Page 15

G unnar groaned. This he did not need.

It was bad enough that he had returned home after weeks away to be greeted with the news that one of his thralls, Ferris, had taken advantage of his master's absence to resume his old habits.

Gunnar had hoped several previous visits to the stocks might have cured the man of his propensity to help himself to food which had been stored in readiness for the coming winter.

Seemingly not. Worse, the idle thrall had also decided to indulge in a little doze when he should have been keeping watch over their livestock.

As a result, raiders had made off with several of Gunnar's fine ewes, many of them due to drop lambs in a couple of months’ time.

The food wasn't a massive issue, they had plenty, but there was an important principle at stake here.

An example needed to be made or all his slaves would be taking the same liberties.

Gunnar might have been more sympathetic if the slave had been short of food, but Ferris certainly hadn't been going hungry.

No one wanted for food at Gunnarsholm. The man's behaviour was the result of greed, and complacency.

Ferris had thought it safe to steal from his master, and from the village, because he believed he wouldn't get caught.

Unfortunately for him, the slave had underestimated Weylin's watchful eye and devotion to duty.

The ewes though, that was more serious. Not only were the animals valuable, though that was in itself sufficient consideration to warrant punishment, but Gunnar's reputation was now at stake.

If word got around the many hordes of cut-throats and bandits who inhabited the surrounding mountains that his settlement at Gunnarsholm was poorly guarded, a village ripe for the picking, he would be fighting off raiders every night.

He had no choice but to deal severely with Ferris now in order to ensure no other sentry opted to snooze the night away rather than do his bloody duty.

Then he would have to hunt down the thieves and take back his ewes.

Shit!

Never one to put off an unpleasant task, as soon as Weylin reported the matter to him Gunnar determined what must be done.

He waited until Mairead and her little brood disappeared inside his longhouse then he ordered that Ferris be brought from the back of the smithy where he had been secured in the stocks for the last two days awaiting his master's return.

Discipline was merited and it was to be swift, and severe, but he preferred it not to be witnessed by the newcomers so early after their arrival in his home.

The boy, in particular, would not comprehend why this apparent brutality was necessary.

Gunnar's expression was grim as the offending thrall was brought to the whipping post in the middle of the village, stripped to the waist and tied to it.

The post was not in frequent use, but Gunnar believed its presence here served a purpose, reminding those who answered to him who was master at Gunnarsholm and the consequences of failing in their obligations. It was a deterrent.

The man had wailed and pleaded and tried to deny his crimes.

Gunnar listened, questioned Weylin, and others who could bear witness to what had transpired.

He had entertained little doubt to start with, but others, karls and thralls alike, corroborated Weylin's account.

The proper punishment would be twenty lashes.

He sighed and resigned himself to what must be done.

Gunnar shed his leather tunic and accepted the long whip from Weylin, one reserved for just this purpose.

Gunnar knew that it hurt like a bitch, and Ferris would long remember this day.

Whether in the future the man would remember to keep his hands off that which did not belong to him remained to be seen, though a decent flogging tended to have a salutary effect on the memory, Gunnar found.

It also markedly improved a slave's diligence, obedience and general attitude, changes badly needed as far as this man was concerned.

Gunnar positioned himself behind the sobbing thrall and delivered the first couple of strokes.

The lash left narrow streaks of vivid red across the man's shoulders as the skin reacted to each stroke.

Gunnar kept them relatively light. He could make his point without reducing the man to a blood-soaked mess.

As he raised his hand to deliver the next stroke he was interrupted by a piercing shriek from behind him and suddenly his newest slave was there, clinging to his arm and babbling at him. Tears streaked her face, her distress and terror evident as she attempted to stop the whipping.

Did she think to wrestle the whip from his hand? The woman was in for a rude awakening if she thought he would tolerate such insubordination, especially not in front of half the population of Gunnarsholm.

