They were led through a gate and into the centre of an open space surrounded by dwellings which were long and square, not round, as Niamh was used to. Groups of women and children watched as they were urged forwards. One or two of the watchers jeered at them, while others pointed and obviously talked about them. Among the group was a tall and stately blond woman who seemed to be better dressed than the rest. She caught Niamh’s attention, both for her beauty and the fineness of her clothing. Niamh wondered who she was.
As they approached one of the houses, someone gripped Niamh and pulled her out of the line. She looked up into the face of her captor. As she did so, she heard a hiss behind her. She turned and saw the blond woman standing near to them. The woman said something to her captor, with unmistakable anger in her voice. He replied in the same tone and shrugged his shoulders. The woman started forward with her hand upraised. He caught it and spoke so menacingly that she spun around on her heel and flounced away.
“Come,” her captor said. Niamh started to tremble uncontrollably. “No fear. Not harm.” He led her into another longhouse. The place was smoky. Three fires burned down the length of the single room, giving a little light. An older woman with greying hair stood up from where she had been stirring a pot hanging above the flames and came towards them. Niamh’s captor said something to her and she replied, nodding her head.
“Go... Kadlin.” He pointed and the woman beckoned to her. Niamh forced herself to follow. She wondered what was about to happen now. Hide curtains divided the long room into sections and the woman took her into one of these. Niamh was given water to wash and a carved bone comb to tidy her hair. Then the woman rummaged in a pile and held out a tunic to her, gesturing that she should put it on. The garment was worn, but better than the one that she had on, which was torn and filthy. Showing a surprising delicacy, the woman turned away and left Niamh to change in some sort of privacy. Niamh was deeply thankful not to have been searched. She still had the purse that held her jewellery. She looked around for somewhere to conceal it. At first she could see nowhere and then she noticed some boxes set near the walls in the alcove. Opening the lid of one of these, she saw that it held grain and was almost full. It was not a good hiding place, but there was no other, so she thrust her purse to the bottom of the box. She shook her hands and arm free of the grains, in order that they should not betray her and brushed off her skirt. When she had finished washing her face, changing her clothes and combing her hair, she did not know what to do next. She could sit down and wait, or go and find out. The hide curtains suddenly seemed like a trap. Greatly daring, Niamh left their cover and walked over to the woman by the fire, who was no longer alone. A heavily pregnant woman sat beside her, holding a small child in her arms. The pregnant woman gestured to Niamh to join them.
“I am Eithne,” she said, in the common tongue Niamh had used all her life, “this is Kadlin.” She pointed to the woman who had given Niamh the water and the comb. “She doesn’t speak our language well, so she asked me to help her. Kadlin is Olaf’s mother.”
“I am Ana, but who is Olaf?”
“The man who brought you here. He’s claimed you as part of his share in this voyage, so you belong to him now.” Niamh nodded. She had expected no less. “Think yourself lucky,” Eithne continued. "He’s better than most and will not be a hard master to serve, for he’s a pleasant man. My man, Mar, is his brother and this is Thorfinn, our son.” Kadlin said something to her and Eithne replied.
“Now you will learn your first word in the Lothlind’s speech. It is ‘ya’ which means ‘yes’. Kadlin reminds me that the men will be here soon and expecting to be fed. Come with me and I’ll show you where things are kept. You can carry those I can no longer manage.” She grinned and Niamh, in spite of her uneasiness, could not help smiling back at her.
The next hour was very busy. Bread had to be baked, ale fetched, stew stirred and a space for eating tidied up. More women joined them. A few of them also spoke to Niamh in her own language. She stuck close to Eithne, though, both for protection and because the woman really did need her help. Niamh did as she was told, although she was achingly tired and very scared.
The men came in laughing and joking. Eithne put a jug into Niamh’s hand and pushed her in Olaf’s direction.
“Go fill his horn. Let him see that you’re a good worker,” she said.
“What if he speaks to me? I won’t know how to answer him.”
Eithne giggled. “You know the only word you’ll need. Just reply ‘yes’ to anything he says and you won’t go wrong.”
