Ragnar & the Slave Girls (Ragnar the Dane) (8 page)

*  *  *

“
Well?” demanded Aelfwyn when he returned. “I was getting really worried. What happened?”

He explained.

“
You left him alone in the secret lovers’ cave - I mean, the cave? He’ll starve to death.”

“
So?”

“
You can’t leave him like that. You don’t even know he’s the murderer. I’ll go and take some food to him tomorrow.”

Ragnar stared at her impatiently as he combed the dust out of his beard. “I thought you’d be pleased I’d got him.”

“
Yes, but - we need to put him in proper custody of the Jarl.”

“
But if I do he’ll be tried for Eadbald’s murder, not these. I want to know if he’s killing the English now. We must keep him secret until we know.”

*  *  *

Just as dawn broke the next morning, an Englishman hammered on the gate of Hallby, shouting, begging, pleading so the guards took pity and let him in.

Ragnar struggled out of bed and went to investigate.

“
What do you want?” demanded a guard.

“
There’s been another murder. We need help. We have no protection.”

“
Why should we help you?”

“
What’s going on?” Ragnar stepped in.

“
Uhtred’s been murdered, his wife and daughters taken,” spluttered the man, a woodworker. “And it looks like it was some kind of monster.”

“
What? Why?”

“
His throat was torn out, as if by a wolf, but he was stabbed with a weapon, as if by a man. It’s unearthly.”

*  *  *

Ragnar and another Huskarl went to Byrnham to inspect the body of Uhtred the bone worker. Blood had spurted everywhere, all over him and the walls and floor, his body partly ripped apart. His house had been ransacked, but why hadn’t the intruder been disturbed? Uhtred lived on the edge of the village but still within the walls and surrounded by neighbours. The last victim, Baegstan, lived out of Byrnham, an easy target, but the murderer had now become bolder.

“
Help us, please,” begged an Englishman. “We can’t stop the killers, but maybe you can.” He gestured to their weapons and uniform.

Ragnar and his companion exchanged glances.

“
You’ll have to ask the Jarl,” he said. “He’s in charge. Sorry.”

The man bit his lip, twisting the edge of his cloak in white knuckled hands.

Ragnar remembered Kjartan. He must check if he was still in the cave, the secret lovers’ cave as Aelfwyn called it. What silly romantic ideas she had sometimes. He strode to Bjarni’s house and turned his mind to more important matters.

*  *  *

Ragnar and Bjarni hurried to the cave to find Kjartan in the same position as before: propped up against the wall.

“
You’ve been here all the time?” asked Ragnar.

“
No. I escaped, swam back to the old country, sired fifty children, then swam back and tied myself up again.”

“
What’s he doing here?” said Bjarni, still trying to catch up.

“
So you haven’t been into the village at all?”

“
No! Just give me some water, will you? And I’m dying for a piss.”

Ragnar fetched some water, freed Kjartan’s hands from his feet and took him outside to relieve himself, while Bjarni stayed close in case of trouble.

“
So you didn’t murder anyone?”

“
Not today. What are you talking about?”

“
We’ll take him back to our house tonight,” said Ragnar to Bjarni as he tied Kjartan back up again.

“
Why can’t you just let me go?”

“
I don’t trust you.”

Kjartan shrugged as well as he could with his hands bound.

“
We’ll be back.” The two Huskarls strode out, leaving their former colleague shaking his head.

“
I’ll have to put him somewhere where I can keep an eye on him,” said Ragnar as they walked, “but I can’t think of anywhere except my house.”

“
Yeah, but why d’you need to watch him?”

“
I still think he’s got something to do with the murders.”

“
Why?”

“
I just do. He’s a demon.”

“
That’s fair.”

*  *  *

Aelfwyn hadn’t seen Saehild for so long that she went round to her house. But yet again, she found only Ifay at her sister’s home.

“
Where does she go all the time?” she sighed.

Ifay shrugged. “I have some ideas but do not dare tell anyone.”

“
Why not?”

“
No one will believe me.”

“
Oh, tell me.” Aelfwyn didn’t want to go home and continue housework. She wondered again if she should buy a slave to help her.

“
When I look at your sister, I see -”

“
What? Go on.”

“
I see darkness about her. Darkness tinged with gold.”

Aelfwyn laughed. “What are you talking about?”

“
It’s just a feeling I get. I’ve always had feelings about people.”

“
I know what you mean. My husband calls it womanly intuition.”

Ifay nodded. “Men do not trust it. I do not tell them.”

Aelfwyn again thought how lucky she was to have an understanding man, unlike the other Danes.

“
Madam, can I ask you a disrespectful question?”

“
Very well.”

“
Did you try the salt as we talked about? For the - you know -”

“
Not yet. But I will. I trust you.”

Aelfwyn wondered why she did. This slave somehow radiated calm, dependability. How did she do it?

She stayed at the house for longer than she’d meant to, going home reluctantly in the late afternoon. She didn’t want to be caught out by nightfall with Alvi strapped to her.

