“Aye, she fainted. From the heat, from her guilt, I know not.”
“I wonder when she last ate. She was in the slaves’ compound, you know. ’Tis not a place for such as she.”
Magnus hadn’t known. He’d assumed she was being kept in Olav’s house, with Keith... but no, that couldn’t be, else Horkel would have told him. He hadn’t asked her whereabouts and no one had said anything. He swallowed, then hardened himself. “I will take her into the cargo hold. It’s covered and there is privacy and protection from the sun.”
“I will bring water and some food for her.”
Magnus nodded, then strode carefully over the planking to the bow of the vessel, where there was a goodsize space aft, enclosed for cargo. There was also room enough for three or four men to be protected from the weather when it was foul. He heard Ragnar, another of his men and a cousin, say to Horkel, “Will he kill her, I wonder.”
Magnus could practically hear Horkel shrug. If the man felt deeply about anything, he never let on. He was always so calm, so matter-of-fact, that it was a challenge to get him to bend, to yell, to jest even.
“Do you think her guilty of murdering her husband? All of York speaks of it. They call her young and greedy and evil. They say she betrayed Magnus.”
“I know not. Magnus believes it is so. He will bend her to his will.”
“I cannot believe she would not have him,” Ragnar said, his voice now more distant, for he’d moved away. “I thought he had forgotten her, for he bedded Cyra until she was sprawl-legged from his plowings. But now we are returned and he has taken her.”
Magnus smiled grimly at that, then pushed aside the otter skins that partitioned off the cargo hold.
It was hot in here, but he couldn’t help that. He laid her on the woven mats that covered the bare planking. He paused, then pulled a woolen blanket from a trunk, spreading it out, and placed her on it. She was so pale. It brought him pain to look at her. By Odin, she’d nearly broken him with her lies and her deceit. But now that he had her, she could do no more to hurt him, for she was completely in his power.
The otter skins were suddenly shoved aside and Horkel entered, bending, for the wooden ceiling of the hold was low, and offered Magnus a wooden cup of water.
Magnus slapped Zarabeth’s cheeks. She stirred and moaned softly.
“Zarabeth, wake up!” He took the cup of water from Horkel and put it to her lips. She didn’t open her eyes, but her lips parted and she tried to gulp at the water.
“Slowly. Nay, go easy, else you’ll choke.” He withdrew the cup and she cried out. “All right, but slowly.” After she’d drunk all the water, she regained some of her color. She opened her eyes and looked up at Magnus.
Without thought, she smiled and raised her hand to touch her fingers to his face. “Magnus,” she said. “I thought I would never see you again.” He jerked back, fury darkening his eyes, and he saw the truth of her situation come back to her.
“You give me much trouble already. Here, Horkel has brought you some food. Are you hungry?”
She wanted to cry, but she didn’t. For a brief instant he had been there with her and all had been as it was; now was now, though, and he was distant from her, so she merely nodded. She tried to sit up, but was too weak.
Magnus cursed softly. He helped her up so she could lean back against the ship side. He gave her a wooden bowl filled with stewed potatoes and chunks of mutton. She felt her mouth begin to water. When she swallowed the first bite, she closed her eyes, savoring the food.
It angered Magnus, this weakness in her. Had they starved her? By Thor, the slave compound! “Eat your fill, then you will rest here. Do not come out into the ship, else you will be sorry.”
He rose then, still bent, for the roof of the tented space was low, and followed Horkel from the cargo space.
“Her hair is like flame,” Horkel said matter-of-factly, with no undue sign of interest.
“Aye, as red as the flames in the Christian hell.”
“You saved her life.”
“She won’t thank me for it, however, for I intend to break her.”
Horkel said nothing more, but he wondered silently at his friend’s depth of hatred of the woman. Every man had been rejected by a woman; surely Magnus wasn’t above a woman’s scorn, a woman’s perfidy. He went about his tasks, leaving Magnus alone to brood. There was always activity aboard a vessel, always some job to be seen to. But each of the twenty men were good and experienced and they knew what had to be done without instruction from Magnus.
The woman wanted her little sister. Magnus shook his head even as he recalled her request, her only plea to him. No, the little girl would be safer here; Zarabeth was wrong that Toki or Keith would try to harm her. Besides, he could not give in to her. Not on anything.
And so the evening fell and he did not go into the cargo hold to see to his slave. He left orders that Ragnar, handsome, brash, arrogant as a cock, and filled with boundless energy, guard her, and left to visit with a trader who had messages and goods to send to his father, Harald Erlingsson, earl and chieftain of the Gravak Valley. A powerful man, his father, a man who was beginning to feel cramped and crabbed about by King Harald Fairhair. He wondered what his sire would say about his bringing Zarabeth home with him. He would say something, for his father always spoke his mind, regardless.
Zarabeth finished the stew and felt strength seep back into her body. She moved slowly at first, waiting until she was certain she wouldn’t faint again. She rose. She didn’t have to bend over, for the stout wadmal covering was a good two inches above her head. She had to regain her strength and her wits. She had to rescue Lotti. She felt a numbing pain but ignored it. Magnus wouldn’t help her. She must help herself, and then she would escape from Magnus, from York. She would journey with Lotti south, to Wessex, to the land of the Saxons ruled by the great King Alfred. Her mind made up, she began to plan. Any pain she felt at leaving Magnus, she ignored. He’d left her no choice when he’d refused to get Lotti.
Ragnar was leaning against his oar when he saw the young woman pull back the otter pelts and emerge into the open vessel. She looked weary and dirty and afraid, and he felt stirrings of pity for her. Then he remembered that she had scorned Magnus and was naught but a murderess and now a slave. He called out to her, his voice rough, “Go back inside and come not out again. Those are your master’s orders.”
