the shore and let the night air cooled his skin. Clouds raced across the sky and the wind moaned through the trees behind the settlement. Out on the hillside a stag bellowed, and the near at hand th
e white ghost of a barn owl swooped silently across the thatched roof of the byre.
Emer had become a major problem in his life, and he’d begun to wish he’d ignored her sweet face and graceful limbs that day in the slave market. If he had, his life would be very much easier now. But something powerful had drawn him to her in spite of the fact that she brought him nothing. He kicked a stone across the water and watched silver rings erupt across the dark surface. He’d waited patiently, thinking Emer would see the reason for his marriage to Katla, that she’d come round and accept him.
The steading and Skuli’s gold would come with Katla. She was handsome, and would relish her position as wife of the chieftain; there was no doubt of that. But now he knew Emer, he saw in Katla things that worried him, such as her refusal to see his point of view, and her tendency to bully those around her. Especially Emer. She’d never taken the slightest interest in Oli, but Emer had taken to the lad right away.
He liked Emer’s honesty, and admired her courage in refusing to be his bed slave even though she had no real choice in the matter. He could return to the hall, take her right now and no one would lift a hand to stop him. She would complain, he thought ruefully. He’d never hear the end of it. She was such a wretched mix of bravery and naivety she never knew when to give in and accept things as they were.
Her eyes sparkled, her smile was a delight and she came of good stock. She wasn’t born to be a slave, she hadn’t accepted his plan, and it didn’t look as if she ever would.
Hadn’t he enough trouble with Katla? Skuli’s daughter wasn’t proving any easier to manage. She’d been furious when he’d brought Emer home from Dublin, threatening she would not marry him unless he got rid of the girl. He’d spent hours persuading her to accept Emer, but she was determined the girl should leave.
Emer should have been easier to persuade, since she had the most to lose, but she was as stubborn as Katla and refused to change her mind.
He snorted. It might be easier to get water to flow uphill.
***
Left alone in the hall, Emer wondered if she ought to go and sit in the dreadful slave cabin, or stay in Flane’s bed space. To make matters worse, before she made up her mind, Gamel wandered across the hall, leant against the partition wall and leered down at her. “Where’s Flane? Had an argument?”
He’d obviously been listening. “He’s gone out for a breath of air,” Emer said. “He’ll be back soon.”
“You two had an argument, didn’t you?”
Emer edged away from him. In a society where most folk had a bath once a week it was uncommon to find an individual who smelled as if he’d not bathed in a year. She refused to look at him, and breathed shallowly through her mouth.
Gamel’s ingratiating smile faded. “Think you’re too good for the likes of me, is that it? Too good to exchange a polite word?”
“My father is chieftain of a community. He taught me good manners.” She threw an unsmiling glance his way and took care not to let it linger. “I am tired, Gamel and I wish for peace and quiet.”
“You think too well of yourself for my liking,” he growled.
Her nerves, already worn thin by the exchange with Flane, snapped. “What is it you want, Gamel?”
“I wouldn’t mind wiping that proud look off your pretty little face. There’s all sorts of pleasures I could have with you.”
As a reminder that Flane was worth keeping as both friend and protector, Gamel’s coarse approach could not have been better timed. Gamel was nothing but an ugly man with few prospects, but he meant what he’d said. The blood drained from Emer’s face. “Flane would not allow it.”
Gamel’s snort was derisive. “If he is tired of you, you’ll come cheap.”
He leered as he spoke, and Emer felt sick. Without Flane, she would not survive in this place.
Oli raced across the hall toward her, with Skeggi trailing behind him. Lifting her hand, she waved and offered Skeggi a nervous smile. Oli jumped onto the bed beside her. Grendel leapt into her lap and licked her chin enthusiastically. A huge sense of relief flowed through her.
“Are you all right?” Oli scowled in Gamel’s direction.
“I am now!” Emer sagged against the wall, the black and white dog wriggling in her arms. “Grendel, stop!”
Skeggi looked at Gamel. “What are you doing here?”
Gamel grunted. “What’s it to you? Everyone knows he’s going to marry Katla.” He nodded at Emer. “She’s just a slave, like all the rest.” He slouched off, scowling, to his own place.
They watched him go. Emer whispered “Thank you. He frightened me, Skeggi. Is he quite normal?”
Skeggi shrugged. “He’s got a few grudges.”
“And he smells,” Oli chirped. “Well, he does. You know he does,” he added. “He always has.”
Emer couldn’t help but grin. “I have to agree. He does.” She gently punched Oli’s shoulder. “I’m so glad you came over to see me.” She smiled with real pleasure and relief. “I’m sure it was Grendel who scared him off!”
