“Come,” Magnus said. “The men will unload and then all will come together this night for a feast.” He pointed upward to the people who were pouring out of the wide palisade gates, waving wildly.
Ingunn, daughter of Harald, and younger sister to Magnus, looked down at the woman who was walking beside her brother across the beach. It was the way the woman walked, the proud set of her shoulders, that told Ingunn the truth. He had brought home a wife. She felt her flesh chill. What would she become now? The woman was beautiful, aye, she could tell that even from this distance. That red hair of hers, so vivid and lush. She felt Cyra stiffen beside her and felt a moment of pity mixed with pleasure at the woman’s comeuppance. No longer would Cyra dare to disobey her orders. No longer would she show her sly ways. No longer could Cyra use her, Ingunn, to gain her own way with her brother. But then again, they had shared an unlikely partnership and now it would be at an end.
Ingunn felt her hands clenching at her sides. She waited, dreading meeting this woman who was Magnus’ new wife. Magnus’ son, Egill, was standing beside her, his hand over his eyes, shading them from the harsh sun.
“There is a little girl beside the woman,” he said, pointing a finger. “See, she’s holding the girl’s hand.”
That gave Ingunn a start. Had he married a widow, then? She hadn’t expected that.
“Her hair is strange,” Egill said after another moment. “It’s redder than any of the reds in Grandmother’s tapestry. I hope she lets me touch it. I wonder what it feels like, hair like that.”
Ingunn wished he would just be quiet. They grew closer. When Magnus disappeared from view, only to appear the next moment on the flat ground atop the hill, he smiled at her and Ingunn ran into his arms. He hugged her, then quickly set her aside, his eyes on his son.
“Egill,” he said, and scooped the boy up high in his arms, then immediately set him down and buffeted his shoulder. He was a boy now, not a child. “I have missed you, boy. By Odin, you are larger than when I left you but a month ago. Have you been a good master in my absence?”
Egill nodded seriously, then turned in his father’s firm grasp. “Who is the woman, Father? Is she your new wife? Is the little girl her daughter?”
“No, she isn’t my wife. Now, away with you. You may go help the men bring up our new goods.” Magnus didn’t move until Egill had disappeared down the winding trail that led to the viksfjord.
He looked around deliberately. “Where is Cyra?”
“She is back there, waiting.”
The red-haired woman came into sight then. She stopped some paces behind Magnus. Magnus called out, “Cyra, come hither!”
Ingunn stared. The red-haired woman made no movement; her expression didn’t change. Ingunn turned to watch Cyra run to Magnus. Ingunn watched, stupefied, as he lifted Cyra from the ground and hugged her tight; then he bent her over his arm and kissed her long and deep and hard. “You are well?”
Cyra nodded happily. She touched her fingers to his lean tanned cheek. “Aye, I am well. I had believed perhaps you no longer wanted me, but ’tis no matter now.”
It was at that moment that the wind quickened and lifted Zarabeth’s hair from her throat. Ingunn saw the iron slave collar around the woman’s neck. None of Magnus’ slaves wore slave collars.
None save this woman.
She blurted out, “This woman is your slave? She’s not your wife?”
Magnus stiffened, then laughed, too loudly, too harshly. “Nay, I will wed with no woman. Aye, this is Zarabeth and she is my slave and will remain so. The little girl is her sister, Lotti. Take care, Ingunn, for she is without hearing.”
A slave; she was naught but a slave! Ingunn stared at her. The woman’s face was without color, but her expression was calm. Slowly Ingunn smiled. Ah, she would show the woman what a slave was for. She held no favor, as did Cyra. Aye, Magnus wouldn’t intervene with this one. As for the little girl, she was hugging her sister’s thigh, looking frightened, her oddly colored eyes—aye, they were of a golden hue—wide and wary. The child could not hear? She shook her head at the foolishness of it. A child like that shouldn’t have been allowed to draw breath. She merely nodded to the woman and stepped back, waiting to take cues from her brother.
She watched him turn to the woman, Zarabeth, and say sharply, “Stand not there like a witless fool. Bring Lotti to the longhouse. ’Tis the large one there in the center of the cluster of buildings.”
Zarabeth felt stunned at the sheer size of the farmstead as she walked through the gates of the palisade. It was like a small village enclosed behind its stout wooden walls. There were many wooden huts, some others of wattle and daub, all of them with thatched roofs. The longhouse looked like a great low wooden barn. There were few windows, narrow and covered with stretched animal hides. She saw the smoke rising from the hole in the great sloped roof. As she walked beside Magnus, he said, “Yon is the blacksmith’s workshop. The smith’s name is Rollo and he makes all our weapons, farm tools, and pots and pans. Next to the longhouse is the cow byre; the sheep are kept in the low hut next to it. The slaves’ hut is over there.” He paused, awaiting her reaction. She made none, but she did look at the mean stone hut for several moments. “Outside the gates of the palisade are the fields. We will harvest in some two months and prepare for the winter.
“There is the bathhouse, and next to it the privy. The covered hut behind it is for food storage.” It was as if he were presenting his possessions for her approval, she thought vaguely, yet she would have naught to do with any of it save as a slave. She would have no pride in anything. She said evenly, “Your farmstead is of obvious value, Magnus. I compliment you on your achievements.”
His jaw tightened. He looked down at her, but it was only the iron slave collar about her neck that he saw. Thick and ugly, and he knew that it must chafe her flesh. Make her flesh raw and ugly. But the man in Hedeby had claimed that she’d called to him, offered herself to him for his help . . . It had all made sense. Magnus shook his head. No more would he question this woman’s motives. What was done was done, and that was all there was to it.
He turned and called out, “Ingunn, will you have a feast prepared by tonight?”
She hurried to his side, ignoring Zarabeth. “We have been preparing food and ale and mead for the past week, brother. All is ready. I have already sent a messenger to Father. I hope he and Mother and our brothers will come as well.”
“And Orm?” Magnus gave her a sly smile.
He looked at her, surprised. Her eyes darkened and her jaw set itself in a stubborn line. She shook her head. “Father is displeased with him. Since you left, he has forbidden Orm to come near me. He becomes a foolish old man.”
“Don’t say that again. Our father has reasons for everything he does. We will speak of this more later.” Magnus saw that Lotti was lagging behind, her small shoulders stooped with weariness, and leaned down to pick her up. She gave a startled laugh, an odd mewling sound, then wrapped her thin arms around his neck and yelled in a loud slurred voice that was perfectly clear, “Papa!”
Magnus looked down at his son, who was so jealous he was nearly red from ear to ear. “You are far too large for me to carry, Egill. You are nearly grown, not like this little girl here.” He got no response from Egill, but continued easily, “Say hello to Lotti. She cannot hear you, so you must speak directly at her when she is looking at you and speak slowly so that she will understand.”