Chapter 13
SHE’D SURVIVED ON her wits for two long years.
Aye, her wits, and great doses of sheer luck, and that luck had almost run out by the time she’d met Merrik.
She wouldn’t fail now, she couldn’t, it was simply too important.
Everything hung in the balance now. She thought of her forty silver pieces, her two armlets, and knew they would make no difference to anything.
She motioned the children to sit around her in a circle.
She wanted to speak quickly, to get it over with, but she knew it was wise to begin slowly, for it gained everyone’s attention and held them whilst she built her story, like a house.
“I will tell you about Rolf the Viking who lived a long time ago here in Norway.
He was proud and strong and fearless, a warrior of rare mettle, as are most of the men in Norway.
Rolf was young, a man in his prime, and as handsome of mien as he was powerful of body.
“He had two brothers, both strong, both handsome, both ambitious.
They were all in their prime, all as handsome of mien as they were powerful of body.
Rolf was the eldest and he went araiding for the sheer joy of battle and he added to his wealth as the summers went by.
Radnor, the second son, was a trader and he voyaged far and wide with his goods.
He was wily and more quick-witted than an Arab in a bazaar.
He became quickly as rich as Rolf. The youngest son was Ingor, a farmer.
His farmstead prospered, for he had a magic way with crops and he, too, grew richer with each passing season.
“Rolf came home from raiding along the mighty Seine River. He brought with him twelve slaves, six men and six women, all of them captured from the three small villages having the misfortune to sit too close to the river.
“One of the male slaves was a man as proud and strong as were the Viking warriors who had managed to capture him. He’d been unlucky and the warriors knew it.
He’d been ill and still he’d fought them until he’d collapsed with the wounds and the illness within his body.
He was dressed more finely than the others captured, and all the warriors knew that as well.
But whoever he was, what his real name was, none knew and he wouldn’t say anything.
He was also a man with talent—in short, he was a runemaster—but more than that, he was a scion of a proud family that had much wealth and power in that region of France.
He’d just chanced to be in the village that fateful day because he was visiting an artisan from whom he wished to learn new methods to perfect his skill.
“But now he was a slave, just like the others.
Rolf knew value when he saw it and kept him close.
He made the man his runemaster and was astonished with the beautiful carvings the man accomplished along with his fashioning of magnificent writ.
Visitors heard of the runemaster and visited Rolf from far and wide.
Radnor, the second brother, tried to buy the slave from his brother, but Rolf refused.
“Ah, but the silver the slave gained from the visitors who came to Rolf’s longhouse. He carved them magnificent chair posts, intricate designs on jewelry and on jewel boxes. He became renowned. Soon, he had as much silver as he thought he needed to buy himself from Rolf and thus regain his freedom.
“He offered all his silver to Rolf, but Rolf refused. He allowed the slave to keep all his silver, but he said he wouldn’t sell him. He told the slave he admired him, he wanted him to be content in his new home, in his new land.
“He didn’t abuse the slave. Some of his men wondered if it was friendship he felt toward the slave or whether he was afraid the slave would gullet him, for he was, as you know already, a valiant fighter and now he was back to his full strength.
“The slave held his peace until finally he could bear it no longer. Rolf assured him that whatever he wished to tell him he would keep in confidence; he vowed it on his honor. The slave wasn’t stupid, but when Rolf told him if the truth meant he might lose him, then so be it.
He was to trust him. The slave was still uncertain, but he leapt at the chance of going home.
So he told Rolf who he was, told him that his family was powerful and wealthy and he was the heir and he asked Rolf to stand as his friend, as he’d just professed himself to be, and help him regain his proper station in life.
“Rolf clasped the slave to him and told him to trust him, that aye, he was indeed his friend. He told him he would most assuredly assist him to return to his home. Now, the question is, what did Rolf do?”
Laren paused, then looked at Olaf Thoragasson. “My lord,” she said, bowing toward him, “what would you have done were you Rolf?”
Olaf Thoragasson leaned forward in his chair.
