Expulsion: A Tale Of Two Vikings by Broughton John

Author:Broughton, John [Broughton, John]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Next Chapter
Published: 2022-08-17T00:00:00+00:00

SEVENTEEN

VERDUN, FRANKIA, 904 AD

The oars dipped and rose in the greenish river water that gave Verdun its name. When Ishaq-al-Nadir informed Jarl Óttar that the steep-sided, deep valley heralded their arrival in the trading town, relief was the jarl’s overriding emotion. Their progress up three major rivers had been good but achieved at the expense of his crewmen’s aching muscles. They had endured the wearisome journey uncomplainingly in good spirits. After all, having thrown in their lot with Jarl Óttar, every crew member possessed gold for the first time in their life. The promise of more wealth to come at their destination was enough to spur on the weariest rower. Yet whoever he was, he would never have betrayed his weakness.

Even so, the order, oars aboard! was met with a collective sigh of relief whilst, suddenly, tying up the longships became a labour of love. Those men delegated to oversee the prisoners were also relieved. Over the past week, they had supplied them with food and drink, provided for their basic human needs, and quelled the slightest sign of truculence with a ready blow.

Leaving the cramped conditions in the prow, packed with twenty captives, meant that the soothing of constricted muscles was a painful experience as blood flowed back to limbs starved of the usual supply. Some cried out with the pain, others’ legs failed to support their body weight, and the sufferers had to be hauled ashore, where they slowly regained the use of their tortured limbs. All told, after some minutes, the prisoners destined for slavery stood around in reasonably good—and therefore marketable—condition.

The Norsemen herded the captives as stockmen drove cattle. None of the miserable party dared risk a rash bid for freedom since every Viking brandished a blade of some sort, and the wretches had witnessed the ruthlessness of their captors at Thessalonica.

As for Jarl Óttar, he had no scruples regarding enslavement. As he stared at the trussed men, women, and children, totalling a score from each of the six ships, he reflected that one person in four in his homeland of Norway was enslaved. The living condition of people did not cause him any qualms either. Personally, he could not see much difference between a slave and a serf. The latter, if they worked hard, with tools that belonged to their lord, might eke out a pittance; the former, if they were lucky with their owner, might occupy a position of trust through their abilities and even achieve a dignified role in society, or rarely, be granted freedom. Unlike Ishaq, Óttar did not know that boys and young men risked castration. A eunuch brought three times the price to the seller when sold on to Byzantium, Spain, or North Africa. Verdun was the most important emasculation centre in Frankia.

“How much can we get for a male slave, Ishaq?” Óttar asked, prepared to leave the skilful haggling to his partner. As his eye ran over the small army of captives for sale, he had a foretaste of untold wealth, like his men.

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