Over the boy’s head she met Skeggi’s warm glance. She knew who had really saved her.
Chapter Eight
“You, I think, will be working till dark.”
Emer recognised Katla’s voice, and looked around. Neatly dressed and with her hair gleaming in a loose fall held by carved ivory combs, the chieftain’s daughter stood at her shoulder, gloating.
“I know you are angry with me, but Flane ordered me to stay in the hall,” she said. It was the truth, Skeggi had insisted she obey Flane, and Oli and Grendel had shared the bed with her.
Katla eyes turned cold as she considered Emer. “You should have obeyed me.”
“Flane was not there. We were not together.” Emer emphasised the last word, thinking that if Katla knew Flane had not spent the night in the hall with her, she would not be so angry.
Katla’s gaze turned to the quern stone and the pitiful pile of flour Emer had produced that morning. “You are so very slow.”
Emer held on to her temper. “It is the work of slaves in our community,” she said. She’d had to watch the women around her, and imitate their movements as best she could, but her movements were clumsy and without the practiced rhythm of the other girls. Their baskets were almost full of flour.
“And as a slave, the work is now yours.”
Emer’s soft hands were tender, and already her shoulders ached. She blew on the palm of her hand to soothe it. “My hands are very sore already.” She held them out so Katla could see where blisters had formed.
“If you do it every day this week,” Katla scoffed, “you will improve.”
The other slaves kept their heads down and pushed the stones back and forth without a word. “I don’t think I’ll be able to,” Emer said.
She cast a weary glance at the other women. They talked to each other, but always in voices so low they excluded her, which added to her frustration and loneliness.
One of the older slaves got up, walked across the circle and peered down at the waiting basket of grain and the small heap of flour beside Emer. “Work harder, girl. The lady Katla is right; you need to put your back into it.”
“Keep an eye on her, Asta. I suspect she is lazy.” Katla nodded and strolled off toward the jetty, leaving Emer frowning after her. Asta prodded Emer with her toe and gestured that Emer should start milling again.
Emer licked the sore spot at the base of her thumb, offered Asta a tentative smile and grasped the wooden handle again. With every sweep of the quern stone the pain in her hand increased. She wrapped her skirt over her palm as padding, but the bulky material hampered her movements and the other women laughed at her. Head down, jaw set, she carried on.
Resentment burned deep in her heart. Katla and Flane between them were the cause of her misery. Flane had brought her here and disregarded her feelings at every turn. He’d injured Katla’s pride, so Katla vented her displeasure on Emer. Her thoughts ran in short, vicious snatches in time w
ith the sweep of the stones around her. Flane was the root of it all. Be his woman, indeed. The man never meant a word he said. Katla was welcome to him. Two selfish people should suit one another perfectly.
The blister tore across her palm. She cried out, sucked her hand and closed her eyes, rocking slightly at the raw, angry pain. Sweat rose along her hairline and she clamped her teeth together so she wouldn’t cry out again.
The slaves, smirking, watched her.
Emer gingerly unclenched her hand and looked down at the open wound.
“Put a rag around it.”
The matter of fact voice came from her left. “We’ve all gone through it,” the slim, auburn haired girl said without ceasing to push the handle. “Your hands will harden in a week or so.”
Emer groaned at the thought of another week at the quern stones, and the other girl smiled. “Slap some grease on it, tie a rag round it, and it’ll be all right.”
“Where will I get the grease?”
“From the kitchen. Ask Inga. She’ll know what you need.”
Emer smiled gratefully. “Thank you. I’ll do that now.”
She got up, stiff from sitting so long in one position and walked slowly to the back of the hall where she knew Inga and her friends worked. It was a warm day, and even though the doors on both sides of the room were open, the cooking fires made the air so hot Emer gasped as she walked inside. The mouth-watering smell of new bread made her stomach juices run.
“Well, my dear, what has happened now?”
Inga’s kind smile reminded her, as it always did, of her first day in Skuli’s Steading. Emer held out her hand. “Quern stones.”
Inga looked at her hands, nodded and reached for a jar on a ledge above her head. “Katla’s orders?”
Emer nodded, and flinched as Inga slapped semi-liquid grease over her palm. Expectation, she found, hurt more than the reality. Inga took a strip of clean linen from a basket, tied it around the wound and glanced at Emer’s pale face. “You should have done this before you started on the task.”
“I didn’t know…”
“Well, here…” Inga scooped up a gob of grease and slapped it into Emer’s left palm. “Protect that one before it goes the same way. Did you never use the quern stones at home?”