He met Altene at the door and the two made their way to his furs, shedding clothes along the way. Nena watched only long enough to be sure they were not coming in her direction, then picked a spot on the floor midway between the pole and the furs and stared at it. She dared not close her eyes and be completely without warning sight in this place, but she would not endure Altene’s promise of witnessing their intimacies. She stared blindly at the spot, clearing her mind, blocking out as much as she could.
Nena employed a warrior’s tactic, learned, so that if ever captured, she might endure torture. She took her mind far away to a place that was soothing to her—the green banks of the cool stream where she used to play as a child. She was there again, smelling the tangy spring grass, feeling the warm earth between her bare toes, seeing the small silver fish darting beneath the clear surface of the water. She was only dimly aware of their whispers, their groans, their sighs, the increased tempo of their bodies coming together, their mingled cries of pleasure, then their panting breaths. When it was silent, Nena brought back her focus, but still did not look at them.
“Are you hungry?”she heard him ask Altene.
“Why yes, my lord,” Altene murmured surprised.
“Come. I have not yet had time to eat. You can tell me what you’ve discovered over food and drink.”
“Gratitude, my lord.”
Nena looked up as Jarl pulled on his trousers and Altene her dress, again to verify they were not coming for her. She was numb, her mind clear and calm. As her eyes followed them to the table, her contempt of Altene returned. The woman seemed not to mind that he served her food on a dirty plate or poured her wine into a used cup, as he might have given table scraps to a dog. Could she not see it? Did she truly not care? He did give her clean utensils, though—the ones Nena had not been permitted to use. And more important than that, he gave her a knife; Altene’s sickening behavior had earned his trust. As much as Nena would have liked to have had the weapons, it made his suggestion that she would one day be trusted the same as that groveling little snitch, even more insulting.
“They said there were nine: her, Chief Meln, her younger brother, and a small escort contingent of six Teclan warriors,” Altene began.
“Who is in charge in their absence?” Jarl asked.
“Her eldest brother, Lothor, remained behind. He has a formidable reputation. I would not anticipate any lessening of their defenses. Rumor has it he is as strong a warrior as Meln.”
“Strong warriors do not necessarily make strong leaders,” Jarl responded. “Are there any other Teclan among the captives?”
“No, my lord.”
“Does anyone bear witness to what happened to them in the battle?”
The battle? Did they call massacring unarmed opponents—women and children—a battle?
“None that I have spoken with thus far, but I have yet to question them all. By end of day tomorrow, I will know all that they know,” Altene promised.
“Very good.” Jarl cut another bite of the now cold pork. “You said earlier the tournament was in hopes that she would choose. What did you mean by that?” Jarl asked.
“Tournaments are a way for Dor men to safely demonstrate their fighting skills and gain status. It’s also a time for them to impress the gods and offer themselves up to be chosen. All tribes have them. We....,” she began, then corrected herself. “They...believe the gods choose a woman’s first union and reveal their choice through the woman, when they are ready.”
“When you say choose first union, what is that? Sex? Marriage?”
“Usually it is both. After the first union is complete...”
“By complete, you mean they have sex,” Jarl interrupted to clarify.
“Yes. After that the woman will make a statement in front of the village, that she accepts the union and then it is final. Then it is a marriage.”
“Does that always happen?”
“Almost always. There would have to be severe extenuating circumstances for a woman to go against the gods and not agree with their choice.”
“Like rape?” he suggested.
“Yes, that would be one reason.” Altene lowered her voice. “But that is very, very rare. Men will rape married women of a tribe they have conquered as an additional way to show their dominance, but it is never acceptable to rape an unchosen woman. They are considered sacred by the gods.”
“Are all Dor men so fearful of the gods that you’ve never heard of it happening?” he asked in disbelief.
“It is not only the gods they fear. It is the punishment. One of the few punishments that is universal among all the Dor tribes, at least all those I’ve ever heard of.” Her voice was barely above a whisper now. “The punishment for such a man is castration and to live out his remaining days as a slave of the lowest order in the tribe.”
“And the woman? What happens to her?”
“Nothing.” Altene looked bewildered by the question. “She would not make the statement of union, of course, but the gods still chose for her. The Dor believe the gods recognized a poison within the man, and in order to cull him from the tribe, picked the one woman he could not resist to bring it to light. Such a woman would be revered to have been so chosen by the gods, and would be rewarded in her next choosing being far above her station.”
Jarl nodded as he digested the information.
“If the women choose the men, are they in
