Maidensong (33 page)

With any luck, the years without Rika wouldn’t be so long after all. Or so many.

 
The scent of night-blooming jasmine was still heavy in
the air when Rika opened the shutters. She leaned on
the sill and inhaled. Nothing. The fragrance was sweet,
but she could find no joy in it. It was as though a
shroud had been draped over her heart and she knew
neither pleasure nor pain. She wondered whether she’d ever feel anything again.

Rika scanned the courtyard below and found Ornolf
and Jorand sitting under the pergola, heads together,
speaking in low voices. Whether by a fluke of architec
ture or by design, every word floated up to her third-floor room. She wondered whether the other
chambers in the women’s quarters enjoyed the same
covert advantage.

“So he has enlisted, then?” she heard Ornolf ask.

“Ja,
he made his mark on the tablet yesterday afternoon.”

“Probably just as well. He needs a change,” Ornolf
said. “And besides, the spoils of war can make a man
rich. He’ll make a fortune with his blade, no doubt.
But we will have to find another man to make the trip
back north next spring. I don’t want to portage around
Aeifor short-handed again. When will the regiment
leave the city?”

“Next month, Bjorn says. They go east to fight the
Saracens.” Jorand raked a hand over his golden head. “
He’s not seeking a fortune, though. It’s a battle-death
Bjorn is after.”

Rika’s heart plummeted to her toes. She was wrong. She could feel something after all.

Ornolf made a low growl of annoyance in his throat. “Where have they placed him?”

“He’s in the infantry now, but Argus told me the
commander would like to see him in the cavalry. Bjorn
has some skill with horses, as you know. Yesterday,
they were having trouble with a four-hoofed imp from
Loki who wouldn’t submit to a saddle for anything.
Bjorn snatched the lead rope, hauled the horse’s head
down and grabbed him by the ear. Then he whispered
something to the beast and it settled immediately.
Bjorn vaulted up on his back and paraded around the ring once or twice, then he hopped off and tossed the
lead to the commander. The horse had the manners of
a prince after that,” Jorand said. “Bjorn’s made a reputation for himself as a horse master already, but mem
bers of the cavalry have to provide their own mount
and kit. Bjorn doesn’t have the silver.”

Rika heard the rattle of coins.

“See to it,” Ornolf said. “The infantry is no better
than a meat-grinder for someone seeking death. At
least on horseback, he’s got a chance of surviving if he
comes to his senses soon enough.”

“Won’t the
jarl
be upset at the expense?” Jorand
tucked the money away in the pouch at his belt.

“With the profit I’m making for him on this trip, I
think Gunnar can spare his brother a horse.” Ornolf
snorted. “Compared to what he’s taken from Bjorn, it’s
little enough.”

“Good morning, my lady.” Al-Amin’s smooth alto
made Rika jump away from the window. She turned to see the portly eunuch set down a silver tray laden with
fruit and bread. Then he smoothed down Rika’s bedding,
with Helge following him like an angry bee.

“I tried to keep him out, but he’s a pushy one, so he is,” Helge said. “In and out of a lady’s bedroom with
out so much as a by your leave. It’s not fitting, not fit
ting at all.”

“Evidently, it is here, Helge,” Rika said. “We are liv
ing in a new land. We must adjust to new customs.”

When she reached an accord with Farouk-Azziz, he
insisted on giving her Al-Amin as a body servant. Each
of his wives had a eunuch of her own, in addition to
maidservants to attend to their daily wants. Eunuchs
offered the protection of a man’s strength along with
the asexual indifference that made them perfect for
service in a harem. The fact that Farouk had gifted Rika
with his own servant was seen as a mark of special fa
vor, Al-Amin assured her.

Either that, or a clever way of keeping a very close eye on her.

“After you have broken your fast, you will have your bath, my lady,” he said.

Rika blinked. “I bathed just last night.” Under normal circumstances in the Northlands, bathing once a
week was considered sufficient for decent hygiene, es
pecially in winter.

“You will find that here, it is customary to bathe
twice a day,” the eunuch said. “As you say, my lady. A
new land. New customs.”

After she ate some bread and a few tart slices of a
fruit called an orange, Rika trailed Al-Amin out of her chamber toward her bath.

The third floor of Farouk’s grand house was the exclusive haunt of women and their servants. In accor
dance with security needs, the long hallway around the square was on the outside wall, totally enclosed but for a few slits through which a defender could loose arrows without exposing himself. These slits also al
lowed air to circulate through the rooms with surpris
ing efficiency. There was only one staircase leading out
of the women’s quarters, going down through Farouk-Azziz’s personal suite of rooms on the second floor or up to the pleasant roof garden.

Farouk had taken her there on that first night to
watch the moon rise over the city. She supposed he
thought it would dazzle her to see the splendor of Miklagard at her feet. Maybe he even saw it as a concilia
tory gesture, another sop to her bruised esteem after
his unfortunate ‘cow’ reference. Not that it mattered
to Rika in the slightest.

She was sure she’d piqued his interest anyway. Not
sexually, of course. He’d been forthright about his
feminine preferences, but he seemed to see Rika as a mental challenge. She expected to see more of her fia
ncé in the future than she would have liked.

Helge bustled along behind Rika. “I still don’t hold with bathing so often, mistress,” she said, as they slipped into the sumptuous bathhouse. “Especially not
with a man standing by gawking the whole time.”

