Poison

His head ached. His senses were strangely dulled; a peculiar lethargy assailed every bone and muscle in his body. 

Mathios rolled onto his back and sought to recall where he was. Eventually he was forced to resort to prising his eyelids apart in order to survey his surroundings and settle that pressing question. He managed to focus on the rough beams that supported the roof of the shelter, but this was not his longhouse. There were none of the familiar scents that pervaded his home—the aroma of baking bread or the smell of madder boiling over the fire to make dye. His stepmother’s cheerful chatter was absent also. Instead he was surrounded by silence, broken only by the occasional snuffle or snore. He turned his head to the right. Vikarr lay sound asleep not a foot from him. To his left he spied Ivar, just starting to stir.

“What the fuck happened? I feel like shite.” 

“You were drugged. And the rest, too.” Arne waved his hand to indicate the room at large. Mathios ventured another look. Olav lay on his side, just beyond Ivar, and Ormarr sat slumped over the table. “How…?” he began, though the events of the previous evening were already coming back to him. Assuming it was the previous evening… “How long have we been asleep?” he demanded. 

“Twelve hours. You are the first to regain consciousness, Jarl, though I believe Olav may be stirring. And Ivar.”

“Where is she?” Mathios sat up. He remembered perfectly now, and he had matters to settle with the duplicitous Celtic wench. 

“On her pallet. I bound her as you commanded and she has remained there the entire night.” 

“Help me up.” Mathios held out his hand and his warrior hauled him to his feet. He staggered slightly but managed to hold his balance. Across the room the one he sought huddled on her pallet, her deep brown eyes wide with apprehension as she stared up at him. She would do well to fear him. And she could fucking well wait.

Merewyn shrank away from him as he approached. Her features were pale in the thin morning light that entered through the open door to the dwelling and she looked to have been weeping. No doubt her sorrow arose from the fact that her idiotic plan had failed.

He stood at the foot of the bed and glared at the terrified wench. Her hands were bound behind her, which had the effect of pushing her pert breasts out. He could discern the outline of her nipples beneath the thin fabric of her tunic. On another day he would have appreciated the sight more. Now it merely added to his disappointment in her. He had genuinely liked the girl. He had come to an understanding with her, or so he thought. He had trusted her, so her betrayal cut deep. 

Her lips moved, she mouthed something. He frowned, not quite able to… 

I am sorry… 

She repeated the soundless apology and this time he understood her words. 

“Are you? Are you really sorry, Merewyn?” He deliberately softened his tone and he crouched to better see her features. “I can assure you, you will be much, much sorrier by the time I am done with you.” 

Her face paled even more. Mathios marvelled that that was even possible. He narrowed his eyes and asked the question uppermost in his mind. 

“Why? Why did you do it?” 

She swallowed, hard, and remained silent. 

“I asked you a question. Do not make me force you to answer.” 

“I am sorry,” she repeated. 

“So I understand. Why did you poison our meal, Merewyn?” 

“It was not poison… It was just a sleeping draught. I meant you no harm.” 

“You say the food was harmless, yet you would not eat it, nor would you allow your baby to take any.” He paused, held her gaze. “I do not believe you, Merewyn. Your lies will only make matters worse for you.” 

“How might they be worse?” Her voice shook, she was close to tears. “I know you will kill me.” 

“You know this? How?” 

“It… it is what you do.” 

“In truth, I have not yet decided what I intend to do to you, though you may be sure you will not like it. But I have more questions first.” He waited, assessing her pallid face, the tears already forming behind her eyes. She would soon be weeping again, and in his experience a sobbing female was difficult to get any sense out of. “Calm yourself, girl. I am not about to hurt you. Not yet, at least.” 

She gulped, seemed to be fighting for control though tears had started to flow. Mathios moved around the bed to crouch beside her, and reached out to wipe away the tears with the pads of his thumbs. He deliberately gentled his voice. 

“Tell me why you did it, Merewyn.” 

His softer tone seemed to work. “I… I wanted to escape. I thought that if I had a few hours’ start you would not be able to find me.” 

Mathios was incredulous. Her scheme was utter madness. “Where would you have gone? It is almost winter. You would not be able to survive out in the open, Connell even less so.” 

