I fall to my knees again, hands folded, begging for my life.
“Spare me, Jarl Sigurd. I beg you!”
Sigurd draws a long breath, leaving me to shake on my sore knees. He releases it.
“You will be spared. I must think on what to do next. You have broken my authority. People talk.”
“Thank you, my lord.” I nod repeatedly, only hearing that I will be spared. I will be allowed to breathe.
“Your plotting will end, Kilda. You will stop your scheming.”
“Yes, jarl. May the gods bless your mercy.”
He stands in front of me. I keep my eyes lowered, not daring to wipe my tears. A mighty man before a shattered woman.
“You will obey me!” he shouts.
“Always, my jarl.”
“You are a Volva, Kilda,” says Sigurd. “But before that, you are my slave.”
CHAPTER 58
The skin under my eyes is cracked, dried out by tears. Working allows little time to wallow in my problems. I blow a lock of hair away from my face, failing miserably as it lands where it had been.
“Rowdy bastard,” I mutter, grabbing the rebellious goat’s horns.
Sifrid is trying to milk the goat. She laughs at my struggles, making me giggle with her. A bunch of thrall girls stand by the fence, taking a short break. They cheer us on, chortling at our tussle with the powerful animal.
This is the last one for the day. The other goats are much tamer, but this old hag won’t stand still to let her udders be worked. The sharp odor of goat blends with the smell of wet grass the wind carries. It makes me feel alive again. A good ideato join the girls in their daily tasks. It returns me to my body, and perhaps, solidifies their support.
“Fulla here will never bend the knee,” says Sifrid. “She’ll never surrender.”
“Fulla? As in Frigga’s handmaiden?” I say with a grin.
“She’s stubborn like a goddess, though far from divine,” laughs Sifrid.
Cheeky girls, naming a stubborn goat after a goddess of plenty. I know Groa would not approve of such disrespect. Me, I think the gods can tolerate a joke or two.
“You’d think she’d like losing some of that milk,” I say. “She looks ready to burst.”
“She’s like you,” says Sifrid, stopping and fixing her sharp blue eyes on me.
For a second I’m unsure if Sifrid is calling me an old goat or a powerful woman, so I play on both.
“Let them come try to milk me,” I say, readjusting my grip on the animal’s horns.
“I mean it, Kilda, since you came there’s been?—”
Fulla shakes her head violently, forcing me to release her lest my wrist gets caught between her horns and snapped in two.
“What the fu?—”
The goat bolts off at an impressive speed.
“Thor’s beard,” shouts Sifrid.
My feet take off automatically. I don’t even think about it. Lifting my dress over my knees, I run after the escapist, dodging holes and dung.
