Trials of Winter (private)

[Jenny]

The port of Bjorvig was a flourishing hub along the south of Norway along the Baltic Sea. The shores were littered with huge constructs of great ships, clusters of net makers and menders taking shelter from the driving rain beneath roughly made lean-tos while they waited to cast out for herring, if they were not already at sea, and wooden platforms where thralls coming in from Viking raids were bartered for and bought, led away tied to the horses of the karls to meet their fate at the whim of their new masters.

The tang of salt in the air was mixed with the sharp smell of fish, the stink of slaves kept in the bowels of the ships as they traveled homewards, and the earthy smell of horses. The sound of hammers building the immense ships, pounding newly wrought iron nails into the wood or knocking wood into place created a rhythm. A master carver used his tools to christen the prow of one ship that would bear the names of a lover or a god. The fires of the blacksmith hissed as spattering of raindrops pushed into their shops by the wind in tune with the rise and fall of hammer against anvil. There were some that lived along the shoreline – the slave masters, a spattering of fisherman, and the blacksmith all housed there.

Farther from shore, where sand gave way to rich black soil and emerald green grasses, patchwork-shaped fields were left to fallow during the summer months. Closer to the tree line were smaller fields growing cereals to feed the livestock in Autumn that were not chosen for slaughter. For half the year, cattle, sheep and goats were allowed to free graze in the valley. Settlements were spread across Halldorr’s lands, most of them isolated clusters of buildings, stables and houses built from wood and peat.

Slaves and farmhands tended massive fields of barely and wheat. Close to the houses were vegetable gardens, pig sties, built downwind, and buzzing hives of bees, the honey harvested to make mead, and here and there were clusters of grape vines for potent Bjórr, the favored wine of the local people. The bleating of goats and the hoary grunts of pigs often permeated the air, with whinnies of hearty horses in the stables. But for now, with the rain, there was a soft silence, as if the dark rain clouds hushed the sound and stifled noises into shirring whispers.

[Jenny]

The flat fieldlands gave way to rolling hills where the forest thickened, the thin trees heartening into towering pines that grew more massive while the land rose up towards a dark and snow-capped mountain. Here glaciers still crawled at a painfully slow rate, shaping the land beneath it. The river Glaumr was fed by the runoff, ingots of black shale shining in the sunlight that broke through the rain clouds. Sitting on a low peak, the trees had been tamed or razed to make way for a massive house sitting on conquered stone overlooking the sea port and the fields. This was the home of the Jarl Halldorr. His oldest son, Ulfr, had been sailing during the summer months and would return before the sea turned cold, the furs he had gathered during the winter traded for gold, rare jewels, and other supplies Norway could not birth.

As the rains ceased and the sunlight warmed the air, Ulfr’s ship, Sækonungar, plowed through white-crested waves, her sailors bellowing a greeting to the portmasters. The ship groaned with its heavy weight as ropes were cast out of the ship, caught by others to help guide the ship against the docks. Ulfr himself was the first to land, his booted feet landing with a thud as he hurtled over the side, surveying the shore. His companions followed and preparations were made to transport the goods ashore where they would be used for bartering, or those meant for the Halldorr’s private use carted by horses up the mountain pass. He was a man of good weight but not of girth, his eyes the color of a stormy sea, sharp and clever. Muscles strained against his gold armbands, a mantle of grey fur draped over his woolen cloak, his blonde hair kempt into a herringbone braid down his back, sheathed in fine gold filigree.

[KD]

Asger's ship was already in port, his slaves and workmen already busily unloading things from his ship. An old friend of Ulf's father and one of his staunchest allies, Asger tended to go a bit farther out into the world, which meant he made port a bit less often than the others, but he came back with some interesting tales and even more interesting goods. The Jarl's house was filled with such goods given as gifts.

Even for Asger, the woman who stood beside him with her hands chained in front of her was unusual. She had the unmistakable physical stamps that marked her as a Celt, which explained why Asger had her hands bound. She kept her eyes lowered, but Eira was taking in everything around her.

He spotted the Jarl's son down the docks and boomed out a greeting. "Ulfr! Aren't you dead yet?!"

