Ragnar & the Slave Girls (Ragnar the Dane) (11 page)

The next morning, another Englishman banged on the gates of Hallby. Despite dawn arriving earlier now, it was still barely light when the guards peered out at their visitor.

“
There’s been another murder.” His face was white, his hair unkempt, his eyes wide.

“
What happened?” asked a guard.

“
It’s - it’s Godric, the leather worker. He - he ...” The man descended into terrified babbling until the guard shook him.

“
Control yourself, man!”

“
B-but everyone’s terrified! We need help, please. Please! His throat was torn out, scratch marks all over him, and his wife and daughter were taken. Please!”

“
Get the Jarl,” ordered the guard, and a villager hurried off.

A few minutes later, Steinar arrived. “Sorry, the Jarl is busy. What’s wrong?”

He listened to the Englishman’s story and the additions from the guards.

“
We’ll come and look into it.”

*  *  *

Lately Saehild only came home at night to sleep so Bjarni sat by the fire alone, eating a breakfast of bread and cheese. He needed a break from the loud and raucous Huskarls; they were often tiring, so peace and quiet at home refreshed him. Strangely, he’d always liked and joined in their antics until recently. It was unclear in his mind how and when he’d become so easily worn out, but his shield arm ached all the time now, and it was draining him. Only Ifay made him feel better.

As she swept the floor on the other side of the room he watched her ample bottom as she bent to pick something up. For a thin woman, her bottom seemed out of proportion, rounder and plumper than the rest of her.

She sat down, avoiding his stare so he turned away. When he looked back again she was gazing at his food.

“
Hungry?” he asked.

“
Of course.”

So he beckoned her over to sit next to him. As usual, she shook, expecting mistreatment.

He cut a bit of cheese off his own piece and offered it to her. She shook her head.

“
Please ...” He held it out but she turned away. “You must eat this. You need to eat.”

He held the cheese to her mouth and she couldn’t resist opening her lips, so he pushed it in gently and she devoured it. Tearing off a tiny piece of bread, he held that to her mouth too, and she chewed on it.

“
Wait a minute.” He went to the cooking pot where stew simmered constantly, and put some in a bowl.

“
Here, it’ll do you good.” He spoon-fed her and after initial wariness, she smiled while eating. Encouraged, he spooned more and more into her mouth until she pushed his hand away. The gravy trickled out of her lips.

“
Do you try to choke me?” she spluttered, half laughing.

“
Sorry.” He watched the gravy slide down her jawline, her neck and down her cleavage into her shift dress. She followed his glance and tutted.

“
Oh! I don’t have a clean one." She dabbed at her chest with a piece of cloth. He wanted to wipe it off for her but she'd already done it.

"I must do some washing.” She stood up.

“
Sit! You’re still eating.” He tried to put another spoonful into her mouth but she turned away at the last minute and the spoon hit her cheek instead, leaving a gravy mark.

“
You are so clumsy.” She bit her lip, expecting a slap for her impertinence.

He just smiled, and wiped the gravy off with his thumb, gazing into her eyes as he did so. How dark they were, like deep pools.

Backing away, she upset the bowl, and the remaining stew splashed all over him.

“
Now who’s clumsy?” He smiled and took his tunic off.

Ifay gasped. “What is that scar on your arm?”

“
Nothing. It doesn’t matter.”

“
How long have you had it?”

“
A year or so.”

“
It should have healed by now. It is witchcraft. I have seen -”

“
I’ve only got a few minutes. Are you going to waste time talking about that?”

They gazed into each other’s eyes but her glance was drawn irresistibly downwards.

“
You are so pale. Even the hair on your chest is blond.”

“
What colour did you think it would be?” He smiled, shaking a lock of his head hair to demonstrate.

“
I don’t know – I ...”

He took her thin hand and put it on his chest and she gasped, feeling his muscles, stroking his skin. It sent a shiver between his ribs and down his abdomen, to the core of his manhood. He wanted to put her hand on his growing cock but doing so would scare her away.

Putting both hands against him, she slid them round to his back and stroked the muscles there, standing at such an awkward angle he took a chance and pulled her onto his lap, and they sat with their arms round each other. She felt his hardness and wriggled, making them both more frustrated. It would take such a little, easy movement to satisfy their yearning, but should they?

Then there was a knock at the door.

“
Ready to go?”  Ragnar’s voice.

She jumped off Bjarni’s lap in an instant and hurried back to sweeping. He grabbed his tunic and stood up, thinking desperately of the forthcoming duties of the morning to suppress his desire.

“
What are you doing?” Ragnar eyed the stained tunic in his friend’s hand.

“
I just spilt my stew. Come with me to the stream. I need to wash it.” He strode off, dragging Ragnar with him. It would dry quickly in the warm weather. He could just put it on wet if he wrung it out well.

“
You still got that scar?” asked Ragnar, eyeing his arm. “You should go to a healer.”

*  *  *

As their voices receded, Ifay sat down, her heart racing. After that time Bjarni took her against her will and she hated it, she’d mellowed towards him. No other master had been so kind as to even talk to her, let alone wash her hands and give her food. Should she trust this one? She’d wanted him just then. His appearance was so different to hers, fair and golden compared to her duskiness, and cleaner than her other masters.

She wondered if he’d come back for a fresh tunic. He couldn’t wear the wet one. Maybe if he did, she’d - what would she do? Did she want him inside her again? That would be extremely unwise as he’d certainly sell her after he’d had his way. But the place between her legs had become tender after feeling the hardness on his lap and it began something deep inside her.

