by Sandra Hill
In the meantime, she was still experimenting with her deodorants, even on him. He had to admit to liking the pine-scented ones, though he was still sweat-soaked at the end of a day. Perhaps not such smelly sweat, though, he conceded.
“You are in love with the woman.”
“What are you going to do about it?”
Kraka and Grima had jumped in front of him as he stepped out of the garderobe, spouting nonsense about love, of all things. Frigg’s foot! They must have been hiding behind a bush, waiting to ambush him.
“By thunder! You two are enough to scare a dragon!”
“The moon is on the wane, the darkness returns, all will be lost anon at Norstead,” one of them predicted with a few cackles thrown in, “lest the master open his burdened heart to the magic of the light.”
The light prattle again! Their message, if that is what it was, was as clear as mud.
“Do you two ever comb your hair?” he asked. “Is that a cobweb on your shoulder? For Asgard’s sake! That bag around your neck is made of snakeskin. Yeech!”
“Saba, saba, ulick, abba. Cat eyes boil and manparts coil. Ick vee, ick vee, cast thee rune rope.” The other witch . . . he never could tell the two of them apart . . . had a stick raised over his head as she chanted and danced around him.
“Enough!” He glowered at the two barmies. “What exactly do you want from me?”
One of the witches narrowed her eyes at him. “Three of your man hairs?”
His eyes widened with surprise before he laughed out loud. “Not going to happen! Why would you want such anyhow?”
“For the love potion,” one witch replied. “We could get none from your lady love.”
That being because she was bald thereabouts, he supposed.
“Not that you are not already under the influence,” the other witch added.
“We just need to reinforce the spell.”
“I am not in love,” he told them.
To which they both laughed, or rather cackle-laughed.
“I do not believe in love.”
More cackle-laughing.
“Assuming that you are referring to Ree-tah, she will be leaving here eventually.”
“Not if you convince her to stay,” Kraka and Grima said at the same time.
“Me? Why would I do that?” he asked, though he could think of one or twenty reasons, all of them involving bedsport.
“Love,” they both replied and were gone so quickly that he almost might believe he had imagined their conversation.
As he walked back to the keep, he pondered their words. Was he in love with Rita? How would he know, never having experienced the sentiment before? Was it a good or bad thing if he was?
What did love have to do with it anyhow? Love was not needed for good sex. Nor was good sex a guarantee of love. So, why the constant blathering of the skalds or the witches about love?
So many questions. So few answers.
Chapter 17
She refused to be the other woman . . .
If Rita hadn’t been convinced before that she had time-traveled, she was now. She had never read nor seen anything like it. There was no way she could have imagined the scene before her.
In a flat valley of about five acres, tents of many sizes and colors and rough shelters made of tree limbs and thatch had been erected for the visiting Vikings and their families. They were arranged around one much larger open-sided tent where the Althing meetings would be held, starting tomorrow morning. Most of the people would eat and sleep out here, the only ones housed inside being King Olaf and several minor kings or chieftains with their families.
Booths were set up in some sections selling everything from wine to fur cloaks to roast meat and vegetables on a stick, like kabobs, to jewelry. Soapstone candleholders. Bone needles. Antler combs. And services were for sale as well, like barbers and fortune-tellers who read rune stones. Then there were competitions . . . wrestling, archery, lance throwing, and swordplay.
It was like a huge state fair, with important business to be decided along with the fun and games.
Since Steven was so busy during the day, Rita spent her time with Kraka and Grima at their booth selling herbs or walking about with Sigge, who had developed an attraction for Sigurd, a young soldier from a neighboring jarldom.
Thus, Lady Thora was able to find her alone one day while Sigge went walking with her new boyfriend. “So, what do you think of Lady Isrid?”
“Who?”
“King Olaf’s daughter Isrid. Have you not met her?”
Rita frowned, trying to remember. Yes, she recalled now. A young woman of about twenty who had been assigned one of the bedchambers with three other “noble” women. She had talked constantly, with one train of thought leading to another, nonstop. “You must be the Lady Mermaid,” she had remarked amiably. “I have ne’er met a mermaid afore. Of course I have ne’er met any sea creatures either. Dost think you could make me one of those chastity belts I hear so much about? Oh, look at that adorable baby over there. Do you have any babies? Where is my maid? She was supposed to find me a blue riband. I do not like to wear yellow ribands on Thorsday, do you?” That was the way the young woman had blathered on.
