Roused from the doze brought on by distress, discomfort and hunger Brigid sat up and rubbed at her aching head. A shout from one of the crew had brought her out of her stupor of sickness. Last time she woke, he and two others were surveying the horizon while their leader took a rest. It was not long after sunrise, she judged.
Long ago during this horror voyage, all thought of the passage of time was forgotten. Whether it took them a sennight or a few days to reach their destination she knew not and cared less. Even the fear of their fate once they hit land faded beneath the urgent longing to feel dry unmoving land beneath her feet once again. If she survived the next period of her life, she swore to her gods that she would never set foot on a sea-going vessel again and would surely kill herself rather than endure a repeat of this voyage.
The Norse leader, Rolf, now climbed onto the side of his ship and shouted in jubilation, and soon all his crew were yelling and punching each other like excited children. It seemed they had arrived in their homeland. Wearily Brigid stood and stared across the expanse of sea ahead of the ship.
Tall jagged cliffs reared up from the land and it seemed they were heading straight for them. With a hand above her eyes to shield them from the weak sun that was at last peeking through the clouds she realised that they were heading unerringly toward the rocky headland.
The other captives were now stirring, and due to their weakened state took their time rising to see what all the fuss was about. Bjorn and one of the girls were explaining to the smaller children that land was ahead, and they would soon be off this dreadful vessel.
The thought uppermost in Brigid’s mind was that she hoped they would be fed something other than fish or the dried meat that tasted very much like leather straight off the cow’s back. Although hungry, her stomach reeled at the food that one of the crew doled out carefully around the middle of each day. It was clearly rationed, due to the extra passengers aboard the craft. At least they had been fed, even if the food was vile, and thankfully were given fresh water, which was also strictly measured out. The crew drank what Brigid guessed was a potent brew to quench their thirst. After it they were always more jovial and noisy which frightened her and the other women. Brigid sent thanks to her god that no one had so far tried to set a hand on any of them. Likely that was because their leader was always watching them, and they dared not disobey his orders.
Now she had time to steady her shaky legs and take in the scenery as they neared the shore the old fear of what lay ahead deepened. They were heading to an inlet between the cliffs, and now she could see figures on the clifftop jumping up and down and yelling, and a few waved flaming torches above their heads.
The sails were lowered and stowed and then the crew were back to rowing. It did not take long to reach a jetty jutting out from the land. This jetty and also the surrounding area along a small beach was filled with a throng of people of all shapes and sizes excitedly cheering their greetings.
Brigid’s stomach lurched as she surveyed the Norse people, who now seemed menacing. It had come to her and the other women with force during the voyage that they would never see their beloved homeland again. Looks passed between the other female captives, who now all stood to stare in varying forms of fear and awe. The children whispered to each other, likely unable to take in what was happening. Perhaps they were the better off as they were mostly too young to understand that they were prisoners in another land far from their home. For all they knew they could have been on a journey along the coastline of their homeland.
The people on the jetty looked so different to any she had ever seen before. The women all seemed large and the men even larger. Their long hair was a light colour like Rolf’s, and their odd clothing made of animal hide gave them the appearance of wild creatures. All waved some sort of stick or weapon as they shouted in their guttural language. Some of their faces bore painted patterns and some men had symbols on their shaven heads.
Once the longship was brought alongside the jetty and made secure the crew jumped ashore. There followed much rejoicing and thumping of backs as they were greeted by their fellow countrymen. A few of the crew were pulled into the arms of women, perhaps their wives, but in the throng, it appeared that the crew were passed from one woman to another as if they were the property of all.
Their leader was hailed and welcomed by each and every one of the welcome party. The captives on the vessel seemed to have been forgotten in the rejoicing. Brigid and the other women exchanged wary glances. They all knew that short of jumping over the side to inevitable drowning as Asa did, they had no hope of escape and these strangers no doubt knew this.
Margret approached Brigid, her son in her arms, and whispered in her ear, “Whatever the future holds, I will never forget you, Brigid, or our homeland, and my Celtic heritage.”
