Viking Passion (9 page)

“Are you saying Edwina is mad?” She rose from
the bed platform to face him. “How dare you suggest such a thing?
If you had lived through the horrors she has known, lost what she
has lost, you would be unhappy too.”

“I have known my own horrors and you have
lost the same things as Edwina, and neither of us is mad. The
difference, my fierce, loyal little slave, is that you and I are
strong, and Edwina is not. What a friend you are,” Erik went on,
smiling at her with an odd tenderness. “I won’t sell you, Lenora. I
could not send you away.”

“You couldn’t?”

“No. Never.”

Green eyes lingered on her face, their
strange, spellbinding light pulling her closer, ever closer to him.
She sensed his arms reaching out to enfold her, felt her body
bending toward him.

“We Danes value friendship and loyalty too,”
Erik told her, his matter-of-fact words breaking the spell that had
held her. “I won’t separate you from Edwina. I have an idea. I’ll
tell you about it soon.”

He left her alone to wonder at his meaning.
Several days passed, during which time Erik said nothing more to
her than the few words necessary to give her an occasional order.
Lenora decided he had forgotten his idea, whatever it had been. He
avoided being alone with her, and since the afternoon he had caught
her reading his book, he had slept elsewhere. She had seen him with
a plump blond serving wench called Erna, who preened herself in
front of Lenora and proudly displayed a bronze bracelet and neck
ring. Wherever she looked in those days, Lenora’s eyes fell on
Snorri and his two friends, or on Erik with Erna only a step away,
or on Edwina with Thorkell.

Edwina was becoming a complete stranger to
Lenora. She moved through each day’s duties like a sleepwalker, and
slept in Thorkell’s bed each night. She appeared to be totally
reconciled to her status as slave.

Lenora was appalled to learn Edwina had hope
of becoming pregnant by Thorkell.

“Then he might free me and marry me,” she
told Lenora. “It is one way to regain my freedom.”

“Only to exchange it for another kind of
slavery,” Lenora replied, her heart aching at the change in her
friend. If only she could find a way to attain their freedom,
Edwina might become herself again. Freydis had told her that slaves
sometimes saved enough gold and silver to buy their freedom, but
Lenora had no possessions except her clothing. Erik had never given
her any jewelry, as some of the other men did for their slaves;
Lenora had nothing to sell for the coins that might have freed her,
nor could she do anything to help Edwina.

As she sat in the weaving room, spinning
while Edwina and another women worked at their looms, Freydis and
Erik appeared.

“You are to go with Erik,” Freydis told her.
“But you must continue spinning in your free time. We need the
thread, and no one is as fast as you at making it. Erna and Tola
can take over your duties in the kitchen and laundry. Well, what
are you waiting for, Lenora? Go.”

“Where am I to go? What do you want?” she
asked Erik.

“You told me once that you can write. How
well can you count?”

“Only a little. But I can learn.”

“I have discussed my idea with Thorkell. We
have new work for you to do. Come with me.”

He led her out a door at the rear of the
great hall, to a large room among the cluster of chambers reserved
for Thorkell’s use. Thorkell himself was seated at a trestle table
reading from a square piece of parchment. He looked up as they
entered, his sharp blue eyes appraising Lenora. His cheeks were
pink above his white beard. In spite of his age, he looked strong
and healthy.

“This is the woman,” Erik told him.

“Good,” Thorkell said. “If she works well,
she can continue here while we are away.”

“Where are you going?” Lenora asked.

She saw the glint that always appeared in
Erik’s eye when she began to ask questions, but he answered her
patiently.

“My father and I will travel to the home of
Sven the Dark. We go to arrange his daughter Gunhilde’s marriage to
Snorri, which we hope will take place this winter. Before we go, I
am going to teach you what I have been doing for Thorkell. You will
help me keep his records.”

“Can’t I go to Sven’s home with you?”

“No. Do not argue with me, Lenora. You will
do as you are told.”

“Doesn’t Freydis keep the household records?”
Lenora had no wish to infringe upon the duties or rights of
Thorkell’s formidable daughter.

“Freydis does manage my household,” Thorkell
said. It was the first time he had ever addressed her directly. His
voice was low-pitched and pleasant, but heavy with authority. “Erik
is speaking of my business records, which I have always kept myself
until recently. Now Erik helps me, and you will help Erik.”

