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“She wished always to take me into her, if you would know the truth, Magnus!”
Magnus stared at his brother and then a smile tugged at his mouth. “You complain because your wife likes to bed you?”
“The babe came early and was born dead.”
Magnus shook his head. “You seek to blame where you should not. Stop it now, Mattias. Glyda is a sweet girl. She will bear you other children, healthy children.” He shrugged, looking toward the gaggle of boys and girls who played in the corner, far away from the fire hearth, two of the women near them. Four of them were Mattias’ children from his first marriage. “Besides, even if she does not bear you other children, what does it matter? You have cast your seed to the four corners of the Vestfold already.”
“More wine?”
Mattias stilled his tongue to gaze upon Magnus’ new slave. All his brother had said was that he had bought her in York. Mattias wanted to reach out his hand and touch her magnificent hair. The color was so unusual, so rich and deep, its redness incredible. “Aye, more wine,” he said only. He turned to speak to his brother, when he stopped cold. There was hunger in Magnus’ eyes, and something else . . . it was pain and anger and perhaps frustration. There was a mystery here. Mattias continued to study the woman after Magnus had waved her away. He heard his father call out to Magnus, “I wish to buy the wench from you, Magnus. How many silver pieces do you want for her?”
Magnus said easily, “You do not want her, Father, for with her she brings a little girl who is without hearing. A responsibility that I doubt would give you pleasure.”
“Then why did you buy her if all this responsibility weighs so heavily on you?” It was his mother, Helgi, who asked the question. “The little girl with the ginger hair is hers?”
“Aye, her little sister.” He waited until Zarabeth neared his younger brother, Jon, and said loudly, “I knew not the little girl was deformed until it was too late.” He watched and was pleased to see Zarabeth react. He saw her hand shake; he saw her whirl about to face him, and she took a step toward him, stumbled on a child’s feather-stuffed leather ball, and dropped the wine pitcher to the ground.
“Stupid wench!” Ingunn was on her feet in an instant and at Zarabeth’s side. Before anyone knew what she was about, Ingunn struck her hard on the face. Zarabeth reeled back, coming perilously close to the fire hearth.
“Watch out!” Magnus leapt from his chair and ran for her, grabbing her arm as she flailed the empty air to regain her balance.
“Let her fall,” Ingunn said in disgust. “ ’Twould serve her right to have a burn or two, the clumsy slut! The wine, ’tis gone now, and not in our bellies as it should be. Nearly half a pitcher!”
Zarabeth was breathing hard. She tried to pull away from Magnus, but he didn’t immediately release her. She looked up at him, fury in her pale face. “You lied, Magnus! ’Tis true you didn’t know Lotti could not hear, but you had already agreed to bring her. You lied to your father!”
He shook h
er. Didn’t she care that Ingunn had struck her hard? His sister’s palm imprint was red and clear on her cheek. He could imagine that it still stung. He shook her again, angry at her for accepting his sister’s attack. Then he drew himself up. With his actions, he was giving all his people and his family a great many bones to chew upon.
“Be more careful in the future,” he said, his voice low and harsh. “I do not want you to harm yourself. I paid too much silver to have you.”
He flung her arm away then and strode back to his table. His brother Mattias merely arched a thick blond brow at him. As for his father, Harald, he was laughing, huge gulping laughs that made Magnus flush. He wanted the interminable meal to be done with. He saw Cyra approaching him, her eyes narrowed, for she had witnessed what he had done, and he knew that he would have to speak to her soon. She was bearing a huge tray of baked beef smothered with cumin and juniper berries and mustard seeds and garlic. It smelled delicious, but Magnus had lost his appetite.
Cyra served him, her smile deep and warm. He looked away from her. His mother said, “Cyra, come here. I wish more meat.”
The evening continued. Magnus presented his mother with a beautiful carved jewel box he had traded several soapstone bowls for in Hedeby. He gave it to his father’s runemaster to carve his mother’s name on the bottom of it. He gave his father a silver arm bracelet, thick and heavy and finely carved. Soon the singing began. Then Horkel, a master skald, began the story of a girl who managed to wed an old man only to poison him when he tried to bed her. Magnus tried to catch Horkel’s eye. To his relief, Horkel neatly shifted the focus of the story and the girl ended up a slave in Miklagard, in an Arab’s harem.
There were jests to be told then, but Magnus simply could not keep his mind on the revelry. He saw Zarabeth make her way to where Lotti was sitting alone, for the women had taken the other children and put them to bed. They hadn’t touched Lotti. He felt anger burn in his gut but knew there was no logical reason for it.
Zarabeth picked up the drowsing child, only to look around. It was clear she did not know what to do.
Magnus rose and tried to make his way with great nonchalance toward her. “Zarabeth,” he called out quietly. “Lotti will remain here in the longhouse. Let me show you where she will sleep.”
Her relief was evident, but she only nodded. Magnus led her to the far end of the hall, where there were small chambers, partitioned off from each other on either side of the longhouse, leaving a narrow corridor in the middle. “In here,” he said. Inside the small chamber was a single large box bed upon which lay four young children. They were sleeping soundly. “Here,” he said, and neatly picked up one child after the other, pushing them more closely together. He lifted the woolen cover and held it silently until Lotti, smiling sleepily up at both of them, closed her eyes.
“Thank you,” Zarabeth said, not looking at him.
“You would not be pleased if she slept in the slave hut and you slept here.”
She looked up at him then, but remained mute.
“Aye, Zarabeth, you will sleep in my bed tonight, and any other night it pleases me to have you there.”
14
“You have Cyra. She’s beautiful and she wants you. Why would you want me?”
Suddenly, without warning, Magnus ran his fingers through his hair, standing it on end, and he cursed long and fluently. Then he had to laugh at himself. He’d clearly lost his head and forgotten the circumstances. He said aloud, “It is a feast night, and all will remain here until the morrow. My parents, aye, they will have my bed.” He laughed again, shaking his head at himself.
