Season of the Sun (7 page)

Magnus saw her pallor, heard the tension in her voice. He didn't accept her words. He didn't
understand her and he was not willing to be patient at her game. He threw back his head and laughed. “This is a show of your wit, sweeting? I like it not. We will jest of many things, but not of this. This is our life, not some sort of joke to be tossed about heedlessly.”

“Your conceit is bloated as the rain clouds overhead, Viking. I speak the truth to you. I treat you not to my wit. I don't want you. I bid you good-bye.” She turned on her heel to leave him, but he grasped her arm and pulled her back. She felt anger in him now. He would believe her, he would.

He spun her about to face him. He said nothing for a very long time, just looked down at her, studied her face, her expression. She wished she could whisper the truth to him, but she held herself silent. She filled her eyes with contempt, and hoped she did it well. She would take no chance with Lotti's life. She would make it up to him later. There had to be a later. She'd prayed until the full morning light for a later.

“So,” he said at last with slow deliberation. “So, at last I find a girl who is all that I wish and she tells me she doesn't want me. I find it passing strange, Zarabeth, this sudden change in you. Why, you would have gone with me to my vessel last night, I think, had I insisted upon it. Do you deny it?”

She probably would have, she thought blankly, pain so sharp her chest ached with it. She looked him up and down and smiled, that same ghastly smile, and filled her voice with insolence. “I admire your manliness, Viking, so perhaps I would have thought to sample your offerings. But to become your wife, to leave York, to journey to a savage land where there are naught but savage people who would look upon me as a foreign oddity? No, Viking, I won't do that. I was temporarily mad, but no more. As for the other, a man is to be enjoyed at a woman's whim. I had nearly decided to enjoy you, 'tis true, but then . . .”

She shrugged, and that one small movement enraged him, and she knew that Olav saw he was enraged. It was enough; she'd won Lotti's life.

She made to leave him then, but Magnus enraged was frightening, and she faltered. She flinched even as his grip on her arm tightened painfully.

“Listen to me, Zarabeth. I don't believe this act of yours. You are under threat from Olav, are you not? Tell me the truth, for I can put a stop to any threats he has made.”

She shook her head, afraid to open her mouth for fear of what would come out. She turned her head to the side. “Olav the Vain threaten me? Surely you can't believe that, Viking. I won't be threatened by any man.” She spit onto the ground. “Not even by you.

“Call me not a liar, Viking! I think you a conceited fool. Leave me now, for I find your presence tedious and your hold on my arm officious.”

He flung her arm away from him and she stumbled. She didn't fall, but she realized that if she had fallen he wouldn't have helped her. He was staring down at her, his face without any emotion at all that she could see. He looked savage and cold and utterly ruthless. He looked as if he would enjoy killing her. He looked like, finally, he believed her utterly.

When he spoke, finally, his voice was as hard and cold as his face. “Perhaps I should take you to my vessel. I can give you a good taste of a Viking man. I won't disappoint you, Zarabeth, but I doubt I would receive any pleasure from our coupling. You've played with me magnificently, pulled me in with gentleness and a candor I had not believed possible in a woman. I have been a conceited fool, aye, 'tis true, but at least I didn't marry you.” He shook his head and then threw back his head and laughed.

“To think I considered myself the luckiest of men
to have found you. I saw you and I wanted you. Ah, I thought it so easy, so straightforward, this love business. I thought it was fate intervening to give you to me.” He laughed again, deep and harsh. “Aye, and I was so pleased that fate had determined me to be worthy of such a fine creature as you. The irony is beyond reason and beyond pain.” Then he turned and strode away. He paused, but didn't turn back as he said over his shoulder. “You are a bitch, Zarabeth, and I devoutly hope you gain what you deserve.”

Then he was gone, his cloak billowing behind him, and she watched him, unmoving, and felt such pain that she wanted to scream with it. She got a hold on herself. She'd succeeded, and now Lottie would be safe. Once she had Lotti, she would go to Magnus and explain. All would be well again. He would understand.

