Hearts Aflame (8 page)

“The ship was his?”

“His father’s.”

“Your name?”

“Thorolf Eiriksson.”

“Then point out to me your new leader, Thorolf, for I know you will have chosen one.”

Thorolf said nothing to this, then finally requested: “Say slow.”

Royce frowned impatiently. “Your new leader. Who is he?”

Thorolf grinned now and shouted, “Ohthere, stand up and make yourself known to the Saxon.”

Kristen watched her cousin stand uneasily, for he had not understood anything that was said until Thorolf called to him. He was on the opposite side of the circle from her, but he had worked his way to her last night, dragging three men with him to do so. Both of his brothers were dead, but he was holding his grief inside, as she was. Being the oldest among them and also Selig’s cousin, he was logically looked to as their leader now.

“His name?” Royce asked as he looked Ohthere over.

“Ohthere Haardrad,” replied Thorolf.

“Very well. Tell Ohthere Haardrad that I have been persuaded to leniency. I cannot let you go, but I will feed and shelter you if you are willing to serve me. I need a stone wall built around this manor. If you choose not to work, you will not be fed. ’Tis that simple.”

Rather than request the Saxon to repeat his words slowly, Thorolf said, “Talk,” indicating his comrades.

Royce nodded. “By all means, confer.”

Thorolf called the men into a huddle, but only as an excuse to drag Kristen into the center of it, where no one could see her talking. “Thor’s teeth! What was all that about, Kristen?”

She was grinning from ear to ear. “He is not going to kill us. He wants us to build his stone wall instead.”

“Nay, I will not sweat for the bastard!”

“Then you will starve,” Kristen retorted. “His conditions were clear. We work for our food and shelter.”

“As slaves!”

“Do not be fools!” she hissed. “This will buy us time to escape.”

“Aye, and mend,” Ohthere agreed. “Tell him now, Thorolf. No use making him think there are those of us not eager to accept his terms.”

Thorolf stood up this time and called Royce back to him. “The chains?” he questioned first.

“They stay. Do not think I am foolish enough to trust any of you.”

Thorolf grinned slowly, nodding. The Saxon was wise, but he did not reckon on Vikings well mended and fed and determined to escape.

Chapter Ten

A
n old woman came among them to tend their wounds. She was dirty and unkempt, wearing the tight, long-sleeved undergown called the chainse, with the shorter sleeveless gown over it unbelted, making it look like a sack. She walked very straight for her age, and said her name was Eartha. Her disposition was that of someone who had lived all the years she wanted to, and so she was bold and saucy and fearless, as if she cared not what consequences her actions might bring her.

Kristen was amused by her and wary of her at the same time. She watched Eartha push and poke the men around, men that were like giants beside her small frame, and laugh at their grumbling or sharp words. She was wary because she knew Eartha would come to her eventually, wanting to see her supposed head wound, which she could not allow.

Kristen was not in the best of moods, either, because of the heat, which none of them were used to. Many of the men had torn away most of their leggings, but much as she wanted to do the same, she knew she dared not. She would have pitied Eartha wearing her two gowns, and no doubt a shift under them, too, except that the heat seemed not to bother her at all. But then, the Saxons would naturally be used to it.

Eartha finished with Ivarr and squatted down next to Kristen, indicating that she should tell her where besides the head wound she was hurt, assuming that she was because of the numerous bloodstains covering her. Kris
ten simply shook her head. In response, Eartha reached for the head bandage. Kristen slapped her hand away, only to have her own hand slapped in return. When Eartha tried again to remove the bandage, Kristen jumped to her feet, towering over the little woman now, and hoping that her stature would dissuade the nurse. It did not. She had to catch Eartha’s wrists and hold them firm to keep the woman’s hands away from her head. For this she felt the point of a sword pressed into her side.

Several other Vikings stood, and the Saxon guard who had come to Eartha’s defense stepped away. He was intimidated enough to call immediately for help.

Kristen groaned, seeing what she had caused, though it couldn’t be helped. Seven Saxons were running toward them with drawn swords. She glared at Eartha for being so stubborn, then released her. It was Thorolf who stopped the old woman now, pulling Kristen behind him.