So Niamh carried the ale and served Olaf and his companions. He did speak to her, but she just smiled at him and did not reply. Things seemed to be going better than she had feared, but then everything changed.
The blond woman was among the other servers. She kept looking at Niamh and scowling.
“Who is that woman?” Niamh asked Eithne.
“Oh her.” Eithne shrugged. “Her name’s Kolgrimma.”
“She keeps frowning at me and I’ve only ever seen her once before. What have I done to offend her?”
“Nothing. She takes offence easily. She used to be Olaf’s woman a long time ago and she’s been trying to get him back ever since. They had another big row a few weeks before the raid and he rejected her publicly. He’s not stupid enough to take up with her again. Perhaps she sees you as a rival.”
“Me? A slave? She must be rich and a Lothlind like them.”
“Ask yourself what she’s done to get those riches.”
“Wasn’t she born to them?”
“Not her. That’s one of the reasons Olaf rejected her. He’s fussy and doesn’t like to share his women.”
“I see.”
“That one’s a whore and she’s mean. Avoid her.”
“She can have him for all I care.”
“Shut up!” Eithne bent closer and hissed in her ear. “Don’t say things like that where people can hear you and tell Olaf what you said. You don’t have a choice in the matter and neither did I, when I was captured and brought here. Make the best of it as I did. I was lucky — Mar’s a good man and has given me a fine son. Olaf’s like his brother and knows better than to beat a woman senseless for some trivial fault, not like some. Pray he keeps you and doesn’t sell you to someone else.”
Niamh was serving the men at Olaf’s table when Kolgrimma came up behind her and deliberately bumped into her, causing her to spill the ale jug all over one of the warriors who was sitting there. He jumped up with an oath and raised his hand to punch her when he was seized from behind. Olaf stood there, holding his arm. Olaf pointed to Kolgrimma and spoke angrily to the man he held. The smirk on Kolgrimma’s face vanished at Olaf’s words and she fled away out of the house. The warrior shrugged off Olaf’s hand, said something and raced after her. The other men cheered the chase, but no one else bothered to follow. Kolgrimma and the warrior vanished for the rest of the evening.
Olaf sat down again and Niamh hurried away, seemingly to get her jug refilled, but really to get her breath back and to find out from Eithne what had just happened.
“You were lucky that Olaf saw Kolgrimma push you,” Eithne told her. “Onarr would have beaten you within an inch of your life if it had been your fault. Now it’s Kolgrimma who’ll be wearing the welts instead. She won’t thank you for them, even though she deserves a beating. Better get back now; otherwise you’ll be in more trouble.”
Niamh nodded, though she was still quaking inside. She served at another table for a while, but she made sure she filled Olaf’s horn when it was empty and those of his companions as well. She could not help noticing that Olaf rarely took his eyes off her as she moved to and fro. Nothing happened for almost an hour, except drinking, shouting and loud laughter. She was beginning to relax when she came to serve Olaf again and one of the men sitting near him caught her by her long braid so that she stopped abruptly. The man said something and the others howled. Then he pointed to Kadlin and they laughed again. Olaf s
prang to his feet, holding his dagger towards the man’s chest. He muttered something and the man released her with a jerk. She almost fell backwards but he caught and steadied her. He gestured for her to leave him and she hurried away to Eithne’s side, realising that everyone in the room was watching them.
“What did that man say about me?” Niamh asked Eithne, breathlessly.
“He said you had the same coloured hair as Kadlin did when she was young and he asked Olaf if that was why he wanted you. So he could fuck his own mother.”
Niamh almost choked at the insult and turned frightened eyes to Olaf.
“And what did Olaf say?”
“He said his reasons were his own, but he told Abi to show more respect for Kadlin or he would make him smart for it. Then he ordered him to let you go. He also said that he claimed you and Abi had better leave you alone if he didn’t want to get into a fight. Abi’s never won against Olaf, so I doubt he’ll take the chance.”
She was right. Both men were sitting down and drinking again, almost as if the incident was forgotten. Yet Niamh noticed that they kept glancing at each other, turning away abruptly if they thought they had been seen.
