Grim gave him a huge smile, showing a large gap between his front teeth. “I could have snapped his neck with my hand, ’tis true. But he paid me, Magnus, paid me ten silver pieces. The woman had already given me silver pieces to take the boy back to Malek, so I am now rich enough to buy my wife a new brooch. She’s a lively little creature. I stole her from a village in the Rhineland. She ran from me but I caught her about the waist and flung her over my shoulder. I married her six weeks ago. She has fine black hair, such a color as I’ve never before seen, and the blackest eyes you can imagine, and that sweet woman’s nest between her thighs, well . . . I was thinking about that jeweler on Coppergate, Old Gunliek is his name. What do you think, Magnus?”
“I think I should kill you.”
Grim laughed, an uncertain laugh but one that conveyed the message that he could laugh and escape punishment. Magnus knew that Grim had tightened his body, had prepared himself for action. He wasn’t a fool. Whatever Grim was, he would remain. It wasn’t up to Magnus to make him sorry. He felt Zarabeth’s hand lightly touch his back. He drew upon what little control he had left. Brawling with Grim Audunsson would gain him naught, Zarabeth was right about that. Besides, Magnus thought, his lips twisting, he just might end up with his face smashed or a broken arm, which wouldn’t do him any good at all. He could imagine Zarabeth’s reaction to that.
“Did Orm tell you he was returning to his farmstead?”
“Aye. He said he had preparations to make at Skelder. He said he was expecting a visitor and he wanted to ensure his visitor had a proper welcome.”
Magnus nodded, then turned to leave. He said over his shoulder, “I shouldn’t use old Gunliek. He cheats on the gold weights. Go to Ingolf on Micklegate.”
He led Zarabeth from the harbor.
“Orm knows we are here. He knows you will come.”
“Aye, he knows.” He hugged her close. “We must move carefully now, Zarabeth. Everything depends on how we proceed now.”
“If only Ingunn had left Egill and Lotti alone! If only she hadn’t interfered! We would have them with us now, safe and sound.”
“It would seem my sister at last realized what she had done. She was trying to save them, even Lotti. And herself, it would seem.” He looked at his wife straight and said, “All that you say is true. However, we still wouldn’t have Orm. And I will have him, Zarabeth.”
Ingunn couldn’t move. She’d tried, two times now she’d tried to move, but the pain had been so great she’d nearly lost consciousness again. She lay huddled on the earthen floor, the cold seeping through the thin material of her gown, her bruised flesh rippling with agony, her cheek pressed into the dirt. She knew several ribs were broken, as well as her left arm. She was thankful she couldn’t see her face, for he’d struck her with his fist repeatedly. She’d tasted blood and her own tears on her mouth.
And Egill had tried to protect her. By Thor, he was just like his father.
She whimpered softly. Everything she had done had been wrong. She was weak and spiteful and blind, and now she would die alone, locked away in this filthy hut, and Egill would die as well. Or Orm would sell him again as a slave, both him and Lotti.
Ah, Lotti. She’d seen how much the boy loved the little girl, how he had shielded her, shared everything with her, his impressions, his thoughts, no matter how private, no matter how fra
nk. At times Ingunn had thought them nearly as one, so closely attuned to each other were they. And she’d seen herself then, suddenly and without warning, seen herself hating the child because she was of Zarabeth’s flesh and she’d hated Zarabeth and had wanted to hurt anything that was part of her. And that was why she’d gone back into the manor house and taken both children to Grim’s vessel. She’d had to make amends. She’d had to do something right, something to redeem herself.
Orm had been there, waiting for her. She realized she hadn’t really been surprised that he had been there, standing on the dock, his legs spread, staring at her, his eyes cold and black and dead. She couldn’t even shudder with the memory of it without the pain roiling through her, making bile come into her throat, choking her. He hadn’t touched her until they’d returned to the Thurlow River and Skelder, the name he’d given to his new farmstead, the one he’d stolen from the Saxon family, with King Guthrum’s blessing.
Failure tasted vile. She tried again to rise, but when she tried to balance herself on her elbow, her arm collapsed and she fell hard again to the packed earth.
She couldn’t die. She couldn’t leave Egill in Orm’s power. Slowly, very slowly, she moved her left arm.
Inside the longhouse, Orm brooded, his chin balanced on his palm. The house was filling with rancid smoke, for the hole in the roof was nearly clogged. Saxon pigs! They’d accepted this fault, not even considering fixing it? There was no bathhouse either, and he’d put the slaves to work immediately to building one. He turned his head to look at the boy and the little girl. They sat together in a corner, the boy speaking softly to the girl. There were others surrounding them, but the pair seemed oblivious of them.
Magnus’ get! Ah, it tasted good, this victory over his enemy. He’d been a fool to sell the children to Guthrum. The man had treated them too finely, not showing them what it was to be a slave, another’s property, alive at another’s whim. He thought briefly of Cecilia, the king’s mistress, and smiled. She would enjoy a young man in her bed. Perhaps he would oblige her. He’d found her silly and charming, and her body wasn’t displeasing to him. Nor did he now have to concern himself with Ingunn, the faithless bitch.
“Egill! Come here!”
The men and women in the longhouse went silent for a moment with the sound of his voice. The boy was still, raising his eyes. He stared across the room at Orm. Slowly he rose, patting Lotti’s shoulder, trying to silently calm her, for her eyes were large and frightened.
“Now, or you’ll taste the whip!”
The men and women looked furtively at the boy. They resumed their duties, afraid for the new master to see them doing nothing.
Egill stopped in front of Orm, standing straight and silent, waiting.
Orm wondered if he should simply beat the boy to death. Instead he said, “I have decided to sell you to the Saxons in King Alfred’s Wessex. What do you think of that?”
“Will you send Lotti home to Malek?”
Orm laughed. “Perhaps I will.”
Egill felt a leap of hope, then a squeezing of a fist around his heart. Orm was mad. Nothing he said could be believed. He would kill Lotti before he would ever free her.