Brigid nodded and took her hand to squeeze it. They had already discussed the likelihood of some of them, especially the children who were unable to work, ending up at the slave market. Whether the long hard journey forced them to face their inevitable future, or all fight left them because of their sickness and weakness, she was not sure, but all seemed to have accepted whatever fate befell them. It disheartened her that some now looked as meek as cattle going to the axe of the slaughterman.
Brigid was still determined to fight to her last breath rather than submit to the Norse leader. Never once since their time in the sea did he mention again that he was sure Fate secured them a future together. Whether that was because of the lack of privacy on the ship or perhaps his change of mind, she could not be sure, and cared not.
As Margret turned away, Brigid dragged in a startled breath when the Norse leader appeared at her shoulder, saying, “Come, it is time for you to set foot on my homeland.” With a wave of his hand, he surveyed the other women and the huddled children. “Tell your Celtic women that they are to each ensure they have a child in their care and to understand that should they try to do anything as foolish as run, they will be slain.”
Brigid nodded and shrugged her shoulders. There was little need to explain anything to the women. Most were only too eager to at last feel the solid earth beneath their feet, and were too weak and filthy anyway, to do anything other than obey like sheep. Like obedient children, they climbed onto the jetty, some stumbling, as their legs grew accustomed once again to a floor that did not move continually.
Some of the Norse women jeered and shook their fist in a threatening manner. A few reached out to touch their garments, and Brigid was relieved that the others did not understand the shouted threats of the Norsewomen, some promising death by torture. The Celtic women cringed away as if they were being attacked by wild animals. Brigid was thankful that she did not still wear the oversized garments of their leader, as that would surely have aroused the curiosity and no doubt anger of some of his countrywomen.
Blocking out the loud taunting comments, Brigid took in the surroundings. This was surely a large settlement with many huts scattered about, some large some small. Most were not a lot different to some of the wooden farmhouses back home, but some had grass or moss on their roofs and a few even had window openings. Smoke drifted up from most of the roofs and the smell of cooking meat mingled with the aroma coming off the goats, fowl and other creatures penned in small enclosures away from the dwellings. All the animals looked well fed and cared for, which lightened Brigid’s heart a little. Her father always told her that any man or woman who cared for the creatures of this world did not possess a wholly black heart. She sent a prayer up to her God that her father was right.
It seemed that orders had been given for them to be taken to a hut standing apart from the others. Whereas most of the other doorways were simply covered by a strip of woven cloth or animal pelt, this one possessed a sturdy wooden door, which meant just one thing—they were to be locked up.
A few of the Norsewomen now crowded around them, shouting and gesturing for them to enter. Brigid led the way in, Bjorn and the smallest orphan at her side as they had been since they left the vessel. Their eyes were large as they surveyed their new home. “Are we now to be slain?” Bjorn whispered.
Brigid put a reassuring arm around his shoulders. “No, foolish boy, we are safe now.” It was not strictly a truth, for she was not sure what their future would hold. Of course, she sensed that if the Norse did have murder in mind they would have drowned at least some of the weaker ones during the voyage. Bjorn and the smaller child gripped her hands tightly.
The hall was large, and a fire burned in its centre, giving off the no doubt false impression of homeliness and welcome. Jutting from the walls large shelves held what Brigid guessed was to be their bed coverings. She looked up to the high ceiling where the smoke from the fire disappeared through an opening in the roof. Dried grass covered the floor.
“Which one speaks our tongue?” one of the women who ushered them in asked roughly. Brigid turned to face her, forced to look up, as this woman was surely a giant, standing taller even than their leader Rolf.
“That is me.” Brigid nodded, her back held rigid, determined not to show her fear.
“Then you will tell your fellow countrywomen and their offspring that as long as they obey and do not try to do anything foolish then they will come to no harm. Our Jarl has given orders for you to be spared.” Her huge shoulders lifted at that to show her disdain at his decision. “Food, water and milk for the babes will be brought and you will look after your own needs.” Glancing around her, she then pointed to a small enclosed area at the rear of the hut. “The latrine. For your safety it has been prepared inside.”
