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Thrand’s face sobered. ‘But now we will have to endure my mother.’
‘She expected me to perish.’ Haakon stared at the wooden hall and its outbuildings. ‘I am not sorry to disappoint her.’
‘She cursed your name, and I hate to think what she said about me once she discovered that, despite everything, you had allowed me to go.’ Thrand prodded a chest with the toe of his boot. ‘I believe I will see to the unloading. You do the ceremony of welcome on your own. You are the Jaarl of this estate, after all.’
‘If you wish. Your mother will have to be faced, Thrand, sooner or later.’
‘As I said, I’d prefer later.’ Thrand smiled and put his hands behind the back of his head. ‘After she knows that I made a success of it, and returned back with gold. You know what she is like.’
‘I do indeed.’ Haakon nodded towards the great hall with its gabled roof. ‘And if you wish to avoid Guthrun, I would begin unloading those chests—here comes the welcoming party.’
‘Better you than me.’ Thrand clapped him on the back and disappeared back down into the hold.
Haakon’s mouth turned upwards in a bitter smile as his stepmother processed outwards from the hall, carrying the ritual horn of mead. Not a greying blond hair was out of place and she wore her best apron-dress over a linen shift. The large gold oval brooches his father had given her shone. Her eyes widened slightly and her hand trembled, spilling a bit of the mead, as she realised who was standing before her.
She had not expected to set eyes on him again, Haakon thought with sudden insight. She had seen only the red-and-white sail, and had no idea who was on the ship.
‘Guthrun, we have returned,’ he said, accepting the horn and drinking deep from it as his dogs ran up, barking, to greet him. With his plumed tail wagging and his white eye-patch looking more roguish than ever, Floki was in the lead, determined to be the first dog to welcome his master. Haakon bent down to pat his favourite elkhound, who responded by turning over and baring his stomach.
‘I expected you would—one way or another. The gods favour you, Haakon Haroldson.’ Guthrun gave an exaggerated shrug. ‘You are back earlier than expected. Did it go badly for you? Have your masts broken? I told you the voyage was ill starred.’
Haakon retained a grip on his temper. He had no wish for disharmony in front of his men. ‘I am pleased to return to the northern lands and my home with my honour intact and the hold of my ship groaning with gold.’
‘Have you brought your half-brother back alive?’ she asked in a deceptively quiet voice, with her eyes hooded.
‘Thrand survived and prospered as I predicted.’ Haakon handed the drinking horn back to her. He wiped the back of his hand against his mouth, remembering how she had screamed and torn her hair when she was informed that Thrand was going. ‘He served me well, and the skalds will some day sing of his fighting prowess.’
Guthrun nodded, seeming to accept the statement. ‘And the other members of the felag? Have they returned as well?’
‘We lost Bjorn.’ Haakon kept his voice quiet and even. There was no need to recount the story in any great detail. She would learn soon enough.
‘His family will be upset.’ Her pale eyes flickered with something. Regret? Fear? But it was so brief Haakon wondered if he had imagined it. ‘He was renowned as a fighter. How did he die?’
‘He was in the blood-lust, and failed to recognise me. We fought.’ Haakon stared toward where Annis and the rest of the Northumbrians were disembarking. ‘There can be no question of oath-breaking when a man is in the grip of berserker madness. He lost his senses.’
‘It is a shame that he reached such a sorry end.’ Guthrun bowed her head, the perfect embodiment of a Viken lady, but Haakon knew she hid her knives well. She had not forgiven his father for having a child before her son. He would have thrown her out two years ago when his father died, but she had inherited part of the estate and until now, he lacked the gold to purchase it. ‘You will have to pay compensation. I hope you can afford it. The harvest has been less than last year.’
‘This voyage will provide the gold and silver required.’
With a struggle Guthrun controlled her face but Haakon was not fooled. He knew what drove his stepmother—luxury, money and her son. She rubbed forefinger and thumb together. ‘How much is my son’s share? He is your brother, Haakon Haroldson, and entitled to more than an ordinary member of the felag.’
