Sandra Hill - [Vikings I 02] (19 page)

You’d better believe it
.

He groaned and Ubbi looked his way, raising an eyebrow in question. Selik said a foul word and spurred his horse forward, feeling the need for a good gallop to clear his senses.

Rain could barely contain her excitement when they arrived in Jorvik the next morning. Selik’s men surrounded them and kept a wary lookout for Saxon soldiers as they crossed a bridge over the River Ouse, then followed the traffic moving along a thoroughfare Ubbi identified as Micklegate or “Great Street.”

Rain’s mother had long ago told her that Jorvik, the tenth century name for York, was the gateway between Scandinavia and Anglo-Saxon England. Its trade routes reached out to Ireland, the Shetlands, the Rhineland, the Baltic and even farther.

Her head pivoted on her neck as she tried to absorb all the marvelous sites as they moved through the narrow streets of the market town, shaded by the overhanging thatch eaves of the wattle-and-daub buildings.

The ancient Roman walls, with their eight massive towers that surrounded the city, and some of the buildings lay in ruins in places, thanks to Saxon assaults of recent years. But Ubbi told her no Norse king ruled at the moment, and everywhere an air of rebuilding and prosperity prevailed, the new quickly blending in with the old. Like the people, Rain thought—a vast assortment
of Norse, English, Icelanders, Normans, Franks, Germans, Russians, even traders from the Eastern cultures.

The cacophony of their musical, sometimes guttural, tongues provided a discordant background to the sounds of the busy city. Merchants and sailors swore fluently in various tongues as they discharged exotic items from the wide-bellied cargo ships at the confluence of the Ouse and Foss Rivers—which Ubbi identified as fine wines from Frisia, amber, furs and whalebone from the Baltics, soapstone from Norway, lava querns from the Rhineland and rainbow-colored silks from the East.

Craftsmen called out their wares from where they sat in stalls in front of their primitive homes, selling their handiwork—ivory combs, bone ice skates, bronze brooches, belt buckles and armlets, strings of glass and jet beads, wooden bowls and cooking utensils, jewelry of silver and gold imbedded with precious stones. Oddly, each of the streets, or “gates” as the Norse called them, seemed to cater to tradesmen in a particular product; there was a street of woodworkers, another of jewelers, still another of glassblowers.

“This is like a giant craft festival,” Rain said with awe as she drew up next to Selik. He had been ignoring her since yesterday, but he didn’t turn away now.

“Yea, the artisans impressed your mother, as well,” he recalled, seeming to find amusement in her fascination with the enchanting city streets. “This is Coppergate, the street where many of the workshops are located.”

Enthralled, Rain stared at the main crosstown artery of the tenth century city, knowing that some point on this thoroughfare was the site of the later Viking museum.

“Selik, this was the starting point of my journey in time.”

He groaned at her mention of time-travel, which he reluctantly accepted but didn’t like her to discuss. “No doubt you expect to stand on Coppergate the minute my back is turned and just fly through the air with your angel wings to your own time. Please, my lady, I hope you will invite me to witness that wondrous event.”

“Don’t be sarcastic. I didn’t say that I wanted to return home.”
I might have thought it at one time, but not anymore. I don’t know what I want now
.

Their entourage came to a halt suddenly as an oxen cart passed in front of them. Selik’s soldiers, who rode point guard before and after their traveling party, watched alertly for signs of danger.

“I would love to have a strand of those amber beads,” Rain commented casually of the orange-yellow, citrine-like stones being cut and polished by one highly skilled jeweler who sat on a nearby stool. Then she laughed. “Do you think they’d take a check?”

Selik smiled, scrutinizing her with what could only be called fondness, and Rain’s heart skipped a beat. She relished the rare moment of companionship and wished she could lean across the small space that separated them and brush his beautiful, flowing hair back from his face. Or trace the outline of his firm lips, curved now in an enchanting smile. But he would probably rebuff her gesture or make some sarcastic remark.

But Selik surprised her with a quick, knowing wink and turned to the artisan. Tossing the wide-eyed young man a coin, he pointed to the amber necklace in his hands. The jeweler tossed it up with a nod of thanks.

Delighted, Rain reached for the necklace, murmuring, “Oh, thank you, Selik. It’s beautiful.”