*  *  *

When Bjarni returned home after dark, the women were not there. Saehild must be out revelling again. He avoided thinking about her as he didn’t want his scar to start aching again. But Ifay? After fidgeting around for a while, he went out again to search for her. Where the hell would she be at this time in the evening? Had he scared her off? Had she run away?

Why did he care what happened to a slave anyway? But as time drew on and Hallby villagers scurried past, following advice and hastening home, he became more and more worried.

She wouldn’t have gone out of the village, would she? He went up to the gate but the guards stopped him.

“
Why are you going out at this time?” asked one.

“
Someone might be lost out there.”

“
But -”

“
Let me out, please. I’ll take responsibility.”

He pushed past them, something telling him he’d find her near the wood.

A crouching figure caught his eye as he approached the trees, their branches swishing and hissing in the wind. It was Ifay, struggling to pick up twigs spread on the floor.

“
You stupid woman! What are you doing out after dark?” he scolded, grabbing handfuls of sticks and shoving them into her bundle.

“
The fire was going out. We needed these.”

“
But it’s dangerous at night.”

A wolf howled in the distance so he took the bundle and grabbed her arm, hustling her along.

“
What will my punishment be?” she mumbled.

“
Don’t talk, just walk.”

The wolf howled again, a bit closer and Bjarni speeded up, holding the awkward package of sticks against him.

They reached the village and the guards dragged them inside, slamming the gate behind them.

The village lay deserted and silent, then a fox gave an unearthly shriek, making them jump. At last their home loomed, and Bjarni unlatched the door and pushed Ifay through it, so quickly they both tripped. He fell on top of her, wriggling to try and pull the door shut at the same time.

“
What are you doing?” she gasped.

“
Trying to get inside,” he panted.

“
Get inside? Inside what?” She squirmed away from him, eyes wide.

“
Inside the house, of course. Not inside - anything else.” He couldn’t help eyeing her body beneath him.

“
You are just the same as all men, so don’t deny it! You just want sex.” She pushed him away and crawled to the chair, stood up and brushed dirt off her dress.

“
By Odin’s eye!” he shouted, sitting up. “I was just trying to get us to safety quickly, not trying to fuck you. I just tripped!”

He stormed off towards the other side of the hut.

*  *  *

Tutting, she turned away but couldn’t help smiling a little at his annoyance. Unlike her other owners, who just had sex with her however she protested, she could control this one.

He turned his back on her, took his boots off and started cleaning them.

“
You should do that outside," she called, "or you’ll get mud everywhere.”

Muttering darkly to himself, he strode past, flicking a glance of exasperation at her.

She smiled even more, aware she played a dangerous game, teasing her master. But inside she knew he could take it. She knew intuitively that he didn’t mind her mischief. It made her warm inside. How long had it been since she’d felt like that? Could she be imagining it? But years of experience told her to trust her senses.

*  *  *

More torches than usual lit the main cavern and the smell of incense filled Saehild’s nostrils. Every rock crevice contained a bunch of burning herbs. But despite the strong scent, she could still detect sweat and the muskier odour of sex.

“
Sit,” said Ljotr, directing her to a seat carved out of rock but padded with a bearskin.

The fire burned strongly and the smoke whisked up and out of a natural chimney formed by a fissure in the stone. Little by little her clothes began to stick to her.

The men sat in two lines on the floor in front of Saehild, Ljotr at her right hand. She’d never seen so many short-haired, beardless men all together, with Ljotr the only remotely Danish-looking one. Even he, however, was far more dark-haired than every other man she knew. How exotic this was.

“
Bring it in!” he shouted, and two men came in carrying a pole on their shoulders, from which hung a huge dead boar tied by its feet. Its mouth hung open, and congealing blood covered its sides and head, the huge tusks stained and scratched from its death battle.

They took it near to the fire, lowered it to the floor and pulled out the pole, leaving the creature lying with its feet pointing upwards.

The men near Saehild leapt into action. Some ran to drums and began to beat out a compulsive rhythm, while the others fought to get nearer the fire, pushing and shoving like beasts. They began to chant, faster and faster, then one with straggly brown hair grabbed a nearby woman and began to fuck her, right near the fire, her blonde hair almost in the flames. The other men laughed and some took other women in whatever position they could, whether they were lying down, standing up, from behind. The chanting continued to resonate round the room, punctuated by groans of lust or screams of pain.

Ljotr strode across to the boar.

“
This is a sacrifice to our lord!” he shouted, making Saehild jump. He beckoned and she had to obey. Handing her a knife, he demonstrated what she should do with it.

Tired of men handling all ceremonial duties, Saehild felt honoured. Pausing to savour the moment, she glanced round at the expectant watchers, who held their breath. Everyone gasped as she raised the knife high and plunged it into the boar’s chest.

The men cheered except those who were still fucking women, who did not cheer. But Saehild didn’t care. She brandished the bloody knife and glanced round at Ljotr, who bared his teeth into a smile.

He helped another man push the boar into the fire. The skin and fat sizzled and popped, giving forth a sickly smell which soon became burnt and acrid. The beast’s carcass smoked, making Saehild's eyes sting.