Her legs and belly, and breasts, were marvelous.And her face, too, was beautiful, sensitive and intelligent.I envied the Forkbeard his catch.
“Fetter them,” said Ivar Forkbeard.
“ I hear the townfolk gathering,” said one of the men at the door.
Two of the men of Torvaldsland had, from their left shoulder to their right hip, that their right arms be less I impeded, a chain formed of slave bracelets; each pair of bracelets locked at each end about one of the bracelets of another pair, the whole thus forming a circle.Now they removed this chain of bracelets, and, one by one, removed the pairs, closing them about the small wrists, behind their backs, of the female captives, now bond-maids.These bracelets were of the sort used to hold women in the north.The are less ornate and finely tooled than those available in the south.But they are satisfactory for their purpose.They consist of curve, hinged bands of black iron, three quarters of an inch in width and a quarter inch in thickness.On one of each of the two curved pieces constituting a bracelet there is a welded ring; the two welded rings are joined by a single link, about an inch in width counting both sides, each of which is about a quarter of an inch in diameter, and three inches long.Some of the girls cried out with pain as the fetters, locking, bit into their wrists.
I saw the slender girl’s wrists pulled behind her and snapped in the fetters.She winced.They were rough, plain fetters, but they would hold her well, quite as well as the intricately wrought counterparts of the south.
Ivar Forkbeard regarded Aelgifu.“Fetter her, too,” he said.She was fettered.
The fire had now climbed well unto the roof and had taken hold on another wall, near the railing, against which the women, earlier, had stood.
It was growing hard to breathe in the temple.
“Coffle the females,” said Forkbeard.
With a long length of binding fiber the nineteen girls were swiftly fastened throat to throat.
Aelgifu, clothed, led the coffle.She was free.The others were only bond-maids.
The beams which secured the doors were thorwn back, but the doors were not opened.
The men of Torvaldsland strugled to lift their burdens.Gold is not light.
“Utilize the bond-maids,” said the Forkbeard, anglily.Swiftly, about the necks of the bond-maids were tied strings plate.Soon, they, too, were heavily burdened.Several stagered under the wieght of the riches they bore.
“In the north, my pretty maids,” Ivar assured them, “ the burdens you carry will be more prosaic, bundles of wood for the fires, buckets of water for the hall, baskets of dung for the fields.”
They looked at him with horror understanding then what the nature of their life would be.
And at night, of course, they would server the feasts of their masters, carrying and filling the great the horns, and delighting them with the softness of their bodies in the furs.
“We are ready to depart,” said one of the men.I could hear angry townspeople outside.
“You will never get us to the ship,” said the slender blond girl.
“Be silent, bond-maid,” said Ivar Forkbear.
“My bondage will not last long,” she laughed.
“We shall see,” laughed Ivar Forkbeard.
He then ran, almost through the flames to the high altar of the temple of Kassau.With a single leap he attained its summit. The, with his boot and shoulder, he tottered the great circle of gold which surmounted it.It moved unsteadily, rockingback and broke apart. It was only golden sheathing on a wheel of clay.
The people of Kassau, within the burning temple, cried, startled.They had understood the circle to be of solid gold.
Standing on the broken fragments of the circle, Ivar Forkbeard cried out, his ax lifted, and his left hand, too, “Praise be to Odin!” And then, throwing his ax to his left shoulder, holding it there by his left hand the turned and faxed the Sardar, and lifted his fist, clenched.It was not only a sign of defiance to Priest-Kings, but the fist, the sign of the hammer.It was the sign of Thor.
“We can carry no more,” cried one of his men.
“Nor shall we,” laughed Ivar.
“The circle? Cried one.
“Leave it for the people to see,” laughed Ivar.“That it is only gold on a wheel of clay!”
He turned to face me.
“I want passage to Torvaldsland,” I said.“I hunt beast.”
“Kurii? He asked.
“Yes,” I said.
“You are mad,” he said.
“Less mad I expect than Ivar Forkbeard,” I said.
“My serpent,” said he, “ is not a vessel on which one may book passage.”
“I play Kaissa,” I said.
“The voyage north will be long,” he said.
“I am skilled at the game,” I said. “Unless you are quite good, I shall beat you.”
We heard the people screaming outside.I heard one of the beams in the ceiling crack.The roar of the flames seemed deafening.“We shall die in the temple if we do not soon flee,” said one of his me.Of all those in the temple, I think only I, and Ivar Forkbeard, and the giant, he of incredible stature, who had fought with such frenzy, did not seem anxious.He did not seem even aware of the flames.He carried a sack of plate at his back, heavy and bulging, which had been given to him by other men, that he might carry it.
“I, too, am skilled at the game,” said Ivar Forkbeard.
“Are you truly good?”
“I am good,” I said.“Whether I am as good as you, of course, I shall not know until we play.”
“True,” said Forkbeard.
“I sahll join you at your ship,” I said.
“Do so,” said he.
The he turned to one of his me.“Keep close to me the coins brought as offerings by the poor to the temple of Kassau,” he said.These coins had now been placed in the large, single bow.
“Yes, Captain,” said the man.
The rear wall, too, of the temple now caught fire, I heard another beam in the ceiling crack. There were sparks in the air.They stung my face.The bond-maids, their bodies exposed to them, cried out in pain.
“Open the other gate!” cried Ivar Forkbeard.Hysterically, crowding, those citizens of Kassau who had, weeping, terified, been lying on their stomachs in the dirt, beneath the burning roof, leapt to their feet and fled through the door.
Ivar permitted them to leave the temple.
“They are coming out!”cried a voice from the outside.We heard angry men running to the door, people turning the movements of chains, flails and rakes.
“Now let us leave” said Ivar Forkbear.
“You will never get us to the ship,” said the slender girl.
“You will hurry, pretty little bond-maids, and you, too, my large-breasted lovely,” said Ivar, indicating black-vel-veted Aelgifu, “or you will be cut out of the coffle by your heads.”
“Open the door,” he said.
The door was swung open.“To the ships,” he cried.
“Hurry, my pretties,” he laughed, striking the slender blond girl, and others of them, sharply with the palm of his hand.His men, too, the girls between them, pushed through the door.
“They are coming out here!” cried a voice, a man in the crowd of the poor, a peasant, turning about, seeing us.But many of those in the crowd were clasping loved ones, and friends, as they escaped from the other door.Swiftly, down the dirt street to the wharves from the temple, stirding, but not running, moved Ivar Forkbeard with his men, and his loot, both that of female flesh and gold.Many of the peasants, and fishermen, and other poor people, who had not found places in the temple, turned about.Several of them began to follow us, lifting flails and great scythes.Some carried chains, others hoes.
They had no leadership.
Like wolves, crying out, shouting, lifting their fists, they ran behind us as we made our way toward the wharves. Then a rock fell among us, and another.
Noen of them cared to rush upon the axes of the men of Torvaldsland.
“Save us!” cried the slender blond girl.“You are men!Save us!”
At her cries many of the men seemed emboldened and rushed more closely about us, but swings of the great axes kept them back.
“Gather together!”we heard.“Charge!”We saw Gurt, in his black satin, rallying them.