[Jenny]

Ulfr turned when Asger called out to him, his mouth turning into a wry smile as he spotted the older man, whose straw blonde hair was touched with grey. He too was a sizeable man, built like a bear and not so slim as himself. But that was the way when age began to take hold.

“Asger!” He began to cross the pier to meet him, his eyes turning onto the small slave beside him with raven hair. She had the look of a Celt about her, one of his people’s fiercest enemies. Though she was chained she looked to be a dangerous foe, perhaps a hellcat in bed, if one could take the scratching. Ulfr smiled, amused at the thought, but then gave her little attention.

“No, not dead,” Ulfr laughed aloud and grasped arms with Asger as they gave the customary greeting, then pulled him in for a brotherly embrace, giving his broad back a healthy strike. “How fortune that our ships have gained port the very same day.”

He raised his gaze to Asger’s ship with an approving once over. Though barnacles peeked beneath the waves, they were plied off almost religiously after the sea voyage. The wood could use a bit of stain as the salt had faded the color, but that was to be expected after extensive travels. He then looked over the cargo that had been unloaded. “It looks as if you’ve had a fine haul yourself, my friend.”

[KD]

"We'll be seeing a lot of ships making port the next couple of days," Asger predicted. "The cold is coming in early this year, it's too dangerous to linger much more."

He turned and smiled proudly at Ulfr's ship. "You as well, though that's not surprising at all." He turned back to his own ship. "Ah, my boy, the things I've seen this time around. Wondrous...and profitable. The gods saw fit to bless us with the spirits of conquerors!"

"Looks like you've found quite a few prizes, Asger." One of the slavemasters working the docks leered at the girl beside him.

Asger sobered. "Watch yourself, she looks delicate but she'll stick your head on a pike if given half a chance. Don't worry, she can't speak our language," he assured the slavemaster.

The girl's dark eyes flicked up for a fraction of a moment but there was sharp, burning intelligence in that single glare. Asger's assumption she didn't know what they were saying was perhaps an unwise one...

[Jenny]

“Aye, by Odin,” Ulfr nodded in agreement. “I felt the cold wind of winter at our backs. My people will be eager to bring in the harvest before the frost locks the ground.”

“I would wish to hear your tales over a large flagon or two. My father would be willing to open his best barrels for you, my friend.” Like a brother Asger was to the old Jarl, and to himself as an uncle. Hadn’t Asger himself shown him the vantages of the broadsword when he was only a boy? Many a hard whack on the side of the ribs after failed attacks Asger had given him, thus Ulfr learned early on the value of a quick body and a strong arm. But most of all, a keen mind.

The slavemaster’s oily voice brought his attention back on the girl, and he subconsciously sized her up, if a woman were to deserve such a thing. “Does not speak our language, does she?” He wasn’t so quick to accept that, even though he usually trusted the older man’s word. Oh, she understands well enough… he thought to himself. This one was not to be trusted.

“What do you plan to do with this one?” Ulfr nodded in the Celt’s direction, his eyes now on Asger’s face. “Sell her with the others? She could be no house slave, not with that fire in her eyes… not unless she was well broken.”

[KD]

"I was headed there before I go to my own holdings so I'll be glad to. I have reports and gifts for him both." He raised an eyebrow and nodded at the girl. "Funny you should mention that. I was considering giving her as a trophy to your father...or even you if you want her...but you're right, breaking her in will take a great deal of effort. Eira." He tugged on the chain attached to the shackles around her hands. "Show some respect for the Jarl's son."

She spat at his feet. Asger shrugged as if to say 'see what I mean?', and then back handed her hard enough to send her sprawling.

[Jenny]

His amused smile faded some as his attention was drawn a third time as Asger spoke of her. He felt no pity for this woman as she was disciplined, for she was a godless bitch of a Celt. His spine rippled in displeasure at her reaction, but it was to be expected, unbroken as she was. He stepped forward over her prone form the few moments before she would get to her feet. He raised his leg and planted his boot just above her lower back, pressing her against the rain-soaked pier. He bent forward ever so slightly as she turned her spiteful eyes on him.

