Frida

Chapter 7 - Duties

She might not particularly fancy their rude staring, or their manners at the table, nor the fact that young children were allowed to drink mead with their food, but sweet Heavens did she love their foods.

Frida had to restrain herself from overeating as she sat at a small table tucked away at the right corner of the long-hall feasting together with some Norsemen that she believed to be Ragnar's servants. On her wooden plate laid the remnants of fluffy walnut bread coated heavily with creamy buttermilk cheese and parsley, eggs in brine, or 'solæg' as they called them, something she had learned from one of the male servants, who she suspected to be a cook, and what had been a heavy portion of delicious soup that contained smoked lamb and many different herbs and greens.

She patted her stomach with a big smile as she put down her spoon, and she could not help but to sigh out in satisfaction when she turned in her seat, looking over at the longtable where many of the men that she had shared boat with sat. It seemed like Floki had taken the responsibility of being the night's entertainment, because he was currently swaying across the wooden table, babbling drunkenly away in Norse while swinging his axe in all directions. Many of the men laughed, and Frida found herself weaving mindlessly from side to side in step with the music that was being played by a couple of men behind the wooden throne in the back of the room.

She felt surprisingly good given the fact that she was situated in a land far away from her home, but she too felt a slight pinching at the edges of her heart when her thoughts fell upon Lady Liofrun. She wondered what she was doing, what time of the day it was in Northumbria at the moment, and she dared not to even guess at how much her Lady was thinking about her.

If only she knew how well I am, Frida thought as she took another sip of mead from her horn. It tasted like summer, honey and berries.

It was not long before the servants rose to their feet and began their work, rushing back and forth with their hands full of plates and foods, never losing the smiles on their faces. Frida suddenly wondered whether she was meant to help them.

Was she a servant too?

A cooling nervousness plastered across her cheeks when she found herself alone at her table, and she quickly began searching the room with her eyes to find someone, anyone, who would be able to speak her language. She was surprised to see that the long-hall was no longer as crowded as it had been during their feast, almost all the children had left together with many of the women, and the fire was almost nothing but burning embers.

When Frida dazedly let her eyes wonder to Ragnar's seat she hissed out in shock as she saw him staring at her, and she instantaneously rose to her feet.

She had no idea where she was going, but she could tell by his hard stare that she was supposed to be doing something else than sitting there, enjoying herself.

Why had they not informed her about her duties? Her chores?

She found herself grabbing one of the bearing columns to stabilize herself, her head dizzy from drinking mead all night. Did these people never drink water?

The cool night air felt good on her skin, and she let her lungs get filled with clean air before she took a look around. Kattegat was not a small town but she would never have guessed it to be a place for the king to live. It just seemed so... ordinary. There were no high structures here, no stone walls, not even paved roads.

"You should be careful out here," a familiar voice spoke from behind her, "You never know what is lurking in the dark."

Ragnar was standing by the entrance to his hall, leaning his shoulder casually against the door frame. The light coming from inside the house made it difficult for her to see his face. She did not know whether he was angry at her for having sat in there all night.

"Uh," she started, looking down at her hands, "I, uh... You should tell me what to do."

She heard him chuckle breathily and out of the corner of her eyes she saw him crossing his arms over his chest.

"I just did."

Frida slowly shook her head.

"No," she said, "I mean, you should tell me what chores I am responsible for, what my duties are. I am your servant, am I not?"

Ragnar frowned at her words, and she felt his eyes grow hard, all the amusement quickly leaving them.

"Have I treated you like a slave?" he asked in a light voice, and she confusedly watched him reach his hand up to chew on the nail of his thumb.

She shrugged her shoulders and wrapped her arms around her torso as an icy breeze sailed past them. "I guess," she breathed, "all I want to know is why I am here."

Ragnar closed the distance between them and wrapped one of his arms around her, slowly pulling her back towards the door.

"You are here," he explained as they entered the warm long-hall once more, "because I want you to be."

Ragnar's face instantly lit up as they reached the longtable, and he pulled out a stool for her to sit on before too sitting down next to her. Frida felt annoyed by his answers.

It was as if he never really explained himself properly, like he avoided telling her something. And she thought that a reasonable account for her kidnapping was nothing more but fair, but as she felt the stares from the other men sitting around the table, she made no further attempts to make Ragnar explain himself. It would have to wait.

"Skål,"growled the man to her left, and she looked to see the bear-like man waving his horn in front of her face while smiling widely through his thick dark beard.

"Skol?" she tried out, but her tongue failed her miserably, causing small chuckles to sound from the ones sitting closest to them.

"I," rumbled the man, "'m Rollo, brother."

And he nodded his head at Ragnar who smiled down into his horn. Frida smiled at Rollo, a bit forged, as she too well remembered how frenzied his eyes had been when he cut open the throat of Gotfried. She raised her horn like him and drank heavily from her cup.

She had to put it behind her.

Even the mere thought of having him as her enemy sent shivers down her spine. Never in her life had she seen a bigger man. His shoulders were broader than two male Northumbrian's combined, his hands were like spades, and his chest was more muscular than that of a great bull's. All the men around the table were giants compared to her, and she thoughtlessly leaned herself a bit closer to Ragnar recalling the words of the English-speaking man named Athelstan.

"He will not harm you," he'd said. Not 'they'.