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Post by Jenny on Jul 3, 2014 4:41:55 GMT -5
When they had her bound so thoroughly that she could not move much at all, Ulfr released her completely, and she was set down upon the folded blankets. Each man was in of high-color, breathing heavily, and glad to be rid of the struggle. She looked quite small and the three Vikings towered over her lithe and bound form. The guardsmen kept their thoughts private, though both passed a glance between one another, then looked in unison to Ulfr, who had his arms crossed over his chest and glaring down at the Celtic women who simply glared back. Blood was caked on his skin, both on his shoulder and his hand, which he had bound with a strip of cloth when he could and knotted firmly.
The store room was in a complete shambles, though much of the food had not been destroyed, only that which fell from the rafters or knocked to the ground by the struggle to bind her.
“Bring shackles to bind her, and chain her to the pillar,” Ulfr ordered in a somber tone to one of two guardsman.
“You, watch her,” he said to the other, though she would not need much guarding, bound as thoroughly as she was. “I’m going to see to these flesh wounds.”
He rolled down his shirtsleeves, ran a hand through his hair which was coated with a fine film of dust and debris. Without another word, he exited the granary, his eyes instantly raising to the high window that looked out from his father’s window. He could see Halldorr there, looking down at him, even at this distance he could feel the stare of disapproval. He sighed heavily and walked across the grounds, skirting around the servant’s entrance to walk through the side doors into the Jarl’s manor. Servants backed away from him and pressed against the walls respectfully, taking in his state. He was often scratched, dirty and stinking of the wild after his exercise excursions but this was different. Usually there was not so much blood. However, the news of what had occurred outside the manor walls had spread quickly and they avoided his gaze as soon as he looked at him.
His usually good mood having long ago dissolved, he stalked up the stairs to order a bath to be drawn and the doctor called.
While their Lord cleaned the mess off his body and the teeth wounds disinfected and bound the guardsman who was to retrieve the shackles and chain returned to the granary storehouse and joined his kinsman, who pulled Eira to her feet as she could not manage on her own and held her there while the first closed shackles around her ankles, wrists, and about her neck, then bolted them securely, making sure the chains of suitable length held securely in place as he tugged them hard, the second guardsman having to put his hands at her shoulders so she was not pulled off balance. Finally, a long chain was linked to a large hoop on the shackle at her throat and wound and secured against the middle most pillar against the room, but not so long as to reach the door and well away from each walls. Even if she strained she would not be able to get to any supply to damage or consume them. They left her bound by rope for the time being, for servants would have to come in and clean up the mess so that one could walk upon the floor again without slipping or becoming cut.
The chosen servants filed in one by one after placing large buckets of water at the doorstep. They swept away the glass, spoiled food, and debris then splashed across the packed dirt floor. It pooled out of the doorway, taking with it the remaining bits of mess to small to clean and trampled bits of straw. When everything was satisfactorily tidy enough, fresh straw was strewn over the floor to help soak up the fine mud that had been kicked up. The servants left much dirtier than they had come in and would be forced to wash their feet and hands before stepping through the servants entrance. Everything was carted away at once and no one cared to linger.
The guardsman then tested the links of the chains once again and then with swiping of a dagger cut what binds other than the chains and shackles remained and kicked away the rope to a distance before turning their backs on her. Then they left her be, for she was most assuredly secure and unable to cause any more harm, nor throw anything at an approaching figure. They walked through what remained of the door, which would soon be replaced, and left her alone for good.
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Post by KD on Jul 3, 2014 14:08:20 GMT -5
The black rage inside her had subsided when she couldn't move anymore and now pain flooded her, hazed a bit by the blow to the head which left her woozy. Her entire body throbbed and the arrow wound was agony but all through it, she had a small, quiet smile of satisfaction. Even chained to the pillar, bound so tightly she couldn't move, she smiled.
She hadn't submitted, she hadn't given in, they'd had to fight her and bind her to the end.
Eira tried to keep herself upright but it was impossible, sinking against the chains and taking the pain with gritted teeth.
The next sensation she became aware of was coolness touching her brow. She stirred and blinked blearily, taking in the pretty face of one of Asger's servants, Moera. She blinked and then stirred, trying to shake her head. "They'll..."
