“Could he be their leader?” Alden ventured, looking at the one in question sitting down on the low wall while the last few stones were moved in place at Lyman’s direction.
“Are you daft, Cousin? He is but a smooth-faced boy. Granted, they are all young men, but he is the youngest among them.”
“But if his father supplied the ship, then they are bound to follow whom he chooses to sail it.”
Royce scowled darkly. Could it be that simple? His own king was younger than he by a few years. But Alfred had been second in command since he was sixteen. This was an untried boy who still needed cosseting. Yet it was that untried boy who had wounded Alden, and Alden was as seasoned a warrior as Royce was. And now that he thought of it, every one of the Vikings stopped whatever he was doing every time attention was drawn to the boy, almost as if they waited, ready to come to his defense if necessary.
“I think ’tis time I had another talk with Thorolf,” Royce said tersely.
“Which one is he?”
Royce pointed out the window. “There, the one who just called the lad to him. He is the only one who understands our tongue, though not clearly.”
“Lyman is finished with them for this day, it seems,” Alden remarked.
“Aye, he will cart them to the ruins for more stone on the morrow. Which means I must waste more of my men guarding them again.”
They both watched for a moment as the guards walked beside the Vikings, hurrying them back to the post. Royce turned away from the window, but was stopped short by Alden’s cry.
“You have trouble, I think.”
Royce turned back around. He could see that one of the Vikings had fallen, and Hunfrith was prodding him with his boot to get up. He did not have to guess which Viking it was, for the whole group had stopped. Thorolf shouted something at Hunfrith, and then Hunfrith’s feet came out from under him and he landed hard on his backside. The lad stood up, brushing dust from his hands, and the Vikings roared with laughter as they continued on their way.
“I warned that fool to leave them alone,” Royce hissed between clenched teeth. “He is lucky they did not disarm him while he was down.”
“God’s breath,” cried Alden, “he means to attack the boy!”
Royce too had seen Hunfrith rise with his sword drawn, but he was already running out of the room and down the stairs. Nevertheless, when he reached the yard the damage had been done. One of the guards had called for help, and archers surrounded the group at a safe distance. Three of the guards threatened Ohthere, who had Hunfrith gripped in a bear hug that was likely to break his back, though the Viking did not seem to be applying much pressure at the moment.
Thorolf was speaking quietly to Ohthere. Of the lad there seemed to be no sign, until Royce finally noticed him peering above the shoulders of those in front of him. He had been thrust into the very center of the group.
“Tell him to put my man down, Thorolf, or I will have to kill him.” Royce said this slowly so the man could understand. He was looking at Ohthere, who was staring back at him without emotion. “Tell him now, Thorolf.”
“I told him,” the Viking replied and then tried to explain. “Ohthere’s cousin. No attack Ohthere’s cousin.”
Royce’s eyes turned on Thorolf now. “
He
is the boy’s cousin?”
“Aye.”
“Then what are you to the boy?”
“Friend.”
“Is the boy your leader, Thorolf?”
Thorolf met this question with surprise, and then he grinned and repeated it to his comrades, many of whom began to laugh. The laughter at least eased the tension. Even Ohthere chuckled and dropped a wheezing Hunfrith at his feet. Royce picked up the little Saxon by the scruff of his tunic and shoved him away from the Vikings.
Hunfrith’s sword lay in the dust between Royce and Ohthere. Royce picked that up, too, leaning the point into the ground in a nonthreatening manner.
“We have a problem, Thorolf,” he said quietly. “I cannot have my men attacked.”
“Hunfrith attack.”
“Yea, I know,” Royce conceded. “I believe his dignity was suffering.”
“Tripped apurpose—kicked—deserved,” Thorolf retorted angrily.
Royce took a moment to digest that information. “If
he did kick the lad, then mayhap he did deserve to get laid low. But the boy is becoming more trouble than he is worth.”
“Nay.”
“Nay? Mayhap if I separate him from the rest of you and give him easier tasks—”
“Nay!”
Royce’s dark brows narrowed at this. “Call the boy forward. Let him decide.”
“Mute.”
“So I have been told. But he understands you well enough, does he not? I have seen you talking to him often. Call him forward, Thorolf.”
