Edithe remained perfectly still as she sat amongst the endless sobs of her people. She was numb to their despair and tears would be nothing but wasted energy to her now. With her hands bound and a Viking heathen watching her every move she had little else to do but wait, spending the entire night in a trance until one word snapped her awake.
"Ragnar," someone called and Edithe's heart jumped.
Everyone in Briton knew that name. It was the name which struck fear into anyone's heart. It was the name of the bogeyman. A warning mothers would use to stop curious children from wandering too far, "Ragnar waits in the cave, Ragnar hides in the tide, Ragnar eats naughty children."
Edithe's breathe caught in her throat as her gaze slowly travelled to find the man whose fame was only surpassed by his brutality. He had markings etched around the sides of his head and his hair trailed down his back in a long plait. When his gaze met hers he smiled, his eyes filled with the cunningness of a fox right before it sneaks into the hen house.
She was so transfixed by how he watched her that she hardly even noticed Rollo or the way he began to push through the slaves to grasp her chin and pull her eyes to him with a stern expression. She didn't know what he said but she recognised the reprimand in his tone and pulled her face away from him.
What more could he do to her? He had killed her family and taken her as his slave. Obedience would serve her no purpose except making him happy and she had no intention of doing that. If he disliked the way she looked at Ragnar then she would only look at him more.
Although when she glanced towards Ragnar again she instantly regretted it. She might have hated Rollo but the stories of Ragnar hadn't just frightened children, they'd frightened her.
When the sun was barely at his peak the heathens began to move out, gathering the slaves like cattle and herding them into two long lines. Edithe managed to linger at the back, quietly saying goodbye to a place which had once held so many happy memories but now lay in complete desolation.
She wondered if her sister was safe, if people would come and give her family the burial they deserved. But more than anything, and maybe selfishly, she wondered if she would ever see this place again. Hope still found shelter in her heart and perhaps that was a childish thing but she clung to the idea that someone would rescue her, or that somehow this would all turn out to be the stuff of nightmares.
But Edithe wasn't waking up, instead, her weary legs were marching steadily on and as the longboats began to come into view she had no choice but to accept the truth. Nobody was coming to save her. She was leaving her homeland forever and even worse she was leaving it as a slave.
This single thought was enough to make her run, blind panic carrying her feet anywhere they would take her. It wasn't surprising that her escape was over as quickly as it had begun. Nor was it surprising that her capturer was once again Rollo and his laughter filled her ears as he scooped her up, shouting foreign words to his men who all laughed along with him.
Edithe struggled tirelessly against him. "Let me walk," she demanded, feeling disheartened without the words to tell him that she wanted to say a proper goodbye to her homeland. To feel the rich soil of her childhood under her feet one last time.
Although, she thought sadly, there was little doubt he would care for sentimentality even if he could understand her. All a man like Rollo could ever understand was cruelty and for as long as she lived she'd never forget the way he'd killed her brother or how much he'd seemed to enjoy it.
With little effort he carried her into the water, the light waves catching her skirts and from there he handed her to a man who was already in the boat before climbing in behind her. With a knife pulled from his belt he sliced open the bindings at her wrists and remained silently towering over her, his bare chest glistening in the sunlight and his eyes just daring her to try her luck with running again.
But she was broken, grief was weighing her heart like an anchor to the deck. On this boat Edithe belonged to him, her fate resting in his calloused hands and although she wanted to cry, she didn't. She held her head high and watched as the Vikings set sail, and home became nothing more than a forgotten line on the horizon.
The other slaves had all been taken to different longboats, making Edithe the only Saxon on board but she was not the only woman. A viking woman named Solveig was put in charge of watching her. An honour which seemed to displease Solveig as much as it did Edithe.
Solveig seemed to find every excuse to elbow her in the rib or kick the bucket from under her skirts when she was relieving herself. Life on board this vessel seemed impossible. Outside of it there was nothing but endless water. There was no privacy, no familiarity and nothing to do but wait.
Edithe had no idea how long this voyage would take. Already it had been three uncomfortable nights and the idea of another only added injury to her weary muscles.
In contrast to her unhappiness was Rollo, who stood at the front of the ship, relishing the spray as it cascaded over the bow. He was like a boy, carefree with the sun beating down to colour his skin and whenever he caught her watching him his smile would broaden and she would chastise herself for her admission. She still hated him even if he was the only entertainment to catch her eye.