“Yes, I’ve met her,” Rita told Thora.
“What did you think of her?” The look of malice on Lady Thora’s face should have forewarned her. “Since she will be Lord Steven’s wife, your time in his bed furs may be on the wane. Assuming he does not set aside your mistress duties all together. Or mayhap he will pass you on to one of his soldiers or a visiting jarl.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Lord Steven and Lady Isrid are to be wed. Mayhap even here at the Althing, if King Olaf has his way.”
Rita froze in place, not wanting to believe Steven would betray her in this way. Even if they weren’t married or engaged, fidelity was a given. Or at least she’d thought it was.
“On the other hand, it may not matter . . . if you are traded to Brodir in exchange for Lady Disa.”
“Are you saying that Steven is considering that?”
Thora examined her fingernails as she spoke with a seeming nonchalance. “It was mentioned in a meeting with his hersirs afore he went to negotiate with the pirate.”
Rita turned on her heel and stomped away, not wanting to hear any more. It was probably lies. Lady Thora loved to stir up trouble. There was no reason why she should believe her. Still . . .
When she saw Sigge at the witches’ booth a short time later, she said right off, “Is Steven engaged to marry King Olaf’s daughter?”
Sigge’s face bloomed with color. “Uh . . . well, methinks they may have been betrothed when they were children by both fathers, but that does not mean—”
Rita put up a halting hand. So, it was true. He probably considered her his bit on the side until the wedding. Heck, he might even, in all his arrogance, think she would continue to have an affair with him after his marriage. Hah! He had another think coming. She was not, nor ever would be, the other woman.
Rita knew she couldn’t confront Steven while he was busy around other people. Someone might accidentally, or not so accidentally, lop her head off. So, time crawled the rest of that day until it was time to go to bed. When he finally came into the bedchamber, closing the door behind him, she was fully awake, fully clothed, and so steamed her brain was probably cooked.
He smiled at her. The unsuspecting idiot! “I put your new deodorant on tonight, sweetling. The apple-scented one. Oslac says I smell good enough to eat.” He waggled his eyebrows at her.
“You louse! You stinking, two-timing sonofabitch!”
“What?” He ducked as she threw a boot at him. “What in bloody hell has your bowels in an uproar?”
“You do, you lying scumbag.” She threw a second boot, which he caught deftly in an upraised hand.
“Why didn’t you tell me that you’re engaged?”
“Engaged in what?”
She missed him with
one of Luta’s hair fillets, and it landed at his feet.
“Aaarrgh! Engaged to marry. Does the name Isrid ring any bells?”
She could see the flush of guilt on his face, which pretty well sealed her fate with him. She fought the tears that filled her eyes and blinked them away.
“Ree-tah!” he said, picking her up by the waist and hugging her tightly, despite her kicks and slapping hands. Only when she’d worn down did he release her slightly to sit down on the bed with her on his lap. “It does not change anything.”
“It changes everything.”
“I have no intention of wedding Isrid.”
“You don’t?”
“Not unless I have to.”
She slapped at him again, and this time was successful, until he pinned her arms to her sides and kissed her neck.
“I was only nine years old when Isrid was born. My father and hers made a pact for our eventual wedding, but I ne’er agreed. And no doubt they were blindfuller at the time. Drunk as a lord!”
“So, it’s not binding?”
“Not unless King Olaf deems it so, and he has not mentioned it for some time.”
Clueless! The man is clueless! “Maybe he’s waiting for you to make the next move.”
“Mayhap.”
Mayhap? Mayhap? I’d like to smack some sense into the big oaf. “And if you’re forced to marry her, what about me?”
“What we have has naught to do with marriage.”
Forget smacking. Where’s a baseball bat when I need it? “I cannot believe you said such a fool thing. Do you think I would let you touch me when you’re married to someone else? Do you think I would let you boink me after boinking your wife?”
