Viper's Nest

by Rachel Ford

  “He must cost more to feed than a pack of hunting hounds.”

  “How exotic. A real barbarian, straight from the North.”

  “Come on, tell us how you managed to get your hands on him.”

  It only got worse as the night wore on. As the wine flowed more freely, tongues began to wag with less discretion. The comments grew lewder, the propositions more risqué. His height was no longer the only feature of his person subject to comment; the dimensions of other portions of his anatomy were the focus of speculation. Discussion of his prowess as a warrior moved to discussion of his ability in altogether different arenas.

  Faustus pretended not to hear some of the comments and encouraged others. It should not have surprised Trygve, of course. This was the emperor who would not have blinked to see him torn to pieces by wild animals two months ago. Why should it shock him to hear that same emperor laugh at the idea of subjecting him to other indignities?

  Trygve was no stranger to ribald humor. He’d spent long enough in the presence of warriors, among young men and women whose exploits in love were as important to them as their exploits in battle – and old men, who went to pains to convince anyone listening that they were as virile as the best of their young peers. This was a different kind of humor, though. It wasn’t pride in a lover or boasts of one’s own ability. There was something vicious to it, something that reduced the object of interest – in this case, him – to a thing less than a person.

  His foreignness, too, was a focal point of fascination to these drunken Stellans.

  “Do they know how to write, in the North? Do you think he knows how to write?”

  “To keep records, I’m sure. But not for pleasure. Have you ever heard of a Northern poet?”

  “Or philosopher?” The words were laughed out.

  Trygve felt his cheeks color with anger. But still, it wasn’t the most absurd thing he overheard.

  “I hear they sacrifice their firstborn sons, to their pagan gods.”

  “The king has a dozen wives. No, he does. I have it on authority from a merchant whose father was from the North.”

  “They drink from the skulls of their fallen enemies, you know.”

  Of all the Stellans in the range of his hearing, only one seemed to refrain from the jests and jabs at his expense. That was Empress Cassia. That surprised him as much as Faustus’ participation. At their meeting this morning, she seemed least pleased of all with his appearance. She’d watched him with – he was certain – suspicion, though he could not for the life of him imagine why. Now it was she alone who refrained from laughing at him. But, perhaps, that was because she did not laugh much. Her demeanor, as the night wore on, was quiet and reserved. She talked a little to Faustus, and now and again to one of the guests seated near her, but otherwise kept her own counsel.

  The hours passed from early evening to late, and were nearing morning. Trygve’s humiliation had made way for anger, and this, in turn, had passed to mortification. He had begun to realize early in the evening that he’d erred in judgement in accepting this position. These people, these crude vulgarians in the guise of gilded nobility, were not what he had anticipated. But, then, Tullius had tried to warn him, hadn’t he? Lucretius had been even less subtle in his cautions. He should have listened. He saw that, now.

  But what was he to do about it? Was he to leave, the day he’d signed on? How would Faustus, the emperor who set him out on display like a new sculpture, who spoke of his employment with all the pride of a man who acquired a prize hunting dog, take his resignation?

  This was not the North. These people were not his people, and he was not one of them. He could not know how they would act. They’d spent the night making that very clear.

  The emperor was deep in his cups and laughing over every manner of witticism. He was too drunk to broach the question tonight. The empress, by contrast, was quiet, her expression faraway. She had not drank – on account of the pregnancy, he imagined. She would be the one to approach, he decided.

  He’d give his resignation tonight, and leave tonight as well, before the emperor was sober enough to exact any vengeance. He’d take what gold he had and disappear into the darkness with Gunnar.

  It was time for a fresh start, in a new place. Stella had never welcomed him, and he was a fool for thinking he could ever make a life here.

  Faustus was very drunk when they retired. He made it out of the hall on his own but leaned heavily on Cassia once they were out of sight of the crowds. She bent under the weight of him. “Come on, love,” she grunted. “Let’s get you to bed.”

  Here, the Northman stepped in, and she was grateful for the assistance. Her husband’s weight was rather too much for her to manage. “Allow me, Empress,” he said.

  She did, and he managed Faustus with little difficulty. By time they reached the royal apartments, the emperor was incoherent, and could not stand on his own.

  Cassia guided the Northman to her husband’s rooms. They’d been spending their nights together, recently, in his apartment or hers; but Faustus was not going to remain conscious much longer, and she was tired. She wouldn’t get much sleep beside his tossing, snoring form – for he was not a sound sleeper, when drunk.

  He was deposited with care, and he was already snoring as she drew the sheets over him. “Night, my love,” she smiled.

  Then she headed for her own room. The Northman had waited for her. “Thank you, Trygve,” she said. “You may as well call it a night yourself.”

  “Actually, Empress,” he said, “I was hoping to have a moment of your time.”

  He was, she realized, fidgeting. “Oh?” she asked. “Come with me, then.” She closed her husband’s apartments, leaving Faustus to snore peacefully through his dreams. They stood outside his door, now. “What did you need, Trygve?”

  “I…” He cleared his throat. “Forgive me, my lady. But I am tendering my resignation. I must.”