“Are they always like this?” Niamh asked, still shuddering with shock and fright.
“After a successful voyage and most of the other times too.” Eithne took Niamh’s jug off her and put it down. “You’ve escaped twice this evening. Don’t chance your luck a third time. Creep off somewhere and wait till they’re all snoring. You won’t be missed. They’re past noticing who’s here and who’s not by now. You can come out later and sleep with me. Mar won’t be in any fit state to be bothered tonight and neither will Olaf. Go away and hide.”
Niamh curled herself into a ball behind some chests and spent the rest of the evening in a kind of numb apprehension. Despite what Eithne had said, she expected to be summoned to Olaf’s bed, but the summons did not come. He, like the rest of the men, drank so much of the strong ale that they fell asleep where they sat. None of them stirred until the morning. When the fires had died down and everything was silent, except for the snoring of drunken bodies, Niamh crept from her hiding place and found Eithne. She lay down in Mar’s place and immediately fell into an exhausted sleep.
Next morning, Olaf did not seek her out as she expected. Nor was she put among the other captives taken on the raid. They had all been divided up among the men who had captured them, like the rest of the animals and goods that had been looted. She saw them occasionally but, since she knew none of them, they had little to say to each other. Brother Lasair, Glasan and Tuda were not among them and she was sure now that these good men had been slain. She said prayers for their souls in the way the nuns had taught her and hoped it helped.
Niamh spent most of her time with Eithne and Kadlin. She was given the usual unpleasant tasks which any slave would be expected to do, such as cleaning up the privies and the vomit left by drunken men. She also helped Eithne, who struggled in the late stages of her pregnancy. The woman was grateful, not demanding assistance as her due, although she was now a warrior’s wife with status in the rath. She remembered her own early days of captivity and treated Niamh kindly, as she had been treated by some of the other captive women at that time.
The next few days passed without Niamh setting eyes on Olaf. When she asked, she was told he was away trading, but would be back soon. This news made her stick even closer to Eithne’s side and near to Olaf’s mother. There was no one to fight her battles for her if she got into any more trouble and she found, with surprise, that she missed his reassuring presence.
She lived through the days and hours in a haze of tiredness and hard work. Niamh thought it fortunate that her previous life had obviously not been one of privilege. She had always had tasks to do and was sufficiently skilled to complete them with a certain amount of ease. She wasn't aware that she was being watched, until Eithne said to her,
“Kadlin says you are a good worker and Olaf did well to keep you, rather than some of the lazy trollops they captured this time.” Niamh whirled round to look at Kadlin but there was no smile on the old woman’s face, only a knowing gleam in her eye. “All you have to do now is give her many grandsons,” Eithne continued. “Then you will have won your place here and no one will challenge you again.”
Her words reminded Niamh of Kolgrimma, whom no one had seen since she rushed out of the hall. The rumour was that she was still very sore and licking her wounds in private. Indeed, when Niamh saw her at last, she was walking awkwardly on stiffened legs.
“He used his belt on her and he didn’t stop until he beat her senseless,” Eithne whispered. “She was lucky he didn’t kill her.”
“Just for spilling some ale on him?”
“And making a fool of him in front of the others.”
“Can he do that? She’s not a slave like me.”
“He can and he did. No one’s going to argue with him or take her side. She forfeited her birthright when she turned herself into a whore to make herself richer, when her first lover cast her off. Watch out for her now. She blames you for the beating and she’ll find a way of making you pay, that’s for sure.”
Niamh was careful and her early training, which she was beginning to remember in flashes, stood her in good stead. She kept out of the way if she saw Kolgrimma anywhere near her. The woman made no move, except for looking at her. Niamh thought perhaps she was still in pain and waiting until she was well before she tried anything else. Especially since her last attempt had ended so disastrously. It was a fragile peace and unlikely to last long, but Niamh was glad to have time to get used to her new surroundings without having to cope with the woman’s enmity as well.
