Owned by the Vikings by Isabel Dare

Owned By The
Vikings
    by Isabel Dare
    ––––––––
    T he rhythmic sound of long oars slapping
the water had grown so familiar to Edric that by now, he scarcely heard it. The
great dragon-beaked longboat of the Vikings cleaved the waves, rocking
endlessly, and yet, when he looked at the shore, it felt as though they were
making no progress at all. But they had to be, or Thorvald would have beached
the ship and called the rowers off.
    It was hard, exhausting work, and the men
rowed in two shifts; after a thousand strokes of the oars, each shift was
relieved by the next.
    There was little room for the exhausted,
sweaty rowers to recover in. The longboat had no hold or cabin, and the wooden
deck was crammed with sea-chests that also served as benches for the rowers.
Whatever items of plunder did not fit into the sea-chests were stowed in the
middle of the deck, covered with sails and made fast with ropes.
    And Edric was one of those items of
plunder. He was tied to the main mast with a thick hemp rope that fastened
around his ankle, with enough slack that he could move a pace, but no more.
    The Vikings had made two raids since
Edric had become their captive. They had captured a great number of thralls -
men who had been free, like Edric, men who had lived peaceful lives as fishermen
and farmers, until the Vikings raided them.
    But those men had been sold at the Rouen
slave market, herded off the ship and driven like cattle, and Edric was still
here.
    He had prayed that he would not be sold.
And yet, was his current uncertain fate so much better?
    He did not know what Thorvald, the Viking
leader, intended for him. Once or twice, as the huge Viking walked past him,
Edric thought he saw a possessive look in his eyes. As if he wanted to keep
Edric for his own. But maybe that was wishful thinking
    All he knew was that he had been kept
tied to the mast, and now they were taking him home with them, home to the cold
lands of the Norsemen, along with all the gold and treasure the Vikings had
captured in their raids.
    Edric found it more and more difficult to
remember that he was a man, with a name, a history.
    To the Vikings, he was nothing at all. A
slave, a thrall, just another piece of treasure to despoil.
    When Edric first came on board, after
trying to ram the Viking ship with his little fishing boat, he quickly
succumbed to the might of the Vikings. He could not look away from Thorvald.
The giant Viking was like a man from ancient legend, and Edric felt the power
of him, his size, his muscles, his ice-blue eyes. He wanted him, even though
this man was his enemy.
    Edric dared to offer to pleasure
Thorvald, in exchange for his freedom, but under pressure from his crew,
Thorvald amended that bargain. Edric ended up pleasuring not just Thorvald, but
half of the longboat’s crew, in exchange for being allowed to live out the rest
of that day.
    Yet now, three weeks had passed by, and
still no one touched Edric since that first, fateful day.
    After ripping his fisherman’s clothes
from him, the Vikings dressed him in a short, rough homespun shift that only
reached the tops of his thighs. The clothes of a thrall, a nameless slave. And
he wore the leather collar around his neck that Thorvald had placed there, to
mark him as a thrall for everyone to see.
    The Vikings had raped everyone they came
across on their raids. It was no sin, to them; it was simple, lawful
retribution on a vanquished enemy. Or the wife of an enemy, or the son of an
enemy; they didn’t care.
    Edric never saw any of it, but he heard
the bragging stories afterward, saw the smug grins on Viking faces as they came
back aboard, and the tears on the faces of the thralls being led toward the
ship.
    They were strong men with huge appetites,
and yet no one touched him. He was bound to the mast, fed twice a day, and left
to his own devices. It was puzzling, and - if Edric were to be utterly,
pitilessly honest with himself - more than a little disappointing.
    It was