Claimed By A Viking

by T S Florence

  “Thank you for the food and water,” Hilda said, her mind whirling with the possibility of using this man to her advantage.

  “At least someone shows some appreciation here,” The man grumbled, looking up at her.

  “I recognise a good man when I see one,” Hilda smiled, putting her hand on the man’s arm.

  “Well, if you’re lucky, you’ll get to appreciate me well after you’re out of here,” he said, with a raspy voice, his sour breath invading her sense of smell.

  “Well, I would hope you would have a nice place for us to stay, if you were to purchase me,” Hilda said, fighting to keep herself from shying backwards.

  “I have a place up in the mountains,” He said with pride, pushing his chest out, as he locked the cage door.

  “Then maybe you could take both me and my cousin, Brenna,” Hilda reached through the bars, taking his hand.

  “I couldn’t afford both,” he grumbled.

  “Of course you could, you just need to make the money,” Hilda said.

  “And how would I do that?” He asked, looking at her suspiciously.

  “Your raiding party chieftain wouldn’t have split his gold yet, for he would be waiting to share it with the Earl tomorrow, on the market day,” Hilda said, confidently.

  “And?” He asked.

  “So you hedge your bets,” she replied.

  “What does that mean?” He asked.

  “Tell your leader that you would relinquish any rights to gold for the two of us, and we would make you far happier than any cold metal could,” She said, squeezing his hand through the bars.

  “Grim would likely listen to me,” he said, referring to his leader.

  “Well you’re a valued member of his viking clan, I’m sure he would grant you this small favour,” Hilda said, releasing his hand and stepping back.

  “If you both want me so badly, maybe I will do you this small kindness,” he said, enjoying his sudden importance.

  “You never told me your name,” Hilda gushed.

  “Dag,” he said.

  “Thank you for noticing us, Dag,” Hilda said, looking from Brenna’s bewildered face to Dag.

  “I can’t make any promises,” he said, looking the pair up and down, before scratching himself as he walked out of the room.

  Brenna gripped Hilda’s arm, staring at her wide-eyed “What in Odin’s name are you doing?” Brenna asked.

  “I’m getting us out of here,” Hilda said.

  “And how exactly to you propose to do that? By whoring our way out?” Brenna half shrieked.

  “Did you see how he walked?” Hilda asked.

  “I wasn’t paying attention,” Brenna said, folding her arms.

  Hilda smiled to herself, only now noticing that Brenna had found her voice, and was speaking her mind. A far cry from the dazed and quiet girl she had held on the boat during the rough storms.

  “Well, firstly, he was covered in hay and horse dung, so it is clear that his house is not in this village, but rather up in the mountains. I didn’t need him to tell me that to know it. And secondly, he walked with a bad limp. I doubt he could chase us for more than one hundred yards before he gave up,” Hilda said.

  “That’s impressive,” Brenna said, a smirk beginning to replace her bewildered expression.

  “I don’t find horse dung or a limp even mildly impressive, but each to their own,” Hilda smirked, as she began to hand out pieces of bread to the children and women, blessing the food silently, hoping that it would provide them with some protection from her god, the one true god.

  For the first time since she saw the boats approaching Fyrkat, Hilda felt a glimmer of hope.

  After a restless and broken sleep, Hilda woke the next day again before the others began to stir. She sat with her back against a dirty wall, picking at her fingernails as she waited for the door squeak open. She had put her only egg into the one basket that was available. Dag. She barely believed that the man could achieve the task of negotiating with a fierce chieftain, yet the hope for freedom and the belief that her god maybe was still watching over her made her jittery with energy.

  The squeak of the door took her energy away from her hands and drew her focus to the dirty man who stood in the doorway, fumbling with the keys in his hand. Dag. Brenna slowly lifted herself from the ground, and rested her back against the wall, next to Hilda. The noise of people gathering in the markets filled the room, as the Dag walked into the room.

  Hilda was too nervous to approach the gate, for the possible bad news would leave the two girls, destroyed. She would have liked to save every single one of the women and children that had been stolen from Fyrkat, but she knew it was an impossible task. Saving just one girl would be better than none at all.

  “Blondy,” he said, smiling at Hilda.

  “Good morning, Dag,” Hilda said, clutching at her stomach, in an attempt to calm the sick feeling that bubbled inside of her.

  “Good news,” he said.

  “Really?” She said her mouth falling agape, looking to him.

  “You’re coming with me today,” he said, puffing out his chest, as he fiddled with the lock to the cage.

  “I knew you could do it,” she said, walking towards him.

  “But not the dark-haired girl,” he sniffed, as he looked towards Brenna.

  Hilda’s hands fell from her chest down to her sides, in sync with the fall of her smile. “What do you mean?” Hilda asked.