She didn't turn when she heard Olav say softly, “You did well, Zarabeth. I wondered if your selfishness would prevent it, but it didn't. Now, my dear girl, let us return home. Soon you will have Lotti back. Then all will be as it was.”

She walked away from him.

“Hold, Zarabeth! Where are you going?”

“To Keith and Toki. I will fetch Lotti myself.”

“They cannot give her to you. She is not with them, but hidden in another place. Nay, you must wait for me to fetch her.”

Zarabeth didn't know what to do. Indeed, she could think of nothing to do, at least at the moment. “Then come with me now, Olav.”

He shook his head. “Nay, on the morrow. I will give you a day to settle yourself.”

Zarabeth acquiesced, for she had no choice, and she saw that Olav was pleased with her meekness. Then she waited only until he was busy in his shop with several local men who wanted to buy furs, but
when she was on the point of slipping from the house, she heard Olav shout, “Stay here, Zarabeth. You must stay or you and the child will regret it.”

She stayed and she fretted. That evening she served Olav stew filled with onions and potatoes and small chunks of beef. And in his bowl she poured a sleeping draft. He spoke to her as though she were his wife and all was normal between them. It was chilling, the possessive way he behaved toward her. She held her tongue and waited. Not ten minutes after he'd eaten the stew, his head fell forward onto the wooden table. Zarabeth rose slowly and walked to him. He was soundly asleep, snoring loudly, and would remain so for hours.

Finally.

She quickly left the house and made her way over to Skeldergate, where Keith and Toki lived. Keith was a trader, like his father, and not a very good one. A year before, a visiting Viking trader had nearly killed him, for he had sold him some furs that had moth holes in them. She knew that Olav gave his son gold and furs from time to time. As for what Keith really thought of her, she was afraid to know. If he only knew what it was his father wanted of her, he would surely kill her. She quickened her pace. She and Lotti would be gone and it wouldn't matter what happened between Keith and his father after she had left. It was dark now and there were men of all kind out, many of them bent on mischief. She arrived to the small wooden house, then drew to a stop. There was one window covered with a stretched animal membrane. She could hear through it, at least, and if she pressed her face close, she could make out vague outlines.

“I tell you, you weak bleating fool, that she'll have him yet!”

It was Toki's voice, loud and shrill. Zarabeth leaned closer against the membrane.

“I promised him to hold the child,” Keith said, his voice slurred from ale. “I will hold her until he comes for her. My father will be pleased that we have done as he asked. He will reward us for it.”

“Ha! 'Tis that miserable little slut Zarabeth he will reward, not you, not his only son! You know 'tis true, Keith, for he was willing to do anything to keep her here in York, to keep her with him. And she told the Viking she didn't want him. She managed to convince him of it. I've heard it from a half-dozen women this day! So pleased they were, to let me hear how she told him at the well in the square that she didn't want him for her husband, that he was naught but a buffoon and a heathen, that she had but played her games with him. Well, now, here she stays, and she'll have Olav, and you're a fool if you don't see it.”

Keith mumbled something Zarabeth didn't understand. He was very drunk, yet Toki was still ranting at him, her tongue more virulent with each word she spoke. “Fool, you blessed fool, you have no sense! You are pitiful!”

Well, Toki and Keith would be pleased soon enough, once Zarabeth had taken Lotti to Magnus. Then Olav would have to look to his son.

Zarabeth waited and waited. Her patience was wearing thin and her fear was growing. Still Toki ranted occasionally, her voice a whine now, and Keith seemed to be in an ale-sodden sleep.

Then suddenly Zarabeth smiled. She walked to the front of the house and knocked on the door.

There was a snarl from Toki and the door slitted open.

“You!”

“Aye, 'tis I, Toki. Quickly, let me in. You and I have much to speak about, and you will like my words, I swear it to you.”

“I
shan't listen to you, Zarabeth! You lie to me, and I won't hear you!”