As she looked to the door two young girls entered. One carried a large jug and the other a sack. Both were placed on the floor, before the two hastily fled without a glance at the Celts. The large woman nodded again and turned for the door.
Before she went out, Brigid called, “What is your name?”
Glancing over a shoulder, she said with a grunt, “I am Ingrid,” before she closed the door after her with a slam.
Margret picked up the sack and looked inside. “We have fresh meat,” she said, “And there is bread, and vegetables.”
One of the other women looked down at the jug. “And we have milk as promised.”
They all looked stunned. Brigid could not believe this. Throughout the awful journey she feared their fate, and now it seemed that they were at least to be fed. It could be that the Norsemen were fattening them like cattle, in preparation for the slave market. She had no idea if slaves brought a bigger price if they were hearty and the children hardy and strong boned, but it seemed likely. She kept her worries to herself—no doubt the other women had already thought of this.
While wandering around the hut, one of the girls found a cooking pot, which she held aloft. Someone else found a large wooden cask containing water, and before long a stew bubbled above the fire. Wooden spoons and platters were also supplied, along with drinking mugs.
Brigid cast her fears aside. Did not father always advise that you take whatever life offered you? At times it might not be to your satisfaction, but the way you show your strength was by the manner you face difficulties.
* * *
Brigid stared up at the smoke blackened beams of the hut. Through the small slits high in the walls, she could see a few stars in the dark sky. Some of the cattle lowed, a dog barked, and then a cock crowed somewhere in the distance. Something awakened her from a dream, a dream that had recurred more than once since she jumped into the sea and was then rescued by the Norse leader. In her vision they were entwined, naked on a bed of furs, and she willingly let him caress her. Each time she awoke in a sweat and wanting, but unsure of quite what she yearned for.
Of course, she knew what went on between men and women in the privacy of their sleeping chamber, her mother had given her tuition, but never in her wildest dreams did Brigid expect to be aroused by the touch of a man. Something told her by the way her parents looked at each other at times that they shared a special bond, but in her youthful fancies she held the notion that women simply endured the advances of their husbands in order to produce the heir most men expected of their wives.
In the two days since their arrival Rolf had not been near her. This raised her annoyance as well as her inquisitiveness. After his avowals of the fates bringing them together it seemed he must have forgotten her existence.
The big woman, Ingrid, came in each day at daybreak and again in the late afternoon, with the two women that Brigid and the others presumed were also slaves or captives. They brought food, water, milk and fuel for the fire.
As Brigid put her feet to the floor, shivering, the now recognised sounds of the settlement awakening could be heard. A man laughed and then a shout was followed by thudding feet. She poked at the embers of the fire and put logs on from the pile at one end of the fireplace. One of the babies began to murmur. The children had been surprisingly quiet since their arrival and even at times played a game amongst themselves. Brigid guessed that to them this was likely an adventure and envied their ability to accept the conditions. The babes were content in the knowledge that their mother was nearby.
Much as she lectured herself that she must take whatever the future held, still there were times when despondency made her weak with homesickness. Often, she would clearly recall her father’s shattered and bloody body and sent a prayer up to her God that he and the other valiant men of their clan were soon found and buried.
Her fellow prisoners had not spoken of the raid and their awful journey to this strange land since they were locked up in this hall. How Brigid envied the mothers with babes and tots to care for, as their children’s survival against all odds was their priority. Yesterday they dared to ask Ingrid for cloth so that they could burn the rags they were using on their babe’s bottoms, and to everyone’s surprise some rough scraps of linen were brought, which also helped the women who had suffered so far through their monthly bleeding. All in all, there was little to complain about, which was both mystifying and unexpected.
After relieving herself, Brigid came from the privacy of the small alcove and looked to the door when she heard the latch being lifted. Ingrid appeared, alone, and with a finger gestured towards Brigid, ordered, “You will come with me.”
Brigid frowned, but picked up her cloak and wrapped it around her shoulders. A couple of the women shifted and awoke, and Margret whispered, “Where are you taking her?”