“What the fuck do you think you are doing, wench? Take your hands off me or I shall…” His angry rebuke died in his throat as her slender courage crumbled before him. She released his arm and backed off, her lovely green eyes wide as she regarded him.

Fuck. He regretted having scared her so, but she needed to learn who was master here. He strode after her, and was relieved that she did not attempt to run from him. For that, at least, he could be grateful.

Steinn was nowhere to be seen so he could not have his words translated for her, but hopefully she would take his meaning anyway. Equally important, his people would hear what he said and his authority would be reinforced.

“Slaves obey. I am master here, I make the laws and I enforce them. If a whipping is required, I will ensure it is delivered. You will learn to accept my authority, as all do, or you will pay the consequences for it.”

He paused, and was gratified by her small nod. It was enough. He gestured to her to make herself scarce, and was pleased that she did, now, flee.

So far so good. Now he had just to complete his business with Ferris.

The next four strokes reduced the slave to incoherent groaning as he hung from the post. He muttered something, the words lost as he ground his face against the timber.

Gunnar lowered the whip and moved in closer. "What did you say?"

"Please, master..."

"You said something. What was it?" demanded Gunnar.

"I am sorry. I said I was sorry and will not steal any more."

"I am pleased to hear that. It would be a pity if you and I were to have cause to meet here again."

"We will not, I swear it, Jarl."

"Good. Is there more you have to say to me?"

"I will watch the sheep every night. I swear I will not fall asleep again."

"Excellent, but you need not keep watch every night. Your night time shepherding duties are to be doubled however."

"Yes, Jarl. Th-thank you."

"You may thank me when your punishment is over.

" Gunnar resumed his position and raised the whip again.

The man before him trembled but offered no further protest. Gunnar was satisfied, his work was almost done here.

He had determined that the man receive twenty lashes, but saw no valuable purpose in pursuing this ordeal right through to the end now that he had achieved the desired result.

He had delivered nine strokes so far, and decided that a dozen would suffice.

The whip whistled through the air again, and the lash landed across Ferris' shoulders.

Gunnar shook his head to clear it, then proceeded to finish this day's unpleasant business.

The final two strokes were swift and harsh, and each elicited an agonised shriek from the recalcitrant and now sufficiently contrite thrall.

Gunnar was glad to be done with the matter, and he suspected Ferris to be even more so.

He lowered the whip and instructed Weylin to release the man.

As he shrugged back into his tunic a slight movement to his left caught his attention.

He turned, and found himself gazing into the startled, terrified eyes of his flame-haired Celt.

Mairead gaped at the spectacle before her, beautiful green eyes the colour of autumn moss as they darkened in horror.

Then, stifling a scream, she turned on her heel and this time she really did flee.

Odin's fucking ballocks . He could have done without this complication at such a delicate stage in their relationship.

He was still exploring the possibilities in his own mind, uncertain just what the status of his recent acquisition might be.

His options were narrowing by the moment if the look of fear and revulsion displayed across her beautiful features was anything to go by.

"Fuck," he muttered to himself as he fastened his tunic. It was not as though he could catch her up and talk to her and better explain the necessity for the scene she just witnessed. Where was Steinn when his translation skills were needed?

Gunnar took his time in following Mairead back to his longhouse, fast coming to the conclusion that explanations would have to wait.

Aigneis spoke the Gaelic tongue but he was reluctant to converse with Mairead through another slave.

In any case, the sooner he set off in pursuit of the raiders who had seized his sheep, the better the chance of regaining his valuable property.

The bandits had a two day start on him already, he could not delay his departure.

He entered the longhouse to find a white-faced Mairead seated on a bench by the table, her baby in her arms. Donald leapt up as soon as Gunnar entered and started jabbering something at him. Gunnar looked to Aigneis for some sort of explanation.

"The boy wishes to explore. His mother said he could not leave the longhouse without your permission."

Ah, right. Such caution was a good sign . The woman did at least comprehend her precarious position in his settlement even if he did not.