Chapter 7) Women's Business
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A new day came while an old task remained. Ivar awoke by the sound of an unblemished wooden bowl dropping near his feet. As he pulled himself into a sitting position, two dead chickens dropped next to the bowl.
"Yalla," Piglet hurried him, wavering at the two dead birds. But in her order lay a clear plea; for reasons unknown, she did not want to see him hurt or die by the hands of the Giant.
Ivar could refuse, but the dark bruises on his bicep reminded him of how much he had to lose.
So, instead of fighting, Ivar picked up the first chicken and started tearing off it's feathers. His mind was blank and he had to blink his eyes as he watched his calloused hands pluck the feathers. It was as if he watched the hands of someone else, because surly his hands weren't meant to be doing such idiotic tasks. This was women's business, preparing food.
At least someone was pleased to see Ivar's stubbornness deteriorate. Piglet's humming filled up the shed while she swept the floor and fed the animals inside.
The sunbeams came trickling in through the cracks of wood when their door got unlocked by the Giant.
Seeing Ivar's worn down demeanor and first plucked chicken brought out a gleam of indulgence in the Giant's grey eyes. He dropped a sack of onions near Ivar's feet and barked a few orders to Piglet, who'd retreated to the farthest space in the shed the moment she sensed the intruder.
The Giant left the pair of them alone again. Ivar stared at the deadweight of onions, uncertain what to do with it.
Piglet noticed his wonder and motioned him to throw her one of the onions, still determined to keep herself out of Ivar's reach.
Ivar did and watched the slave girl peel off the first two layers and then put the onion aside. Ivar sensed the vegetables were meant for pickling, a common way to preserve food during hard times.
Once both chickens were ridden of their feathers, Ivar started his other degrading task. One that brought tears to his eyes and made his nose run. Piglet noticed his struggles while trotting along his box each time with a different tool or task.
She granted him a bucket of frigid water and motioned him to watch how she dunked her onion into the water, then pointed at her eyes. When receiving a dull glance from Ivar, she clucked her tongue and with her finger drew a line from her eye to her chin.
Was she mocking him?
Ivar's short fuse and pride, made Piglet hurry out of the shed, dodging unpeeled onions.
But after a while of tearing up and sniffling like a wailing baby, Ivar found it wise to put Piglet's gimmick up for the test. And indeed, the burning of his eyes lessened if he dunked the onions into the water before peeling the first layer off.
The rest of the day, Ivar prince of Kattegat sulked and slaved his way through the entire sack. He'd half expected Piglet to check on him, and more importantly, provide him some sort of meal. Breakfast, lunch and dinner, by now he'd missed out on all.
For a moment, Ivar's blue eyes fixated on the plucked chickens, but reminiscing on the night before, made the fear of disobedience larger than the growling inside his stomach.
His blue's then focussed on the preposterously large mountain of peeled unions. Surely the Giant must not have counted them?
Ivar took one onion and closed his eyes, focusing on any sounds that might indicate that of the Giant's return. He listened intensely, but aside the buzzing life of cattle and chickens, he could not filter out any approaching footsteps.
Hastily, Ivar's front teeth ripped off the first layer and started chewing. The sticky yellowish mass stung his eyes, burning his tongue. It's scent rose into each nostril and he had to hold his stomach not to heave. Ivar had always savored onion soup, but for now it was causing nothing but agony on his tasting buds.
He still managed to trial himself through three hole onions before surrendering to the vile stingy taste. Trying to lessen the burning sensation he brought the bucket of water up to his throat and drank greedily.
"Urgh," he shuddered and scrunched up his face, it had been a terrible idea, but it nurtured the worst bit of his plaguing hunger.
"Hamar?" Piglet blurted, she blinked and made a small smile as she witnessed him spit out the best of a mouthful of onion water.
Although Ivar was faithfully throwing daggers at her with his eyes, she presented him a bowl of groats porridge and a handful of forest strawberries. The gnawing hunger made him hastily hunch forward and slouch across his box as far as his shackles allowed him too. Although it was evident that he was not mobile enough to touch Piglet, the young woman stiffened and winced back while Ivar extracted his hand to snatch all food items from the floor and drag them back to his side.
Growling at her, Ivar did not bother to chew the food and used both hands to spoon the porridge into his mouth. It was lukewarm, the texture full of chunks and the taste was stale, but it was the best porridge Ivar had eaten in his life. Of course expressing his delight was out of the question and once he was done he twirled the wooden bowl across the floor near Piglet's feet. She picked it up without a sound and left him alone again.
The sun casted its golden rays through the crack between the wood panels on the opposite side of the morning; soon the night sky would settle.
Ivar had neatly filled up the sack with the peeled onions and dragged it as close to Piglet's makeshift line as he could; if he could prevent the Giant coming near him then the small struggle was nothing.
But the Giant did not bother to retrieve Ivar's work, instead Piglet came in, noticed the sack and stored it aside without uttering a word. She must resent him by now, good, because he'd been insufferable to her.
Someone from the outside locked the door and left them in the duskiness of the shed. Piglet moved around for a bit, but wasn't foolish enough to go near him. Eventually, Ivar dwelled into sleep while the girl chanted her prayers.
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A/N: this was a short chapter, sort of an interlude for the next part. Some might feel that the pace of this story is slow, maybe too slow for the liking. But I really enjoy drabbling out day-to-day life and adding historic detail (like the groats meal, I've spent a ridiculous amount of time googling 'Dutch breakfast during the viking era').
If this pace is not your cookie, then I hope you stay on this ride, because there will be more gore/death for the angst-lovers. Oh and of course more beating-up-Ivar-for-being-a-little-shit, for the hurt/comfort fans.
Xoxoxo Nukyster