"No one is coming near this place and Asger is preoccupied. I have a little time." Moera licked her lips, carefully cleaning out the arrow wound and pulling splinters from her flesh as best she could through the chains, keeping a cool rag pressed to the back of her head. "Why do you do this to yourself?" she finally whispered. "Is fighting really worth this, Eira? Is pride really worth this suffering?"
Eira had to swallow a few times before she should speak hoarsely: "It's all I have."
Tears pricked Moera's eyes. She wasn't worried about the arrow wound. One of the things Asger's people- except Moera and the servants and thralls -had been frightened by was how fast Eira healed. Already the wound was much better than it should have been and it would heal cleanly, albeit with a scar. She'd had yet to have a single infection even in the conditions she lived in. She was going to die, Moera thought, her heart heavy. She couldn't do anything else. The rumors were she'd been a cheiftan's daughter, Eira, and it showed. Only nobility was prideful to the point of foolishness. "They're going to kill you at the autumn harvest, you know that, don't you?"
"Yes." The calmness with which she said it frightened Moera...but so much about Eira did.
She sighed and finished cleaning out the arrow wound. "Asger will be going to his own holdings soon enough...I just...I just wanted to try and do something for you for that...the fertility rite you did for me. I still don't know..."
Eira shifted in the chains, managing to twist her hand around and hold it out. "Step forward a bit..."
Moera hesitated and did so, hope lighting her eyes. When she was close enough, Eira pressed her hand lightly against her stomach and closed her eyes for a long moment. "Life..." she finally said. Even with her pain, she could feel it.
Moera took a shuddering breath. "You're sure...?"
"Yes."
"Thank you..."
Eira smiled and settled back. "Go Moera, before they catch you here. Go and live. You'll be a fine mother."
Moera nodded and pushed herself to her feet, carefully checking to see if anyone was around, waiting for a clear moment, then glancing back once before the left the storehouse.
She couldn't do anything big against the slavers, Eira thought, but she could maybe to a few little things for other thrall's and servants before she died. She hoped it would make her father proud of her.
Grief swept through her at the thought and she closed her eyes, not needing to hide it now that she was alone.
Moera and the others didn't understand. She knew this. They thought her foolish and stubborn to the point of idiocy and it would get her killed. But she couldn't explain it to them, they couldn't understand, anymore than the Jarl's idiotic hairball of a son could understand, even if he'd been inclined to truly listen. When the raiding party had attacked them, after she'd seen her brother slain, her companions massacred and her father wounded probably mortally, when she'd first been on that ship, she'd dreamed of vengeance worthy of the Tuatha Dé Danann. She'd sworn to herself to rise up like great Boudica and slay the Norse Beasts by the thousand, the way the great warrior queen had with the Romans long ago.
Reality had pressed upon her, though. She was no Boudica, she was simply the daughter of an artisan who acted as chief to a small village. Even with gifts from the spirits, she had neither that great lady's leadership capabilities nor was she in any place to raise an army, deep in enemy territory.
Eira had been groomed to advise leaders, not lead herself. To tend to the sacred places, to honor the gods and nature, to craft beautiful things, to use her gifts to tend to her people.
How could she explain to Moera, a Nord all her life, what it was like to hear Asger brag about how he'd cut her adored father down and compare it to taking an animal down in a hunt? To hear them brag about the sounds her mother and friends had made as they'd been raped?
To be told she was an animal over and over again when her words had been respected by her own people...her wisdom wasn't quite as revered as her mother, a diplomat's, were, but they would have been if she'd been allowed to grow into her place in their world.
They had taken that from her without a thought.
They had slaughtered her people with no remorse.
She would not break. She would not submit.
And she would take as many of them down before they killed her as she could.
It was all she had.
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Post by Jenny on Jul 3, 2014 19:25:58 GMT -5
Moera was not missed, and though the other servants were afraid to get too near, since they had heard what she had done to Lord Ulfr, they approved of Moera’s assistance to the poor woman. They were sensitive to her plight, for she had only but a few months to live, based on the Jarl’s ruling and her rebellious nature. But many were loyal to Ulfr as well, because he was kind enough to them, never harsh, and he had bedded many a lass who came back to work the next morning tired but sated. He was attractive and virile, and the very thought made the servant girls blush and hope that they would soon be abed with him again. Thus they were sweet and docile around him, and the thought that their Lord had been harmed by this stranger did not sit well with them.
