Chapter 10 #3
The following day passed quickly. At every opportunity, Merrik was giving her food, standing over her until she’d eaten every morsel he’d dished out.
Taby was playing with the other children now.
Kenna, the eight-year-old son of Erik’s concubine, Caylis, was a particular hero.
He followed Kenna everywhere. Kenna, a handsome lad who didn’t seem to have his father’s meanness or arrogance, treated Taby with good-natured tolerance. The other children followed his lead.
Cleve was the one in an odd position. He was a slave, yet he didn’t sleep in the slave hut, nor did he perform menial tasks. Merrik kept him with him and his men when they hunted that afternoon.
Laren counted her silver coins. She now had eighteen.
Soon now, she would ask Merrik. She’d forgotten to speak to him the previous night.
Too much had happened, far too much, and she knew she and Taby and Cleve had to leave soon.
In weak moments, like right now, she didn’t want to leave Merrik any more than Taby did, but she had to get them away from here. Neither of them belonged here.
She cooked that evening, making a stew from boar meat that brought satisfied nods from Merrik’s men and grunts of surprise from the Malverne people.
After the meal, Erik looked at Laren, and there was lust and meanness in his eyes.
He said, “We won’t have the girl continue her foolish tale tonight. I have other matters I wish to see to.”
So Laren would gain no more silver pieces that night. She assumed that Erik believed he was punishing her. She didn’t care. Sarla touched her sleeve. “The stew was the best I have ever eaten. You must teach me, Laren, you must.”
Sarla had spoken sharply, urgently, and Laren turned to her, frowning. “It is simple, truly. Your cooking is just as good, mine is simply different.”
“Nay, you must show me.”
Laren looked at her closely, very closely, and for the first time she saw the faint bruise that was beneath Sarla’s right eye. Fury curdled her belly. “By all the gods, he struck you!”
“Hush! Be quiet, Laren, please just be quiet. It’s nothing of anything, truly. It doesn’t hurt, and you can’t see it unless you look very closely. Be quiet.”
“Why did he strike you?”
Sarla said nothing. She merely shrugged.
“Why?”
“Erik doesn’t need reasons for his actions. I displeased him and he hit me.”
“Has he hit you before?”
Sarla looked at her then, and there was pity in her fine gray eyes. “I seem to displease him more and more as the days and weeks go by.”
Laren knew that men hit women—their wives, their concubines, their slaves, it didn’t seem to matter.
But Sarla was so quiet and kind. How could she possibly displease anyone?
And then she knew why Erik had struck his gentle wife.
It was because he’d been thwarted; he’d wanted her, Laren, and Merrik had forestalled him.
“Your look is violent, Laren. I beg you, please say nothing. Please just forget this. Besides, I saw him speaking earlier to Caylis and then to Megot—she is the beautiful girl over there near the loom speaking to Ileria, the one with the pale brown hair. It is likely he will leave me alone now.”
Laren held her peace, but it was difficult.
“You are angry.”
Laren was making bread the following morning, for the men had eaten every single loaf she’d made the previous day.
She plunged her hands in the trough full of dough, up to her elbows.
She looked up at Cleve and forced a smile.
“Nay, not really angry. It’s just that Sarla is very kind and gentle. Her husband isn’t.”
“He is a man who enjoys being the master. He dislikes any to disagree with him. I have heard that since his father died, he has become more reckless in his actions. It makes him feel important and powerful to know he can hurt or kill any man or woman at any time, at his whim.”
“At least Sarla was spared his attention last night.”
“Aye, she was. She slept in the outer chamber. Near me.”
Laren sighed and dug deeper into the dough, kneading it furiously.
The flour hadn’t been ground as well as it could have been and she felt the grit between her fingers.
She would have to see about that. She remembered her owner in Staraya Ladoga, that foul-tempered old woman who had, at least, taught her how to cook and grind flour properly and make beer and ale.
She’d learned quickly, just as she’d told Merrik, for the woman had struck her hard for each failure.
Actually, she’d also occasionally hit her if she prepared a dish perfectly, saying she didn’t want her to become conceited.
Laren said now, “You and I have seen so much, Cleve, lived through so much. I don’t know why a bruise on Sarla’s face would make me so angry, but it does.
It makes me nearly as angry as that horrible scar on your face.
If I could I would kill both men who caused each of you the pain.
” She paused a moment, then said, “I am afraid of Erik.”
“I know. It is a pity that your body isn’t as strong as your spirit. Would you truly kill the man who scarred me, Laren?”
“Aye, I would enjoy causing him great pain.”
“It was a woman.”
She could only stare at him, then she shook her head. “I don’t know why I am so surprised. I have seen equal cruelty from both men and women. Why did she do it?”
“I wouldn’t bed her.”
She just shook her head at him. “Did it matter so much to you?”
“Aye,” he said shortly, “it mattered greatly to me.”
She saw that he would say no more and held her peace. Of all people, she knew what it was like to keep the darkness of the past close and quiet. “Do you hunt with Merrik today?”
He shook his head. “Nay, I am here only to eat some of your porridge, then I will work in the fields. Harvest is not long in coming now and there is need for every hand. Even Merrik will be in the barley fields soon.”
“And Erik?”
Cleve shrugged as he spooned porridge into a wooden bowl from the iron pot hanging from its chain over the fire pit.
“I last saw him taking a woman into the bathing hut with him. I doubt washing himself is all that is on his mind. I believe her name is Megot. She is short and too fat for my tastes, but her hair is as rich a gold as the barley in the field.”
“She’s very beautiful. I have eighteen silver pieces.”
He poured a bit of honey over the porridge. “That is a lot, Laren. I would give you silver if I but had any.”
“You don’t understand, Cleve. When I have enough, I will purchase all of us from Merrik and we will go home.”
“Home?”
“Aye, my home.”
He just looked at her, then shook his head. “How would we get there? Where is your home? Have you people who would take us in?”
She kneaded more quickly. “I don’t know. First I must have enough silver. Then I will worry about what comes next.”
“You will gain even more silver tonight. I fancy that Erik will call for you to speak. He punished only himself last night. I, like all the others, want to know what will happen to Grunlige the Dane.”
“Actually, I don’t know myself much of the time until the words just pop out of my mouth.”
He gazed at her in some astonishment. “You speak truly?”
“Aye, Grunlige is a wily man and sometimes he does things I never plan.”
Cleve thoughtfully spooned the porridge into his mouth. “I begin to think of him as a real man when you speak of him. To realize that he is naught more than a figment of your mind depresses me.”
“Don’t tell the others, all right?”
“Nay,” he said, grinning at her, “I shan’t.”
“Most of the time he is very real to me as well.”
She worked in silence now, and Cleve stood there eating. She chanced to look up. He was staring at Sarla. There was such tenderness in his eyes, she wanted to weep.
“Oh no,” she said.
He turned and smiled down at her. “Nay, Laren. I am no fool. Do you know that she doesn’t seem to mind the ugliness of my face?
Sometimes when she smiles at me I don’t even think she sees the scar.
There is only gentleness in her and kindness.
And a liking for me, not that it matters.
It is a great shame. She is wedded to that foul bully and I, well, I am not worthy to dry her tears. ”
She looked at him and saw his pain and reminded herself yet again that life held little enough joy, and that any joy at all that came should be savored to the fullest.