He looked at his men, at the group of slaves who were clustered near the doors of the longhouse.
He said loudly, “I would flay the flesh from the man’s back for such insolence!
It means nothing to make a vow to a slave, less than nothing, despite his claims, despite his skills.
Aye, Rolf should chain the beggar and let him starve until he declares his allegiance is to Rolf and to no one else! ”
He sat back in his chair and his men cheered. Some of the Malverne people cheered as well, but not all.
Laren turned to Erik. “My lord, what would you have Rolf do?”
He smiled at her, a smile of superiority at her woman’s ignorance, her lack of understanding of the way of men and of honor.
He said slowly, “I would ransom the fellow from this powerful and wealthy family of his, and then I would keep him and chain him up. Olaf is right, it is just that I am not only right as well, I am also richer.”
There was much laughter, Thoragasson not taking offense, guffawing loudly, praising Erik’s wit.
Laren waited silently, standing motionless, outwardly serene and calm, then she turned to Merrik. “My lord Merrik, what would you have Rolf do?”
He said very slowly, his eyes never leaving her face, “Were I this Rolf, I would keep my word. It wouldn’t matter if the man was a slave or a king. I would take the man back to his kin. I would restore him.”
“You’re a fool, brother!” Erik shouted. “You not only lose a valuable possession, you do not even make the possession pay for his freedom!”
“Aye,” Thoragasson said loudly. “Honor comes not into it, Merrik. Your word given to naught but a slave means nothing, just as I said. Had Rolf given his word to one of his brothers, then it would have been different. But to this damned slave? Never! Let him be a captured king, it doesn’t matter.”
Laren waited until all the men and women grew silent once more, until one by one, they looked at her again.
“Tell us, girl,” Thoragasson said. “What did Rolf do?”
“He went to speak to his brothers. Ragnor told him to treat the slave just as you said, Olaf Thoragasson. Ingor told him to do just as Erik said.”
She paused and Thoragasson roared, “What did Rolf do?”
She looked at each man in turn, then said very quietly, “He could not decide. He trusted both his brothers yet he wasn’t certain which was right or if either one of them was right.
He muttered and tried to reason it out, but he couldn’t.
Time passed and his rage at his own weakness, his own failure to decide what to do, drove him nearly mad.
Finally, in a moment of enraged madness, he took down his mighty sword, said good-bye to the slave, and ran his sword through the slave’s heart. ”
There was a loud yell from Thoragasson, moans from the women, laughter from Erik, and nothing from Merrik, nothing at all. He didn’t move, his expression didn’t change. He did nothing, merely looked at her impassively.
Finally, when everyone quieted, Merrik said, “That isn’t the end of the Viking though, is it? What happened next?”
“Rolf came to himself once again. He regretted deeply what he’d done.
Guilt ate at him endlessly, never giving him respite, and he couldn’t sleep nor could he eat, nor could he think about going araiding again.
He withdrew from his brothers, blaming them for his loss of judgment.
Soon he blamed them entirely for the death of his slave.
“The brothers were furious with his treatment of them. They bedeviled Rolf, telling him he was more a fool than the slave had been to trust in his word. Aye, they mocked him: he had lied to the slave, whereas they’d done nothing save offer their opinion, and he, Rolf, had asked for it, after all.
But to kill such a valuable slave! It was madness and Rolf had done it, thus he was mad.
They wouldn’t leave him alone. On and on it went until, finally, Rolf could no longer bear himself for he saw at last that they were in the right of it.
“He’d betrayed the slave, then he’d smote him.
He knew there was but one way to make amends.
He threw off all his weapons and walked by himself deep into the forest. He knew that sooner or later a wild beast would attack him and kill him.
He wanted death; he actively sought death to release him from the man he’d become. ”
Laren stopped because she didn’t know what happened next. Her head pounded and she was thirsty. She became suddenly aware of the raw pain between her thighs. She looked toward Merrik, for he was the cause of that pain. He was looking back at her, his expression unreadable to her.