Asger practically foamed from the mouth when he heard that Ulfr had been wounded by the vixen, but that soon quelled when he was told that they were simply the bites as if from a savage animal. He even began to chuckle at that, perched on a seat while watching Ulfr stalk around his room.
“I warned you that she would be a handful,” he said to Ulfr.
“They should never had unbound her hands…” he muttered back.
Asger shook his head. “Ah, but that does not matter now, the bitch has been chained like the dog she is. I wonder though…”
Ulfr shot him a look.
“Peace, peace!” Asger raised his hands to placate his sour mood. “… I only think that it would be a shame to kill her outright. Perhaps she could be useful to us…”
“Useful in what way?” Ulfr snapped. “Do you mean to bed? I would not let that woman near any part of me… Not with that temper.”
“No, my friend.” Asger shook his head. “Though she would be fine to bed if she were any other woman, I mean why do we not use her talents for our amusements?”
There was a pause. “Go on…” His friend had piqued his curiosity.
“If she is to act like a wild beast, and I know how you enjoy the hunt…” Asger’s lips curled into a mischievous smile.
“Are you suggesting I loose her into the wild and hunt her?” He replied incredulously.
“Why not?” The man shrugged. “To simply slaughter her, if she remains unbroken by the harvest moon, while she is still chained would be such a waste.”
Ulfr shook his head. “That is an insane suggestion. I would not hunt a human.”
Asger sobered. “Now you are thinking of her as a human being? If you become attached then she would have a power over you with her heathen magic.”
Ulfr snorted. “Nonsense. Impossible…” He shook his head fervently.
The older man crossed his arms and studied his face. “I only ask that you consider it… I should not have brought it up while your mood is soured.”
“Do not suggest it at all!” Ulfr snapped. “I am an honorable man, I would prefer fighting hand-to-hand. She does not deserve such an honor.”
“But you would cut her throat like a pig meant for the table?”
“I would… I-“ Ulfr faltered. It was his fathers order, after all. But to even do such a thing, to let the wild woman loose where she could slay innocents in her path would be unwise. If he were to hunt her, it would be far beyond civilization where she could not harm his people.
Asger had a inkling of what was running through Ulfr’s mind, and he smiled in victory. Ulfr met his eyes and scowled. “It is an insane idea.”
“Just think upon it. There is time to decide by the harvest.”
Ulfr made an annoyed sound and waved his hand in frustration. “Let us speak no more of it.”
“As you wish.”
------
The Jarl Halldorr was in no fine mood himself, he stalked up and down the throne room, his arms crossed tight across his chest. ,Anleifr, his húscarl, who was most of the time by the Jarl’s side as he was head guardsman and devoted protector of the Jarl, watched him pace about.
“I should never have agreed to allow my son to keep her.” The jarl snarled. “She will never be tamed. It would do well of me to put her to death this instant, for what she had done to my son.”
Anleifr stayed silent for the time being. He never spoke unless the Jarl asked for his advise. The Jarl stopped stalking about and turned towards his húscarl. “What think you?”
“You put it upon your son to decide her fate, my Lord.”
“Yes, yes…” Halldorr sighed. “But I only look out for his protection.”
“You speak as if he were just a lad…” Anleifr observed.
The Jarl chuckled at that. “Perhaps that is true. He is no child any longer.”
“Then I suggest, my Lord, that you allow your son to do as he wishes with this woman. Give it some time.”
“You are right, of course.” Halldorr let out a long sigh. “Very well, I will allow Ulfr to do as he pleases, for now. But if his life is threatened in any way…”
“Your son is a fine warrior. Such a woman could never best him.”
The Jarl was pleased that his húscarl spoke so well of his son. “Yes, the flesh wounds my son suffered only wounds his pride, not his body.”
“He will learn from this mistake, I wager. She is bound now in iron. She will always be a slave.”
“I count upon that,” Halldor remarked pointedly.
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Post by KD on Jul 3, 2014 19:42:35 GMT -5
Later in the day, one of the maids approached the doctor hesitantly. "...Did you look after the Celtic witch, sir?"
"What? Certainly not!" He was indignant. "I'm not going to help anyone who harmed the Jarl's son so!" He blinked. "Why do you ask, child?"
"...Her wound is almost completely healed, sir."
He stared at her. "The arrow wound? That's impossible."
"I swear by Odin, sir."
Disbelieving, he made his way to the granary to see for himself.