  “Fyrkat didn’t exactly have a lot of gold, the real value is you lot,” he said, waving his hand over the women and children.

  “Surely there is something else you can use to negotiate with your leader? What about putting up your future earnings?” She asked, yet she knew that even Dag, the halfwit, would know better than to wager future earnings; for any raid would just as likely give a man incredible riches, as it would give him nothing at all, or worse, his death.

  “Don’t be ungrateful, slave” he grumbled, taken aback at her displeasure of his news.

  “Of course,” Hilda said, too ashamed to look at Brenna.

  Dag tied them with rope to one another, one by one, until they were all linked like a long chain, and led them out into the market. Men, women, and children, spoke excitedly to each other, as they pointed, talking of which slave they would like to purchase. Men walked forwards, feeling the women, looking at their stomachs to see if they had mothered children.

  One man went to touch Hilda, but Dag stopped him. “She’s mine,” he grumbled.

  “Don’t make the poor girl go with you, she could have a far better owner,” the man laughed in Dag’s face.

  “I made a deal with Grim,” Dag said, ignoring the jab.

  “What could you offer Grim?” The man asked, incredulously.

  “More than you,” Dag said.

  “Unlikely,” another man laughed at Dag, while staring at Hilda.

  The men’s eyes made her feel uncomfortable. She looked back to Brenna, who was staring at the ground, as if hoping that she would be forgotten by the excited crowd.

  “What about this one, then?” The man asked, as he yanked on Brenna’s arm.

  “What would your wife think?” Dag asked, skulking at the insults he had just suffered.

  “Why would I care what my wife thinks, they will both be lucky to share my bed,” the man said, full of self-importance.

  Brenna gripped Hilda’s hands; her eyes wide with fear.

  “It’s ok, don’t be scared” Hilda whispered as she fought tears; she wanted nothing more than to take Brenna and protect her from the horrible men.

  A huge man with bulging muscles and long dark hair climbed onto a platform to address the crowd.

  “For those of you who don’t know, I am Grim,” he boomed.

  The crowd cheered once he had said his name.

  “Anybody who wishes to purchase a slave must give their gold to me, personally. This money will go to making each and every one of us rich, and our small village will prosper,�
�� he shouted.

  Hilda looked around. The vikings who had seemed terrifying on the day that they had invaded did not seem so huge and terrifying now. In fact, most of them were smaller and skinnier than the average warrior she had seen come through Fyrkat over the years.

  This was a poor village, and the men in it weren’t real warriors; rather, they were desperate men who took opportunities like raiding unguarded villages, like Fyrkat. If Ragnar had been there with his men, Hilda knew that they would never have succeeded in raiding Fyrkat.

  Once Grim had finished speaking, men began to grab at Fyrkat’s women and children, arguing over why they should take a particular slave. Dag hastily untied Hilda, and she turned to hug Brenna, who was being pulled away by another man. They cried as they were broken from each other’s grip, and screamed at their new owners.

  “Hilda,” Brenna shrieked, as the man dragged her towards Grim, and offered him gold.

  “Hilda?” Dag said.

  “What?” Hilda said, wiping at her face.

  “I don’t like that name. I will think of a new one for you,” He said.

  Rage tightened her chest, yet she fought the urge to argue with him. If he wasn’t an incompetent simpleton, he would have been able to negotiate with Grim a deal that would have seen both her and Brenna go to the same place.

  He began to drag Hilda through the bustling, muddy pathways, but was interrupted by the sound of a horn. The long, low sound caused the streets to fall silent. It was the sound of the war horn.

  “Raiders,” a man shouted.

  Dag hurriedly turned around, hobbling back into the village, to get a better view of the incoming vikings. As they rounded a corner, Hilda saw 4 huge ships filled with warriors, all armed and wearing their war glory. The sound of their swords and axes and maces beating against their shields made a terrifying beat echo through the village.

  “We’re dead,” Dag said, hopelessly.

  Surely it was not Ragnar, Hilda thought. The chances that he had gotten the news, assembled such an army, and reached her was almost impossible. She was sure he had forgotten her, for he didn’t even care to come back to Fyrkat for his own mother’s death. She looked for his face amongst the men on the boats, but they were too far away.

  An enormous man with a huge brown bear skin draped over his shoulders stood on the bow of a boat, a sword in his hand. She knew it was not Ragnar, for even he was not the size of the man that was leading this group of raiding vikings. Hope left her heart, and she knew that if they were not taken unwillingly and then killed, she would simply go through another process of being sold.

  Ragnar

  Ragnar knew that he had found the right village. It was a pathetic mess of poverty and desperation. A village that had been started by a former farmer, no doubt, and the local men had taken to raiding nearby unguarded villages in an attempt to build wealth.