‘We have succeeded beyond our wildest expectations. Thrand will be able to afford his own estate and retainers.’
‘You see I was correct to urge you to take Thrand on this expedition.’ Guthrun’s smile increased as she waggled her fingers at her son where he was busy supervising the unloading. ‘He undoubtedly played a big part in its success.’
‘Odin and Thor were with us on this voyage, providing gold, silver and captives.’ Haakon gestured towards where the group of dispirited monks and Annis stood. The once-pristine white robes of the monks were now stained and mud-splattered. Alone among the group, Annis stood with her head held proud, no longer bowed but challenging with furious eyes. Through out the journey, she had never complained, but had regarded all around her in stony silence. ‘It will take several days to unload and divide the spoils. Then we make our sacrifices to the Aesir and feast.’
‘That woman is wearing your cloak,’ Guthrun observed.
‘Yes, she is under my protection,’ Haakon replied in a mild tone. ‘She is the daughter of a Northumbrian nobleman.’
Guthrun made an irritated noise in the back of her throat. ‘I expect her to work. This farm has no place for idlers and slackers, even if they are concubines.’
‘She is not my concubine.’
A thin smile appeared on Guthrun’s lips. ‘Thank you. Until you marry, I will continue to look after the house as I have always done.’
‘Until the ransom arrives for all the captives, they will work for their shelter and food.’ Haakon kept his voice smooth.
‘And you have no fear of their god?’ Guthrun turned her head to the side. ‘He is said to possess a powerful magic.’
‘If their god had not intended them to be here, he would have protected them.’ Haakon turned towards the group and began to address them in Latin. ‘Your God has seen fit to deliver you to the Norse. Worship whom you please. It is of little interest to me. I shall ask your pope in Rome for ransom. Obey my stepmother, Guthrun, and stewards as you would me.’
The monks were led away, leaving Annis standing alone. The sea breeze whipped her hair back from her face and moulded her gown to her form. Her steady gaze challenged Haakon.
‘It is intriguing that a mere woman acts in this way,’ Guthrun said. ‘Maybe she is, in truth, your concubine. No captive will dictate how my house is run, however high born she is. She has a fierce air about her. I have no wish for her to intimidate my maids. How do I know what these people are like?’
Haakon frowned. Was this a ploy by Guthrun or was she truly afraid? He knew what Annis was capable of. He remembered his first sighting of her with her hair flowing down her back and the intent expression on her face as she had come to his aid without fear for her own life.
‘She will not harm you, Stepmother. I give you my word on it.’ He turned towards Annis. ‘My stepmother seeks reassurance that you will not harm her.’
‘Harm her?’ Annis held out her hands and her eyes widened. ‘Why should I do that? Where would I go? My home is on the other side of the water. I have no weapons.’
‘You agree to conduct yourself. Or will you speak sweet promises that mean nothing again?’
He stared at her until she dropped her eyes, looking away, admitting defeat.
‘While I am here, I will abide by your rules.’ Her voice choked and she paused, closed her eyes tightly before continuing. ‘What choice do I have? You are the master here. I will give no trouble on my honour as a Northumbrian.’
‘You are right—you have no choice.’ He turned to Guthrun, whose smile had become increasingly fixed through out the exchange. ‘You will have no problems. She has given her word as a woman of noble birth.’
‘Thank you, Haakon.’ Guthrun inclined her head. ‘I will see my son now. He needs his mother and her counsel.’
‘He unloads the cargo. When he has finished his task, he will find you. Settle Annis in with the women. She can do some light work while she is here, waiting for the ransom.’
‘When the woman is housed, I expect to see my son.’
Annis’s brows had drawn together and Haakon wondered how much Norse she understood. Her bottom lip stuck out, looking like the colour of ripe strawberries, and he wondered what it would taste like. Would it hold a faintly salty tang from the sea water or would it be as sweet as the last time they kissed? Heat coursed through him.
Annoyed, he damped down the thoughts. Now was not the time. He had no intention of bedding her. It would complicate matters. He had a rule of not bringing his mistresses into the house. Instead, he played at Thorkell’s court or when he was away in another country. A night or two of passion, then the thrill of the chase wore away.
