by Susan Wright
As I stopped struggling, it was easier to bear. Paring away everything else but the pleasure, I found myself again. My gift would carry me through even this.
Barissa was summoned that evening to the main hall to serve Lexander. The last time Lexander had joined with me had been in Tillfallvik, so it wasn’t just the stabs of pain from my welts that kept me up that night.
My one consolation was that I was finally given leggings and a tunic to wear, so I was much warmer. The cloth was thick, matted wool, beaten and shrunk, then clipped to a velvety texture. My tunic was dark gray, with maroon sleeves and leggings. Our bedding was a thin blanket for each slave, and we slept on the ground.
I woke with the cacophony of bells ringing periodically throughout the night from the Kristna sanctuaries, calling the followers to prayers. I kept starting up, fearing there was a fire, but the other slaves ignored it. Somehow, the bells had not been as frightening when I was sleeping on the knaar.
Barissa didn’t return until long after dawn. She was satiated and pleased with herself. The loose tunic showed reddened marks on the curve of her neck. Going closer, I saw she had been bitten several times, probably during a sound rutting with Lexander.
My fists clenched in jealousy. Lexander may have intended to taunt his hosts by so visibly marking their prize slave, but he must have known I would see it, too. I was reminded unpleasantly of my competition with Qamaniq for Lexander’s attention. Yet I also knew that I would be safer if he didn’t show interest in me. Ukerald would enjoy exploiting that.
Then we suffered through another pose session with Ukerald. He didn’t hesitate to expose my buttocks and back to administer more lashes. He also rutted with me again, though I couldn’t tell what pleasure he got from it. He didn’t peak with me or any of the other slaves.
I endured it better now because I gained satisfaction from mere acceptance. It was a simple joy, but real nonetheless.
It sustained me through another day without Lexander. My opinion of Ukerald and Drucelli was confirmed by their many cruelties, both mean and petty. I suspected that Ukerald was drawing evil spirits to Becksbury, much like Helanas had done. Their foul miasma crept along the ground, repelling most of the olfs.
So I was grateful when the huscarl appeared and announced my name to help serve the evening meal. I eagerly followed the other two slaves, taking deep breaths of fresh air. After the dingy hall with only the privy walls for variation, it was a wonder the slaves had not gone mad.
My first sight of Lexander made my heart leap, but I forced myself not to reveal one bit of emotion. I carried a platter of flat bread high and set it on the table between Drucelli and Ukerald, then retreated to the kitchen for another burden.
It was only on my return that I noticed Lexander was wearing new garments in the Danelaw style. The cloth of his tunic was brightly embroidered, while his mantle was a vibrant yellow. The brooch on his shoulder sparkled with colored jewels. The style suited him. Outwardly he appeared relaxed, but a line appeared between his brows.
"How is she compared to your slaves?" Lexander asked casually, leaning over to carve a hunk of meat off a spitted bird.
"She does well enough," Ukerald said grudgingly.
Lexander shrugged. "I should attend one of your training sessions to see your technique."
I quailed at the thought of Lexander watching Ukerald abuse me. But the master lowered his eyelids, the closest he came to a nod.
Drucelli trilled a laugh, and agreed. "It would be enlightening, I’m sure."
Lexander held his goblet for me to fill with wine. I poured without spilling a drop. I wanted to touch his hand, to feel his skin against mine if only for a moment, but I dared not.
I knelt behind him, my knees crunching on bones and bits of food they had tossed on the floor for the dogs. The conversation fell around me like water on parched ground. Lexander asked a good many questions about the situation in Danelaw and the Frankish lands across the strait. Ukerald was not talkative, but Drucelli was eager to please him. She explained that the people of Danelaw did not desire a Frankish overlord, and some were organizing a revolt under Swegn, king of northern Auldland. The conqueror had bestowed huge sections of Danelaw on his half brothers and friends, usurping the true jarls. In some places, the conqueror had taken members of the gentry hostage to ensure their families’ obedience. That was why Birgir and his warband had come to Markland, fleeing Danelaw after it had been taken over by the Frankish invaders.