And what about his wife? A slave would never take precedence over the wife of a warrior. Surely he only played with her? He’d soon return to Saehild. Ifay gritted her teeth. She would not give in to desire, she would not!

*  *  *

Steinar, Ragnar and four other Huskarls hastened to Byrnham to inspect the scene of Godric’s death. Bjarni stayed behind with the others to protect Hallby.

Cyneric, the thane, met them.

“
It’s not a pleasant sight,” he warned, letting them through the door.

The body of the leather worker was indeed unpleasant. He lay in a pool of his own blood, his throat gaping open and a scratch mark along his cheek, and more on his arms and chest where his tunic was ripped open. Blood soaked the walls, the floor, everywhere. The terrible stench made the group of Danes’ eyes water. Some of them retched and most covered their mouths and noses with their arms or cloaks.

“
What about his family?” asked Steinar. Used to being around deaths in battle, he didn’t need to cover his mouth.

“
G-Gone.” Cyneric stuttered.

A great shriek came from outside, and the group took the opportunity to leave the death scene for some fresh air.

“
We’re cursed!” shrieked an old woman, tearing her hair. “Some spirit of the ancient times has come back to haunt and torment us for some terrible sin we have committed. We’re all destined to die or be captured!”

The Danes stared as a man brought forth an object and handed it to Steinar. “They found this in Godric’s house.”

It was the skull of a wolf, fur still covering it with the pelt left long enough to drape over a man’s shoulders.  The jaw was fixed open in a rigid snarl and the eye sockets were filled with sparkling jewels.  Ragnar took it and pulled it over his head.

“
You wear it, like this,” he said.  “You can just about see through the jaws.”

The English crowd shrieked with fear, so he hastily took it off and examined it at arm’s length.

“
Anyway. You’d have to pull it down over your head, with the top jaw over your forehead and the bottom jaw over your cheeks,” he mused. “Clever.”

He looked up to see everyone staring at him.

“
Thank you, Ragnar,” said Steinar, suppressing an ill-timed laugh.

“
You know much about this,” said the old woman, gazing fearfully at the chestnut-haired Dane.

“
Well, it’s nothing to do with me. I don’t go round murdering innocent people.”

“
No,” interrupted a man. “Last year another Dane murdered an innocent Englishman.”

The crowd murmured in agreement.

“
The silver-haired devil who escaped justice.”

More murmurs of agreement.

Ragnar opened his mouth to disagree but then remembered his own suspicions about Kjartan, the silver-haired devil. But it couldn’t be him, as he was imprisoned at home. Ragnar had rushed out in such a hurry he hadn’t even seen Kjartan this morning, had he? He tried to remember.

“
We’ll help you,” said Steinar to the English. “We’ll help you fight better.”

“
But we never see or hear the monsters,” explained a man.

“
How do they get in, then?”

“
We don’t know. The gatekeepers can never remember.”

“
It’s an enchantment,” muttered someone.

“
It’s magic,” said another.

“
Someone’s in league with demons.”

“
And why are they killing English and not Danes? It’s something to do with you.”

“
Silence!” bellowed Steinar. “Enough foolish talk. I’ll get the men together and we’ll make plans.”

*  *  *

“
How could you be so stupid?” Ragnar glanced quickly round his home, as if Kjartan might be lurking somewhere, even though he knew it would be impossible to hide a baby, let alone a full-grown man in the single room.

“
I just wanted him out of our house,” retorted Aelfwyn. “He's not the murderer.” And she didn’t want to think about how she’d felt when Kjartan offered to take her and Alvi away from Hallby. She loved Ragnar, her life and family. She didn’t want to leave them, but still ...

“
How can you know he isn’t? He is a murderer. He’s done it before. What did he say to you? Did he try and sweet talk you into believing he was innocent?”

Aelfwyn cowered before her husband’s wrath. She’d only seen him this angry once or twice.

“
Now there’s been another murder and you let him go before it happened. We have to find him and stop him. Where d'you think he was going?”

“
He – er - mentioned a cave, probably the -”

“
The secret lovers’ cave?” Ragnar smiled despairingly at her. “I’d better start there, then.”

“
Can I come?”

“
Why?”

“
Because I’m fed up with just staying at home with the baby. I never do anything. You’re always the one going out!” Her heart pounded and a surge of emotion would not be suppressed. “I can leave Alvi with my cousin. Please! Kjartan wouldn’t hurt me, I know it.”

Ragnar frowned. “Well, there’s no time to waste, so make arrangements and we’ll go. It’s a good thing I love you, isn’t it?” He knew she wouldn’t stop arguing about this, so it was quicker to give in and discuss it later.

Aelfwyn smiled triumphantly and gathered Alvi’s things. “Don’t leave without me,” she called over her shoulder as she carried him away.

“
No,
kisa
,” he replied. “Tiresome woman,” he mumbled to himself, but smiled at her boldness.

*  *  *

As Saehild sat with Ljotr, she watched a few of the men standing in a line by the fire, where the sorceress stood. As each man stepped up to her, she chanted some magical words and waved her hand in the air above his head in a pattern, the same each time. Then another man, like a blacksmith, took something from the fire with tongs, and pressed it to his comrades’ shoulders. Each man flinched, but controlled himself as the chant of the sorceress became louder. Then they stepped away, nodding to her.