Ragnar & the Slave Girls (Ragnar the Dane) Read Free Page B

tell me immediately. The Jarl will be back soon to take charge.”
    “ Is it murderers from Wessex or Mercia?” enquired a voice.
    “ We don’t know yet. We’d have to catch one of them to find out. As they are targeting the English, it is more likely to be Danes. Or those with a grudge against Byrnham folk.”
    Ragnar had a nagging feeling at the back of his mind. The last murder of an Englishman had been committed by a particular Dane in the same manner. A Dane who also had a grudge against Byrnham. 
     
    *  *  *
     
    In the centre of a large, lighted cavern, away from the sleeping and eating areas of those who dwelled there, two teenage girls lay naked on bearskins on the floor. Their legs were tied apart, their hands stretched and bound above their heads. Their rounded young breasts quivered with fear, nipples hard. Shaking with cold, the girls stared round at their audience.  A group of shabbily dressed men in wolf masks and a few half-dressed women watched. The men’s eyes could not be seen but the women’s were blank and dead.
    Two naked men, also in wolf masks, stood in front of the tied women with the sorceress between them. She muttered words in a foreign tongue, touching each of the men on the forehead, and they nodded to her, their already roused cocks bobbing up. Drums started in the background, and the sorceress turned to the nearby fire. She threw a handful of something upon it, and it burned blood red.
    The men knelt. The drumming increased and the audience began to chant along with it. The faint smell of unwashed, sweaty bodies pervaded the air.
    “ Help me!” cried the blonde, imploring her fellow women, hoping. But none answered. They just stared at the naked performers in front of them.
    The kneeling men forced themselves on the women, painfully. As the blonde cried out, the brunette bit her lip, determined not to show how much she hurt. It didn’t take long. Both men shuddered and growled to a halt, the whimpering women trembling with pain and fear.
    The audience held its breath, watching the panting men. Silence. Even the drums stopped.
    The sorceress approached and drew a dagger. She plunged it into the taller man’s hand and he gasped.
    “ You bleed,” she snapped, and turned away to stare into the fire, which had turned back to orange. “Why does this not work? Master?” Her voice becoming deeper and stronger, she cried out to the flames. “Why do you not come?”
    Silence.
    “ Take them away.” She gestured to the tied, shaking and crying women. Two men untied them, slung them over their shoulders and pushed through the audience.
    “ Where are you taking us?” questioned the weeping blonde girl, to no avail.
     
    *  *  *
     
    On the day the Jarl returned, Bjarni set off to his hall at a jaunty pace. News of the slaves and goods had been sent ahead so he wanted to be the first to profit, and the gentle drizzle did not dampen his optimism.
    “ Ah, Bjarni,” said Jarl Thorvald, clapping the handsome warrior on the shoulder. “Good to see you again. Steinar tells me you want a slave for your household. They’ll be ready in a minute. Follow me.”
    Bjarni walked into the main hall. The painstakingly constructed building reflected the importance of the Jarl, with carvings on the pillars, abundant fur rugs and a shiny new cooking pot on a metal spit. One day, Bjarni thought, he would live like this.
    Other villagers gathered for the slave sale, mainly householders, and no other Huskarls.
    “ What are you here for?” asked one of the young village men who’d fought alongside him against the Norwegians last year.
    Bjarni explained and they fell into conversation as the young man wanted to choose a slave for his mother.
    A disturbance at one of the doors interrupted them and Bjarni held his breath, imagining a statuesque blond, or even a dark-haired, sultry beauty from the south with long legs and full breasts.
    A serving woman led in the slaves, who had their heads down and