Later in the day, a stooped figure made his way ponderously up the road to the Jarl's home. People didn't greet him with the same level of friendship as they did Asger but there was respect in their voices and eyes. Audun was called the Slavemaster to all along the coast. His deft handling of their slave trade was a main source of wealth for many, including the Jarl, which meant while he had some strange views and was sometimes unnervingly blunt in his observations, people still showed him respect. Not only did he handle the slave trade, his observation of the many peoples that passed through it had given the raiders and merchants an advantage against people they were fighting. Including the Celts.
The old man used a staff carved with a raven's head to help him along. He wasn't a warrior, never had been, and was completely unapologetic for it. If anyone taunted him for it, he simply said he was ten times smarter than the rest of them so it was a fair trade.
Not a nice man, or a likeable one. But never a boring one.
Audun came before the Jarl with a report on the slave routes and what to expect before the winter. As usual, his report was clear and concise and there could be no doubt his predictions to the future would come true. He lit a pipe as the Jarl studied his written reports and maps.
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Post by Jenny on Jul 3, 2014 20:09:35 GMT -5
There was no guards at the granary, there wasn’t a need. The Celt was bound in chains, secure and unable to harm anyone that stayed out of range. Already there were wood workers and the blacksmith who had been summoned to make measurements for the new door. They may have peeked in with curiosity but they dare not speak to her. Though she was a beauty, her white shift had been stained with Ulfr’s blood and was dirty from the dust and debris that had been kicked up during her time up in the eaves and the struggle on the ground. Besides, they were used to slaves coming and going down at port, had seen slaves come into the nobles homes and once they were dead, carted out to be buried in unmarked mass graves without even a stone to mark them if they were not native Nords. They had heard rumor that this woman was to die within months if she were to keep up this wild behavior, so they cared not to associate with her. She was already good as dead in their eyes and deserved little pity.
The doctor indeed did approach the granary, and the workers moved aside and paused only to let him pass. When he saw the woman well chained, he approached, his demeanor normally ever kind and caring and objective though he had no patience for savages who brought naught but trouble for his Nordic patients and kin. Indeed, he was Nordic himself and had a fierce loyalty to them, so this Celtic woman’s quick healing had merely piqued his curiosity, not his sympathy. He frowned in disapproval when he saw that the wound had been cleaned, but he would not ask questions for it was pointless. He did not say who he was, cared not to address her, but the satchel he carried with him at all times, which he set down at the door, smelled of ointments and oils, so it was not hard to deduce his position.
Cautiously, he approached just within range and looked at the wound from his perspective, pacing around the post to look behind her shoulder. It was truly almost healed. “By the gods, this is not possible. She is surely a witch…”
---
The slavemaster was greeted with a begrudged respect by the húscarl, who did not agree with the amount of respect that the man had made for himself. The Jarl tolerated him not for his trade, but for the wealth of information he brought. It was in the Jarl’s best interests to know what was going on in the port by the shore in his hold. He left the trading of slaves to those employed in the position to do so and never bothered to inspect, or approve, of who came in and out of his doors, which mainly was the responsibility of the housematron. They were all beneath him and he would not suffer the responsibility for it was not a need, nor was it expected of a man in his position.
The maps highlighted both the lands held by the Vikings, which was in constant flux depending on the battles waged on foreign borders between those Vikings that served the Jarls of his native country, and not only himself, who were in office in the Viking port towns in which they had settled. There were aristocracy housed in each one, some even in the foreign lands on which they held against the foreign natives under their heels. The slave trade was good business as was the trade between countries, which boasted riches traded or captured between the Viking settlements. The Celts were a constant thorn in the Viking sides but there were also both enemies and allies with the Danes, the Britons, and the Icelanders. The countries were in constant turmoil, the lands held by the dominant force in those lands.
Any information on both allied and enemy tribes was helpful to any Viking, and often the slavemaster sold his information to any ally of Bjorvig port, which Halldorr himself held and ruled. Perhaps the slavemaster even sold it to the Jarl’s enemies, Halldorr knew not. But that was why Audun was not well trusted, his loyalty sold to the highest bidder.
“This information is most useful, slavemaster,” the Jarl had to admit. “I suspect you wish the usual payment?”
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Post by KD on Jul 3, 2014 20:30:51 GMT -5
Eira's nose twitched and she lifted her head to regard the doctor, blinking slowly. She snorted suddenly. "Peppermint oil? You actually still use that as an oil? And they call me a barbarian."