"But I understand these Franks," Drucelli assured him. "Before I came here, I was mistress of Montplaire. In the Twelve Towns of Lutece—have you been there?"
"No," Lexander demurred. "But the Frankish lands are said to be charming."
With his encouragement, Drucelli poured out all she knew as they drank the wine. I increasingly struggled to follow their words. My body ached from the unaccustomed use, and fatigue was setting in. Being so close to Lexander made me feel safe, so the edge of terror that had kept me alert began to wane.
My hand slipped from my thigh and I lurched to one side. I realized I had almost dozed off. I righted myself, looking at Lexander, of course. But it was Ukerald who beckoned me to stand.
I went to him, avoiding Lexander’s eyes. Ukerald didn’t say a word as he pushed me over the table and pulled down my leggings. I was thankful that it was too dim for Lexander to see the welts that crossed my skin.
Ukerald remained seated as he swished the cane through the air. As it landed, I did everything I could to keep from crying out. I didn’t want Lexander to see how badly it hurt. My fingers clutched at the wood slats of the table, feeling the crumbs and spilled liquid from their feast. All I could see for a moment were red spots.
"Return to your position," Ukerald ordered, setting down the cane.
I pulled up my leggings and turned. Lexander barely moved his lips. "That’s an unusual form of chastisement."
Ukerald shrugged, but he was watching Lexander closely. I was a pawn being played between them. Lexander’s hand was clenched, the only outward sign of his distress.
Drucelli laughed and leaned over Lexander, squeezing his arm. "Ukerald is harsher with the slaves than I. They are always eager to please me."
I gingerly settled down on my heels. Now there was no risk of dozing off, not with this new lash throbbing.
I didn’t have to last for long. Soon after, Lexander set down his goblet, ignoring several hints from Drucelli that they should adjourn to her private chamber in the rear of the hall. Ukerald merely watched them.
"Marja, you’ll accompany me," Lexander announced as he pushed back from the table.
I stood up demurely, hiding my elation. I wouldn’t have to face Ukerald tonight. Drucelli pouted, clearly annoyed.
I followed two paces behind as Lexander left, lighting his way through the misty night with a candle. He entered a small house I had not seen in the rear of the compound. It had one narrow room, with a fire in the center hearth and a bed tucked under the slanting ceiling. The moist air seeped through the chinks in the wall.
Lexander put down the latch and placed a crossbar over the door. There were no windows. He stirred the fire and added two more logs.
His voice was low to keep anyone outside from hearing. "What have they done to you, Marja?"
"We’ve had training sessions in the poses and sensual arts. Other than that, we’re left alone in the slave hall."
Lexander stepped closer. "He’s been striking you?"
I lifted one shoulder reluctantly. "Surely you’ve seen Ukerald use the cane."
"Only once. I thought it was for a serious infraction."
"’Twas nothing I could not bear. But we must save these slaves, Lexander. Ukerald and Drucelli are worse even than Helanas."
His eyes narrowed, and he turned me so my back was to the flames. He raised my tunic and pulled down my leggings.
"No!" he cried out in a strangled voice.
The welts looked ugly on the other slaves. The vivid red lines
were edged with blue and purple bruises on either side. I had a dozen deep marks by now, and some crossed. Where that had happened, my flesh stung with every movement. Some still oozed, with bits of fuzz from my leggings sticking to the wounds.
In the silence, his fingers brushed against my skin. I could sense his worry and fear boiling to the surface. I suddenly felt powerless and small, consumed by a long-familiar rage at my own weakness. It took a few moments before I realized these were Lexander’s feelings, not mine.
"I didn’t know," Lexander swore. He picked me up and carried me to his bed, where he eased me down, facing away from him. He carefully washed my back, the cloth stroking every welt, sending fire sizzling through me. The marks on my lower back and thighs were the worst. "I thought those canes were an affectation, used for intimidation. Not this, never this . . ."