Zarabeth fought for patience against Toki's blatant distrust. “I do not lie. I want Lotti. Give her to me and I will leave York. You will never see me again. Olav will have to treat Keith more kindly. I'm not lying, Toki. For God's sake, why would I?”

Toki was filled with dislike and uncertainty and bone-deep envy, in equal parts. Zarabeth, daughter of that foreign slut who had taken over Olav's affections, stolen them from his only son, aye, she hated the slut's daughter, wished she would leave, wished she would die. Toki shook her head.

“You want this Viking, then? 'Twas all a lie, your meeting with him this morning at the well?”

“Aye, to convince Olav that I was serious. I had to convince Magnus that I didn't want him so that Olav would believe I'd done what he wanted. I succeeded very well, but I must make haste to search out Magnus to tell him the truth. Please, Toki, I must hurry! Give me Lotti!”

Still the woman hesitated. If she gave over the idiot child, she would lose all her leverage. She would have nothing at all with which to bargain. Still, if Zarabeth was telling the truth . . . Toki fretted and drank down the rest of Keith's mug of ale. She wiped the back of her hand across her mouth, feeling the froth from her
upper lip. She looked down at her snoring husband with contempt.

“Toki, please, think! I have no reason to lie to you, no reason at all—”

“I don't have a child, you know,” Toki said suddenly, and she looked toward her husband, who belched deeply, his face against the tabletop. “Oh, Keith comes inside me and humps about and spills his seed, yet nothing grows in my belly. Soon he'll not care anymore. Soon I will have nothing to show for my hours and days with him. But I do have something now. I have Lotti and I've found that she isn't an idiot or a freak, not really.”

Zarabeth wanted to wrap her fingers around Toki's neck and squeeze the life out of her. She was breathing hard now, her heart pounding. She tried to keep her voice pitched low and calm. She didn't want to risk waking Keith. She couldn't begin to imagine what he would say to this. “She isn't yours, Toki. Lotti's mine and will always be mine. You must return her to me. I have no coin or jewelry to pay you with, or I would give it to you willingly.”

“Why should I give her up? I doubt Olav will let you escape to your Viking now. He's proud and he's insufferably vain, but he isn't stupid. If only his son had but a bit of his trading ability, but he doesn't, and he won't listen to me even when he knows I am in the right. And the two of us must look to Olav, else we'd starve. I grow to hate him, Zarabeth.”

Zarabeth wondered if that meant the father or the son, but she said again, “Give me Lotti, Toki. You don't want the daughter of a slut, do you? What makes you think Olav won't come to prefer Lotti over Keith? He might, you know. She's a beautiful child, just like her mother. But now, if you give her to me, when we both leave, perhaps Olav will want both of you to live with him. He'll provide you with slaves,
Toki, and you'll smile and enjoy yourself. Just think, you'll have fine materials from which to sew beautiful gowns and cloaks and perhaps new jewels.”

The avid gleam faded from Toki's eyes as she said, “I don't believe that. You have no slaves. He doesn't adorn you or give you fine materials for new gowns. He fancies only himself and how he appears to the world. Look, even your brooch is merely of pounded bronze. You wear no rings, no armlets. Olav wears only the richest silver and gold. Why would he accord more to me than he accords to you, his beloved Zarabeth?”

“I don't know. He's always told me that there isn't enough money for slaves. He's always told me that he must look successful so foreign traders will notice him and believe he must be good so they will trade with him above all others. I don't care, Toki. But you'll ask him and he'll be grateful that you're there to look after him and his house. Give me Lotti.”

“Perhaps I shall,” Toki said. She turned away and pulled aside a bearskin that separated the sleeping space from the rest of the house. She came back carrying Lotti in her arms. The child was deeply asleep.

“Don't worry, I just drugged her. She was making too much noise, even with her strange grunts and growls. She kept saying your name as well. I wanted to hit her but I didn't. I drugged her to keep her quiet.”