Ingrid said nothing, but waved Brigid before her through the door. The weak sun was just peeping over the horizon and a few people were moving about in the cattle yards, mostly men. One woman walked past with a basket over her arm containing eggs. She nodded to Ingrid but ignored Brigid.
“Where are we going?” Brigid asked, but got a curt grunt from the large woman who now held her by the arm, perhaps thinking Brigid might attempt a run for freedom. This was ridiculous, for Brigid had already thought it through well. There was no possible way out on foot. Further inland large mountains ranged, so there would be no escape in that direction without sustaining food to last for many days. They were only provided food and water to last a day, so unless they deprived themselves of nourishment, so they could keep a hidden supply, they had little chance of survival outside this settlement. The only other route she could possibly take would be along the beachline or out to sea. Both ways inaccessible as far as she could see.
And what would be the point? If luck was with her, she might get as far as the edge of the mountain range, which was still capped with winter snow, if she was not captured before then. The Norse leader would not let any of them escape and would kill them for their impudence in trying. Even if she managed to reach the mountains, it was obvious she would either freeze to death or likely starve. At least here they were being fed and had warmth, if little comfort. They were strangers in a hostile country—no, there would be no escape for any of them.
Ingrid stopped before one of the larger dwellings, which also possessed a wooden door. With one of her large fists she thumped on the wood, pushed at the door and hustled Brigid into the gloomy interior. Once Brigid was inside, the door closed with a thud behind her. It took a while for her eyes to become accustomed to the dimness. The usual fire burned in the centre hearth, but it had not been re-fuelled this morning and a few embers glowed. She could just make out a bed strewn with crumpled bedding as if someone had tossed and turned throughout the night. A large table contained a drinking horn and several empty dishes, and beside it sat a large chair similar to the one her father favoured with padded armrests and back support.
Rolf appeared as if from nowhere and asked, “So, how are you settling in?”
Brigid gave a startled gasp. On her way here, she had half worked out that it could only be the Norse leader who could have summoned her. But just why this could be puzzled her. Even so, she was so surprised at his sudden question that all moisture left her mouth. His simple shirt hung loose over his breeches, and instead of the high leather boots she had become accustomed to seeing him in on the voyage, soft ankle hugging footwear covered his feet. He seemed completely at ease, while she felt as jumpy as a scared rabbit.
Brigid cleared her throat. “I and the other women would be a lot better off if we were not caged like prisoners.” Determined not to let him see how uneasy she felt in his company, she lifted her chin and stared at him with as much hauteur as she could muster.
“What, we haven’t provided you with adequate food or supplies for your comfort?” There was a touch of what she thought was amusement in his question.
“Our freedom would suit us better.” She bit her lip. Until now, he had only treated her with kindness and her sense of right and wrong taught her that for prisoners they could have fared a lot worse if he turned out to be a savage or left them to the cravings of his vessel’s crew. “I’m sorry,” she muttered. “I would like to thank you for providing sustenance for us and the children of our clan.”
He moved closer and stood right in front of her. Brigid clasped her fingers together when her hands shook, fighting the urge to move back a pace. The last thing she wanted was for him to think his nearness scared or upset her in any way. That shaking only grew worse when he reached down and took hold of her hands, one in each of his. With a jerk, she tried to free them, but he held fast.
“I have an offer to make to you,” he astonished her by saying, his tone far too low and suggestive for her liking. A virgin she might be, but she had spent most of her life surrounded by powerful men who thought they could domineer women with their demands and another such as this should not scare her. Because of her father’s high position, he often invited chieftains from other areas to visit and dine at their table, and one or two thought to take advantage of her. Her quick wit and sense of self-assurance soon told them that she was not an easy conquest. Then again, her father was always there to protect her should the situation need it.
This was not the time to dwell on thoughts of her dear father. “An offer?” Brigid lifted her chin and stared straight into his eyes, then quickly looked away when she saw laughter in them, plus some other emotion she could not decipher in the dimness.
