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Authors: Sandra Lake
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in the wagons that are to return to Tallinn tomorrow. We will be in Tronscar by next month, I promise. This will all work.” Katia smiled at her friend and instantly felt sick to her stomach. She had really done it this time. Deciding to come here to spy on “Andrei the God-Loving” was the right decision, but bringing Tosha had been a big, big mistake. She could get her best friend in serious trouble, or worse: violated and killed. Until this very moment, Katia had been in denial of the truth, but now it hit her hard in the center of her gut.
Katia was in over her head and sinking fast. Regret and fear poured into her. She was learning to recognize her limits at last, but the realization had come too late.
A fight broke out at the end of the table, and two men were beating each other into a bloody pulp. The overflowing hall of Slavic and Rus soldiers shouted with a bloodthirsty glee. Many had just returned after spending the week ransacking village after village around Kiev, and Prince Andrei Bogolyubsky seemed happy to reward his mercenaries tonight.
Katia worked close at Tosha’s side, watching her back as best she could. She turned and twisted away from each groping hand that strayed her way. Tosha had perfected the art of shrugging and smiling and then mumbling shyly in Finnish, pretending she didn’t understand the lewd remarks and offers. Katia just needed to keep Tosha safe and out of harm’s way for one more night.
As the evening dragged on, Katia found herself increasingly jumpy. The men became louder, more demanding, and more out of control. Katia watched her friend’s back as she shuffled down the long aisle of men, making her escape to the kitchen.
“Where do you think you are going, my
zaika
?” A newly arrived soldier grabbed Katia around the waist, pulling her down hard into his lap. She plastered her friendly, shy smile on her face, while at the same time digging her elbows into the table to leverage herself off the filthy dog. He was less drunk than the rest but slightly larger than the average man in the hall. Andrei clearly had a profile in selecting his mercenaries. They had to be young, large, fit, and stupid.
Katia mumbled in Finnish that she did not speak Slavic.
“I do not want you for speaking,
lapushka
,” he said, switching the endearment from bunny to darling. He dug his fingers into her ribs, bruising her to the bone, and pulled her braid, yanking her head back. He laughed into her ear, his five companions joining in.
Hell’s bells!
This was bad. Not only was he ten times her size and strength, but he apparently was their leader—officers didn’t take “no” as well as the average foot soldier, who was used to being told what to do.
“I must work,” Katia said in a broken Slavic dialect. “My mistress say I must work.” Still hoping to disarm the situation, she continued to smile while at the same time struggling to push up off the bastard’s lap. His arm locked around her tighter, overpowering her with no real effort on his part.
“You will work,” he said, laughing harder, turning to friends. “You will work on your back and your hands and your knees.” He smacked her bottom to fully get across his point.
Swallow your fear. Fear will kill you quicker than any blade.
The laughter of the men scorched her ears, and the loud, encouraging pounding of fists on the table matched the beat of her heart.
“I am wife.” Katia smiled innocently at the men. “No work for you, I wife.” She would first appeal to the dog’s territorial instincts, though she very well knew that wives of serfs and soldiers were frequently shared among the upper-ranking officers. Under the table, her finger traced the outline of the blade strapped to the inside of her thigh.
No need to panic. She darted her eyes around the hall, counting the paces it would take to make it to each exit point. The men were too large and strong for her to attack outright, but as drunk as they all were, she
Katia was in over her head and sinking fast. Regret and fear poured into her. She was learning to recognize her limits at last, but the realization had come too late.
A fight broke out at the end of the table, and two men were beating each other into a bloody pulp. The overflowing hall of Slavic and Rus soldiers shouted with a bloodthirsty glee. Many had just returned after spending the week ransacking village after village around Kiev, and Prince Andrei Bogolyubsky seemed happy to reward his mercenaries tonight.
Katia worked close at Tosha’s side, watching her back as best she could. She turned and twisted away from each groping hand that strayed her way. Tosha had perfected the art of shrugging and smiling and then mumbling shyly in Finnish, pretending she didn’t understand the lewd remarks and offers. Katia just needed to keep Tosha safe and out of harm’s way for one more night.
As the evening dragged on, Katia found herself increasingly jumpy. The men became louder, more demanding, and more out of control. Katia watched her friend’s back as she shuffled down the long aisle of men, making her escape to the kitchen.
“Where do you think you are going, my
zaika
?” A newly arrived soldier grabbed Katia around the waist, pulling her down hard into his lap. She plastered her friendly, shy smile on her face, while at the same time digging her elbows into the table to leverage herself off the filthy dog. He was less drunk than the rest but slightly larger than the average man in the hall. Andrei clearly had a profile in selecting his mercenaries. They had to be young, large, fit, and stupid.
Katia mumbled in Finnish that she did not speak Slavic.
“I do not want you for speaking,
lapushka
,” he said, switching the endearment from bunny to darling. He dug his fingers into her ribs, bruising her to the bone, and pulled her braid, yanking her head back. He laughed into her ear, his five companions joining in.
Hell’s bells!
This was bad. Not only was he ten times her size and strength, but he apparently was their leader—officers didn’t take “no” as well as the average foot soldier, who was used to being told what to do.
“I must work,” Katia said in a broken Slavic dialect. “My mistress say I must work.” Still hoping to disarm the situation, she continued to smile while at the same time struggling to push up off the bastard’s lap. His arm locked around her tighter, overpowering her with no real effort on his part.
“You will work,” he said, laughing harder, turning to friends. “You will work on your back and your hands and your knees.” He smacked her bottom to fully get across his point.
Swallow your fear. Fear will kill you quicker than any blade.
The laughter of the men scorched her ears, and the loud, encouraging pounding of fists on the table matched the beat of her heart.
“I am wife.” Katia smiled innocently at the men. “No work for you, I wife.” She would first appeal to the dog’s territorial instincts, though she very well knew that wives of serfs and soldiers were frequently shared among the upper-ranking officers. Under the table, her finger traced the outline of the blade strapped to the inside of her thigh.
No need to panic. She darted her eyes around the hall, counting the paces it would take to make it to each exit point. The men were too large and strong for her to attack outright, but as drunk as they all were, she
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