Chapter 3
Olav stared at his stepdaughter as he chewed on the potato cake shea??d prepared for supper to go with the broiled beef strips.
It was moist and well-baked, yet oddly, it chewed dryly in his mouth, then settled badly in his stomach.
He continued to stare at Zarabeth. She was serving her little sister now, that damned little freak that Olav should have thrown into the gutter that day hea??d discovered what shea??d become and from whose seed she had sprung.
The child was crazy and stupid, but Zarabeth refused to accept it.
Aye, he should have killed her then, but he hadna??t.
And now he couldna??t. Zarabeth loved the little idiot and he knew deep down that if he harmed the girl, Zarabeth would turn on him.
She might possibly even kill him. He didna??t want to be afraid of her.
He wanted to bed her.
She carried none of his blood. She was simply Irish trash, just like her mother had been, trash, but not the whore Mara had been, and he would have her in his bed, soon now.
And after he was done with her, why, then he might just sell her back to the slave market in Dublin, or possibly simply take her to be his wife.
Her and that little idiot, curse the fates.
Perhaps he wouldna??t remain in York. Perhaps, if he married her, he would take her back to Hedeby, where hea??d been born and which he had left some twenty years before.
He swallowed some of the beef, realizing even as he nearly choked on it that it was quite tasty with the honey and flour coating it.
He licked his fingers, pausing a moment before he said deliberately, his voice laden with suspicion, a??You seem different tonight, Zarabeth.
Did something happen today? Something youa??re not telling me? a??
And because she knew Olav was, unaccountably, jealous of every young man who spoke to her, she looked immediately guilty, even as she quickly shook her head and said no.
a??You met a man, didna??t you?a??
She knew her mistake and said calmly enough, a??He is a Viking trader, from Norway, near Kaupang, he told me. He was at the well in Coppergate square. He startled me when he spoke, and that is how I lost the pail.a??
It sounded plausible, but Olav wasna??t satisfied. A man was stupid if he trusted a womana??s word. He eyed her closely and decided he couldna??t let this pass. a??Tell me, what is this Vikinga??s name?a??
a??I do not know. He didna??t tell me, merely spoke to me of the weather, and of you, of course. Aye, he spoke highly of you, for, as I said, he is a trader and interested in doing business with you.a??
a??Perhaps he will come to the shop then,a?? Olav said, and this bite of potato cake tasted quite good in his mouth. Still, she was different. It bothered him.
a??Why didna??t he tell you his name?a??
Zarabeth shrugged. She hated this lying, yet the lies had come unbidden and immediately to her tongue.
She wasna??t certain why. She thought of Magnus, pictured him in her mind, tall and arrogant and sharp-eyed; then she saw that smile of his, that look in his eyes when he had stared down at her.
She smiled unconsciously even as she spoke to Lotti and placed her small fingers around a strip of beef and said, a??Do eat just a bit more, sweeting.
Thata??s right, just another little bite.
You must grow up to be a big healthy girl.a??
Olav watched Zarabeth lean down and kiss the top of the girla??s head.
Little moron! He felt his loins tighten as his eyes dropped to Zarabetha??s breasts.
Shea??d finally grown into a womana??s body.
Shea??d been thin and flat as a board until just a year before.
Then suddenly shea??d become a woman and all the young men had come sniffing around her, lust wetting their lips, all of them wanting her, badly.
But, thank the fates, she hadna??t seemed at all interested in any of them, so Olav hadna??t been forced to name a brideprice that would make their eyes bulge with chagrin and disbelief.
And every day she grew to look more and more like her mother, beautiful, gentle, unfaithful Mara.
He hadna??t controlled Mara well, hea??d been too easy with her, too tender, and look what it had gotten him.
But Zarabeth, her mothera??s image, wasna??t at all like Mara, except she shared what all women shared, a womana??s lying tongue.
She would obey him and she would remain faithful to him, for he would bind her firmly to him.