“I would have run to a neighbour’s home. I do not know which one, nor even which farmsteads are still occupied. But I would have found somewhere…” 

“A desperate act, Merewyn, and a dangerous one. What if you found not friends but enemies? You are vulnerable, defenceless. There are those who would harm a woman alone…” 

“Yes. They are called Vikings.” 

The accusation, and the bitterness in her retort, galled him more than he might have expected. “We have not harmed you, or even threatened to. You have been fed, protected, cared for. Your child, too. Why would you believe we mean you harm?” 

“It is the Viking way.” 

“What do you know of the Viking way?” 

“I know that you raid, that you attack without warning. That is what you planned for Alfred, is it not?” 

“Alfred?” 

“The man who has cows for trade.” 

“Ah, that Alfred. We would barter with this Alfred for a good dairy cow, that is all. We discussed our plans, you heard us. Why would you think otherwise?” 

“You said… you said you would make him trade with you, one way or another.” 

“Yes, I said that. So?” 

“So that was why I had to escape, so that you could not force me to lead you to him.” 

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Mathios’ patience was wearing thin. “We wish to purchase a cow from him. Why would he take that amiss? He could refuse to trade with us if he wished, though that would surprise me.” 

“No! You mean to force him to let you have the cow. You would rob him, hurt his family, burn his home.” 

“We would do no such thing. I merely meant that we would offer him enough in exchange for his beast that he could not refuse. All have their price, Merewyn, even this Alfred you seek to protect.” 

“You… you would not have harmed him?” 

Mathios shook his head. “No, we would not.” He decided to explain more fully in order to convince her. “Had we been in a position to leave these shores anytime we choose to, we might have behaved as you describe. It is, as you say, our way. But we are stuck here, we have no way of leaving for several months at least. We cannot afford to provoke the local populace. We are but eight men and whilst we might be victorious in a short, brutal fight, we would be defeated in a sustained campaign. It would not make sense for us to start a war. It suits us to have peace prevail for as long as we are stranded here. We must seek to live quietly alongside Alfred and the rest, and by trading we can make our stay more comfortable. That is all we planned.” 

“I… I do not believe you. You are lying.” 

He smiled, though without humour. “I am glad you raised that matter. I have not lied to you, ever, but you cannot make the same claim.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“You promised to cooperate, to cause me no problems. You promised me obedience and respect. In return, I guaranteed your safety. You broke your word.” 

“I was… I thought…” 

“I know what you thought, and you were wrong. I meant what I said. You would not have been hurt, nor would anyone else, had you just done as you were told.” 

“I… what do you mean to do to me?” 

“We shall come to that. First, you will tell me how you knew of the drug you used. Where did you obtain it?” 

“M-my mother. She was a healer and she taught me her skills.” 

“It was she, I assume, who taught you to use herbs to flavour food.” 

“Yes.” 

“It is a pity you did not confine your culinary efforts to just that. I recall you mentioned mandrake?” 

“Yes,” she whispered. 

“Do you have any still?” 

“A little. But I swear I will never—” 

“Where is it?” 

“You have my word…” 

“Must I tear this place apart to find it?” 

She shook her head. “My herbs are in a box, in the corner where the broom and the scythe are kept. It… it is concealed beneath some sacking.” 

Mathios called to Olav. “Go look in the corner behind the broomstick. You are seeking a box. Bring it to me.” He spoke in Norse but knew the wench understood his instruction to his man. A few minutes later Olav passed him a small wooden chest fastened with a metal hasp. It was not locked. Mathios took the box and flicked open the lid. 

The aroma of marjoram and rosemary tickled his nostrils, and sage too if he was not mistaken. To the best of his knowledge those were harmless but he knew little of such things. He did not even know which plant was which. 

He placed the box on the pallet beside Merewyn. “Show me the mandrake.” 

“It is there, at the bottom. The root…” 

It appeared innocuous to Mathios, but he now knew better. He took the tuber and rolled it in his palm. “Is this all you have?” 

“Yes. I swear it.” 

