They burst out laughing. Every single one of them. None of them feel pity. No one wishes me well. I have never felt so alone. My body is not my own anymore. Whoever Asbjorn sells me to, or gifts me to, will own me like they do a horse. My father, Narve, Groa—I will never see them again. No more being tired of my father’s bullshit. No more riding Narve in the woods. Groa’s wisdom, lost to me. My dreams of being an enchantress have evaporated. I will never own a house. Never lock my door with an iron padlock.
The man behind me shoves me forward, almost making me stumble.
“Move,” he growls.
How can this fool expect a weighed-down woman to keep up? I don’t turn to him. Chin raised, eyes ahead.
“Silence, lads,” says Asbjorn. “She stole from the wrong man. She is stupid.”
“I hear that,” says one, but Asbjorn continues.
“But… she also stole from the wrong man. She is brave. She has bigger balls than any of you.”
All the men laugh at his joke. Asbjorn laughs with them. That is what I am now—aliving joke. Entertainment for these simple beasts. I keep my back straight, walking behind Asbjorn’s horse and keeping the pace.
“Balls? Are you sure?” exclaims a man in the back. “Best we take a look!”
Resounding laughter. Freya watch over me. I am a piece of meat to them. Another tear runs down my cheek. What is ahead?Who will I be given to? I doubt Asbjorn’s wife will let him keep me. Who needs another woman to steal your man’s attention? Especially when trying to conceive.
Maybe he will keep me. Would it be so bad? His wife is well treated. Maybe I will be too. A girl for household tasks, a body for him to please himself with when his wife isn’t in the mood. Fury boils in my chest. I would stick him if he tried, with his own dagger. His own seax stuck in his belly. Let him try.
“Someone ahead!” shouts the vanguard.
Men react quickly, making my heart jump. I fall on my rump. Bows come out, arrows strung. Shields come off backs, swords clatter. It’s so fast and effective I forget my current state, impressed by their readiness. My people would still be scratching their heads. These men are warriors. A pack of wolves.
Asbjorn turns to me, his expression calm but serious.
“Keep your head down, girl. Run for the woods if arrows start flying.”
He tosses the chain at my feet. It yanks at my neck as it lands. A spark in my gut. I could run for it. Head for the woods. Why did he release me? Maybe he admires the thief who dared his house.
I realize that I am weighed down. Silly girl. I couldn’t run a hundred feet with all this iron. But I can hide from the battle. Asbjorn doesn’t want me to die. Strangely, I feel grateful. He likes me enough to keep me alive. He enslaved me, but at least this group of men will protect me from the next group of men.
“Happy Blessings,” someone shouts from afar, the traditional salute of an ally.
“Blessings,” shouts Asbjorn back.
Men’s shoulders relax. The groups must have met before. Some raise eyebrows at each other, laughing nervously. Evenhardened warriors seem to prefer peace when it is offered. My own muscles uncoil—I hadn’t realized how tense my body was.
Boisterous laughter. Asbjorn dismounts, approaching his acquaintance.
“Odin’s ass, Asbjorn,” I hear someone say. “And here I thought you were just a band of dirty bandits.”
“Looking at my bunch, I’m sure that would be a compliment,” Asbjorn replies, laughing.
“What brought you so far up the mountain? I thought you had opened trade southward.”
We had been caught as we trailed inland after traveling north along the coast. Our plan was to trade along the mountain valleys until we reached Lade. Had I known Asbjorn was this famous, I would never have robbed his house. The man he is talking to must be from the area. His dialect is different from Asbjorn’s, and even more different from mine.
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” says Asbjorn. “You have to see with your own eyes.”
I hear footsteps approaching before the two appear in front of me, inspecting me in a way men might a faulty carriage wheel.
Asbjorn’s friend is as immense as he is, with blonde hair tied back in a single braid. I can tell he’s of noble stock—dyed fabrics, fine leather, rings—but even more by how he carries himself. He nods quickly at the warriors around him, back straight and head high. The soldiers bow their heads.
Look at me, a helpless woman in a sea of dangerous men. The blonde giant gives Asbjorn a light slap on the shoulder.
“Don’t tell me you traveled a whole day for this little thing…”
