heartlesskitten
Super-Earth
- Joined
- Oct 12, 2014
- Location
- USA
Cerdic considered Vigi's story and he felt a twist in his stomach. A man should claim his son, even if other people might look askance at it. Though he understood better than most why the Jarl did not and why it hurt Vigi. Swallowing hard, he kept his silence, trying not to think of the boy. Instead, he looked Vigi over and though their cultures differed he was not blind to the fact the seidmadr wore fine clothing and had jewelry, he was not poor nor a drunkard. It was only that cultural taboo of him being a priest that made his father embarrassed. A smile touched his lips for a moment and he glanced at his master, "Where I am from, it is common for a man to have at least one son take the cloth, become a priest or monk like myself. It is not considered shameful or womanly, it is convenient when there is too many sons for inheritance. Keeps him out of the way of the heir and keeps him safe in case something happened to the other sons. Of course it is very different here but one thing that doesn't change is how bastards are treated."
The monk rubbed his hand over the short beard he wore now, unable to shave on the ship, "Their uses are the whim of the legitimate."
His brows quirked together and he was unable to hide the brief grin, "The get of an elf, huh? Interesting...what does your mother say about that story?"
Cerdic knew he should not speak so freely with him but he spoke in English and tried to keep his voice low, so not to draw attention. Vigi had explained what elves were on the journey and though he thought it a bunch of superstitious nonsense there was a similarity to how he described them as being small, fair beings who either brought health or illness to people depending on how they were treated. The woman who birthed him had an elvish air about her as well and he could see why the story was believed.
The clothing that was purchased for him was of a good make, too fine for a slave perhaps but then again, just as in his world, the better a servant looked was a reflection of the wealth and benevolence of his master. Whether he meant it or not, Vigi would at least show that he could afford to dress a mere thrall like a freeman though it might rub some the wrong way. Like freemen who could not afford the fine woolen trousers or tunics. The fur was certainly more than he expected, made from the hides of grey wolves. Cerdic made no complaint, he had missed nice clothes though he had grown used to the rough spun robes, he would change after he had a bath.
Cerdic looked over the large hut, his attention caught by the sounds of someone in pain. A chill ran down his back when he saw collared men in long tattered tunics working on various projects outside. They wore leather collars and all had short hair, cropped unevenly and they barely spared the pair a look as they approached. Vigi ordered him to stay put and Cerdic obeyed, for the moment. He could hear the pleas of a female and his teeth ground together, she was crying in English, she was a Saxon woman! A Christian from the sounds of her sobbed prayers for salvation.
The slaver came out, a gross man who could probably only get a woman if he forced her. Cerdic had to keep himself from reaching over and squeezing his throat until his eyes popped from their sockets. His sharp flint colored eyes stared daggers at the man when he turned his back to go inside. He heard the curse and slap and rolled his shoulders, dropping the clothing and started to step forward. He never did have a stomach for rape, even though he had been told time and again it was a way of war. It was illegal in his land and even among the rough Picts of the north. He was certain it was not legal here either, but that would be against a freewoman. This thrall was only a slave, no longer a person. Just like him. What was he going to do? Cerdic was no longer a man and it was certain to end in his death. He froze, his big fists clenching as he stared in the darkened doorway, hearing her sobbing.
The monk rubbed his hand over the short beard he wore now, unable to shave on the ship, "Their uses are the whim of the legitimate."
His brows quirked together and he was unable to hide the brief grin, "The get of an elf, huh? Interesting...what does your mother say about that story?"
Cerdic knew he should not speak so freely with him but he spoke in English and tried to keep his voice low, so not to draw attention. Vigi had explained what elves were on the journey and though he thought it a bunch of superstitious nonsense there was a similarity to how he described them as being small, fair beings who either brought health or illness to people depending on how they were treated. The woman who birthed him had an elvish air about her as well and he could see why the story was believed.
The clothing that was purchased for him was of a good make, too fine for a slave perhaps but then again, just as in his world, the better a servant looked was a reflection of the wealth and benevolence of his master. Whether he meant it or not, Vigi would at least show that he could afford to dress a mere thrall like a freeman though it might rub some the wrong way. Like freemen who could not afford the fine woolen trousers or tunics. The fur was certainly more than he expected, made from the hides of grey wolves. Cerdic made no complaint, he had missed nice clothes though he had grown used to the rough spun robes, he would change after he had a bath.
Cerdic looked over the large hut, his attention caught by the sounds of someone in pain. A chill ran down his back when he saw collared men in long tattered tunics working on various projects outside. They wore leather collars and all had short hair, cropped unevenly and they barely spared the pair a look as they approached. Vigi ordered him to stay put and Cerdic obeyed, for the moment. He could hear the pleas of a female and his teeth ground together, she was crying in English, she was a Saxon woman! A Christian from the sounds of her sobbed prayers for salvation.
The slaver came out, a gross man who could probably only get a woman if he forced her. Cerdic had to keep himself from reaching over and squeezing his throat until his eyes popped from their sockets. His sharp flint colored eyes stared daggers at the man when he turned his back to go inside. He heard the curse and slap and rolled his shoulders, dropping the clothing and started to step forward. He never did have a stomach for rape, even though he had been told time and again it was a way of war. It was illegal in his land and even among the rough Picts of the north. He was certain it was not legal here either, but that would be against a freewoman. This thrall was only a slave, no longer a person. Just like him. What was he going to do? Cerdic was no longer a man and it was certain to end in his death. He froze, his big fists clenching as he stared in the darkened doorway, hearing her sobbing.