He fetched a jar of salve from a shelf and dabbed it on me. The cool gel made me sigh as it soothed the burning. Then he wrapped me in a sheet of finely woven cloth and pulled the fur coverlet over me.
His touch was so sweet that I almost drifted off. But muffled sounds roused me.
I blinked in the low ruddy light. Lexander was on the floor, resting his head on the bed. His shoulders were shaking.
"No, Lexander," I murmured, caressing his head. "I was willing. We had to see how they treated their slaves."
He raised his face, wet with tears. It was a shock. Once before I had seen a tear fall from his golden eyes, but he had sought to hide it from me. Now he cried outright, overflowing with grief.
I sat up, putting my arms around him. He clutched my waist, his head in my lap, as he struggled to stop.
It tore my heart to see his agony. I stroked him, murmuring endearments.
With his voice cracking, Lexander insisted, "I must take you away now, tonight, Marja."
"No!" I cried. "These masters must be stopped, Lexander. You’ve not seen the worst of it. Ukerald hit Olvid so hard that now she falls into fits. And Matteus can hardly speak, he’s so terrified."
He raised his face, letting me see how he could not abide it. "I cannot watch them hurt you, Marja. I cannot . . ."
He dropped his head in my lap, and I could do nothing but stroke him, holding on as tightly as I could. With a terrible foreboding, I realized I was asking too much of him.
7
I slept that night in his arms, and the knot of fear that had taken root inside of me began to ease. Lexander’s touch told me that he would not let Ukerald hurt me again.
By the early-morning bells there were several olfs clustered in the room with us. They responded to the purity of our feelings for each other, despite their reluctance to be near Lexander. Indeed, I could hardly believe that he had shown his anguish to me. It made me love him all the more.
Lexander waited until I woke before gently pulling away. He dressed quickly.
I smiled up at him, but something had shifted inside of him. The olfs disappeared even as I recognized it— his eyes were hard and the multicolored flecks glittered brightly within the gold. He had looked the same after he had cut off Helanas’ head with the sword he was now buckling to his waist.
"You’re going to kill him." I sat up, letting the blanket slip from my bare shoulders.
"Of that, there is no doubt." He considered me. "But if I slew them both now, other masters would be sent in their place. I must devise a way to destroy this house completely, so another will not be raised."
I was pleased to see his fury checked by forethought, though even greater destruction was his goal. "I agree."
"And you’ll not suffer anymore," he said sharply.
It was not his words but the thought of how he had cried last night that stopped my protest. In truth, I didn’t have to share in the slaves’ agony in order to help them. "I’ll not leave Becksbury. There must be some way I can remain here with you."
"Perhaps, but no master should be possessive of their slaves. That is our cardinal rule, for we are training you for others. Yet I cannot allow Ukerald to dominate me through you."
"I thought that was his intent."
"I shall respond in kind, and use you against him." Lexander came over and sat down beside me. His arm braced my back, and I gingerly leaned into him, looking up.
His fingers touched my face, stroking me lightly, as if to truly caress me would make him lose control again. I could feel the desire, but he was holding back for fear of being overwhelmed by loving me.
I kissed his fingertips. "I will do whatever I must," I murmured.
His arms tightened on me. I thrilled to his possessive hold, and he responded. He pulled my head back, his breath on my cheek. "My own beloved . . ."
I leaned up to meet his lips and we clung to each other.
"Are you ready?" Lexander asked me. "You must display no emotion, no matter what happens."
I took a deep breath. "Yes."
We were finally united in our purpose. He gave me a kiss on the top of my head. I was startled by the gentle caress, the kind one would give a child. He was telling me without words that he would take care of me.
We left for the main hall in correct master-slave mode. The table was littered with the remains of the morning meal for Ukerald and Drucelli. Poor Olvid was naked and chained to the post as she was each night. She had still not bathed, so the grime on her was even thicker. Two of the house dogs were lying nearby and she tried to reach out to them, mouthing words as she did with the olfs, despite their abrupt snarls and snaps at her hand. Several olfs drifted over and she shifted her attention to them.