“You would do well to learn your place, slave, for your own good. Unless you are to be killed. Do you wish this?”

He waited a few moments, then shoved his boot forward, causing her body to roll on its side and stepped back to avoid her venom.

Aware that she could retaliate, he kept his gaze upon her as she measured just how far it would be to try and break his neck. He found himself beginning to laugh at the very thought and chuckled to himself, much to the interest of Asger.

“I might advise you to pass her around 'twixt your sailors for a tumble for reward of their long absence from their wives and consorts, but perhaps that might bring her some pleasure, wild beast as she is. Might as well chain her up in the pig sties… she certainly smells of no less.” He shrugged a little. “Do as you wish. I will see you at my father’s home before sunset. I am sure we’ll have our cargo seen to by then…”

[KD]

Asger sobered. "I already tried it. They won't go near her. She tore out one of their throats. With her teeth." He glanced down at the girl and even Asger, mighty Asger, had a hint of disquiet in his eyes. There were murmurs she wasn't a woman at all, but one of their dark spirits, one of the dwellers in the darkness. He shook himself, a bit angry at himself for letting such nonsense cloud his thoughts, and gave the son of his Jarl a bow.

Asger and his people arrived at the Jarl's house not long after Ulfr did. The girl had been cleaned and dressed in a simple white down, her hair clean and drawn back from a face that had a spreading bruise over one cheek. Even then, she held herself with a strange sort of dignity. Nothing done to her had gotten rid of it so far. When she looked around, she met everyone's gaze squarely...and with utter contempt.

[Jenny]

He turned on his heel after Asger honored him, and walked to Sækonungar, stopping before his own cargo. He waved over a dockman to bring a prybar so he could inspect one crate for breakage. The lid was pried off and set aside carefully as to not splinter it any further, for even if crates and barrels were many, it did not do well to even waste one. Ulfr reached in and swept aside the stuffing that kept the goods from shifting during rolling storms and lifted out one of the weighty and lengthy wooden boxes nestled inside, placing it on the pier as the dockman returned to his work. He unlatched the brass clasp that kept it closed and raised the hinged lid. Inside, wrapped carefully in felt cloth were large sections of ivory tusk. He lifted one out and inspected the bone for cracks. His artisians would make many fine carvings from this precious prize. Satisfied, he replaced it after folding the felt around it and instructing his men to load the crate with the others.

A train of wagons were waiting, each in various stages of loading. The horses were in no hurry to pull the heavy loads and were content to snuffle the fresh grass that managed to grow in the half-sanded soil at the edges of the shoreline. Within the hour and well before the setting sun, the wagons began to move towards their respective destinations under Ulfr’s instructions. He hopped up onto the seat of the first that would make the climb to his mountain home, eagar for a warm bath, likely seen to by handmaidens, and clean linen garments.

Ulfr himself was not yet married, he had an interest in woman and bedded many a comely wench both at home and across the sea while at port in the trading village, but he had no patience for the thought of settling down. His mother had died of a raging fever which had caused her body to burn and waste away some summers ago. Both he and his father missed her terribly. She was the ideal Viking woman, beautiful and strong, gentle in speech and slow to anger, but she was a match for the Jarl. She would never dare to publicly meddle in her husband’s affairs, especially those in the state, but she was a hard mistress when it came to the household and, privately, she won many an argument with her husband. Ulfr was fiercely loyal to his mother, but her power over his father did not escape his notice. He was reluctant to allow a woman to take such hold of him. But that did not keep noblewomen from falling over themselves to catch his eye and his favor.

As the wagons pulled up to his homestead, Ulfr hopped off the wagon and strode into the Jarl’s massive estate. He need not give instructions to the servants, for cargo would come yearly, and goods would come often from all over the Halldorr holds, harvests and taxes and tithes. The rich land kept no one hungry, not even the lowest thrall, for even the cereals that made their morning gruel was made from fertile seeds, prized in all corners of the land. It was a good time to be the son of a Jarl. It was a wonder how Ulfr did not gain girth, but it was a practice of his to routinely perform athletic feats and competitions, or at the very least keep his sword sharp and combat technique piqued.