  She wasn’t sure what she’d expected, but this certainly was not it. “Resignation?”

  “Yes ma’am.”

  “Why? I mean, of course, you can go if you want. But why resign after one day?” She frowned. “Why accept at all?”

  For a moment, he studied her. Then, he said, “It is not a good fit. For my skills, I mean.”

  She frowned. “How can you know, after a single day?”

  “I…the fact is, Empress, I do not think it was a good choice.”

  “Oh.” She felt that she understood now. “I see.” In her own language, she said, “You speak our language, don’t you?”

  He blinked, and hesitated.

  “I thought you might,” she said, switching to the Northern tongue. She glanced around the hall. It was empty – but, then, there were ears everywhere. “Come with me, Northman. We will discuss this further in private.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  She’d ushered him into her study and gestured for him to take a seat on one side of a large wooden desk. Now, she seated herself opposite him, and fixed him with an inquisitive stare. He tried to maintain his calm under her scrutiny but found himself fidgeting. “Empress,” he said, deciding at last to break the silence, “I am of course grateful for the opportunity, and mean no disrespect –”

  She held up a hand, addressing him in his own language again. “You’ve lied enough for one day, don’t you think, Trygve Ingensen?” She cocked her head to one side. “Or, should I say, Trygve Bjarneson?”

  His heart seemed to leap to his mouth at that. For half a minute, he couldn’t find his voice. Then, he said, “What?”

  “You heard me.”

  He tried to swallow his fear. His mind was too numb to process how she’d worked it out. All he knew, in the moment, was that she had – and he was in grave peril. “Empress,” he said, “there must be a mistake.”

  She frowned at him. “The mistake, son of Bjarne, is to lie to me.”

  He blinked at her reproof. “I’m sorry.”

  “Tell me, does my husband know who you are?
Really are, I mean?”

  He shook his head wordlessly.

  She nodded. “That is probably as well. For you.” She continued to watch him. “But why lie to us, Trygve? Why enter our household? What did you mean to accomplish?”

  “Nothing,” he answered. “Nothing, Empress. I swear.” He stumbled out an explanation of how he’d come into Faustus’ employ. “I only mean to earn my way, to earn an honest wage. I swear it.”

  She had listened with interest, and the tension in her posture had seemed to relax. “Curious,” she said at length. “But tell me, is there a reason I should not hand you over to King Bjarne or Tsar Fyodor? Either of them would like to get his hands on his attempted murderer, I should think.”

  He blinked at her words. “I…I was given free passage, to leave my father’s house.”

  “And after failing to kill two kings, you decided to come here, to my house? What? To kill another?”

  “No,” he protested hotly. “No, it’s nothing like that.”

  “You are working in my household. You have concealed your name, your past, and your true connection to the North. You lied to my husband.” Her expression was neutral, but she shook her head. “You’ve would have killed a tsar and a king – your own father. And now you take a job to protect my child, when she’s born? Tell me what I should make of this, Northman. Tell me how I should act.”

  Her summary struck him as unfair; and yet, it was accurate in all its particulars. “It’s…it’s not like that,” he said. “I didn’t come here to join your household.”

  “And yet, here you are. Do you deny that you would have killed your father?”

  Here, he shook his head. “No. But…but it’s not as simple as you think.”

  “Isn’t it? You tried to kill not one but two kings, one of whom was your own father. What am I missing, Trygve?”

  Now, his eyes flashed. “Have you seen a man try to barter your sisters, like a sheep at auction, Empress? Sell them, to a man they could never love or respect? Have you seen a man appraise them, to determine how much he would profit in marrying his son to your sister?”

  She blinked, and answered quietly, “I have some experience with that, yes.”

  He felt that he had wounded her, and he was almost sorry for it. But he needed her to know something of his thought process. “Then, you know it is not as simple as it sounds. What I did was wrong. I admit that. But my intentions, some of them at least, were not all evil.

  “And as for your household – I never sought this. Your husband came to me. You know enough of my situation. Well, you know I have nothing left. And the gold seemed worth it. But I was wrong. I’m very good at being wrong lately, it seems.

  “And here I am, asking to be released from your household. So whatever you imagine my reasons for being here, clearly they cannot be to harm you. Because if that was my intention, I would not be asking to leave. Would I?”

  She considered for a moment, and then nodded. “I suppose not.”

  “What will you do?” he asked.

  She sighed. “I’m not sure. I believe you. But I don’t know what I’ll do.”

  “You do?” This was another surprise to him.

  “Yes. You are not a very good liar, Trygve.”

  “Oh.” As reasons went, it wasn’t the most flattering, but he supposed he could live with it.

  “I had a feeling this morning that you understood what Faustus said. Something in your manner.” She smiled, and there was a measure of self-satisfaction to her amusement. “Your air of nonchalance was a little too forced.”

  He frowned. “Is that – how you knew who I was?” That was a point he still wasn’t entirely clear on.

  “No. Not exactly.” She shrugged. “I had got a letter…oh, months ago now, from Tsar Fyodor. He’d written to all of his neighbors, announcing his marriage to an ambassador from the North. But there was a line, mentioning his goddess’s blessings that his health was restored. It was long before the festival of remembrance. But I’d heard some rumors. Wild rumors. That a prince of the North had tried to murder him. A prince named Trygve. I didn’t pay them much heed at the time.”