The fair-haired Thorolf pretended ignorance this time, keeping his mouth shut. Royce decided to take the rest by surprise before Thorolf told them what had been said. He shoved those Vikings in front of him aside, caught the lad by the shoulder, and dragged him out to the edge of the group. Ohthere moved to pull the boy back, but stopped when Royce pressed the tip of the sword against the young one’s neck.
Royce looked straight at Thorolf, his eyes narrowed angrily. “I think you have lied to me about this one, Viking. Tell me now who he is!”
Thorolf said nothing. More guards had come forward, and a long spear held him away from Royce. Others held the rest of the group back.
“Do you need an incentive to loosen your tongue?” Royce demanded.
He lost his patience when Thorolf still didn’t answer. He began to drag the lad to the prisoners’ post. When the boy fell because of his angry stride, Royce yanked him roughly to his feet, barking orders at his men as he went. When they reached the post, he shoved the boy against it, facing it, and caught both wrists together around it, holding them firm until one of his men ran up
to him with a short rope, which he quickly used to bind them.
He stepped away from the post then, looking to where he had left Thorolf behind. Other of the Vikings were now shouting at him, but Thorolf kept his mouth firmly closed, though his blue eyes were hostile. Did Thorolf think Royce only meant to keep the lad tied here? He would disabuse him of that notion quickly enough.
Royce stood behind the lad, his own back blocking the post from the prisoners’ view. Then, taking the dagger from his belt, he cut away the boy’s thick fur vest down its center. The leather tunic he attacked next was so tight that he knew he probably cut the boy’s back as he sliced it open from top to bottom, but not a single sound was heard in protest.
Soft white skin met his eyes, making Royce frown. There was no thick muscle to take the sting of the lash. And he had in fact cut the boy’s tender skin. A thin streak of crimson ran from the shoulder blades halfway to the waist. This really was just a babe he was about to order whipped—if Thorolf didn’t volunteer the truth about him.
Royce stepped to the side again so they could see what he had done. Thorolf cried, “Nay!” and shoved the spear away from him, trying to make his way to Royce. Ohthere pulled a spear from a guard’s hands and with it knocked two others away, then dared anyone to take it from him as he too started toward the post in a murderous rage.
Royce called for their attention and they stopped, seeing his dagger pressing against the soft white back. “The truth, Thorolf.”
“No one! A boy!” the Viking still insisted.
Waite brought the lash forward. Thorolf shouted, “Nay!” again and started to say something else, but the
lad was violently shaking his head back and forth and Thorolf fell silent. Royce was enraged at that. Although he said not a word, the lad’s wishes held sway.
“That was stupid of you,” Royce snapped as he came around the post so he could see the lad’s face, as well as the now-quiet Vikings. “You will suffer, not he. You cannot tell me, but I will have him tell me you lead them. ’Tis obvious. I want it confirmed.”
He did not expect an answer from a mute, nor did he think his words were understood. He was angry that they would make him go through with this, and angrier still when those pretty aqua eyes peeked up at him for the briefest second, before the head was bent to where he could not see the face. Damned if that wasn’t something a female would do. In fact, too many things about this boy smacked of femininity. If he didn’t know it was impossible, he would be tempted to pull down the front of that tunic just to assure himself that his imaginings were groundless. Other lads were known to have long-lashed, pretty eyes and soft skin, until they passed that certain age to become men. This one just hadn’t reached that age yet.
Royce nodded at Waite to begin. The lash fell and a soft whistle of expelled breath came from the lad. No other sounds stirred the quiet yard. Thorolf remained silent, though his fists were clenched and every muscle in his body was tensed to prevent him from moving. Royce nodded again.
This time the tall, slim body slammed into the post and then jerked back reflexively to the full stretch of the arms. The opened leather tunic started to slip down over the upper arms. The boy quickly pressed back against the post again without help from the lash, but not before a strip of white linen fell out from under the tunic.
Royce bent to pick up the cloth, which looked very much like a bandage, except there was no blood on it. A
knot was on one end, revealing that he had cut through it when he had opened the tunic. Two round indents had somehow worked their way into the cloth, almost as if the strip had been placed over…
“Nay, I will not believe it!”
