Viking Tribute

Chapter 20: Routine

When we retired in Lord Einarr’s room that evening, I did what was long overdue. I dropped to my knees and begged for his forgiveness. My words were sincere, to a point. While he deserved everything I had thrown at him that night, I felt deep regret for bringing shame to my father and endangering my kinsmen. I could have ruined them entirely.

He listened to my plea, although I doubt he believed me. His face revealed nothing of his thoughts. He motioned me to my feet, grabbed my shoulders and kissed me. The only words he said to me were to ensure that I wasn’t in pain.

For the following two weeks I was given no time to wallow in self-pity. I guessed that lady Disaelfr still resented me, as she made sure that I was never left unoccupied. From dawn to sunset I was kept busy.

We had a storm, and right after the fishermen caught a late school of herrings in their nets. For two days we were wrist deep in smelly fish guts, emptying the catch before hanging it to dry or smoke. My hands bled and stung from the salt. No bath could fully erase the stench, to lord Einarr’s despair. I laughed at his scrunched up nose each time my fingers came close to his face, which happened surprisingly often.

I helped gathering seaweed from the shore and eggs from nests on the cliffs’ face. I placed the eggs in a basket, taking them from the man who collected them from the rocks, swinging down a rope attached at the top.

I made curds from cow and goat milk and poured them in large vats, semi-buried in the pantry. We used the residual whey to preserve meat when the farmers began the slaughter of pigs and cows, in preparation for the winter. More vats were filled and sealed, and there was more to come. The smoking house was packed once more, this time with hams and strips of beef.

None of this was foreign to me, but until then I had never done it myself. I would give orders, and watch the servants do the work. Many a time I had goaded them for being slow and lazy. Now I understood how unfair I had been.

I rarely saw Svana and Mildred before the evening. Being free, they were given more noble tasks. I considered them my friends, but whenever they were around we spoke my language. Having to fend for myself did marvels to improve my Norse. Most of the household had no Anglisc, and I struggled to communicate. I pointed at things and they named them for me. It wasn’t too difficult to learn, as many words were close. I could soon master simple sentences and the other servants slowly warmed up to me.

Every night I went to bed tired and eager to sleep, but my captor always delayed it. I found him demanding, yet gentle. He ensured that I enjoyed myself as he did, and I got used to snuggling against him afterwards. Sometimes, when my eyelids managed to stay open a little longer, he would ask about my day or tell me stories of his land.

During one of those moments I asked him why he felt the need to humiliate me every evening, by keeping me kneeling at his feet. I was so mortified, lowered to the ground when the others slaves were either serving or waiting to clean the room.

He stared at me, visibly surprised by my question. Then he explained that he was showing to every man in the room that I was his, exclusively. He was warding them off me. We often had visitors, and they would expect to be given free use of the female thralls. My humble position set me apart.

I still didn’t like it, but knowing why made it easier to accept. In the following days I found it comfortable to support myself with my arm over his thigh. As the hours passed I leant my head onto it, listening to the music that often accompanied the meals. His hand would stroke my hair and he would smile at me. It became a routine and I caught myself smiling back.

Until I woke up one morning, my cheek against his chest. I gave a peck to his naked skin and he stirred, his arm tightening around my waist. I nestled deeper into him, my legs tangled with his. I didn’t want to get up, this was so pleasant…