His own son wanted her, and that amused Olav, for Keith was well and firmly married to a girl Olav had selected for him.
Keith was always coming around, presumably to see his father, but Olav knew better.
He knew that young man was infatuated with Zarabeth.
He wouldna??t get her. Olav would kill his own son before he let him touch her.
He suspected that Toki, Keitha??s wife, would also kill him were he to stray.
He wondered if Toki knew of her husbanda??s infatuation for his stepsister.
Olav stroked his soft golden beard, as was his habit when he was thinking deeply about a problem.
There were white strands in the gold now, but not many.
He wasna??t an old man, not for many a year would he be that.
His rod still stiffened easily and his back was still straight.
There was a bit of fat puffing out his belly, but not enough to repel a woman.
His beard was thick and grew fully, as did the hair on his head.
He was proud of his appearance and stinted nothing in the jewels and golden brooches he bought for himself.
Hea??d heard himself called Olav the Vain, and it amused him.
Why shouldna??t a man of decent aspect be a bit vain?
Olav suddenly pushed away his chair and rose. a??There are furs I must inspect before it darkens more. If your Viking comes to see me on the morrow, I will tell him that you spoke of him to me.a??
He paused a moment to see her reaction, but she merely nodded, saying nothing, her face giving nothing away.
That in itself made his suspicions boil, but he said nothing more, merely left her to go into the front of the house, which was his store.
The way she was able to make her face blank bothered him, for it hid her thoughtsa??be they happy or sad or guilty.
He lit a bear-oil lamp and looked at the piles of beaver, mink, and otter fur.
He dropped to his haunches and began to methodically separate them according to their quality and their size, mentally setting a price to each one.
He was good at this, and knew it, and blessed his long-dead father for teaching him.
In the back living area, Zarabeth went about her chores automatically, for her thoughts strayed again and again to the Viking.
She spoke to Lotti as she washed the wooden plates and the knives.
She bathed her little sister and tucked her firmly in soft furs on the narrow box bed in the small chamber they both shared.
When finally she herself was lying next to Lotti, wrapped in a thick wool blanket, she thought again about Magnus Haraldsson.
She would see him on the morrow, after Christian matins, hea??d said.
Nay, he had ordered. She smiled into the darkness.
He was only a man like any other man, she told herself, yet he had fascinated her.
She heard her stepfather enter the chamber next to this one, a room larger, containing a feather-stuffed mattress on a wide box bed and a large trunk that held all his clothing.
The walls were thin between the chambers.
She heard him pull off his clothes, knew that he folded them carefully, heard him carefully remove his golden armlet and the three rings he wore.
She heard him belch, imagined him rubbing his belly, then crawling into his bed.
Within minutes his loud snores filled both chambers.
She lay there awake for a very long time, wondering where Magnus was and what he was thinking and doing.
Magnus was aboard his vessel, the Sea Wind.
He was standing between two oar ports near the tiller, his elbows on the guardrailing, at ease with the slight movement beneath his feet and the gentle lapping sound of the water against the sides.
The water was calm, for the inlet was narrow and well-protected with thick earthen banks.
He looked around at the half-dozen other vessels docked along the lengthened quayside on the River Ouse.
Unlike the Viking warships, all these vessels were used for trading, not for lightning attacks.
They were much broader, the sides higher to provide more protection from the waves, their plankings nailed together, not lashed to the frames.
There was a single large square sail of coarse white wadmal sewn with bright red strips for added strength attached to the mast and two small covered areas aft beneath overhanging oak planks to protect the precious cargo from storms and winds.
Further protection for cargo existed beneath the planked deck.
Magnus had had his vessel built three years before and had plans this coming year to have another made by the builder in Kaupang who was known for both the quality of his work and the speed with which he completed it.
He was also known as a madman, with his black flowing beard and his bright black eyes, and Magnus quite liked him.
He was insolent in a completely impersonal way that kept others from taking offense.