Mathios was unconvinced. “You have given your word before.” He gripped her jaw with his free hand, forcing her to meet his gaze. Her fearful whimper afforded him less pleasure than he imagined it would. He relaxed his grip. “Very well. But this will be destroyed. All of it. You will have no need of herbs and potions in the future.” 

“But—” 

“Be silent, wench, and consider yourself fortunate that I do not force you to eat this root yourself.” 

“That would be a lethal dose,” she gasped. 

“Indeed? I must take your word for that. No matter. It goes on the fire. Olav…?” 

“No! Please, allow me to keep the box.” 

“The box? Why? What is its significance?” 

“It belonged to my mother. It is one of the few things of hers which remain. Please…” 

Mathios dropped the mandrake back into the casket and handed the whole lot to Olav. “Burn this.” 

The girl let out an anguished moan then lay down, weeping, her back to him. Mathios left her for a few moments while he oversaw the destruction of the herbs. He returned to the pallet and knelt beside it. 

“Merewyn, look at me.” 

“I hate you,” she sobbed. “You are vile, and a brute, and—” 

“Turn over and look at me,” he commanded. “Now.” 

She obeyed. Her eyes were reddened from crying, her expression one of despair rather than hatred, though he considered it a near run thing. 

He placed her mother’s box on the pallet. 

Her eyes widened. “But I thought… Why?” 

“I, too, have a mother and I would wish to be able to look her in the eye when I return home. You may keep the box.” 

“Th-thank you,” she stammered. 

“Your actions were foolish. Had you succeeded, you would have endangered yourself, and your baby, as well as putting me to the considerable bother of seeking you out. For we would have pursued you, and be assured, Merewyn, we would have found you wherever you tried to hide.” 

“I do not—” 

“Be silent. You will be punished for your actions, but I choose not to administer your chastisement until you are fully recovered from your illness. Until then, you will be confined to this bed.” 

“What… what do you mean to do with me?” 

“You will be whipped. I expect the lesson will be a memorable one.” 

“Whipped? No, please…” 

“The matter is decided. You would do well to resign yourself to your punishment since there is nothing you can do or say to change it. You made a mistake, and you must pay for it. I sincerely hope you will not repeat this madness and I am prepared to do what I can to ensure that outcome.” He paused to allow his words to sink in. “Now, since I am not a cruel or unreasonable man and I am aware you have been restrained here all night, I will allow you the opportunity to visit the privy. Turn around and I shall free your wrists.” 

Her hands trembled as he untied the kerchief. The prospect of a whipping clearly unnerved her. That was good, it suggested that when the time came the lesson would be well-learned. 

The days crept past. Merewyn’s wrists and ankles were bound, though Mathios allowed her to have her hands in front so she was a little more comfortable. She lay on her pallet, largely ignored by the Vikings unless one of them was instructed to escort her to the privy. Those occasions were humiliating. On the second day she protested, only to be forced to endure hours of needing to relieve herself before she was finally taken from the cottage to the place close to the edge of the woods where such functions were performed. Hakon was her companion on that occasion. He stationed himself a few feet from her whilst she completed what was necessary then led her back in silence. She had not complained since. 

Arne usually brought her food, and she ate alone on her pallet. Connell took his meals with the Vikings, passed from one to the other while Merewyn could only watch from her place on the outside, excluded from the rest. 

Despite the lonely monotony of her existence, time seemed to fly. Each day brought her punishment closer and Merewyn could think of little else. She became convinced she would not survive the whipping. No one had laid a hand on her since she was a child, and even then her mother’s approach to discipline was not harsh. What would be Connell’s fate if she died, or was injured and unable to work to support them both? Despite the loathing for the Vikings, which she told herself was undimmed, she was confused by her conflicted emotions. Mathios was angry with her and she understood why. Worse, he was disappointed in her, and that hurt. She should not care what he thought of her, but she did anyway. She feared the Viking chief, but perversely she also wished to please him. 

She was ready to beg, to plead for her life, if Mathios would only listen, but he could not listen if he was not there. He would leave the cottage soon after first light and not return until it was time for the nattmal or evening meal. On the third day of her incarceration he left the cottage accompanied by Hakon, Ormarr, and Vikarr and did not return at nightfall. Olav was now in charge, and he did not appear concerned at the absence of his chief.