But his eyes rose to that bent head, and then his hand jerked out and gripped the tunic, yanking it down. He sucked in his breath, then swore violently on seeing the evidence that turned the boy into a woman. His other hand came up and tore the bandage from her head, and he swore again as a long golden braid tumbled down her back.
A collective groan now came from the prisoners, but not a sound had she made, not a tear was in the eyes that looked straight at him now. What in hell kind of woman was she not to prove her sex to save herself a whipping? Or had she not realized that he would not whip a woman?
He cut her wrists loose, and she immediately shoved her tunic back up to cover herself. As soon as she had done that, he grabbed her hand and dragged her back to stand before the subdued Thorolf.
“A boy, is she? No one? And you let me whip her! To hide what? That she is a woman? Why?” Royce demanded furiously.
“To protect me,” Kristen answered.
Royce’s eyes swung to her, but she did not flinch from the fury in them. “No mute, either, and another one to understand our tongue! By God, you will tell me why you did not open your mouth to stop the whipping!”
“To protect myself from the rape of Saxon men,” she said simply.
He laughed cruelly at that. “You are too tall for my men to want, or did you not realize that? Nor are you a temptation in any other way, wench.”
It was his anger that brought forth those words, but they stung nonetheless. “What will you do with me now?” she dared to ask.
Royce was chagrined that she ignored his insults. “You will serve in the hall henceforth. How you are dealt with will depend on their behavior. Do you understand?”
“Aye.”
“Then make them understand.”
Kristen looked at Thorolf and Ohthere, who had moved to stand beside him. “He thinks to hold me as hostage inside his hall to ensure your behavior. You are not to let this affect your decisions. You must promise me that if the opportunity presents itself, you will escape. If just one of you can reach home, then you can send my father to me.”
“But he will kill you if we escape.”
“He is angry now because he whipped a woman. He will not kill me.”
Ohthere nodded sagely. “Then we will make our way to the Danes in the North if the chance comes. They will have ships to sail to the Northlands.”
“Good. And I will let you know how I fare if I can, so do not worry over me.”
“Enough!” Royce snapped, thrusting her at Waite. “Take her inside and have the women bathe her.” As she walked away from him, he was able to see the red welts on her back, one that beaded with drops of blood, and it was all he could do to speak in a controlled tone to Thorolf. “I know she told you more than I bid her. I tell you this now. The first time you try to escape or injure one of my people, I will make her wish she were dead. And I do not make idle threats.”
K
risten felt foolish and out of place, walking into the Saxon house. The hall she entered was long and bigger than her father’s hall, but she had known it would be in a building this large. At home there was no floor directly above the hall, making it like a huge cavern of stone, so cold in winter that the family preferred evenings spent in the closed-off cooking area. This hall did have a floor above it, but the ceiling was still fairly high.
The cooking area was not closed off, either, as it was at home, something her great-grandfather had insisted on because the smoke bothered him so. Here the cooking was done in a long stone hearth that ran nearly half the length of the back wall on the right side, with stairs on the other side. There was another stone hearth, just as long, in the center of the longest wall on the right, but this one was cold and empty, undoubtedly not used in the summer months. Stone ran to the ceiling above the hearths, and for a few feet at the base of the hall, as well as around the high entrance doors.
The floor was made of wood and sounded hollow as Kristen walked over it, leading her to think there might be some kind of cellar beneath it. A thin square rug of the type Garrick had found in the East covered a small portion of the floor in front of two wide windows, this in the front of the hall and on the right again. Chairs and stools were placed on it, along with sewing looms and a
tapestry stand. It was an area obviously reserved for the women, and three were there now working.
All the windows and the doors were open, letting in ample light and warm breezes. Opposite the women’s area and in front of windows again, but more toward the center of the hall, there was a large barrel of ale with a spout on it. Benches and chairs surrounded the barrel, as well as several small tables set with gaming pieces. There was a rack of tools and another, longer table covered with weapons, stools, even wooden bowls, all in different states of completion. A man stood at the table working thin leather strips about the handle of a whip. Kristen cringed, the pain on her back suddenly more pronounced.