He, in fact, had never sold information to their enemies. Like the doctor, Audun was a Nord and had no desire to raise up anyone else above the Vikings. However, he'd seen far too much, even going far out into the East, to truly believe the Vikings were the greatest race in the world. "However you like, Jarl, if you wish to wait until the end of the year, that's fine." One thing about Audun was he was dependent on no one except himself for his riches, which added a tricky layer when dealing with him. He glanced up as Asger came in, someone who was always helpful when dealing with the slavemaster. This time, however, Audun pulled Asger up straight as he came in, puffing on his pipe as he spoke casually: "I hear you gave the Jarl's son a druid."
Druid
Asger had not dared say that word aloud. The Celts were a thorn in the side of the Vikings and the druids were the sharpest edge of that thorn. No one truly knew much about them, even the Celts captured and interrogated stubbornly held out on any information about them. Most who hadn't had to deal directly with the Celts simply dismissed them as the religious leaders of the savage race. Foolish people who worshiped animals and dirt and their weak heathen gods.
And yet...
And yet Asger himself still held a scar on his leg from when they had tried to raid a sacred grove and a woman had stepped seemingly out of nowhere. One flick of her hand and a sharp word had sent their horses careening, throwing most of their riders to the ground.
Caught off guard, Asger shook his head. "She's not a druid."
"Ah?"
Irritated, Asger glared at the man. "What do you care, Audun? You hate the Celts."
"I hate the Romans more, even though their empire is long fallen," Audun replied calmly. "Too bad you arrived too late to deal with them Asger. They view the Celts as animals the same way we do." He puffed on his pipe for a moment, looking thoughtful. "Of course, they view us the same way we view the Celts."
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Post by Jenny on Jul 3, 2014 20:50:31 GMT -5
The doctor’s jaw dropped despite his composed nature. It was clear he hadn’t expected her to know the Norse language. Slaves usually needed to be taught simply the basics; to learn how to understand orders and respond with basic, and polite, answers. Most of the servants had to communicate this way because they had opposing native languages. Some took to it quickly, others more slowly, but they had to learn some way of communicating to their Nord masters and to each other or else nothing would get done. And if they were slow to act on an order they would be reprimanded, or worse, if the Nord masters were frustrated, replaced. No servant wanted that, a foreigner in a foreign land, likely to starve during the winter months because they had no home to speak of.
He snapped his mouth shut. “I need not explain my medical practice with you, slave. Tell me now, how is it that you healed so quickly without my assistance?” He obviously thought well of himself, and nothing of her.
---
The Jarl motioned to his húscarl to get the usual amount. The Jarl had a habit of paying promptly and well, for loyalty was fleeting unless there was gold involved, even if Audun was a Nord. Anleifr bowed and went to the Jarl’s treasury, of which only himself and Halldorr, and Ulfr, had a key.
Halldorr watched the exchange thoughtfully. He knew not much about foreign religions. A devout worshipper of the Norse gods, especially Odin, Thor, and Freya, thanking them for his prosperity and his health, and that of his son, and honoring them with the traditional sacrifices. He lived by the Viking code and expected his kin and his people to do the same.
“Everyone who is not Viking view us the same way and would rather see us wiped out of existence than to bow their knee to us. You say this woman is a Druid? What should that mean to us? She can do no real harm.”
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Post by KD on Jul 3, 2014 20:59:47 GMT -5
She flicked a withering glance at him but said nothing more. Indeed, she sank back into the hold of her chains, her gaze returning to the floor as if she'd forgotten he was there.
"And we view everyone who is not a Viking the same way and would rather wipe them out of existence than to bow on our knees to them. Does that make us better than them? Or deluded?" Audun said philosophically. He dismissed the question almost immediately, because he had yet to meet one of his own people that would answer it honestly. "The Jarl is correct, of course. I was merely inquiring because I heard about that." He pointed to the necklace Asger had given them. "Those are exceedingly rare. The fact you found her wearing it is quite intriguing."
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Post by Jenny on Jul 3, 2014 21:10:47 GMT -5
The doctor’s eyes went to observe her wound a second time. An arrow wound such as what she had would have suffered infection if not cleaned properly, and someone had done so. The flesh around the wound would have taken nearly a week to do such as it had with her. It was unnerving. He had the mind to find out if another healer had touched her first this day. He turned and picked up his satchel, slung it over his shoulder, and asked if any visitors the morning hence had come into the granary to see to the slave. Every man replied in the negative, looking as baffled as he did, for they had clearly heard the exchange. The doctor was left perplexed and muttering to himself, returning to his residence.