But he held it out of reach and demanded teasingly, “I will have one of those Lifesavers in payment.”

A piece of candy in exchange for a priceless necklace? Not a bad bargain! “I told you they were all gone.”

“But you lied.”

Rain laughed. “Okay, but just one.” She reached in her bag and pulled out the unopened roll of Tropical Fruits, then handed him a yellow one.

“What is this? I prefer red.”

“I gave the last of the cherry ones to Tykir and Ubbi. That one is pineapple, I think.”

Selik shot a look of annoyance her way as if she had given away
his
personal belongings. Then he skeptically placed the candy circle on his tongue. A momentary look of surprise crossed his face at what had to be an exotic new taste to him.

“Do you like it?”

“’Tis fine, but I prefer the red,” he remarked testily, then reached over and slid the necklace over her head, adjusting it under her single braid. “It goes well with your golden eyes, sweetling.”

He likes my eyes
. “Have I told you what it does to me when you use those love words?” she said huskily, leaning closer.

But he pulled his horse back. “Love words? What love words?”

“Sweetling. Dearling.”

“Hah! Those are not love words. They are just…” He stopped himself.

The cart had cleared the street, and Selik moved his horse ahead.

She prodded her horse to follow Selik’s lead and soon caught up with him.

“Selik, thank you. I will cherish the necklace. Always.”
Because it came from you
.

“’Tis just a trinket. The gifting means naught.”

“Oh! It’s just like you to give with one hand and take away with the other. Why do you keep pushing me away from you?”

“Why do you keep pushing yourself in my face?”

“Because I was sent—”

“—by God to save me,” he finished for her with a disgusted shake of his head. “Please spare me, wench, and be someone else’s guardian angel for a while. Better yet, why not fly up and perch on the rooftops of one of these Christian churches,” he said, waving his hand to indicate the numerous houses of worship they had passed. “Your squawking wouldst blend in well with all the pigeons.”

Rain started to stick out her tongue, but stopped herself in time. Instead, she wrinkled her nose at him mockingly. “Actually, I can’t believe how many churches there are here. I think we’ve passed at least a dozen. Where is St. Peter’s—the one with the hospitium attached to it?”

Selik pointed to a high spire in the distance.

“Will you take me there?”

“Mayhap…yea, I will.”

“I might even be able to practice medicine there.”

He grinned. “That would be a sight to see—you barging into the minster and offering your services to the holy culdees. Talk about bulging veins. You may cause a gusher of bursting blood vessels.”

Rain smiled.

“Well, better you attach yourself to them than to me,” Selik said gruffly. “Like a blasted shadow you have become to me. You and that damn Ubbi.”

Rain’s heart ached at Selik’s words. Did this man she was beginning to love really consider her nothing more than a pesky nuisance? She hoped not.

“Today? Will you take me today?”

He shook his head, laughing at her pushiness. “I must discharge all these captives today and rid myself of Ubbi and the soldiers.”

Discharge? Did that mean sell?
Rain wanted to ask.
And me?
But she was afraid of his answer. “Where will you go?”

He shrugged. “Mayhap south, into Wessex.”

Rain was about to berate him once again for his continuing quest for vengeance when the most horrendous odor assailed her senses. “Oh, my God, what is that smell?”

“’Tis Pavement—a street one does not soon forget. You are, no doubt, getting a whiff of the butchers and the tanneries. See, over there.” Selik pointed to some buildings where all types of dead animals hung from giant hooks—the offal and blood being thrown into the gutters or carried as effluent to the slow-moving river behind them.

Industrious workers stripped the skin from the carcasses with bones implements, then covered the skins with what appeared to be a profusion of chicken dung. Still other workers were curing the skins, which had already rotted for some time in the earlier piles of chicken droppings, dousing them with what looked like fermented berry juice. Finally, she saw the finished products being stretched on wooden frames and worked into shoes and jerkins and belts.

From the women and children she could see in the backyards, the buildings must combine homes and workplaces. The smell didn’t seem to bother them a bit. Geese and chickens wandered at will in the fenced-in properties, while pigs grunted noisily in small enclosures. Several children sat about playing wooden pan pipes.

In all, the artisans and merchants and families combined to form a picture of peaceable folks. Not at all the image modern people had of Vikings or Dark Age Saxons.