“Business? You mean -?” she stopped,
embarrassed.

“Trade,” Thorkell said. His blue eyes met
hers, and a smile lifted the corners of his mouth. There was no
physical resemblance between him and Erik, yet at that moment there
was a remarkable similarity of expression between Thorkell and his
son. “The goods Snorri brings home from his voyages. I provide the
supplies of food and drink, most of the weapons and ship’s gear,
and some of the men for those trips, and I reap the profits along
with Snorri. The goods are traded in Hedeby and elsewhere.”

“Plunder,” Lenora whispered. The word slipped
out thoughtlessly. She saw a distinct twinkle in Thorkell’s
eyes.

“Some of my wealth is accumulated by plunder,
that is true,” he told her frankly. “But an equal amount is gotten
by trade. I have always preferred to trade. It is foolish to lose
good men fighting in a raid where it is not necessary. After all, I
may need those same men to fight for me another day.”

He rose, and Lenora realized how very tall
the man was. In spite of herself, she was impressed by his
dignity.

“I am needed elsewhere,” he told Erik. “You
may use this room as long as you wish. Teach her well.” To Lenora,
he added, “You are friend to my slave, Edwina.”

“Yes.”

“You are the one who wishes vengeance on my
son Snorri.”

Lenora felt the blood drain from her face as
Thorkell ‘s cold eyes pierced her. She thought she would faint from
terror of him.

“Well?”

Lenora knew she had to answer this man who
stood watching her calmly as she struggled to pull her confused
thoughts together. She spoke through trembling lips, but her voice
was steady.

“Snorri killed all of my family and destroyed
my home. I would repay him for the deed if I could.”

“If you could. But you are helpless to do
so.” There was no triumph or gloating in Thorkell’s deep voice as
he stated the obvious fact.

“I know that. Any attempt to kill Snorri
would only result in my own death. I don’t want to die. I want
retribution.”

To her surprise, Thorkell smiled at her.

“Thus do I hope my own daughter would react
were she in your place. You have courage, Lenora, to speak to me so
honestly.” He drew nearer, towering over her. “I am at times a
trader, so I will make a bargain with you, little slave. If you do
your work in this room well, I will pay you. In time, a year or
two, three years at most, you can earn your freedom. Would that
please you?”

“Very much.” It never occurred to her to
doubt him. She simply knew Thorkell would not lie to her about so
important a matter.

“In return, you will brew no plots against
Snorri. That should not be too difficult for you. The day after
tomorrow he is going a-viking once more, and when he returns he
will be occupied with his marriage. You will not have to see him
often. Are we agreed, Lenora?”

“Yes, Thorkell, I will agree to that.”

“Good. Give me your hand.” Lenora held out
her right hand. She felt Thorkell’s palm slap hard against her
own.

“
Handsala
,” he said. “With this, our
bargain is sealed. I know you will keep it well.”

Then he was gone, and Lenora turned to
Erik.

“Now you know why my father is called the
Fair-speaker,” Erik said.

“Did you know he would offer to pay me?”

“No.”

“Are you angry that I can earn my
freedom?”

“Why should I be? You are of no particular
use to me. Now, you had better get to work so you can earn your
silver.” As she listened to Erik’s instructions, one thought kept
running through Lenora’s mind:

Edwina told Thorkell I wanted revenge on
Snorri. No one else knew. Because of that morning when I was angry
for her sake and said things I ought to have kept to myself, my
best friend betrayed me. Thorkell might have killed me; Edwina
didn’t know he would not. This is what it means to be a slave. I
can’t even trust my friend any more. I can never confide in her
again
.

“Are you listening, Lenora? Pay attention.”
“Yes, Erik, I understand. This list of numbers is to be
copied.”

Maud was right. I need only survive. Because
Thorkell the Fair-speaker is a good man, I will earn my freedom one
day.

On that night and the next great feasts were
held to celebrate Snorri’s leave-taking. Continual toasts to his
good fortune and that of his men were drunk, and then it was
necessary to toast Thorkell for providing supplies and weapons from
his stores. Both ale and mead were imbibed even more lustily than
usual.

