Starving she had snatched at jt greedily.
“How eagerly you eat the gruel of bond-maids,” he had commented.
Then she had refused to eat more. But, the next day, to his amusement, she reachedl forth her mouth eagerly for the nourishment.
On the fifth day, and thereafter, for her feedings, he would tie her ankles and release her from the mast, her wr1sts then tettered before her, that she might feed herself.
After the fifth day he fed her broths and some meats, that she might have good color.
With the improvement n her diet, as was his expectation, something of her haughtiness and temper returned.
On the eighth day he released her from the mast, that she mlght walk about the ship.
Atter she had walked about, he had said to her, “Are you ready to heel?”
“I am not a pet sleen!” she had cried.
“Put her to the oar,” had said the Forkbeard.
Hilda, clothed, had been roped, hand and foot, and body,on her back, head down, to one of the nineteen-foot oars.
“You cannot do Ihis to me,” she cried.
Then, to her misery, she felt the oar move. “I am a free woman!” she cried.
Then, like any bond-maid, she found herself plunged beneath the cold green surface of Thassa.
The oar lifted.
“I arn the daughter of Thorgard of Scagnar!” she cried, spitting water, half blinded.
Then Ihe oar dipped again. When it pulled her next from the water, she was ciearly terrified. She had swallowed water. She had learned what any bond-maid swiftly learns, that one must apply oneself, and be rational, if one will survive on the oar. One must follow its rhythm, and, as soon as th~surface is broken, expel air and take a deep breath. In this fashion a girl may live on the oar.
For a time the Forkbeard watched her, leaning on hi elbows, on the rail, but then he left the rail.
He did, however, have Gorm watch her, with a spear. Twice in the afternoon Gorm struck away sea sleen frorn the girl’s body. Once he thrust away one of the white sharks of the northern waters, The second of the sea sleen it had been which, with its sharp teeth, making a strike, but falling short, had torn away her green velvet gown on the right side from the hip to the hemline; a long strip of it, like a ribbon, was in its teeth as it darted away.
She had not been on the oar for half an Ahn when she had begun to beg her release; a few Ehn later, she had begun to beg to heel the Forkbeard.
But it was not until evening that the oar lifted, and she was released. She was fed hot broths and fettered again tO the mast.
The Forkbeard said nothing to her, but, the next day, when the sun was hot on the deck, and he released her for her exercise, and he waIked about the deck, she, though a free woman, heeled him perfectly. The crew had roared with laughter. I, too, had smiled. Hilda the Haughty, daughter of Ths)rgard o~ Scagn~r, had been taught to heel.
Ivar Forkbeard left the dock, his arm~ about Pudding and Gunnhild, who leaned against him.
Hilda, head high, followed him.
Pouting Lips rall beside her. “Gunnhild is better!” she cried.
Hilda paid her no attention.
“Thick ankles!” said Pretty Ankles.
“She has a rowing bench inside her gown,” said Olga.
“Broad in the beam!” laughed another girl.
Suddenly, in fury, Hilda struck at them. The Forkbeard turned about. “What is going on here?” he asked.
“We were telling her how ugly she is,” said Pouting Lips.
“I am not ugly!” cried Hilda.
“Remove your clothing,” said the Forkbeard.
Her eyes widened with horror. “Never!” she cried. “Never!”
The men and bond-maids about laughed.
“You have taught me to heel,” she said, “Ivar Forkbeard, but you have not taught me to obey!”
“Strip her,” said the Forkbeard to the bond-maids. They leaped eagerly upon Hilda the Haughty.
In moments the proud girl, naked, was held before the Forkbeard. Olga held one arm, Pretty Ankles the other.
“Gunnhild is better,” said Pouting Lips.
It was true. But Hilda the Haughty was a superb piece of female flesh. In almost any market she would surely have drawn a high price.
She struggled, held. She had a fair throat, good shoulders; she was marvelously breasted; her waist was such that one could get his hands on it well; she n~ight have been a bit broad in the beam but I had no objection to this; in the north it is called the love cradle; it was well adapted to cushion the shocks of an oarsman’s pleasure; in the south she would have been said to be sweetly hipped; if the Forkbeard wished to breed her she would bear healthy, strong young to his thralls, enriching his ~arm; her thighs, too, were lovely, and her calves; her ankles, while not thick, as Pretty Ankles had asserted, were heavier than those of Thyri, or Pretty Ankles herse~; Hilda was, of course, a somewhat large~ girl; she was probably some five years oider than Pretty Ankles, and a year or so older than Thyri; Gunnhild was larger than Hilda; she was also, I ex~?ected, about a year or two older. I had no objection to Hilda’s ankles; I found them quite lovely; they would take a common girlf~tter nicely, with about a quarter inch tolerance.
Then Hilda stopped struggling and, held, head high, regarded the Forkbeard.
He examined her with grloat care, as he had his Sa-Tarna, and his animals, when he had inspected his farm.
He got up from his knees, where he had been feeling the firmness of her left calf and ankle.
Then he said to the bond-maids, “Take her to the whipping post.”
The bond-maids, laughing, dragged Hilda to the post, stout, of peeled wood, which stood outside the hall. Ottar then, with a scrap of binding fiber, crossed and rudely bound, before her body, the wrists of the daughter of Thorgard of Scagnar; he then, reaching up, fastened her wrists to the heavy iron ring over her head. Her breasts were against the post; she could not place her heels on the ground.
“How dare you place me in this position, Ivar Forkbeard!” she demanded. “I am a free woman!”
“Bring the five-strap slave slash,” said Ivar Forkbeard to Gunnhild.
“Yes, my Jarl,” she said, smiling. She ran to fetch it.
“I am the daughter of Thorgard of Scagnar,” said Hilda. “Release me immediately.”
The lash was placed by Gunnhild in the hand of Ivar Forkbeard.
Ottar threw the girl’s hair forward, so that it fell before her shoulders.
“No!” cried Hilda.
The Forkbeard touched her back with the whip; his fist held the handle and, too, beneath his fist, folded back, were the five straps. He tapped her twice.
“No!” she cried. “Please, no!”
We fell back to give the Forkbeard room, and he shook loose the straps and drew back his arm.
The first stroke threw her against the post; I saw the astonishrnent,~n her eyes, then the pain; the daughter of Thorgard seemed stunned; then she howled in misery; it was only then that she realized what the whip might do to a girl. “I will obey you!” she screamed. “I will obey you!” Ivar Forkbeard, experienced in the disciplining of women, did not deliver the second stroke for a full Ehn. In this time, she screamed, over and over, “I will obey you!” Then he struck again. Her body, again, was struck against the post; her hands twisted in the binding fiber; her entire body rubbed on the post, in agony, pressing against it; tears burst from he eyes; she was on her tiptoes, pressing against the post; hes thighs were on either side of the post; but the post did not yield; she was fastened to it. Then he struck again. She writhed, twisting and howling.
“I ask only to obey you!” she cried. “I beg to obey you!”