Lexander marched down the hall and stood over the table with his hands on his hips. "Marja," he ordered. "Remove your clothes."
He had not told me what he intended, which was just as well. I gracefully removed my tunic and leggings and joined Lexander at his curt gesture.
"Turn around," he ordered. I obeyed so I faced away from Ukerald and Drucelli.
"So?" Ukerald drawled.
Drucelli hastened to explain away the beating. "Don’t worry, Lexander. The marks fade much quicker than you expect. Even if the ship arrives tomorrow, she’ll be perfectly healed by the time you reach Stanbulin."
"I needed her to be pristine now," Lexander insisted. "One or two welts I could countenance, but this makes her unappealing to all except the most confirmed sadist. Surely you’re aware of that."
I stood in the bojakna pose, with one hip higher than the other, gazing down and off to one side. They were behind me and I could only see Olvid. Feeling Ukerald’s eyes on me made me shiver.
"Why do you want her to be unmarked?" Ukerald inquired.
"I intend to use this slave to bribe my way to Stanbulin. Coins are easily taken, but pleasure is far more powerful. As you’ve seen for yourself, she is of the highest quality."
"She is superior indeed," Drucelli smoothly reassured him. "An example for the other slaves."
Lexander continued, as if Drucelli hadn’t spoken, "She will remain with me from now on."
"At all times?" Ukerald asked. "Surely that is excessive."
I remembered how Lexander had spoken as he challenged Ketil to a duel. He sounded the same way now—like a sword being unsheathed. "Perhaps that will prevent excessive marking of this slave."
He waited a few beats, as I held my breath. I couldn’t hear Drucelli and wondered if she was also holding her breath. The tension that swirled in the hall intensified. The olfs ricocheted from the walls to the ceiling, diving through the thatch to avoid the ill feelings.
Olvid suddenly cried out, her hands to her head. "Stop it, don’t make them go! Please don’t!"
She flopped down and began shaking in every limb. Her tongue protruded, and without the other slaves to hold her down, she thrashed uncontrollably. The dogs leaped up and began growling at her, their hackles raised.
The olfs couldn’t take it. The last of them vanished, along with much of the light.
"That one should be put down," Ukerald said behind me.
Dr
ucelli retorted, "But you enjoy toying with her so much."
They both did. Ukerald drew the demons to Becksbury, but Drucelli was hardly better in her disregard for everything but her own pleasure.
Olvid was still jerking and shaking, but her fit was starting to ease. I wished I could help her, even if it was only to stroke her hair to soothe her final tremors.
Lexander sounded perfectly at ease. "Come, Marja, I have an appointment to keep."
I refrained from glancing back at Ukerald as I followed, still holding my clothes. I couldn’t keep up with Lexander’s long-legged strides. Olvid lay unnoticed as the scrape of the bench against the ground indicated that Ukerald was done with his meal.
I didn’t need to see Ukerald’s expression to know that I could never bear to be alone with him again.
I accompanied Lexander back to his chamber, where he produced my crimson dress and Thule boots.
"Oh!" I cried out, clapping my hands. I had thought I would never see Silveta’s gift again. I had refused to think about it. As a slave, nothing was my own.
Lexander’s expression eased as I tore off the tunic and leggings and slid into the fine wool dress. "You are so easily pleased."
With that, he pulled out the chain with the gold teardrops along its length. He looped it around my waist, caressing my hips as he did.
I was so delighted that we were together again that I could have joined with him right then. But Lexander warded me off by handing me my cloak. "I’ll explain what I’ve discovered on the way."
We left the manor, and Lexander lent me his arm as we made our way over the slippery cobblestones. "Ukerald may send one of his servants to follow us and report back on what we do. You must act as my slave at all times."
"I understand." I resisted the urge to look behind me.
"I’m hoping the blockade is broken soon so the ship from Stanbulin can arrive. The shipmaster would be able to tell me of a dozen houses, at least. Except for Drucelli’s description of the Montplaire house, I’ve discovered little I didn’t already know."