And what would it be like with Annis? He refused to bend his rule to find out.
‘Guthrun will give you orders.’ The words came out harshly. ‘Obey her or you will have to deal with me.’
‘In everything?’ She tilted her head to one side as if puzzled.
‘Until I decide otherwise.’
Annis ground her teeth as she followed Haakon’s stepmother into the long, low wooden building. It would have been easier if she had been put in a dungeon, treated as if she were a captive rather than a slave. There she could have devised ways to escape. Here, she was surrounded by everyday objects, reminded that the chances her stepfather would send the ransom were slim.
The primitiveness of the house and hall shocked her. In Birdoswald, they lived in stone buildings, so old that it was said that the Roman Legion built them. There, the hearth was at one of end of the room, rather than in the middle as it was here. And they had separate living quarters, not simply raised areas on the edge of the hall.
‘Too fine.’ Guthrun leant forward and rubbed the wool of Annis’s dress. ‘You work here.’
To Annis’s surprise, she found Guthrun’s words relatively easy to understand. It was a bit like hearing Northumbrian spoken with a very bad accent.
‘Work holds no fear. Nothing could hold fear after what I have endured.’
Guthrun raised her eyebrows. She clapped her hands and gave orders to a plump, well-endowed blonde with tiny, piglike eyes who wore an ingratiating smile. ‘Tove, see to her. My son awaits.’
She said some rapid words to Tove, who gave a smirking smile and an exaggerated curtsy. Guthrun then departed, leaving Annis alone with the maidservant. Instantly the woman’s countenance changed, becoming craftier, and a good deal less fawning.
Tove went to a chest, unlocked it and pulled a plain linen tunic and apron-dress out. She shoved them into Annis’s hands. ‘Change.’
A lump formed in Annis’s throat. She had always had help dressing and undressing. No longer. She looked about for a screen to change behind, but there was nothing. Her fingers fumbled with the catch on Haakon’s brooch, and Tove made a clicking noise in the back of her throat. She came over, undid the brooch with impatient fingers and nearly snatched the cloak off Annis’s shoulders.
Tove clicked her fingers. ‘The rest. And no head covering. You are a captive.’
The silver cross tumbled to the floor, and Tove bent to retrieve it.
‘Not yours any more,’ she said and put it on top of the cloak.
Annis’s hand reached out for the cross, quick words sprung to her lips, but then she saw the carved wooden animals on the chest. This was not home. She cursed her bad luck, and forced her hand back down by her side.
Tove slammed the lid down, locked it with a click and pocketed the key. The cross had gone. Annis stared at the carved chest. She no longer had anything to remind herself of home, except for her memories.
Annis shivered slightly. But she rapidly changed the rest of her clothes. The linen scratched against her skin.
Tove led the way to the small kitchen area where a fire burnt in the middle of the room. A kettle filled with soup bubbled on the fire, and several maids were engaged in kneading bread. Two of the largest cats she had ever seen lounged in front of the fire, looking far more like dogs or half-tamed mountain cats. Rather than being chased away as they would be back home, the serving girls seemed to welcome the cats, pausing to give them strokes as they went about their business. Three other women were busy with spinning and weaving. Tove called out and several of the women snickered.
Tove gave Annis’s shoulder a shove and pointed to a sack of barley and then to the large quern and mimicked grinding barley. Annis’s heart sank. She had never had to do such a thing before—such things were done by the meanest servants. Annis clenched her teeth. She took a handful from the sack and placed it on the grinding stone.
After several passes with the stone, Annis saw the grain turn into a coarse flour. This wasn’t as hard as she first feared. She gave a triumphant smile and placed the stone down.
Tove said something else. The entire room burst out laughing. Tove pointed to the sack. Annis’s mouth dropped open. She was expected to grind the entire sack.
She put in some more barley and started to grind, faster this time. Her shoulders protested at the unaccustomed exercise. She would do this! She would grind the sack of barley.