Snorri, drunk and reeling, pulled himself to
his feet and clapped a hand on Erik’s shoulder.

“To my brother,” he cried, lifting a
silver-ornamented drinking horn. “May his luck improve.”

There was a roar of laughter as cups and
horns were raised to Erik’s good fortune.

“You will certainly need better luck than on
your last voyage,” Snorri said, grinning down at Erik, “else you
will suffer more broken masts. May the next one break your
neck.”

Snorri raised his drinking horn and drained
it a second time. He called out, and a serving wench ran to refill
it.

“Here’s to Erik,” he cried loudly. “May he
soon acquire a ship of his own and become a true Norseman once
more.”

“To Erik.” The men cheered and drank again.
“To Erik the Norseman.”

Erik stood up quietly. Snorri, who had turned
to face the revelers, did not see him. Lenora had by now grown used
to the Vikings’ custom of insulting each other when they were
drunk. She knew such insults were usually taken as jests. Still,
she felt a prickle of fear as Snorri persisted.

“We all know,” Snorri informed the laughing
men and women, “how Erik spent three years in Grikkland. And we
have heard of the strange, unnatural customs of those clean-shaven,
sweet-smelling Greeks, with their silken clothes and their pretty
little boys and their eunuchs. To Erik,” Snorri raised his brimming
drinking horn yet again. “May he soon regain his lost manhood.”
Throwing his head back, Snorri began to drink.

Total silence fell in the hall. It lasted
only a moment before the great drinking-horn flew out of Snorri’s
hand as Erik struck him. The horn crashed against the nearest
carved pillar, spraying mead over anyone within range, then bounced
on the floor, skittering along the bare, tramped earth until it
stopped at the edge of the firepit. Snorri himself was thrown
against the pillar, mead dripping off his blond beard in tiny
golden droplets. Erik’s left arm held him there, pinning Snorri
across the chest. In his right hand Erik held his gold-hilted
dagger. It pricked gently at one distended vein in Snorri’s neck.
Halfdan, his broadsword drawn, stood back-to-back with Erik,
protecting him. Lenora held her breath, not knowing what to expect
next.

“Take ... that... back,” Erik commanded.

Snorri’s stained teeth showed in a vulpine
smile. “Does the truth hurt, little Erik?” he asked
contemptuously.

“Because I do not drink continuously and
sprawl on the ground with every serving wench who passes me, you
think I am not a true man? You are more stupid than I imagined,
Snorri.”

“You are not even a true Norseman, you
half-Frankish weakling.”

Erik’s dagger blade pricked deeper. A thread
of blood appeared on the side of Snorri’s neck, but he did not
flinch.

“At least my mother was not a murderer,” Erik
growled. “And I have never taken an unwilling woman.”

Snorri’s eyes flicked to Lenora, who stood
horrified, watching them. He laughed again. Then he stopped, his
blue eyes growing larger, as Erik’s dagger slid a little farther
into his neck, and Snorri at last realized Erik might be angry
enough to kill him.

“In our father’s hall, little brother?” he
teased hoarsely, a twisted smile on his lips.

Green eyes and blue ones remained locked for
a long moment. Then Lenora saw Erik relax his hold and Snorri
gather himself to spring at Erik.

“Hold!” Thorkell had risen. With his long
white hair and beard and his red silk robe flowing about him, he
looked like some mighty Norse god. “This has gone far enough.
Snorri, you bring bad luck upon your voyage by quarreling with your
brother at your sailing feast. Erik, you must not draw your blade
in my hall. I forbid it, although I know the insult is great. Here,
wench, pick up Snorri’s drinking horn and refill it. We will have
one more toast to the success of Snorri’s voyage, and then my two
sons will sit side by side and eat and drink in peace.”

Such was the force of Thorkell’s personality,
so complete his dominance over those in his hall, that everyone did
as he commanded. The required toast was dutifully drunk, and Erik
and Snorri seated themselves once more on the settle facing
Thorkell and Freydis.

Halfdan helped Lenora to right their
overturned bench, then seated himself beside her again. He grinned
at her like a mischievous boy. “We almost had fun,” he said. “Too
bad Thorkell stopped it. There are a couple of Snorri’s men I would
like to skewer.”