---
The Jarl frowned disapprovingly at the suggestion that he was deluded, but forgave the slight. At the mention of the necklace, his eyes darted to Asger.
“Her necklace? You said nothing of it being the slave woman’s…”
That meant that this woman was likely the daughter of a wealthy trader, or artesian, perhaps even nobility… or given to her as goods for her services to some nobleman who had taken her abed. That would make her a whore. He wanted to believe his last thought, but the knowledge that a slave given to his son had once worn such a fine necklace annoyed him. She would be used to good treatment, perhaps even respect. This might explain her proud nature and her insistence on rebellion. This would mean she would be all the more unlikely to be broken.
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Post by KD on Jul 3, 2014 21:16:25 GMT -5
Eira had only visibly tensed when the doctor had asked if there had been any visitors, her gaze sharpening even as she looked at the floor, her muscles going tight. She relaxed visibly when it was apparent no one had seen Moera and the servant was safe. Normally she would say no one would kill a pregnant woman, but these people were savages, who knew what could happen if their pride was tugged at?
Asger looked confused. "I told you she was wearing it when we fought them, my lord Jarl."
Audun smiled, looking amused. "I was wondering if I might ask a favor and see her."
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Post by Jenny on Jul 3, 2014 21:29:07 GMT -5
The Jarl set his jaw firmly. The fact that this woman had worn this necklace at one time did not change a thing. They had captured high-ranking slaves before, but if they had not bowed to the Nord’s will before long, they were put to death, as was the natural thing to do. Kill a dog that continues to bite the hand that feeds it. Thus the Jarl’s ruling at the time of the festivities was not unusual. To publicly state that she had a right to live despite her unwillingness to do so would mean making an exception to the rule. And there were no exceptions. Period.
He looked to Andun and waved his hand just as the húscarl returned with a drawstring bag of linen, the gold inside clinking weightily as he dropped it into Andun’s expectant and outstretched palm. “Do as you wish, I thank you for your services.”
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Post by KD on Jul 3, 2014 21:46:26 GMT -5
"You give her far more credit than is proper, Audun," Asger said disapprovingly.
Audun shrugged, unrepentant, and tucked the bag beneath his cloak. "I admit to admiring the story of Boudica, Asger. As I said, I despise the Romans more than anything in this world and it took three of their cursed legions at the prime of their power to bring that woman down. There's something to be said of that." He walked out.
Asger watched the strange slavemaster leave silently before turning to his lord. "You truly think it belongs to her, my lord?" His brow was furrowed, thoughtful and troubled. "They were in a middle of a ceremony, she could merely have been given the honor of wearing it. They give their women far too much rein over there." He spread his hands. "What troubles you? Whatever she was, she is nothing now, and that chain belongs to you alone."
From what he'd heard...listening to whispers and things not said was something he was highly adept at...Audun had been expecting a warrior woman. He was a man rarely surprised by people, but the sight of her startled him in many ways. First of all, she was lovely. He tended to not think much of the looks of Celtic women. Too tall, too muscled. Their faces, even the beautiful ones, lacked that edge of refinement in the bones that he admired in their own women. Even dirty and bruised, however, the girl was ravishing, and he understood (perhaps better than her captors did) why they were so unwilling to kill her.
The second thing that startled him was the tattoos visible through her tattered shift. They coiled over her arms and shoulders, down her legs and on her hands.
She was a druid all right, or at least training to be one, for she was younger than he'd expected. "Brighd?" he asked casually. She jerked, giving him a startled look. Audun nodded, confirming that was probably her patron goddess, one of those odd three faced goddesses. The Jarl might not know anything about foreign religions but Audun was well versed in most of them. Those tattoos marked her as a healer, a soothsayer, a law-speaker.
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Post by Jenny on Jul 3, 2014 22:05:48 GMT -5
The Jarl crossed his arms behind his back, turning to his kinsman. “If she was wearing it, then it belonged to her that night, perhaps merely as part of their heathen ceremony. All the more dear it would be her and the fact that you have seized the prize from her ownership must made her quite angry,” he smiled, amused with this thought. “We give our Norse women honors, they may even be men’s equals if we suffer them to be, as was my late beloved wife.”