Zarabeth wanted to kill the woman. Fury pounded through her, but she held herself calm. She'd nearly won. She couldn't fail now. She took Lotti, and gently laid her over her shoulder. “I'm leaving now. Forget not what I said, Toki.”

“Aye, I'll not forget.”

Not ten minutes later, Zarabeth gained York harbor. Dark clouds were strewn over the sky, obscuring the moon. Everyone was sleeping, even the outlaws
that lurked in the darkness, even the stray dogs that burrowed about in piles of garbage. There was the gentle sound of lapping water against the wooden piles, nothing more. And there was vessel after vessel moored to the dock. She ran now, wanting only to find Magnus, to explain, to escape with him, and never see York again.

Lotti stirred on her shoulder, and she whispered softly to the child. She quieted again.

Zarabeth wanted to yell out Magnus' name, but something held her back. Something wasn't right, something . . .

She came to a stunned halt and stared at the trading vessel in front of her. She'd never seen it before. There was no carved raven on its bow. She looked frantically to the next vessel and the next, but it was no use. The brutal, magnificent
Sea Wind
was gone.

Magnus had left.

She couldn't take it in. Lotti whimpered, and she gently stroked the child's back. He'd left . . . he was gone, and he believed she had betrayed him. He believed her faithless, a liar. There was no one to tell him otherwise.

Suddenly everything seemed very clear. It was over, all of it. There was nothing more for her. Zarabeth dropped to her knees on the wooden-planked dock. She gathered Lotti into her arms and rocked her, crooning sounds meant to comfort, not the child, but herself.

When Olav found her, it was nearly dawn.

 

“I've come to a decision,” Olav said. Nearly a month had passed since the Viking had sailed away from York, and Olav felt good. Zarabeth was herself again—ah, quieter perhaps, more passive, but he didn't care a whit, for he didn't like a woman's sharp tongue. She was here and she served him and she
obeyed him without question. Her submissiveness pleased him completely.

She looked at him now without interest. He didn't like that, and frowned. Perhaps too much passiveness wasn't quite what he wanted from her.

“Aye, I've decided what I will do.”

Lotti said her name in that slurred way of hers and Olav looked at the child impatiently. “Can't you teach her to at least say your name clearly?”

Zarabeth gave him a clear, emotionless look. “It is very clear to me.” Then she shrugged, saying something that made him rock back in surprise. “Of course, I am young and of clear hearing.”

Olav held to his temper.

Zarabeth leaned over and handed Lotti a soft piece of bread she'd just baked an hour before. It was still warm and she'd smeared sweet honey on it.

“What is wrong with you? Why are you acting like this? Don't you care to hear about my decision?”

“You will tell me soon enough, I imagine.”

“Very well. I've decided to marry you.” She didn't move, she didn't change expressions, but her mind squirreled madly about. Why didn't he simply tell her that he would bed her? Why marriage? Bedding him was obscene; marrying him was even worse. She said nothing now, fearing what would come from her mouth if she did speak. When he had spoken to her a few moments ago, she had given her thoughts words and spoken what was in her mind. It had surprised and angered him, but she hadn't cared. But this decision of his to wed her, it was a travesty, it was mad and pathetic. She kept her head down.

“I've spoken to King Guthrum's counselors, and then to the king himself. You see, I managed to find for him exquisite bird feathers that came from the Lapps. I even traded them with only a narrow profit for myself. He was thus most favorably disposed
toward me when I sought his advice. 'Tis true that one of his concubines shares his blood; he bows before the Christian God, but never think any set of gods, no matter their supposed origin, would distract him from what he wants. Thus, when I told him I wanted to wed with you and you carried none of my blood, he said even the Christian bishops couldn't object.”

“Why do you want to wed with me? You know I despise you. Why?”

“Tread carefully, Zarabeth, for the child hears what you say. The child could also hear me tell you what I would do to her were you to resist me and what I wish.”

