The Viking (20 page)

“Like escaping?” Baodan asked.

“Aye.”

“We could give a false whistle and make them run. Then we could run the other way.”

“And then what?” asked Stefan. “They have horses and we do not
‘Twould not take long for them to hunt us down and we have no weapons.”

“We could all run in different directions. They
cannae hunt us all.” Manachan turned on his side and pulled his blanket up over his shoulder.

Stefan stared at the ceiling thoughtfully. “Aye, but we would have a better chance on horses. We need to know where they keep them.” He heard each man whisper his words to the next and when he could hear them no more, he went to sleep.

*

Knowing nothing about keeping slaves, Limond let the guards set the rules. The captives were put to work hauling rocks, mixing sod and laying the stones. Just like Jirvel
’s chicken pen, the walls consisted of two parallel rows of stones with the sod poured in the middle and allowed to seep between the rocks. Until the sod set, some of the slaves were charged with wiping the excess away from the outside of the rocks and tossing it back in. But the sod was slow to set and the work was hard.

Calluses on their hands and knees bore witness to their labors and the only saving factor was the approach of shorter days. Still fearing the Pope would find out, the guards gave them adequate food and a day of rest in which they were taken on a foot bridge across a river to the edge of a loch to bathe.

*

Laird Limond was not an unsightly man although he was getting on in years. His hair was graying at the sides and Stefan guessed him to be well into his fifties. Being the biggest of all the slaves, it didn
’t take long for Limond to spot Stefan and when he looked at him, he was impressed with the lad’s lack of cowering. Then he spotted Stefan’s unique leather belt and motioned for him to turn around so he could see the back. He did not say anything and was soon on his way.

Stefan remembered to breathe. He often touched the belt Kannak made the belt for him. It made him feel closer to her somehow and he would not give it up without a fight.

*

It was during his fourth bath in the loch that he looked toward the very end and noticed two hills near the water
’s edge. He had to be imagining things. Just above the trees he thought he could see the very top of the hidden castle. He quickly looked away in case one of the guards noticed.

Again bound to the man afraid of drowning, Stefan longed to go closer but Baodan would not budge. It was just as well, the guards were watching them too closely anyway. Nevertheless, he scanned the land again hoping to at least see the black stallion. But the horse was no where in sight. At least now he knew where he was and Kannak was not so very far from him. His desperation to escape increased.

Their nightly talks always centered on a possible way out and the slaves decided they could cut a hole in the roof, stand on each other’s shoulders and go. If they were quiet enough, they could get a good head start. But then what? Scatter, they agreed. Surely if they ran in different directions the guards would have more trouble catching them…at least all of them. Still, they needed to know where the horses were and none of them had an answer, nor did they have anything to cut the hole with.

Stefan never said a word about the castle. If he managed to escape, that was exactly where he intended to go and he didn
’t need a horse. He would swim the loch to get there and this time, he would not be bound to Baodan. Even if the guards spotted him, who would dare enter a haunted castle? He tried to remember if he saw any weapons on the walls and believed he had.

When the wind blew, he sometimes paused to see if he could hear that groaning sound coming for the castle. He could not.

*

As the weeks wore on, Limond
’s castle grew taller with one level completed and then another. Still interested in building, Stefan considered the construction a complete disaster and was learning what not to do. If he could not be a builder, he could at least dream of someday being one. It made his days easier somehow.

But his nights were still torture. He longed to hold Kannak just once more. Even when his feet were sore and his muscles ached, he could not get Jirvel and Kannak out of his mind. How had they managed without him? He did not think Jirvel would take a husband even if she were free and he did not like the idea of the two of them being around any man Macoran chose to help them with the land. But
what choice did Macoran have?

Then he began to worry Kannak had forgotten him after all this time. She must think him dead by now and how could she not choose a husband? Even worse, how long would Macoran keep his word and not force her to marry. One moment Stefan charged himself to forget her and the next he felt so defeated he wanted to make a run for it, let an arrow in the back claim him and put an end to his misery.

Too soon, it was morning again and there was work to do.

On the next Sabbath while they bathed, Stefan saw two eyes staring at him from behind a bush. He walked out of the water and tried to get a closer look, but Baodan wanted to dry off instead. Just when he was about to give up, a gray wolf ran from behind the bush, stopped, looked at him and took off again. For Kannak ye send a horse, for me it be a wolf, he thought. If only the
wolf and the horse could speak.

The next day, they were taken to the river to gather rocks. It would have been easy to swim the river to the Macoran side, but the guards positioned themselves between the slaves and the water. Nevertheless, when he could, Stefan looked for Macorans on the other side. If they were there, they were well hidden. Even if they did see him, he was certain his straggly beard and hair would prevent anyone from recognizing him. He decided if he spotted one, he would chance the lash and cry out, but too soon, they were taken away. Someone had found another rock quarry.

At last the days began to lengthen, the winter had not been harsh and sometime between winter and spring, Stefan turned eighteen.

Surely by now Kannak was married and he should forget her
– but he could not. He remembered her challenges, her dimples, the way she looked perturbed when he called her a wee bairn and the feel of her lips when he finally kissed her. He remembered every second of the days they had together and even longed to hear her call him a bletherskite. He was so close to her and still he could not reach her or get word to her. At last, he’d had enough of slavery and cared not if he lived or died. What was life without Kannak anyway?

