Murderous Thieves
Ylva didn’t know what to think any more. Could she really have been so wrong about Cathryn?
It can’t be true. I don’t believe it.
Ylva looked into the shadow at the corner of the stable and saw Geri sitting in the darkness, eyes shining as he watched her.
It can’t be true.
Ylva had never seen him more clearly. Never wanted so much for him to be there with her.
‘I don’t believe it either,’ she said to him before looking at Bron lying beside her. ‘I don’t believe it.’ Ylva hadn’t known Cathryn and Bron for long, but she couldn’t imagine they would steal and sell slaves. It didn’t make sense. ‘Cathryn said slavery was wrong.’ She turned to the three-fingered man. ‘Bron cut off my collar.’
‘Tricks to make you trust them.’ The woman shrugged. ‘Make you do as they said.’
‘They helped me.’
‘They fooled you.’ The three-fingered man raised his voice. ‘Accept it.’ He fixed his eyes on Ylva as if they might cut right through her. ‘Now, go and make us something to eat. I’m starving and it’s going to be a long night. There’s food in there.’ He made an impatient gesture with his hand and pointed to a bundle by the wall. ‘Make something hot.’
Ylva stared at him, unable to think. Unable to move. She was numb inside. Could she really have been so wrong? Had she come all this way just to be a slave for a new owner?
‘Do it now!’ The three-fingered man growled.
It was difficult to manage with her wrists tied to the short rope around her neck, but Ylva struggled to her feet. She glanced at Bron, still lying on the straw. He hadn’t moved and she wondered if he was going to die, but for a second his eyes flickered and he looked at her. It was almost too fast to see, but long enough to let her know he was awake.
And now Geri was sitting right beside him. You have to think clearly. Trust Bron. Get them to untie you.
‘I can’t cook anything like this.’ Ylva held her hands up as much as she could. ‘You’ll have to untie me.’
‘I don’t think so,’ the flame-haired woman said.
‘Do it,’ the three-fingered man told her. ‘I haven’t eaten all day, and what harm can she do? You think she’ll try to kill us? She’s a child, what does she know about killing?’
‘There isn’t a Dane that doesn’t know about killing,’ the woman said.
The three-fingered man snorted. ‘But she’s so small. Untie her.’
The flame-haired woman hesitated, then came forward and loosened the rope. She wound it into a coil and threw it down on the floor close to the three-fingered man. ‘You cook; I’ll make a fire. But as soon as you’re done, the rope goes back on.’
Ylva went to the bundle by the wall. She lifted a cloak to reveal a basket made from woven beech rods. It had loops on each side so a person could carry it over their back. When she opened the top, she saw among other things: an iron cooking pot, chunks of fresh wild boar wrapped in cloth and an assortment of vegetables. While she took out what she needed, the woman scraped a shallow pit in the centre of the stable and filled it with coals collected from the smouldering remains of the workshop outside.
Ylva banged the pot down directly on to the fire so that sparks flew up around it. She splashed water into it and threw in the meat and the vegetables. The three-fingered man wouldn’t allow her a knife to cut them, so she snapped the parsnips and carrots, imagining they were his bones. She tore the cabbage to shreds, vowing that this would be the last meal she would ever cook as a slave.
Sitting on her haunches to work, Ylva glanced over her shoulder. The three-fingered man was still on the stool, but he had put Ylva’s axe on the floor beside the bone flute. He was facing the flame-haired woman, who was perched on an upturned wooden bucket. Deep in conversation, both of them had taken the weapons from their belts and leant them against the wall. They were out of Ylva’s reach but as she stirred the wooden spoon and looked down into the blackened pot, an idea began to form.
When she was sure the Vikings weren’t watching her, Ylva nudged Bron to get his attention. He opened his eyes just enough to acknowledge her, and she used her hands to tell him what she planned to do. She didn’t know the hand-speak he used with Cathryn, but she did her best, and eventually he nodded and closed his eyes.
As soon as he did, Ylva took the wooden spoon out of the pot and placed the handle into the fire. She shuffled round to make sure the three-fingered man and the flame-haired woman couldn’t see the spoon handle begin to burn.
Ylva stared into the pot, watching the meat and vegetables turning, rising, falling in the water. It was like her mind – all those thoughts muddling together.
‘. . . ready?’ the woman asked.
‘Hm?’ Ylva looked back at her. ‘What?’
‘I said is the food ready? My stomach’s as empty as a poor man’s treasure chest.’
‘Almost.’ Ylva pushed the cluttered thoughts from her mind and focused on one thing. This was her best chance, her only chance, to avenge Mother. She held the burning wooden spoon by the wide end and took it from the fire. Blowing out the flame, she turned her body so the Vikings couldn’t see her press the glowing end of the spoon to the rope binding Bron’s hands. It took only a few seconds to burn through the hemp and free him.
‘Yes,’ she said as she tossed the spoon into the fire. ‘It’s done.’ She picked up the cloth that had been wrapped around the boar meat, and glanced across at Bron. He nodded just enough to show that he was ready.
‘Well, bring it over here, child. I’m itching to find out if your stew is as bitter as your personality,’ said the three-fingered man.
‘As long as it’s better than your flute playing.’ Ylva used the cloth to protect her hands as she lifted the pot from the fire and, moving as quickly as she could, she turned and took three paces towards the Vikings. And when she was directly in front of them, Ylva hurled the scalding stew into their faces.
Bron was on his feet as the Vikings flinched away, turning their heads and raising their hands, but they were too late to protect themselves. Ylva had never heard a grown man scream until the moment red-hot stew splashed into the three-fingered man’s eyes, and she was quick to take advantage of his pain.