The Viking's Captive(4)

Halvor worked as hard as he could, as did the men around him. They all had one goal in mind—to reach their homeland. They’d raided and conquered without sending a single soul to Valhalla. Halvor wanted to keep it that way.

Night began to encroach. The already gray North Sea took on a deeper, more menacing shade, the curling white seahorse spray catching in the moonlight.

“Bring in the sail,” the Jarl shouted.

“What?” Gustav snapped. “The wind is easing, the sails are driving us forward now.”

Halvor was also confused.

What is the Jarl doing?

The huge red and white sail was quickly secured to the mast. The captives huddled tighter, a few women were sobbing.

Halvor felt bad for their current state—ripped from their families to work on farmsteads, they’d forever be the lowest class, thralls, as they were known. Bound to a life of duty to their new masters and subjected to harsh discipline if not obedient at all times. But equally, and what they didn’t know yet, was most slave owners were fair men, and the homeland was plentiful. They’d be well cared for if they worked hard and were loyal.

“I’m going to take the one with the red hair,” Gustav said suddenly.

“You are?” Halvor was surprised. Gustav already had two slaves working in his family’s longhouse; a male and a female who helped his elderly parents, his brother, and his wife and children.

“Aye, she’s feisty.” He laughed, a gruff chuckle that jigged his shoulders. “And she called me a hairy heathen when I grabbed her.”

“A hairy heathen.” Halvor pulled on his oar. “I think she’s clever rather than feisty.”

“Close your mouth, before I smack you into yonder waves.”

Halvor laughed. Though he didn’t feel joyous, he was weary, hungry too.

“Forward bound.” The Jarl pointed at a strip of land ahead. “Heave. Heave.”

“Fuck, we’re having another stop off,” Halvor said.

Gustav spat over the side of the boat. “As if we can carry much more. We’re two bars down in the water as it is.”

“Greed, that’s what it is. Fucking greed.” Halvor shook his head. He didn’t feel like rowing to the distant island, but he had no choice. As a Viking warrior, he was duty bound to follow orders.

The sooner I’m back on my own land the better. Master of everything I survey once more, each and every day.

On and on, Halvor rowed, along with the rest of the crew. As he’d toiled on the sea these last weeks, Halvor had decided to give up his warrior shield and sword and work his land. It was good fertile soil, and he had livestock, currently being cared for by a neighbor.

By the time they’d navigated past several evil-looking rocks and drew up on a narrow strip of beach, the night sky had become a blanket of black velvet.

The base of the boat dragged on the sand. Halvor leaped out, along with Gustav and several other men, the water splashing up to his groin, and pulled on the boat.

“Hurry,” the Jarl said, still standing by the mast. “We may have been seen.”

“I doubt it,” Gustav said over the sound of the crashing waves. “This place is as dead as Odin’s eyes.”

“I saw a light, to the west,” one of the other men said, nodding at the tumble-down cliffs. “Might be a village.”

“Pull!” the Jarl shouted.

Halvor put more energy into heaving the boat up the sand. With the raided supplies on board, as well as the slaves, it took every ounce of effort from him and the other strong men.

The Jarl jumped to the sand, holding up a flame. Shadows danced on his rugged, weatherworn face. His big nose was hooked, and his beard twisted into a thin roped plait that hung from his chin. “We will return home victors,” he said in Norse. Narrowing his eyes, he looked around the group of twelve Vikings. “And also wealthy men. We have taken from the peasants and heathens who labor on these shores. And it is rightfully ours, for we are the masters of the seas, we are the people who are brave enough to traverse the land and the water. The gods reward us for this by making us strong enough to take what we want.”

Halvor stepped from the waves and placed his hands on his hips. He was breathing hard.

“Now get your weapons, fill your hearts with courage, for we are going on one last raid.”

“And where will we put it?” Gustav asked loudly.

The Jarl stepped up to him, irritation flashing in his eyes. “We will put it on our boat, with our other gains.”

“She’s low in the water,” Halvor said, standing shoulder to shoulder with Gustav. “We can’t take much more and be certain to make it home.”

The Jarl spun on him. “Are you questioning me?”

Halvor knew damn well he should apologize, step away. But the Jarl’s unquenchable desire to keep on pillaging was becoming exhausting. “Aye, I am.”

“Halvor Stein of Gorstein, do you want to visit Valhalla on this night?” The Jarl placed his hand on the handle of his sword and squared his fur-draped shoulders.

“I will visit Valhalla when the runestones have decided it’s my time.” Halvor tipped his chin, and mimicked the Jarl’s actions by gripping his own sword, which hung sheathed from his belt. “And I will go gladly.” Halvor’s temper was flaring. He could feel it; heat beneath his cold skin, a tightening in his chest, and a narrowing of his peripheral vision.