“Yes, one I am sure you will be happy to agree to.” He dropped her hands and walked away. After tossing logs onto the fire and staring down at the sparks rising he turned back and said, “Come, sit and we will discuss it.” With a gesture at a padded stool near his high-backed chair, he waited for her to sit and then sat, looking every bit the chief of his clan as he leaned back, his gaze never leaving her face.
Brigid unnecessarily straightened her filthy dishevelled skirt, and then sat with her back as straight as a board and her fingers gripped together on her lap. No offer of his would please her if it did not promise freedom and a return trip to her homeland, but she knew there was little point in suggesting this, so pressed her lips together as she waited.
For some time, he sat stroking the arm of his chair as if deep in thought, which raised her curiosity. If she did not know better, she would think him hesitant about broaching the subject of his offer. Her insides did a quick turn.
“Your clanswomen and children will be given their freedom. As long as the women and the young ones who are able to work agree to take their share in the day to day tasks around the village they will not be confined to what you consider a prison.”
Speechless, Brigid just sat there, her eyes never leaving his face. Of course, there must follow a condition to go with their freedom. After what seemed a very long pause on his part, she said, “I do not understand—I thought we were your slaves.”
With a small gesture of his hand, he declared, “They are my slaves—but you, Brigid—you will never be my slave.” He stood and took a few paces away from her, showing her his broad back, where his hair was now bound into a sheaf that hung past his shoulders.
It took a moment to get her mouth to work for it had gone so dry. “So, if I am not your slave, then please tell me what I am? You capture us and drag us across the ocean only to lock us up for days until we live in fear of what may happen next, and then you tell me I am not your slave. I do not understand any of this.” She spread her hands in a gesture of puzzlement. Perhaps the man was mad, and she was now about to see another side to him that would prove to be monstrous. Her insides swirled with uneasiness.
“Of course, you do not. Please let me finish.” Returning to his chair, he sat with one knee hooked over the other, a position that only added to her agitation. He looked far too sure of himself, and something akin to fear kindled deep inside her. “I am sure that most of your fellow Celts were the wives of farmers.” His eyebrows rose in question but without waiting for an answer, he continued, “So what I suggest is that they help with the care of the animals, the weaving of cloth, and the preparation of food.” He shrugged. “Whatever task they can undertake then they can earn their freedom.”
“You are saying that in time they will be able to walk among your people without fear of being punished or locked away as if they have committed a crime.” Brigid shook her head, frowning. “But they will still be your slaves, will they not?”
“Of course, but also in time they might come to if not like, then possibly endure, our way of life. This of course depends on them being sensible enough to never commit a punishable crime. Our men are not savages, some are even likable, and a few of the women were also slaves who have been given their freedom.” That thought pleased him and he smiled.
Brigid knew that time would never come, but this was too good an offer to refuse. “And what happens if one day they decide to go elsewhere? Or what will happen if when I pass on this news to them, they refuse?”
He looked astonished at that idea, as if it was unthinkable. “They cannot refuse if they are sensible. And, I have not finished explaining my idea.”
“There is more?”
“Of course. You did not think that I would simply unlock the door and give them their freedom without adding what is required for them to gain this freedom they so crave?” With a flick of his hand, he dismissed that suggestion as ridiculous, which it was of course.
Brigid swallowed. Of course, there was a condition. This man was too calculating by far to simply let them walk free and mingle with his countrymen and women.
“You will move into my hut here, and live as my woman, take care of my needs, and perhaps one day become my wife.” He now spread his arms wide to encompass his home. “Should you refuse, then the younger and healthier women of your clan will be sold to merchants the next time they are passing through. The children will fetch a fair price—they are now well fed and begin to look healthier do they not, and the girls would be welcomed into the harem of many a wealthy merchant. And of course, my men who wish to will be allowed to keep the ones of their choice, boy or female, for their personal slaves.”
Brigid could do nothing but stare at him as she tried to take in his words. For one moment, she wondered why she did not burst into tears, or worse than that, collapse in a faint on the dirt floor of his hut.