Fortunately, the Saxons hesitated when they reached the prisoners, seeing that Eartha was no longer threatened. “What is amiss?” Hunfrith demanded.

“The young lad will not let me tend his wound,” Eartha complained.

Hunfrith looked for explanation to Thorolf, who stated plainly, “Is mending. Leave alone.”

Hunfrith grunted, then glowered at Eartha for causing them all to panic. “Aye, if he can jump up the way he did, he needs not your skills, old woman.”

“The covering should be changed,” Eartha insisted. “’Tis all bloodied.”

“Leave off, I said. Tend those who want it. Leave the rest alone.” But to Thorolf he added, “Warn your friend there to keep his hands to himself from now on.”

Hunfrith was obviously not willing to make an issue of it when so many Vikings were ready to come to the
boy’s defense. But Eartha did not like it and moved off grumbling that the lad was too girlish by half. One of the Saxons commented that mayhap that was why the Vikings brought him along, and they left laughing among themselves.

Kristen’s cheeks had blushed brightly at the remark. When Thorolf noticed and asked why, she shook her head, blushing more. He meant only to tease her, detaining her to insist she tell him, because it was so rarely that Kristen was ever embarrassed. But she slapped his hand away and angrily sat down, giving him her back.

From that position her eyes wandered over the hall, and she could see that a man stood watching them from an upstairs window. His face was in shadow so she could not guess who he was, but it made her uncomfortable to know that others besides the guards could watch them. She had only been concerned with the guards’ positions whenever she had spoken to Thorolf or the others. She would have to be more careful now, knowing that anyone from the hall could also be spying on them.

They were fed after Eartha left, and those of them who had lost their boots because they were new or of a fine quality, got them back, though they couldn’t put them on over the chains. This situation was rectified later that afternoon, when the blacksmith came to them.

The iron bands on their ankles were removed and replaced with new ones, these with a short chain permanently welded on each set. The bands snapped on and were held firm, but there was a keyhole on each one to remove them, though there was no sight of the key around. An iron ring at the back of each band allowed for a longer chain to slide through. This chain was only twenty feet long, and once it was threaded through the ring on each man’s foot and then the ends locked together, their circle around the tall post became much
narrower, making the positions they could assume extremely limited.

Kristen was disgusted with this new precaution taken against them. She supposed the long chain would be removed when they were made to work, but the short chain between her ankles would only allow for short steps, certainly nothing hurried, and she could imagine all of them stumbling and falling as they got used to having to practically hobble as they walked. It would be degrading, but that was probably how the Saxons intended it.

Like the others, Kristen had gotten her boots back, though the fur trimming had been ripped away. But at least they kept the irons from chafing against her bare skin. The bands were tight, however, and would no doubt wear through the soft-skinned boots eventually. Since her ankles were so much slimmer than the others’, the blacksmith had had to send for a special pair of irons for her, smaller ones that she could only imagine were made for a boy much shorter than she.

It rained that night, and left out in the open as they were, they were all made miserable by the deluge. Kristen was the most wretched, for she tried futilely to protect her bloodied bandage from being washed clean. Thorolf finally laughed at her efforts and helped by wrapping his own arms about her head and lying partially on top of her. This kept her bandage dry, but made for a very uncomfortable night.

From his window, Royce watched the scene below in the yard. He saw the lad protest being covered and try to throw Thorolf off, saw the larger Viking slap his backside and shout something in his ear and then cover the boy’s head with his arms, which forced Thorolf to lie half on top of the boy. They were still after that, as were the others. The guards had erected a shelter from the
rain in front of the storehouse. The rest of the yard, growing muddy, was quiet.

“Which is the one Eartha said attacked her?”

Royce glanced down absently at Darrelle. She had come to stand beside him at the window, having put away the ivory pieces of the game they had just finished playing.

“The Viking did not attack her. He simply protested her treating his wound.”

“But she said—”

“I saw it all, Darrelle, and the old woman exaggerates in the telling.”

“If he were to have laid hands on me, I hope you would not take it so lightly,” she grumbled.