“It was wise to take such a trinket from the slave, for if she were to have kept it in her possession, all the more she would be vindicated to honor her tribe and her gods. We shall strip her of all familiarity, alienate her, she will have nothing of her own life. No one will be allowed to do so, and if word of this were to come to my ear I will be wrathful. Keep the servants away from her unless it is necessary to feed her, and especially not those that she may see as kin. We will not indulge her.”
---
By the time Asger crossed the grounds to the granary, the workmen had finished their measurements and had removed the sad remains of what was once a door, intending to use the iron again that had bound and hinged it. It would be reformed by the blacksmith if the metal had been bent, and even the nails, twisted or not, would be salvaged.
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Post by KD on Jul 3, 2014 22:47:52 GMT -5
Asger looked shocked by the very idea. "Of course not!"
Audun didn't bother speaking much with her, his curiosity indulged. His sense of irony was stirred. He might have spoken of it to the Jarl if he'd been interested...which he wasn't. If the man wanted to take a weapon thrown by a god into his bosom, let him. It could be very interesting.
Eira watched him thump his way out, her head cocked.
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Post by Jenny on Jul 3, 2014 23:18:04 GMT -5
The Jarl smiled, always reassured that he could count on Asger’s loyalty, and the fact that he was like minded. He would have his húscarl inform the headmatron. If anyone would see that the servants not mingle with the Celtic slave it would be her. Upon his wife’s death they had promoted her to take over the matronly duties, and they could not have picked a better match, for the time that the Jarl was unmarried. One of his late wife’s frustrations was that he saw to war and duty before her, though she was satisfied with him for most of the time. She had been honored, respected, and her every need seen to no matter how ridiculous because he had indulged her. The only time he refused her would be if it compromised his position, or in matters of the state, though she could advise him if she was inclined to. She had learned early on, when she was simply a young intended bride, a woman of noble birth and groomed upbringing, not to berate him when it came to such matters.
Ulfr had inherited his father’s stubbornness and his mother’s fiery temper, but he also inherited the same sense of honor and duty and fierce loyalty. Being the son of the Jarl had opened many doors for him, and he had been given Sækonungar on his eightenth birthday, the finest ship of the fleet, unmatched by speed and size, which was well for the riches he carted across the ports in trade.
“I can always count on you, Asger. I know you are not my son’s nursemaid, but his pride is wounded and he needs distraction this eve. The business with the slave can wait. Tip the cups with him, you have my leave.”
When Asger left the war room to do as he was bid, the Jarl briefly discussed with his húscarl what he had gleaned from the information that Audun had brought with him. Bjorvig depended on trade for its successes, and behind his manor, higher up on the mountain, was built a Viking keep, where he and his family could flee to if there was a raid by an enemy tribe, where most of his Viking force were housed and trained, so Bjorvig could be defended if the drums of war sounded across the port. The Baltic sea was not quickly crossed, and any ship that was not of Viking make were viewed with wariness. But it was not just between Vikings that made up the trade but from their allies, and usually a small flag at the top of the mast was flown to signify that they were allies, the sails usually painted with the crest of their native land to identify them.
The sea along the port was littered with native fisherman as well, who acted as lookouts in their profession, since their safety depended on a keen eye and the warning call for war. Halldorr was satisfied with the updates of the status of foreign Viking holds. If anything, their borders were spreading, which added to their already fierce and dominating reputation. When the Jarl was done with his húscarl, he bid him report to the headmatron, so she could give the servants, and those that traveled in and out of the manor, fair warning to stay away from the slave or else be punished for the level of their transgression.
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With the absence of the door, for there were no windows looking out through the granary proper, nor of outside, fresh air hit Eira’s face. The day slowly waned away to darkness, and there would likely be no additional visitors, what with the Jarl’s ruling. Soon it was complete darkness, and the only light she could see was from her viewpoint of a corner of the manor when the door to the side entrance, or from the servants entrance, was opened or closed to let in and out visitors, the Jarl’s friends or kinsmen, or servant themselves who tended the grounds or went out to splash dirty water used for cleaning or mopping on the trodden ground. There were lights from the windows, of course, but she would not see the windows of the Jarls or of Ulfr’s quarters, for they were positioned in the middle, quite out of her point of view, no matter how she paced to change her vantage point.
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