To everyone’s surprise, Lotti looked at her sister, then smiled, a beautiful smile that held faith and complete trust. She then lay against Keith’s shoulder, small hiccups coming from her mouth.
“Come,” the guard said, and his voice was rough and ugly as his face. He wouldn’t let her walk, no, he had to drag her toward the longhouse. She turned and saw the council leave, Keith holding a now-silent Lotti behind them.
The guard shoved her inside the longhouse. It was so dark within that at first she could see nothing. Then she saw the people. They were a sorry lot, filthy, some of the men manacled, the women slovenly and uncaring, their eyes empty of hope. Each one, she knew, had a home, a story to tell, and both would become garbled and vague in future years. It was sad, perhaps, but it was the way things were. Slaves were property, nothing more.
Zarabeth gave her attention to the guard as he said, “You won’t be harmed.” He raised his head and looked at all the men and boys who had stirred at their entrance. “Any of you beasts touch her, and the flesh will be flayed from your backs and your cocks severed clean off.”
He turned to her then, and shoved her toward the end of the long dark room. “Keep your tongue in your mouth and you will be all right.” And he left her there in the middle of the thatched longhouse, and it was dark within, for there were no windows, and the stench of the people was raw and ugly in her nostrils. She walked slowly toward a bare place against the far wall and sank down. No one said anything to her. No one even paid heed to her now. There was silence.
She was numb, but not so numb that she wasn’t aware of the awful silence. There were some twenty men and women waiting here, waiting for someone to buy them and remove them. Then they began talking amongst themselves, and she recognized the accents of her homeland, Ireland. She wondered what they been before the Vikings had capture them and brought them here to York. She wondered if they’d been so ragged and scraggly then, or if their captivity had made them look like filthy animals.
The day passed, as did the night. Zarabeth ate a thin stew from a rough wooden bowl. She didn’t have to worry that any of the men would try to ravish her. They were too locked into themselves and their own fates to concern themselves with her. She was cold during the night, but it didn’t matter. No one cared. She thought about Lotti and felt sweat trickle down her back and sides. The dirt was in her nostrils, covered her gown, and when she awoke the following morning, the ugly guard was standing over her and in his hand he held the beautiful brooch Olav had given her. He had pulled it off her gown, and the soft linen was ripped off her shoulder.
She said nothing. It didn’t matter. She said to the guard, “I will see the king soon. I am dirty and need to bathe myself.”
He looked at her as if she’d sprouted a pheasant’s wings. Then he laughed, throwing his shaggy head back, and soon he was shouting his mirth. She tried to comb her fingers through her hair but knew how she must look. She felt cramped and dirty and wrinkled.
It was nearly noon before Old Arnulf arrived to take her to see the king. He looked at her and just shook his head. Zarabeth again pleaded for a bath, but he wouldn’t hear of it.
“There is no place for you to bathe or change your gown. Keith and Toki have moved into Olav’s house. Come now, for we don’t wish to keep the king waiting.”
King Guthrum’s palace stood on high ground above York harbor, stone walls surrounding it, and its white stone, quarried nearby at Helleby, gleamed in the summer sunlight. She had visited the palace once before in the company of Olav when he’d delivered a magnificent otter pelt to the king as a birthday present. She had waited in an outer chamber and been awed by her surroundings. She wasn’t awed now, she was too frightened. Exquisite tapestries in bright colors still covered the stone walls. Those walls that were wooden rather than stone had been smoothed down and covered with more hangings of vivid red silks and blue wools. The king, Olav had told her then, was fond of red silk. He wore little else. And jewelry. He loved finger rings and neck chains and arm bracelets of thick, heavy gold and silver.
But today she wasn’t in Olav’s company. She was no longer a girl to gawk and admire. She was a prisoner. She straightened her shoulders, waiting.
Old Arnulf’s hand stayed flat on her back. He pushed her forward as if she hadn’t the ability to walk herself without his direction. It angered her. She wanted to turn on him and scream that he was a fool, and more than that, he was blind to the truth. No, no, she must wait, she would tell the king the truth and he would at least have to consider her words.
King Guthrum was no longer the handsome young Viking who had held all the Danelaw in his hands for nearly three decades. He was old and gnarly and white-haired and his face was deeply creased from the sun. He was seated in a magnificently carved throne chair of oak with finely ornamented arms. He believed them magic. Whenever he fought, the chair arms went with him. He was garbed splendidly in red silk, as was his wont, and he wore many arm bracelets and rings. Around his neck was a thick gold neckband, polished and inset with rubies and diamonds. At least a dozen men stood around him. None sat save the king. Arnulf shoved Zarabeth forward and she stumbled to her knees.
“Stay there,” he hissed behind her.
She looked up into the king’s eyes.
“You are Zarabeth, widow of Olav.”
“Aye, sire.”
“Before, you were his stepdaughter, and then he condescended to wed with you. At your wedding I believed Olav had made a fine choice.”
She jerked back at the cold words and the wrong conclusion. She shook her head. “Nay, sire, ’twas not like that. He wished to protect me and Lotti, my younger stepsister. Thus he insisted that I wed him.”
King Guthrum turned to Keith, and she followed his gaze and saw Keith shake his head. She saw Toki standing behind him. She looked around frantically for Lotti, but the child wasn’t there.
She felt fear and rage pound through her, choking her, but she managed to hold herself silent.
The king turned back to her. “Arnulf tells us that you wish to speak in your own defense. Do it now. There are more important matters that await my attention.”
Slowly Zarabeth got to her feet. She straightened her gown and pulled back her shoulders. Her chin went up. She knew her life hung on her words.
“I will say the truth, sire. I did not kill Olav. I tended him faithfully during his illness. He was kind to me. You were there at our wedding and you saw that he was pleased. That night he was drunk, as were all the guests. The next day, he became ill and his illness remained for weeks and each day he worsened. I did all I could for him. Then there was an evening when Keith’s wife, Toki, was more than passing cruel to me and Olav ordered both his son and his wife from his house. They were not to come back. Almost immediately Olav began to improve. He was nearly well when he forgave Keith his wife’s ill-temper and they returned yet again to share our evening meals. He became ill and died that same night. I did not poison him, sire, but I imagine that Toki did, and now she has convinced her husband to have me blamed.”
The king said naught, sat there stroking his gnarled fingers over his chin.
“We have heard speech from both Keith and Toki and now we have heard your words. A young wife seeks to have her husband’s wealth but she doesn’t want him, for he is old and no longer comely. She wishes to free herself of him and his demands on her.”
At least part of it was the truth, and Zarabeth felt herself paling under the king’s gaze. Then she shook her head. “You will ask Arnulf about my husband’s wishes. He wanted to leave to me all his earthly goods, not to his son, for he felt no more kinship for him. This is why Keith and Toki blame me for it. They are responsible, there is no one else! They want what is mine, what is my sister’s!”
The king raised his voice then, and it was stern and cold, cutting her off. “I have heard how you wished to leave Olav’s house to travel away with a Viking, a man young and comely and finely hewn, but then you changed your mind, for Olav had offered to wed with you. You decided to stay and have your wealth, for you saw it there and did not wish to take a chance on offerings in a faraway land.”
