Chapter Forty-nine

"That's good, Freya," Gro smiled, nodding her head and running her hands over Freya's work as Enid watched them from the table, her heart filling with something warm, something fierce as she saw Freya looking up at Gro and smiling.

"It is?" Freya asked.

"Yes," Gro answered. "But here," she said, taking the comb from Freya's hands and brushing up the loose strands closer to the others. "It just needs to be a bit tighter, otherwise you'll end up with a breeze somewhere you don't want one."

Freya laughed, taking back the comb and trying herself, and Enid smiled then, turning back to her own spindle, one eye firmly fixed on Frigga playing at her feet with a spindle of her own, but she could feel them, the careful glances from the other women sitting around her at the table. She could hear their quiet whispers though she couldn't hear what they were saying, but finally one of them spoke, her voice a little sharp, a little cold as the others watched.

"You're Ivar's slave, right?"

"Yes," Enid nodded, and for a moment she thought they would pull away, that they would yank at the yarn in front of them and hiss at her, but their faces brightened, most of them leaning forward and speaking to her quicker.

"So you're from England?"

"Is he good in bed?"

"What food does he like?"

Enid felt the colour rising to her cheeks and that heat take over her as she shook her head and stammered, "I-,"

"My husband says you worship a dead god."

"What?" Enid heard, as the women turned to stare at the one who had spoken.

"Yes," she nodded. "He says you still pray and ask him for things even though he's dead. And you build big, stone buildings and gather once a week to sing songs and eat bread."

Enid stared at the woman, her eyes big and wide, finally letting our her breath as she sighed. "We do," she nodded. "We believe our God sent His only son to die for our sins. The songs we sing are meant to say thank you and the bread… our priests say a prayer over the bread and it becomes the body of Christ."

"And you eat it?!"

"Yes," Enid said. "Our Lord did the same with his disciples at his last supper. Then he died on the cross for our sins and rose three days later."

"Like Odin!" one of them shouted, and Enid stared at the women, a chill running down her spine, an emptiness filling her stomach.

"Odin?" she asked.

"Oh, yes," said one of the women. "He wanted to know what it was like to die so he hung himself from a tree for nine days and nights before he rose again."

Enid couldn't help it, she shook her head, her eyes falling to stare at the yarn in her hand, her heart leaping to her throat. How desperately she wanted to tell them they were wrong, how deeply she wanted to take them all by the hands and stop them nodding and talking together like they had discovered some great secret, but Enid wasn't a priest. She didn't know every word in the bible and couldn't read it if it was in front of her now, so she cleared her throat, her mind racing for something to say, her face furrowing in a slight crease, but then the doors burst open.

Jarl Knut, Ivar, Tyr and a man she didn't know bound into the hall, all of them laughing and smiling but Ivar. They pulled free seats around the table, taking big gulps of mead from cups as Jarl Knut kicked his feet up and tossed his cup towards the fire pit. Their skin was glistening, big patches of sand and dirt streaked across their faces and clothes as they laughed, their chests heaving and their cheeks red.

Gro tutted, placing her hand on her hip and saying, "Get your boots off my furs. They were clean before I left."

Again Enid watched that head bow, watched all of them laugh quietly as they kicked their boots off and threw them back towards the door. She couldn't help it then, some part of her was bitter, some part of her was angry that he would listen to Gro and not to her, some part of her hated that she was only a slave and not a princess, but then she felt something else. Her shoulders going stiff with something so much like fear, something that made her lift her eyes and meet his. That man she didn't know was staring at her, his green eyes unblinking and shining bright in the candlelight.

"You're that English slave, right?" he asked, and Enid froze, her hands stiff in front of her, her eyes big and wide, but she couldn't help it, just the way he looked at her made her feel so small, like she was some animal that he was hunting. "Come here," he said, jerking his head, and her heart leapt to her throat, her face going tight.

"You can ask nicely, Erik," Gro sighed.

"Oh, I didn't mean it like that," he said, leaning forward, his face suddenly soft and warm, and then he smiled, a smile that took her breath away. "Don't be afraid. I just wanted to meet you."

She got up then, coming to stand in front of him and feeling each set of eyes watching her so closely. That smile, she saw it reach his eyes, saw him tilt his head to the side as he looked at her and laughed quietly to himself.

So slowly he took one of her hands, twisting it between his fingers and rubbing the palms and Enid felt the colour rise to her cheeks, her heart beginning to race as he stared and stared. He must have been around her age, not much older at the very least, and he wore his hair much shorter than the others, his face clean shaven, shining and glistening in the light from the fire pit beside them as he smiled up at her, but then she heard that click of a weapon being unsheathed. She jerked her hand away, taking a step backwards, her hands rising on instinct as she glared at him, but he only laughed, showing her the palms of his hands before he leaned back in his seat.

"I thought so," he said.

"You taught her how to fight, Ivar?" Jarl Knut asked, his forehead furrowing in a slight crease.

She only realized what she had done then, her eyes flicking to Ivar's face, and she wanted to apologize, to shake her head and say something, anything, that would take it all back, but Ivar shrugged, taking another gulp of ale and patting Tyr on the back.

"I need every pair of hands out on the farm," he said, and for a moment she thought that was it, the Jarl's shoulders sinking as he stared at Ivar.

"You could've told me," Knut said. "She was sleeping in the same barn as my men."

"Poor girl…" Erik laughed. "I'm sorry you had to go through that," he said to her. "I'll teach you to fight if you want to learn more."

She didn't know what to say then, her eyes flicking to Ivar's face, wanting so desperately for him to say something and save her, but he only patted Tyr on the back again, his face growing darker and stiffer, his lips closing in a thin, tight line.

"I remember you now!" Erik said, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. "You're from that last village we raided. Yes! You were with that blacksmith."

She felt that one knee popping out from under her, almost throwing her to the ground, and for a moment she couldn't breathe, her eyes big and stinging and heavy with tears as she clenched her fists, glaring at him, hating him more than she had hated anyone before.

"What happened to him?" she asked, and Erik raised his eyebrows, his head tilting to the side, a smile springing to his lips.

"I don't know," he shrugged. "He caught me here," he said, tapping the side of his chest. "Knocked me out for most of the day… Why? Was he your husband?"

"No."

"That's good," Erik smiled. "I can find out for you, if you want."

"A slave shouldn't want anything," Knut said.

"Oh, come on, Knut," Erik turned to him. "Everybody wants something."

"That doesn't matter," Knut shook his head. "Don't be putting ideas in her head, you'll only spoil her."

"I disagree," Erik said, turning back to smile at Enid. "Look, Ivar taught her how to fight and she hasn't betrayed him. And she still knows she's a slave, right?"

Suddenly those eyes that stared at her had a weight to them and she found herself clenching her fists and wanting to scream and desperately wanting to tell him that she wasn't a slave. She wanted to challenge them all then and there and finally be free, but she wasn't.

"Yes," she whispered.

"See?" he said, "What's your name?"

"Enid."

"Don't worry, Enid." he smiled. "I'll find out what happened to that blacksmith for you."