It was not the impression she had carried either, since her exposure to the Battle of Brunanburh, and
Selik. Her mind began to work overtime, trying to fit her outlaw Viking into this tranquil domestic scene.

“Selik, what would you do if you weren’t a fighter?”

“Huh?”

“I mean, when my mother met you, you weren’t set on a lifetime of bloodletting, were you?”

He smiled at her choice of words. “I was a Jomsviking even then.”

“Yes, yes, I know, but that wasn’t something you intended to do for the rest of your life. In fact, you told me once that you had already quit before…well, you said you quit.”

“A trader.”

“A trader? You mean, like these people who sell their wares along the streets?”

He shook his head. “Nay. I had five trading vessels. I traveled several times each year to Hedeby and even Micklegaard, buying and selling.”

An awful thought occurred to Rain.
Oh, please God, not that
. “What kind of products did you carry?”

He shrugged. “Everything.” He studied her closely and seemed to understand her concern. “Nay, my untrusting wench, I was not a slave trader.”

Rain exhaled on a sigh of relief. “Yes, I could see you on a Viking ship, traveling from one trading center to another.”

“So happy you approve,” he said with a mocking bow of his head. “But actually I was an artisan of sorts at one time. I made…” He stopped short, his face reddening as he suddenly seemed to realize that he’d revealed too much.

“What? Don’t you dare stop now. What did you make?”

“Animals,” he admitted sheepishly. “I carved animals out of wood, but I rarely sold them. Mostly,
I just gave them to chil—to family or friends who admired them.”

Children. He gave his handiwork to children. Hmmm. Another clue
. “I would love to see them sometime. Do you have any with you?”

His face hardened then. “Nay. I have none. I destroyed them all. And I do not bother with frivolous pastimes anymore.” He looked her directly in the eye. “My hands are too bloody.”

They moved out of the most congested part of the city now and toward the outskirts, where the homes were larger and farther apart, more prosperous. Ubbi drew his horse up next to hers, and Selik pulled back to talk to Gorm. Rain could tell by the strained manner in which Ubbi held his shoulders that the long trip from Ravenshire had taken a painful toll on the little man’s arthritis.

“Ubbi, I noticed when we traveled along Pavement that the butchers were slaughtering cattle. Do you think you could take me there tomorrow to talk to them?”

“Why? Are ye hungry?”

Rain laughed. “No, but if I could get some cow adrenal glands, I might be able to make a primitive form of cortisone. It would do absolute wonders for your arthritis.”

At first, his face brightened with hope, but then quickly changed to horror when Rain explained adrenals. “Ye want to put cow innards on me body?”

“No, silly man, you would have to take it internally.”

He thought for a moment, weighing her words. “By ‘internally’, you cannot mean fer me to eat the bloody parts.”

“Yes, but—”

“Never! Mistress, I allowed ye to massage me body in a most unseemly way. Ye made a laughingstock of me at Ravenshire by slatherin’ hot mud on me, and I
did not protest. Well, not too much. I even swam in that icy water of the pond to satisfy yer whims, not to mention the scalding hot baths ye forced me to endure. But I refuse to eat raw cow innards. Even I have me limits.”

Rain burst out laughing at Ubbi’s long-winded tirade. “Ubbi, I didn’t mean for you to eat them raw. At least, I don’t think they would work that way. Although…hmmm…anyhow, I was thinking of mixing the fresh glands with something else, then compressing it into a pill. I’m not sure if it can even be done.”

“Hah! But ye would make me be the—what did ye call it when ye were experimentin’ with the different exercises?—Jenny Pig!”

“Guinea pig,” Rain corrected him with a smile. She reached over to pat Ubbi’s twisted hand. Really, he’d been more than cooperative in her various attempts to alleviate his condition. And some of them had helped, too.

“Selik!”

Rain and Ubbi both turned to see a petite, gray-haired woman calling out warmly to Selik from the doorway of a large home. Set apart from its neighbors by a wide expanse of side yard and wooden fences, its rectangular shape followed the Viking style with a thatched roof. Finely carved Nordic symbols decorated the large oak door and windowframes. Several armed men stood guard near the doorway, and Rain saw even more to the side and back of the house.