The Viking's Captive(10)

The Jarl commanded the longboat be steered east.

Within minutes a familiar landmark, a long wooden pier, came into view.

“Praise Odin for that,” Gustav said, putting extra effort into his rowing. “Thought we’d never get here.”

“It’s been a long trip, but fruitful.” Halvor sat up straighter, and like Gustav found the energy to row harder.

“Aye, the Jarl is a hard taskmaster, but he trades fair.”

“I’ll leave you to trade alone these next months,” Halvor said.

“What?” Gustav threw him a frown.

“I love the sea, the waves, the opportunities the longships afford us, my friend. But I need to keep my feet on dry land for a while.” He paused. “To tell the truth, I’m not good at being told what to do, and the Jarl has a habit of thinking he can do that.”

“Halvor, it’s the way of a Jarl.” Gustav hesitated. “And…”

“What?”

“Have you never thought about taking a longboat for yourself? You would make a fine captain. I would be at your side, as would many of the other men on board this vessel.”

“Aye, I have.”

“Why will you not?”

Halvor glanced at his slave. She was stirring. With her eyes closed she yawned and rolled her shoulders. The old woman next to her adjusted their shared blanket. His woman opened her eyes. For a moment disorientation washed over them, then she stared straight at him.

The sea around them was cold, but the hate in her eyes was ice. Despite her precarious situation, her discomfort, she still found the energy to despise him.

“I have things to attend to,” Halvor said.

“Like what?”

“Land, animals, my new slave. Unlike you I don’t have family keeping the farm running smoothly. One day I’ll be an older man, no longer able to pick up my sword and shield, and then I’ll need the comfort of a home.”

“That will never happen; you will be a man of fifty years and some and still hold your weapon high and fight for your people.”

“That might be the case, but I need to have roots.” The pier was getting closer. “A place to enjoy the fruits of our raids and our trading.”

“I see your sense.” Gustav huffed. “But I’ll miss you.”

“You too, my friend.” Halvor and Gustav had been on many journeys together. They’d traversed the islands to the west of home, gone farther still taking many days to reach lands of black sand and earth. On two occasions they’d sailed south, finding warmer seas, a new native tongue, and good wine.

The longboat drew level with the pier and was soon secured. Locals swarmed around them, keen to see what wares they’d brought.

The Jarl shouted orders as the boat was unloaded, puffing up his chest and boasting about the goods they’d both pillaged and traded.

Halvor set down his oar, stood and stretched his hands over his head. His spine ached, as did his shoulders. He wanted to be home, he wanted to light a fire, heat water, and bathe. He also desired soft, clean bedding, new clothing, and to walk over his pastures, inhale the scent of grass, and feel the sun of home on his face.

He dropped his arms to his sides and looked at his slave. She’d been ushered onto the pier and stood in a huddle with the other men and women they’d gathered. They were a sorry sight. Bedraggled, shivering, tattered, with scared eyes, and arms wrapped around each other.

Halvor clasped Gustav’s shoulder. “Take care.” He jumped up onto the pier and stood, glad of a moment to let his sea legs adjust. He knew he’d be swaying for a few days, in his head. The solidity of land took just as much getting used to again as going to sea.

He strode up to the Jarl and spoke in his native dialect. “I will not be on your longboat again.”

The Jarl raised his eyebrows but said nothing.

“And for this trip, my payment is the Celt woman, from the last village. Along with ten fox pelts and a barrel of mead.”

“You overestimate your payment, Halvor.”

“I do no such thing.” Halvor grimaced and unhooked the clasp beneath his helmet.

The Jarl hesitated. At an inch shorter than Halvor, although he was a big formidable warrior Viking, he didn’t possess the strength or the swing of sword Halvor did. “You can have the slave and the pelts, but not the mead.”

Halvor said nothing.

“Or the mead but not the pelts.”

Halvor glanced at the pelts. He wanted them more than the mead, though truth be told he’d have settled for just the slave as his payment. In his pocket he had ten gold coins from his own trading, so the trip over the seas had been worth his while.

“I accept.” Halvor nodded. The barrel would have been difficult to transport by horse to his homestead. He was happy to give it up and let the Jarl think he’d bargained well.

The Jarl turned. It was clear he wouldn’t miss Halvor the way Gustav would.

Halvor grabbed the fox pelts, which were held together with a large iron pin. He swung them over his shoulder, then strode toward the huddle of slaves.

“Come,” he said, reaching past several people for his Celt woman.

She evaded his grasp, slinking back three paces and putting two men between him and her.

Halvor snarled. He didn’t have time for this. He was tired, hungry for hot food, and there was still a long journey to be had. Narrowing his eyes, he gave his best withering glare and clutched the handle of his sword, seated in its sheath at his waist.