After Ulfr had satisfactorally refreshed himself with a long bath, a good combing, clean linens and finery, he descended into the feasting hall to meet his guests and kinsmen. He sought out Asger and found him already on a bench near his father, likely into his second flagon. The Celtic woman was made to stand near, even if she refused to serve him. The other servants gave her a wide berth, fearful of those spirited eyes and malicious looks. Ulfr paused at the bottom of the stairs as he was struck by how beautiful the slave looked even though she wore only a simple shift. He could not tear his gaze from her body, looking her leisurely up and down, but at last sought to join Asger at the table.

“Asger, already at the cups without me I see,” he observed with a laugh. He sat himself beside him. A slave served him immediately, placing a cold flagon filled with foamy ale and a plate of food before him, then backing away without turning her back to avoid any show of disrespect. She pressed herself against the wall with the others, crossing her hands before her. Ulfr took a hearty dreg and smacked his lips approvingly. “So, my friend,” he slid his body to face him. “Tell me, Asger, how did you manage to capture the godless minx?” A jerk of his thumb indicating the Celtic without giving her a second glance.

[KD]

She lifted her gaze, those fathomless eyes briefly locking with his and not dropping until he turned away.

"With your father's ale, you can't expect me to wait around!" Asger glanced quickly at the girl and then away at his question. Something must have happened on the journey to the Jarl's house because he seemed reluctant to look at her for very long, no matter how beautiful she was. He shrugged, leaning back so a slave could refill his flagon. "We caught her tribe by surprise in the middle of one of their odd rituals. Praising the waters or whatever it is. Most of them died in the battle but that one..." He shook his head slowly. "One of my younger fighters went after her. She killed him and then ran off into the forest with his head. You know how they are...mounting the heads of their enemies in their homes. She no doubt thought taking his head would give her his spirit but it didn't help her in the end. I should have killed her, probably, but I thought I could break her in on the journey back and she's a very nice trophy as you have obviously noticed..."

[Jenny]

Ulfr grimaced. “They are heathens and savages indeed to not allow the Valkyries to take a man’s body to Valhalla once he has died in battle…” he said sadly, shaking his head. Aye, mayhaps you should have killed her.” He raised his eys to the Celt, regarding her with uneasiness. “Though she is a worthy trophy I would hate for you to have your own throat cut and your head taken in your sleep by the bitch.” He heaved in and out a great sigh, but resolved himself to enjoy himself, putting his back to her. “I will take the woman and compensate you for her. I will find a way to break her, by Odin I will.”

[KD]

"No compensation needed, my lad, I told you I intended her as a gift." He chuckled. "Well if anyone can break her, it's you. Though you'll have a fight of it, no doubt."

Eira was preoccupied, barely paying attention to them, her head cocked, her eyes focused on some point up at the ceiling. Spirits spirits...she could sense them, gathered throughout the area everywhere. An ill sign...these fools might not see it but she did. They could worship their far gods up in their sky world all they wanted, her people knew spirits. This winter was going to be a hard one.

Thinking it made her throat close up, remembering their prayers for a safe winter right before they'd been attacked.

[Jenny]

Ulfr was pleasantly surprised, for a slave as beautiful as the Celt would have fetched a fine price, though perhaps adjusted because of her fighting spirit. For Viking men would expect such a thing from their native women, but would not tolerate such behavior from a slave, especially a Celtic one. “Undoubtedly, but I thank you.”

The Jarl Halldorr sat not upon a crude bench as his guests did, but instead upon a chair, the fine wood on the arms and backrest carved with the house crest, two wolves placed around the seal of the Jarl, positioned as if they were chasing each other’s tails. When he cleared his throat to speak to his on, all eyes instantly turned upon and a hush rippled across the room in respect to him.

He had observed the Celtic woman and viewed her with contempt and mistrust. His voice trembled with the curse of age, but he spoke with clarity. “My son, if the woman does not break to your will by the time of the autumn harvest, you are to put her to death. I would not have her rebellious nature riling up our servants. Housing her in the granary will be suitable enough, you would be wise to have her submissive by the time we bring in the grain for at that time I shall determine whether she be left to live.”