Zarabeth didn't care. It was really as simple as that. She simply lived now, endured, for there was naught else for her to do. She supposed she would have simply lain down and died were it not for Lotti. But Lotti needed her, and thus she had to continue. She had to pretend at life. She looked at Olav and said nothing more, her expression now calm and blank as her heart.

“ 'Tis either bedding me as my wife or as my whore.”

She shrugged. “Aye, your whore, then.”

She shouldn't have said that, he thought, eyeing her with growing irritation. She should be grateful to him, curse her, on her knees to him that he was willing to wed with her, a female with no dowry of any sort, nothing save that damned idiot child. She'd caught him in a lie of his own weaving and now he must admit to it. “Nay, I would not have you as my whore, it would not be good for my business. People would gossip about me, perhaps question my honor and my judgment, for you are very young and I, well, I am not quite so young as I was. No, it wouldn't be good for me to have you as my whore. You will be my wife—then none can criticize me. All will believe me
honorable. We will wed soon now. I will have a new gown sewn for you and you will wear it, Zarabeth, and you will look pleased and you will smile and speak gently to me, and you will compliment me to all who ask you.”

Zarabeth looked at him. “If I refuse to wed with you, you will kill Lotti?”

“Aye.”

He would use Lotti for as long as she lived. Zarabeth looked away and sliced off a piece of the warm bread. She spread butter and honey on it and took a bite. She said nothing, merely ate, one bite after the other.

“Answer me, Zarabeth!”

She took the last bite, then wiped her mouth. “I don't recall your asking me a question. Was there something you wanted, Olav?”

“Damn you, you will wed with me!”

“That isn't a question.”

He jumped from his chair and she knew that he meant violence. This time he didn't catch her unawares. She picked up her knife and gripped it firmly. “Don't, Olav, else I'll slice you.”

“You wouldn't,” he said, watching her hand warily.

“There will be no violence, Olav. You will not hit me, nor will you ever again strike Lotti, or I will kill you. Believe me, for I mean it.”

He shrugged, hoping to salvage his pride; when she nodded and put the knife down, he drew a deep breath. “A wife shouldn't threaten her husband.”

“But a stepdaughter can.”

He frowned at her, at the bitterness of her words. “You act the ill-treated orphan, Zarabeth. In truth, your life is easy and I leave you be to do as you wish. Any woman would wish to fill your place.”

“Will you invite your son and his wife to this wedding feast?”

At that Olav smiled. It was a malicious smile, but it didn't touch her. She cared not what happened to Keith. Nothing had really touched her since Magnus had sailed from York. She cared not if Keith ranted and screamed at his father, if Toki shrieked and howled. “Oh, yes,” Olav said, rubbing his hands together, “I shall invite everyone.”

And he did. He spared no expense. A week later, on a sunny afternoon in May, Olav and Zarabeth were married, first according to the Christian ceremony, the bishop himself officiating to show King Guthrum's favor, then by the vows made before the Viking gods of Odin and Thor and Frey. Olav had garbed Zarabeth in a fine silk gown of soft pink with an overtunic of a darker pink, belted tightly at her waist with a wide band of white leather. She wore two brooches at her shoulders to hold the overtunic in place, both of them of the finest silver, worked by old Crinna himself.

There were banquet tables set up in Coppergate square, covered with trenchers holding cold beef strips and bowls of apples and pears and stewed onions and split baked turnips. There were freshly baked bread and a full bowl of honey and a block of butter. So much food, and Zarabeth saw that the people admired Olav and blessed him for his generosity, and overlooked the fact that he'd wedded his own stepdaughter, who was less than half his age. He'd even given Lotti fine wool for a new gown. The little girl stayed close to Zarabeth even during the ceremony before the Christian bishop, her face pressed against Zarabeth's thigh. Keith and Toki were there, and silent. Even Toki, never one to keep her feelings to herself, remained quiet, for she wasn't stupid and she saw that all the neighbors and townspeople were greatly awed and pleased by Olav's beneficence. King Guthrum
himself made an appearance late in the afternoon, and Olav preened and basked in his favor.