  The sound of his men singing their war songs as they beat their weapons against their shields filled him with excitement. His rage conflicted with nerves of uncertainty. He told himself that he would surely find Hilda here, but if he didn’t? He would continue ripping through every village, town and city until he found her. He would find the man who thought he could take her for his own, and he would erase him from the earth.

  A disarray of men bumping into each other and fumbling with their weapons and shields as they raced to the beach to meet them made Ragnar’s men laugh.

  “Do not laugh, and never underestimate,” Ragnar turned back to his men.

  “Victory or death, glory or Valhalla” Ragnar boomed.

  “Victory or death, glory or Valhalla” they began to chant.

  These words filled Ragnar with a firmness in resolution. Victory or death. Glory or Valhalla. He knew that today must be Victory. He knew this because if he went to Valhalla, he would never see Hilda again. She still worshipped her own god; at least, she did when he left her four years ago. She was as stubborn as a mule and he doubt she had changed. The thought of Hilda going to her own god in death sent a shiver down his spine.

  “Victory or death, glory or Valhalla,” Ragnar shouted, as he leaped down onto the sandy shore, and began striding towards the fearful farmers-turned-raiders that stood uncertainly on the beach.

  As Ragnar got closer, the men began to drop their weapons and get to their knees, but Ragnar was not here to hand out mercy. Ragnar was here to rain death down on those whose actions had taken away his sunny days and replaced them with dark clouds and rage. These men would pay the ultimate price for this. They would pay the blood price.

  He swung his axe out in front of him, taking the heads of two men, causing others to fall backwards in shock.

  “We surrender,” they begged.

  Ragnar’s men ignored their pleads for mercy, and put cold steel through their chests, causing the old men and women and children who watched to scream in sadness and fear.

  Ragnar could see that there was a sale of slaves taking place as they had arrived. This was a sign that he knew he was on the right track, if not already in the right place. He pushed through the crowds of people, ignoring the risk that any person could stick a blade into his heart or throat.

  “Hilda,” he screamed, as he towered over the top of the crowd, looking for her face. Sweat began to prickle through the skin on the back of his neck as he scanned the through the mass of people.

  He kept pushing through the crowd, looking at every blond head that he saw, hoping to see her face. The face that had occupied in his dreams from he day had met her all those years ago on the beach, the first time she had been taken for a slave.

  “Hilda,” he screamed again, pushing to the back of the crowd, as an unfamiliar feeling of fear began to take grip in his chest. But this was not a fear for his own life, but for Hilda’s.

  “Ragnar,” he heard the distantly familiar accented voice of his childhood friend.

  “Hilda,” He screamed, looking around to try and see where the voice had come from.

  “Ragnar, over here,” he turned and saw her as she struggled against a feeble looking man whose white knuckles wrapped against the rope that was tied to her waist.

  He began striding towards them, the mass of people was thinner at the back of the crowd, allowing him to pick up his pace. His hand gripped tight around the hilt of his sword, and he locked eyes with the man who had obviously just attempted to claim Hilda for his own.

  “She is mine,” Ragnar growled like a rabid bear, as he broke into a quick jog.

  He looked at Hilda, and she had changed from a pretty girl into a captivatingly beautiful young woman. Her golden hair draped down the sides of her face, which was marred by dirt. Her eyes glistened as brightly and defiantly as ever, and he could see that his father had not made her work hard in the fields in the years that he had been gone. The sight of her beauty almost stopped him in his tracks, but the rage that had been building over the last weeks won over.

  “He doesn’t need to die,” she said, looking to Ragnar with pleading eyes.

  Ragnar could not stop himself. Rage had taken over; the black clouds that had hovered over his head since the moment he had heard the news had now erupted with thunder and lightning, with Thor beating inside of his head.

  “Ragnar, No!” Hilda shouted at him, but it was too late.

  He swung his sword down at the wide-eyed man, who had pathetically held onto the rope until his last dying breath. The huge sword made it half way through his skull, and he hands fell from the rope.

  “What did you do that for,” Hilda screamed, swinging her tied hands at his chest.

  “I just saved your life, girl,” Ragnar growled, taking her hands.

  “I didn’t ask you to save me,” she clipped.

  Ragnar had played this moment over in his head a thousand times. He dreamed of tears of happiness and a warm embrace and stories from their years apart, but instead she greeted him with disdain. The dark clouds did not clear like he hoped they would, but the thunder and lightning had roar
ed on, with the death of the man who had thought he could claim Hilda for his own.

  Hilda

  Ragnar stormed towards his boat, pulling Hilda along behind him by the rope that tied her hands. “You didn’t need to kill him,” Hilda said, as she stumbled behind Ragnar. The relief that Hilda first felt when she heard Ragnar’s voice above the shrieking of the crowd was soon replaced by sadness and anger when she watched the weak man, Dag, get killed by Ragnar.