“Lady Helge, do not concern yourself,” Al-Amin said. “
I was fitted for this service long ago. I do not have a
man's natural tendencies. My presence here is for my lady’s protection and convenience, nothing more.”

Helge raised a skeptical silver eyebrow at him.

“Most of the household staff is like me, but there are
a few intact men who work in the stables. We would
not wish for one of them to stumble into my lady’s bath
unannounced now, would we? Hence, my presence.”

Rika undid her brooches and slid out of her tunic
and kyrtle. Helge continued to scowl at the eunuch, clearly unconvinced.

“Still seems unnatural to me,” Helge muttered.

“Oh, it is,” Al-Amin said with amazing frankness as
he extended a long arm to help Rika into the bath. “Most eunuchs are made, not born. The lucky ones,
like me, were altered young. It is impossible to miss
what one has never had.”

“And the others?” Rika took a scented cake of soap from his hand.

Al-Amin shrugged eloquently. “I have heard that eu
nuchs emasculated after their tenth year, suffer the loss of their manhood greatly.”

“Ah! I told you she was here.” The new voice made
Rika turn in the water toward the sound. An olive-
skinned woman glided into the bathhouse dressed in a
fluttering
palla,
so thin and ethereal it was as though
she wore butterfly wings. She moved with the grace of a falcon in flight, her expression fierce as well. She
stopped at the edge of the pool. “Stand up so we can
get a look at you,” she ordered.

Rika stared at her and the two other women flank
ing her. They were each attended by a bare-chested
man dressed in baggy trousers, the same as Al-Amin.
This entourage could only be the wives of Farouk-Azziz
and their eunuchs.

“Are you addle-brained as well as big as a red Norse cow?” The woman’s eyes were large, expertly en
hanced with kohl, and glinted with a hard light.

The insult stunned Rika, but not as much as the exact wording. Obviously, someone had overheard Farouk’s initial reaction to her and spread the word. Life in a harem was much like the Danish court. Rika made a mental note never to whisper anything she didn’t want to hear shouted.

“What do you have to say for yourself?” the woman demanded.

“Only that in the North, introductions are a better
way to begin a conversation than insults.” Rika deliberately turned her back on the assembly and began
lathering her outstretched arm. “If you wish to speak
with me, please see Al-Amin to arrange a time that will
be more convenient. You are disturbing my bath.”

She heard the woman make a squeaking noise of
frustration and stomp out, trailed by her coterie of followers.

“Well done, my mistress.” Al-Amin expelled all the air from his capacious lungs. “Not many women
would stand up to the head wife that way. In your
country, you must be a queen among women.”

“Hardly,” Rika said as she climbed out of the bath
and allowed Al-Amin to drape a thick towel over her shoulders.

“It is well that Sultana knows you will not bend to her
will, but beware of making an enemy of her,” Al-Amin
cautioned. “Her son, Kareem, is the master’s heir. She
will hold much power when he comes into his own.”

Rika sighed. She really didn’t care. Intrigue and
plotting and lusting for power all seemed so empty. All she wanted was Bjorn, and since she couldn’t have him, there was really nothing else in the world she
cared much about. Perhaps love was actually a curse after all. Like the unfortunate late-made eunuchs, she’
d suffer all the more for what she had known.

But she’d never wish to undo her knowledge. She
would never see Bjorn again, yet his face was there each time she closed her eyes. At night, in the first fl
ush of waking from a dream, she almost thought she
could feel him beside her. No matter what her future
held, Bjorn would always be with her. She would grow old and feeble, but he would remain forever young and
virile, frozen in her memory.

He’d become a soldier, Jorand had said. She made
up her mind not to try to learn where he was, lest she hear that he had fallen in some battle. As long as she lived, he would, too. Magnus had always told her that
the Lady of Asgard, Freya, looked with compassion on
unhappy lovers and made a place for them in her great
hall. Perhaps Bjorn would come to her there and they
would love each other in the next world as they longed to in this one.

Yet here and now, she had Helge and Al-Amin to
consider. Rika detested domestic politics, but she
knew how to play the game. She would have to stir
herself enough to make a comfortable place in this
household for the sake of her servants. Perhaps she
should begin by finding out who had repeated the ‘red
Norse cow’ comment to Sultana.

“Al-Amin,” she said, as he helped her don a
palla.
The fabric was so thin Rika felt she was still naked even
though she was fully clothed. “Someone must have put
those words into Sultana’s ear before they could come
out of her mouth. Who do you suppose that was?”

“Ah, my lady is the soul of discernment,” he said. “That very question was on my mind as well.”

“As I recall, only my party and Farouk’s dinner guest
were present,” she said carefully. “And you, of course.”

His face went pale. “My mistress, you cannot possibly think that I—”

“I’m not sure what to think,” Rika said. “I need to
know where your loyalties lie. Do you serve me or
Farouk-Azziz? Or perhaps you have some furtive
arrangement with Sultana?”

“You wound me, my lady,” he said with great dig
nity. “When I served Farouk-Azziz, it was with my
whole heart. Now that he has given you my papers, I
am yours to command. Perhaps my lady does not
know the practice of naming among our people. I am
not called Al-Amin for nothing.”

“Forgive my ignorance.” Rika bit back a smile at his indignation. He reminded her of a peacock whose feathers had been ruffled. “What is the meaning of Al-Amin?”