She ground faster and faster, forcing the pace, and then suddenly the quern tipped over, spilling the flour everywhere, much to the intense amusement of Tove and her friends. Annis wanted to sink down on her knees and cry, but instead she forced herself to try to pick the flour up with her hands. It flowed everywhere. A cat jumped into the middle of the dust and began washing its whiskers as the roars grew louder.
A young woman with long teeth said something in rapid Norse, waving her hands and shaking her head.
‘I can do it myself. I made the mess,’ Annis said in Latin and then in Northumbrian.
‘Let me help.’
The woman removed the cat, took a brush and rapidly swept the flour into a pile. She scooped it up into another dish. Annis bit her lip and nodded her thanks.
‘Empty the quern often or else…’ The woman gestured with her hands, mimicking what could happen. ‘This has happened to me before—several times.’
Annis felt a lump grow in her throat. She touched the woman’s hand. ‘Thank you.’
‘Ingrid.’ The woman held up a finger and then said something in very rapid Norse.
Annis put her hand to her chest and took time with her words. ‘Annis. I am called Annis. If you speak slowly, I can understand.’
‘I am Ingrid,’ the woman said, a smile breaking over her face and making it pretty and less like a startled hare. ‘Tove makes mischief. She seeks to share a Jaarl’s bed and perhaps have his child as that would make her future.’
‘What does that have to do with me?’
‘They are wondering if you share Lord Haakon’s bed where you come from, and is this why he brought you here? The Jaarl has never brought a woman here before.’
Annis felt her face flame. ‘No. I am a captive, not a concubine.’
‘They wondered. Many would like to share his bed. He is reputed to be a kind and considerate lover.’
Annis felt her cheeks burn even more as she remembered the kiss they had shared. She should have known that he was an expert in these matters. Perhaps he was like Selwyn with many mistresses, changing them as often as he changed his cloaks. ‘He is more interested in the ransom that he expects to get.’
‘If that is true, then Tove will be very happy.’ Ingrid leant closer. ‘But you will admit—he does have strong arms, and a pleasing face.’
‘Yes, I will give him that.’
The entire room burst out laughing.
Ingrid came over to Annis and took the grinding stone from her again. She poured some barley into the bottom bowl and showed Annis how to do the grinding properly. ‘Like so, yes? Tove always makes the new serving girls grind the barley. Never teaches, but I help.’
A wave of relief washed over as tears pricked Annis’s eyes. She had not expected kindness. Somehow it made her feel less alone. She had made a friend. It had been before Selwyn died that she had had a friend.
‘Can you tell me why cats are allowed in the hall?’
‘Do you not have cats in the kitchen back where you come from?’
Annis shook her head.
Ingrid reached down and picked the black-and-white one up, cradling it in her arms. ‘This is Kisa, and the grey is Fress. They are beloved of the goddess Freya, and help to keep the mice down.’
Annis tried the unfamiliar names out and tentatively reached out a finger. Kisa responded immediately by purring and lifting her head backwards. ‘They are the largest cats I have ever seen.’
‘Kisa likes you. She is very picky about the people she lets stroke her. Cats can tell about people, you know.’ Ingrid gave a decisive nod. ‘I will like you as well, I think.’
Annis started to grind the barley again this time, following Ingrid’s instructions as Kisa settled at her feet.
Annis wiped the sweat from her brow. The sack, which had been full, sagged with only a few handfuls of grain left at the bottom. Two days of grinding barley had been hard work, but she was nearing the end. The only compensation was that she was exhausted at the end of the day and fell asleep next to Ingrid as soon as her eyes closed. No dreams of burning buildings or strong warriors, only blessed oblivion.
She lifted the grinding stone and started to work again.
‘Ow.’ The blister on her right hand tore open and every movement was like fire. Annis resisted the temptation to cry. Of everything that had happened to her, it was this blister that truly hurt. Such a stupid thing to cry over. The monks were undoubtedly suffering far worse, yet this morning she could hear the sound of their chanting as they went about the work of the farm. She used the corner of her apron-dress to wipe away a tear.