Occasionally he would make his way to sit besides her and point to things, teaching her the strange words of his people. Even if she appeared to ignore him she would be listening, honing her knowledge like the edge of a blade. She never knew when she might need it.
Every time she was forced to feed the contents of her stomach to the neverending sway of the sea he didn't laugh at her like the others. He soothed his hand across her back and she hated it more than the mockery. She felt like his pet and didn't want his gentle touches or any touches at all. She pushed him away and it wounded him but only momentarily before he was once more chatting happily or entranced by the water.
And so it went on, night after night on board this strange ship, surrounded by these heathens and their strange words. They didn't seem to rest. Even when the wind emptied from the sails they carried on, rowing tirelessly with a frightening determination. The same determination they'd brought to her village. If they wanted something they would take it. It seemed no surprise to her now that they had conquered her people.
When land was finally near Edithe could sense a change in the mood. The northmen began to laugh, waving to the other boats and celebrating in their private tongue. No doubt thanking the Gods for their good fortune and looking forward to returning to their families.
Edithe could only watch them, wondering if they could even comprehend the incredible cruelty of stealing someone away and leaving them forever homesick. Of course they couldn't.
She turned her attention to Rollo. His grin was now as broad as she had ever seen it, crinkling deep lines into his cheeks as if to prove he was a man who loved to smile. Or to mock, she decided bitterly. Though he had done nothing to harm her on the journey she was not fool enough to believe that things would remain the same way on land. He was a northman, no better than an animal in her opinion.
With all the merry faces turned towards home, realisation began to seep into her bones like ice. She could not go with him to this new land. Sorrow had weighed her down long enough. This was her chance, perhaps her only chance. She might die trying to escape but it would be better than a life with these heathens.
She wore no bindings on her wrists, the water had seen to her capture as good as any prison. So while they all cheered and looked towards home, Edithe moved as carefully as she could and climbed from the boat.
Even though she barely made a splash, hitting the cool water was like hitting solid stone. The shock of it caused her to scream which only served to let the water suck into her lungs as she fell into its depths.
She thought first of her mother and then of Rollo and the way he smiled. No, not smiled, sneered. The glisten of the sun seemed to beckon her like the hand of God and her hatred for Rollo stoked her. She was alive and although it would have been easier to sink into oblivion there was fire in her belly.
God did not love those who gave up their lives so easily. She had to fight, it was not a choice but a compulsion of pure instinct. Her legs kicked, desperately pushing her to the surface but it was no easy task.
The shore had seemed so close but as she fought the waves it began to float away while her dress weighed heavily on weary limbs. The sounds of shouting told her that she had been spotted and her heart began to pick up speed, her legs kicking the water wildly.
Behind her she could hear splashing and as she turned her head she spotted Rollo gliding over the waves as easily as his longboats. It was a frightening sight and an even more frightening feeling. The panic began to make her flounder, her strokes losing rhythm in their struggle to out race him and the weight of her skirts finally beginning to win as she sank under the water.
His hands were strong when they grabbed her, dragging her by the bodice of her dress until she broke the surface and sucked in the fresh air with a splutter. He shouted at her in his foreign tongue, the anger in his eyes making the water around them seem even icier and when he produced a long knife from below the water she tried to kick him away.
But he was steadfast, slicing at the bindings of her dress until it began to fall from her. Now she felt weightless but she was not free of Rollo. He held her tight, fighting the waves with tremendous strength to bring them both to safety.
When they reached the shore he dragged her from the water, his hands fisted into her undergarments before he let her fall to the sand, spluttering for air. Part of her thought he might kill her while the other part reasoned he would not have bothered saving her if that was the case. Still, he looked at her violently, his chest rising and falling in ragged breaths.
She looked away from him, her gaze drifting to find some comfort to look upon but there was nothing. A thin strip of beach turned into pebbles which turned into rocks so tall she could not see past them. The only sign of life was a single tree, it's branches twisted and barren. So she focused on the coarse sand beneath her fingertips, squeezing a clump of it in her palm and watching the way the water bubbled for freedom from her clasp.
This was his home now, his land and may God help her.
Authors note: I couldn't resist posting another chapter because I'm loving this story so much. Let me know if you're enjoying it too.
