Viking Passion by Flora Speer Read Free Book Online Page A

past the great hall and its
surrounding buildings a clear, cold stream ran through a thick
stand of trees before joining its waters to the river. Here, at a
bend in the stream, a natural pool had formed. The trees, thick
with their summer burden of leaves, provided complete privacy.
Freydis indicated by a few words and gestures that Lenora should
get into the pool.
    With the tall, forbidding woman watching her,
Lenora did as she was told. Freydis gave her a soapstone bowl
filled with a fatty substance, which Lenora used to wash herself,
even scrubbing her hair.
    When she climbed out Freydis handed her a
rough cloth with which to dry herself, and then helped her to
dress. From the pile of garments she had carried to the stream,
Freydis unfolded an undyed, pleated linen shift, long-sleeved and
ankle-length that could be tied at its round neck. Over this was
draped a woolen, apron-like garment consisting of a straight panel
in front and back. Wide shoulder straps connected these two panels,
which were fastened over each collarbone with large oval brooches.
Lenora handled the bronze jewelry with sensitive fingers, admiring
the sinuous, interlaced curves of its design, which was composed of
the stretched-out and contorted bodies of two animals.
    “They’re beautiful,” she exclaimed.
    Freydis looked pleased.
    “Was mine,” she said. “Erik bought for
you.”
    “These were yours? Don’t you want them?”
    “Speak Norse tongue,” Freydis told her
sternly. She shrugged her wide shoulders. “I have many more.”
    In fact, Freydis was wearing twin brooches of
spectacularly complicated design. Between them hung a necklace of
glass beads patterned in brilliant colors and a second string of
amber beads. From the right brooch hung several keys on silver
chains, and a small iron knife with a carved bone handle.
    “Erik bought? For me?” Lenora repeated
carefully, still examining her own brooches.
    “For you. You please him.”
    Lenora was not sure she had understood this
last sentence.
    The brooches were designed for Freydis’ large
frame, and so were too large for Lenora. It took her a while to
arrange them properly. When at last she had them adjusted and had
donned soft leather shoes that wrapped around her ankles, Freydis
helped her to comb her hair with a carved horn comb. Then they
tried to arrange it.
    Freydis’ straight, silver-blond hair was
smoothly pulled back and twisted, the long, loose ends hanging
almost to her waist like a well-cared-for horse’s mane. Lenora’s
unruly curls would not go into a smooth knot. Her hair caught and
snarled and had to be combed again. Finally she gave up. She took a
strip of cloth and tied her hair back with that, fastening it at
the nape of her neck. Curly tendrils escaped, framing her face in a
damp chestnut cloud. Freydis nodded.
    “Is good,” she said. “Now come. You must work
if you wish to eat.”
    Lenora had always hated the domestic chores
that were so much a part of even a noblewoman’s life, and had
shirked them whenever possible. Now, under Freydis’ strict but fair
supervision, she controlled her dislike and dutifully applied
herself to her work.
    She learned that as Erik’s personal slave she
did not have to do heavy manual labor. There were other slaves to
do such chores and to help the free serving women who also worked
in Thorkell’s household. Lenora was required to help with the
cooking, which was done in a separate room at one end of the great
hall, and with the serving at each night’s feast. She must also
keep Erik’s tiny cabin clean, and tend the fire in his firepit, for
even in warm summer, the place was often damp and chilly, and
Erik’s injured leg ached when it was cold.
    And always there was the spinning. Every
woman of Thorkell’s household had her own spindle and whorls, and
whenever her hands were not occupied in some other task, she used
them to spin wool or flax into thread.
    Lenora had never disliked spinning as some
women did. She was