*

Laird Limond came daily now that the work was progressing faster. He was pleased with his new home and eager to live in it. Yet each time he came, he sought out the location of the tall lad with the pleasing belt.

Stefan glared at him and when Laird Limond came closer, he finally spoke his mind. “Yer castle will fall.”

Limond returned his glare, “Dare ye speak to me?”

“
‘Twill not last a year afore it falls.”

Again Limond narrowed his eyes. “Do ye put a curse on it, Lad?”

“Nay, I speak the truth. It will crumble to the ground.”

“Ye
do
curse it. I should have ye flogged for saying such as that.” His anger remained in his eyes for a time and then his expression mellowed, “But I am not a cruel lad. I will have yer belt instead.” 

“Nay, ye will not.” Two of the guards drew their swords and he could tell by the look in their eyes they meant to use them. Perhaps he did not want to die after all. At length Stefan relented and began to untie his belt. As soon as it was free, he handed it over, grabbed the loose cloth of his kilt, and wrapped it around his waist to cover his nakedness. His rage was increasing and this time he was bound to lose control.

Limond ignored Stefan and admired the craftsmanship on the outside of the belt, but when he flipped it over to look at the inside, the medallion fell to the ground.

Stefan caught his breath. “
‘Tis all I have o’ my mother.”

Limond stooped over, picked up the medallion and was about to toss it away when he thought he recognized it.  He stared at it for a while longer and then looked at Stefan
’s face as though for the first time. “Who be yer mother, lad?”

“She died when I was a wee laddie. Her name was Sheena.”

As if he’d been struck, Limond took a step back. For a seemingly endless moment, he again studied Stefan’s features. At last, he handed the belt back and turned to the guards. “Let him dress and bring that lad to the keep.” 

The guards were almost as surprised as Stefan but they did as he said. Stefan was happy to have the belt back, but Laird Limond kept the medallion and he wanted it back too. His rage was quickly returning.

*

Laird Limond
’s keep was dark and unfriendly. The stuffed head of a wild boar hung on the wall as did several dangerous looking weapons, one of which was the biggest sword Stefan had ever seen. The furnishings were crude and worn through with animal skins spread out on the floor. No wonder the man wanted a castle, his conditions were dreadful, Stefan thought. But he was not there to approve or disapprove of how the man lived, he was there to get his medallion back and he was ready to stand his ground.

He was not bound, but four guards with their swords drawn stood behind him blocking the only door to the outside he could see. All he could do was wait and it seemed like forever before Limond entered the room from behind a curtain.

Limond laid the medallion down on a table and poured himself a goblet of wine. Then he picked the medallion back up and took a seat at the table. “I will hear what ye have to say.” He paused to think of just the right question. “Do ye have any other family?”

“I have only one aunt and four cousins, but they do not live here.”

It was the right answer and Limond held his breath. “And yer aunt’s name?”

“Murdina, she be my mother
’s sister.”

“And she lives still?”

“The last I heard o’ her.”

“When was that?”

“Two years.” Stefan could not understand why the man wanted to know, but at least he was being allowed to talk. “What will ye do with the slaves once yer castle be built?”

“Sell them.”

It was just as he expected and it irked him. “They have families.”

Limond had not actually thought about that and he dismissed it now. “Tell me, why do ye say my castle will fall. Have the slaves impaired it?”

“‘Tis not the slaves who decide the parts to the sod. Yer builder mixed it too thin and it will not hold. If ye let us speak, we would have told ye long ago. Now ‘tis too late.”

“If I let ye speak, ye would rebel?”

Stefan narrowed his eyes, “If there were a way to rebel, we would not need to speak to plan it. We have no weapons, no horses and we are men who wish to live another day hoping to see our families again.”

Limond let Stefan
’s words hang in the air. “Do ye have a wife and children?”

“Nay, but I would have by now, had I not been snatched.”

“Who snatched ye?”

“What does it matter?” Stefan did not mean to let his anger show so forcefully and he feared he would never get his medallio
n back if he did not calm down.

“Why were ye taken?”

“Macoran’s wife arranged it.”

“Macoran? What does Macoran have to do with it?”

“I lived with them for a year. I will have my medallion back.”

Limond got up, walked to a window and stared out. He had a dozen questions and did not know what to ask
first.

“I will have my medallion back,” Stefan repeated.

“And ye will get it, but I have something to show ye first.” Limond walked to him and put the medallion in Stefan’s hand. Then he reached into the pouch he had hanging around his neck and produced another just like it.

Several times, Stefan looked at his and then compared it with the one Limond held. “They are the same.”

“Aye. I had one made for myself, my wife and my two daughters, Sheena and Murdina.”

It was Stefan
’s turn to stare. He wrinkled his brow and tried to accept the words. His mother might have looked like Limond, but he did not remember her face. Still, he remembered his aunt’s face and the resemblance was there. “I am yer grandson?”

“It would appear so.”

Stefan should have been delighted to have found his grandfather, but he wasn’t. Instead he became even more enraged. “Ye have enslaved yer own grandson.”

His words bit into the old man
’s very soul and the color drained out his face. “I dinnae know.”

“All the slaves are someone
’s grandson.”

“But they are rogues. Slavery be their punishment.”

“If it pleases ye to believe it.”

“They are not rogues?”

“We are not allowed to speak, remember? If they are rogues, they have more than paid the price for their crimes. Produce the accusers who say differently.”

Limond hung his head, “I
cannae.”