  She smiled in the same self-satisfied manner. “But now here is a Northman whose name is Trygve, who calls himself ‘son of none.’ A curious name, that. And more curious that his companion is a tundra leopard. A leopard that is only owned by members of the royal family.”

  His unease had crept back with each of her smiles. Now, he was shifting nervously in his seat. “I see. You are well-informed about the North, Empress.”

  She didn’t rise to the challenge in his words. “So my question to you, Trygve, is simple: what would you recommend I do?”

  He had the feeling that this was his moment, his one chance to make his case. “Let me leave. I’ll go tonight. You’ll never see me again.”

  “And where would you go that your reputation – and perhaps bounties or assassins – would not catch up to you?”

  “I…I don’t know.” He hadn’t got that far in his planning. How could he? He was still focused on escaping; without that, the rest didn’t matter much.

  “I see. There is one point on which I’m confused,” she said.

  “What’s that, Empress?”

  “When Senator Felix visited, you would not see him. Why?”

  “Senator Felix?” Trygve remembered the name, the old man who had called some two or three times and left his address.

  “Yes.”

  “I…that is, I had many visitors. I did not see most of them.”

  “You did?” She seemed surprised by the revelation.

  “Yes.”

  “Ah.” A thoughtful look entered her eyes, and she nodded, as if contented on some score. The source of her satisfaction, though, was beyond his powers of determination.

  “Who is Senator Felix?” It was clear, now, that the man’s visits had probably portended more than the usual queries he’d received in that period.

  “A friend of mine,” she answered. “But it’s not important.” It was a vague answer and told him no more than he’d already guessed. But she seemed unwilling to elucidate. Her tone changed with the topic, becoming brisk and business-like. “As to your going…I won’t stop you from leaving, son of Bjarne. You are a free man and have committed no crime on Stellan soil.” Cassia shrugged. “But I would ask that you consider staying.”

  “You would? Why? Are you not afraid of what an attempted killer might do?”

  “Afraid? No. You have given me your word you mean me no harm, and I trust you. As to why you should stay, for your own sake: I don’t think you have anywhere better to go at the moment. And for my own – well, to be frank, I think you may prove useful.”

  She was certainly blunt. “I am flattered,” he scoffed. “But I can think of better things to do than entertain your court with my existence.”

  “Ah. Them.” She shook her head. “Do not take them to heart, Northmen. It is their manner of fun.”

  “I do not care for it.”

  “No,” she agreed. “Nor I. It was not always so. But, then, there was not always so much laughter in Stella, either.”

  “Having been on the receiving end of so much of it, my lady, I think I can safely say that sometimes sobriety is the better choice.”

  She smiled at the dryness in his tone. “But you will not run away from the city over a bit of coarse jocularity, will you? Tonight was bad, I grant. But they did not think you could understand them.” She fixed him with a pointed glance. “And that is not their fault.”

  “If a man has a problem with me, I would prefer to hear it from his own lips, to my face…not whispered behind my back.”

  She nodded again. “Wouldn’t we all, Northman? But they have no problem with you. You are new, and a distraction from the usual gossip. If anything, they’re fascinated by you.”

  He grimaced. “How flattering.”

  “But tonight is not how things will always be. It was their first time seeing you, and a
party besides. People are always ill behaved at a party.”

  She leaned forward over the desk, spreading her hands in a half supplicative gesture. “It was not an auspicious beginning, I acknowledge. But I ask you give it a few more days – at least until you have some idea of what you’ll do – before you go.”

  For a minute, he considered her words. There was something to be said for having a plan – at least, if she was to be trusted about letting him go. “And you will not tell Fyodor? You’ll not turn me over to him?”

  “I will not.”

  He nodded slowly. “But why do you think I can be of use? How?”

  “In the obvious matter, of course: I should like to know my child, when she’s born, is safe. Faustus and I agree on that. But you may also have information that will be of use to me. To Stella.”

  “Oh?” His curiosity was piqued, but so too was his suspicion aroused. “I will not betray my king, if that’s what you mean, Empress.”

  She regarded him silently, then laughed. “I appreciate your frankness, Northman. But it was not what I meant.”

  He felt the warmth rise to his cheeks. He was a little too tired of being laughed at tonight. “I’m glad I entertain you too, Empress.”

  She visibly checked her amusement, forcing a stiff composure onto her features. There was, he thought, still a hint of humor under the surface, twinkling in those blue eyes that tried to be so serious. “Forgive me. It was not my intention to be uncivil. I was not laughing at you, but at how far afield our suspicions have guided our thoughts.”

  This did not entirely illuminate the matter, nor placate him. But he was wise enough to sense that there was much he had not yet grasped in his situation, so he subsided. “What information, then, can I provide you?”

  But she was getting to her feet. “We will speak of it tomorrow, Trygve. For now, I must sleep. And you have had a long day on duty. You too should rest.”

  “Tomorrow then,” he said, rising himself. His tone was not as certain as he’d intended.