“As you wish, my father,” Ulfr bobbed his head. He turned and motioned to the húscarl, who immediately moved to take the woman away from the Jarl’s sight and follow the instruction that need not be repeated a second time. The guardsman procured a rough rope with the intent to bind her hands. If she were to struggle he would be rough with her and it was in his right to do so. He managed to bind her hands, then gripped her upper arm tightly, caring not if he hurt or bruised her in order to drag her outside and away from the festivities.

Once inside, they crossed the grounds towards the granary, which was well away from the manor. Before pushing her roughly inside, he took out a dagger and swiped it against her bindings, then closed the door and bolted it from the outside. The granary’s walls were sunken deep into the ground and were thickly made so animals and even pests had a hard time of wriggling their way to eat the grain and food stuffs, of which there was little of left since it had been almost a year since autumn last. Wooden pillars were placed to support the arched roof above. It was likely that she was to be chained to one of these pillars with thick rope looped about her neck and if she insisted to misbehave likely chained with iron.

The storage floor was littered with straw, the dirt floor was quite hard from years of booted feet stamping it down. It was musty and smelled of barely with the sharp tang of thick-rind cheeses stored upon iron racks so they could breathe. There were small barrels of mead and wine, and large barrels of ale and beer stacked one upon the other, not so heavy as the weight of the top would break the resin-sealed wood planks, which were bound to keep their shape with iron rings. In one corner of the store room was a pile of hay, usually meant to scatter again upon the floor once that which was strewn over the floor became thinned. Any holes rodents managed to bore through the reinforced wall were quickly stopped up with a mix of mud and straw, and spring-loaded traps were placed along the edges of the walls in case they should attempt to crawl up the walls to get to the supplies.

There were wooden boxes holding rough linen bags where the dried cereals could be scooped up and wooden-capped barrels with shrunken but edible apples. Large glass jars held pickled vegetables, jams, preserved fruits and the like. It was not fully stocked but was sufficient enough for the Jarl’s household needs, and the door would be opened only often enough if the house supplies were depleted, so Eira would be rarely visited, unless, of course, at the whim of her new master, Ulfr.

The festivities went on without her, and Ulfr was content to forget this woman for a while. He tipped many flagons down his throat, increasingly in both good cheer and intoxication. He allowed a comely servant girl to sit upon his knee, who held a pitcher of ale to refill his glass when it emptied. The feast had long ago been finished and guests were slowly bidding forgiveness for their absence when they were too far gone to drink not a drop more. They would be given comfortable and well-furnished rooms, with fires lit to chase out the coming-autumn chills.

Asger’s size allowed him to drink Ulfr under the table any day, and once Ulfr decided that he could not match him cup for cup, and wishing to bring the comely lass sitting on his knee to bed with him, of which she was all to willing to, and often, comply, he asked for his leave. As she giggled, her cheeks a high color as she rose unsteadily to her feet, for Ulfr had allowed her to sip from his own cup, he slapped the older man on the back. “I’ll wish you a very good night, my old friend. Perhaps we could finish the tale whence you are settled in your own homestead…”

[KD]

Asger, well sloshed, had been trading stories of the sea back and forth and raised his flagon in salute, raising a cheer.

The slave girl had turned her head to regard the Jarl when he made his proclamation but didn't show any sign of reaction, perhaps still playing into the idea she didn't know their language. She didn't resist, not making a sound as the guard dragged her out. If Asger had been a bit more sober, that would have set off a serious warning flag with him.

Eira walked the perimeter of the granary slowly, taking in every aspect of her surroundings. She cocked her head, her first idle thought being to smash and destroy everything. However, after a moment she turned her attention to the door instead...

It wasn't until the morning the Jarl would discover it had, perhaps, not been a wise decision to put her in the granary. The head of the household stared at the young servant who had risen early to start getting chores done. "What do you mean, you can't get in?"

"It's that Celtic witch...she's done something to the door so it won't open!"