During those days, Niamh learned a few more words in the Norsemen’s language. ‘Nei’ which meant ‘no’; ‘takk’ which meant ‘thanks’; ‘dagr’ for ‘day’; natt for night; ‘fadir’ for ‘father’ and ‘modir’ for ‘mother’. Now she added a new word ‘hora’ for whore, thinking it might come in useful if Kolgrimma ever confronted her. Without Eithne, she would often have been lost but the woman stayed and helped her. Their days fell into a pattern, preparing meals, washing, sewing, tending the animals, serving the men folk when they ate. Abi never molested her again, although he frowned at her whenever she poured his ale. She asked Eithne about it.
“Olaf told him to leave you alone unless he wanted to fight for you. Olaf’s a strong fighter and not one to challenge unnecessarily, so Abi backed down. I’d watch him though. He’s a sly one and doesn’t forget.”
“Like Kolgrimma.”
“Exactly like Kolgrimma.”
“I seem to make enemies without intending to.”
“Easy to do here, or anywhere else for that matter.”
On the sixth day of her captivity, Niamh was fetching water from the well when Olaf pushed through the crowd of women, took her arm and said, “Come.” She put down her bucket and went with him, surrounded by the giggles and the knowing looks from the onlookers. She felt both shy and apprehensive at the same time. Except for the first night, she had not seen or spoken to him again. She kept sneaking glances at him and he was good to look at. He was tall, not as tall as some of the others, but taller than most men in her own country. His hair and moustache were a paler gold than hers, almost white, and his eyes so dark a blue they seemed to be black. He was strongly muscled yet he strode forwards with a certain wiry grace.
When he caught her looking at him and smiled, bright blood flooded into Niamh’s cheeks. Eithne once told her, with a giggle, “If Olaf’s as good as his brother in bed, you won’t regret being captured. I don’t any more.” Niamh blushed even harder at the memory. As she walked beside him, Niamh wondered if she was about to find out whether Eithne’s words were true. Olaf passed by the door of the longhouse and out to the stables. Two horses were tied to an outside rail, already harnessed and waiting.
Olaf boosted her onto the smaller beast and swung himself up on the other. “Foll-ow,” he said, stumbling on
the word and turning his horse towards the gate. The guard called something out to him, as they clattered down the ramp that led down to the causeway. Olaf only replied with a wave and a laugh. At first, Niamh had much to do, riding a strange horse on a road she did not know. The pace Olaf set was swift and it was a while before she felt confident enough to look around her. Then she glanced back. The place where she had been these last few days was not unlike those she remembered. It had walls of sharpened tree trunks, surrounding the houses and pens for the animals. It was also on top of a hill, but the difference was that this hill was the summit of a small island. The ramp that they had ridden over was the only way to reach the island and it was constructed to be taken away if an enemy threatened. A bay opened out on one side of the rath, with a river curving back into the land. Dotted on the slopes on the other side of the river were one or two roundhouses, such as her own people built. One of them looked as if it had been damaged by fire and another looked newly thatched. Niamh shivered. There had been fighting and much damage in this place not so long ago, even though it seemed peaceful enough now.
Olaf was riding freely, as if he feared no attack, although, like all warriors, he carried his weapons with him. They came to a shallow ford and Olaf urged his mount into the water, starting to canter on the other side. Niamh quickly realised that he was heading up into the hills. She followed obediently. Olaf did not draw rein until they were on the other side of the slope. Then he led her down through the heather and bracken to a beach of fine white sand. A river gurgled on one side and here he dismounted, motioning her to do the same. He untacked his beast and she untacked hers. The horses rolled on their backs as soon as they were freed and Niamh smiled to see them. Then they went to drink in the water, which was clear but with little grains of sand caught in the flow. Olaf spread his cloak upon the ground. He came over to her and she shrank back, realising how very tall and strong he was. But his hands were gentle as he reached for the thong that bound her braid and loosened her hair about her. It fell almost to her knees and he held her against him, stroking it. Niamh began to shake, knowing what was about to happen. She did not know whether to be glad or sorry that the waiting was done. Now she would soon know what kind of a man he was.
Niamh of the Golden Hair (Manannan Trilogy Book 2) Page 5