“I would not,” he said, grinning.

“Which one is he?”

“You cannot see him now.”

“Alden said ’twas only a boy who wounded him. Is he the one?”

“Aye, the youngest among them.”

“You should have had him whipped, then, if you saw him lay hands on Eartha.”

“Too many were ready to fight for him. ’Twould have served no purpose but to have more wounded.”

“I suppose,” she agreed, though with reluctance. “They cannot build our wall if they are dying. The wall is more important. They are few and can be controlled, but the Danes are many.”

Royce chuckled. “I see Alden has convinced you that they are needed.”

“You would have killed them all,” she reminded him with a haughty look that made him smile. “At least he realized they would better serve you alive.”

“Is it not time for you to check on Alden?” Royce threw the hint out deliberately.

Darrelle clucked her tongue indignantly. “You could have just told me to go.”

“I would not be so churlish,” he replied innocently, pushing her toward the door.

Royce stood at the window often, watching the Vikings labor. It was an indication that he had yet to accept their presence at Wyndhurst that he felt unease except when he had them within his sight. He was not so in favor of using them to build his wall as Alden and Lyman were, for he would be meeting the Danes on the Wessex borders when the time came to fight them again, and he was doubtful they would ever push so far south as to do damage to Wyndhurst.

But since King Alfred wanted his lords to fortify their holdings, and since they had ample stone at the old Roman ruins near here, he had agreed a stone wall should be built, whether it would ever be needed or not. And already the Vikings had set the stones that had taken months for the serfs to bring here, and this done in only a week’s time.

“Meghan tells me this has become a new habit of yours, Cousin.”

Royce swung around to see Alden in the doorway. “Should you be up so soon?”

Alden groaned. “Not you, too. I get enough coddling from the women.”

Royce grinned at the younger man as Alden made his way slowly to the open window to stand next to him. “Your company is welcome, for I find I brood too much on the past in here alone. But, God’s truth, I cannot help but feel they will try something now that they are near all mended, so I find myself ever standing here watching them. Only two of them remain unable to carry the stone with ease.”

Alden leaned out the window, and then he whistled
softly at what he saw across the yard. “’Tis true, then! We need more stone already.”

“Aye,” Royce admitted grudgingly. “Only two of them are needed to lift the largest stones that it took five of the serfs to carry. In the same amount of time, the serfs are still not finished with the shelter I set them to build for the Vikings next to the storehouse. It will be another few days before they can be locked in there at night. Then we will not need so many men to guard them, at least at night.”

“You worry too much, Royce. What can they do shackled as they are?”

“’Twould take only a strong axe to sever those chains, Cousin. One of them with his bare hands could crush two of my men before a third could draw his sword. And the fools still get close to them, even though I have warned them to keep their distance. If the Vikings are determined on their freedom, and I cannot doubt that they are, then they will make a bid for it eventually, and many will die when they do.”

“Burn their ship and let them know the sea is closed to them,” Alden suggested.

Royce grunted. “I am surprised no one has told you that has been done already.”

“Then what you need is an inducement to keep them tame,” Alden replied.

“Yea, but what?”

“You could take their leader away. If they think you will kill him at the first sign of revolt, that should—”

“Nay, Alden. I thought of that, but they say the one who led them here is dead. ’Twas his father’s ship I burned. They chose a new leader from among them, and would only do so again if I separate him from them.”

“They say he is dead?” Alden was frowning thoughtfully now. “What if he is not?”

“What!” Royce exclaimed.

“If he were down there among them, why should they tell you so and risk losing him for what I suggested.”

“God’s breath, I did not think of that.” But Royce frowned then. “Nay. The only one they rally round is the boy. They protect him as if he were a babe.”

At first he had thought that the lad was only Thorolf’s brother, and that was why the bigger man cosseted him. But once the prisoners began the wall, they all seemed to look after the lad, stopping the guards from prodding him, taking the heaviest stones from him and pushing him toward the lighter ones, two or more of them moving to help him up every time he fell. But damned if he wasn’t the filthiest among them, never making use of the water given them to wash. Still they pampered him.