“For your information, I have not played you false. Not once. In fact, I have not boinked another woman since I met you.” He smiled at his use of the word boink, probably figuring she would smile with him.
Not a chance! “Give the man a medal. He’s managed to keep his pants up for a record . . . what? Three weeks?”
“Four.”
“Wow! Your self-control is amazing.”
“Your sarcasm ill-suits, m’lady.”
“Your insensitivity ill-suits, m’lord.”
“Damn your impertinence! I do not understand why you are so upset about a marriage that may or may not take place, and if it does, at some unnamed time in the future, you might not even be here.”
Oh, great! Use that against me. “Didn’t I tell you about my womanizing husband? Didn’t you think it would matter to me that you were pledged to someone else? And there’s another thing. Did you suggest trading me for your sister Disa when you met with the pirate?”
“I did not.”
Well, that was something. “Lady Thora said you discussed the possibility with your hersirs.”
“It was discussed, but I was not the one to suggest it.”
Is he for real? “Don’t play word games with me. Did you or didn’t you nix the idea?”
“I said I would consider it, that is all. Besides, it did not become necessary.”
“And that makes everything hunky-dory.”
“Hunk of what?”
She managed to squirm out of his hold and jump to her feet.
Already at the door, she told him, “No, don’t come after me. I’m going to find Sigge and sleep with her out at the witches’ tent. I couldn’t stand to have you touch me tonight.”
“I could make you stay.”
“I would hate you even more than I do at the moment.”
“I am not too fond of you either at the moment.”
“Well, then, we are even. Maybe this is the way it ends for us.”
“Never! Methinks I have been too lenient with you. Since when does a mere woman dictate what her man should do, especially when her man is a high chieftain of his own jarldom?”
“I don’t care if you are the high chieftain of hell, baby. Since when does a mere man get the right to set all the rules?”
“I will decide when our relationship ends. Do not delude yourself otherwise.”
“So now we have a relationship, do we?”
“What do you call swiving each other silly if not a relationship?”
“I call it one too many booty calls.”
“I would be offended if I knew what that meant.”
“It means the fuck fest is over, sweetheart.” She gasped at her use of such foul language, especially when she had vowed to stop.
Steven just smiled, however, as he sensed her discomfort.
He moved to the door himself then and told her, “There is no need for you to seek a bed pallet elsewhere tonight. I will leave. We both need time apart afore we say things that cannot be taken back.”
It seemed to Rita that they were way past that point already.
“Once the Althing is over, we will settle this issue, but not now, not in the heat of anger.”
“What issue would that be, Steven?”
“The issue of you and me. I came to my bedchamber early tonight, excited to try something new in the bed arts that came to me unbidden this afternoon, and what did I get instead? Rejection.”
“You think that’s rejection? I could pull a Lorena Bobbitt on you if you dared to try to screw me now.” She explained exactly what that entailed.
He flinched. “The trickster god Loki must be laughing his arse off, playing with my life like this. Truth to tell, I am not accustomed to rejection, nor am I accustomed to women making demands of me. I need time to decide whether I can accept those terms. Or not. A Viking man is the head of his household, whether it be a humble or a royal one.”
“What’s wrong with a partnership?”
“If the woman rules, he is less than a man.”
Before she could respond to that last outlandish statement, he left, closing the door behind him.
She wanted to go after him and tell him to come back, but she didn’t. She couldn’t. Because the one glaring elephant in the room was love, or lack of love. If a man loved a woman, he made concessions. He certainly didn’t even think about being with another woman, forced or not.
There was no question in her mind now that she loved him.
The question was: Did he love her?
Or was he even capable of love?
And even if he did love her, was she prepared to stay here in this primitive time just for the sake of love?
Steven was right about one thing. Her God, or the Norse gods, were having a grand old time playing with their lives.
Some laws are made to be broken . . .
“With law shall the land be built up, and lawlessness shall be laid waste,” pronounced Agmundr, the lawspeaker for the opening session of the Althing after banging his staff on the floor of a wood platform. “Peace be to you free men of Hordaland, Vestfold, and Jutland. Come ye to act justly according to the ancient laws.”
Agmundr, an ancient man with a long white beard that flowed down to the waist of his red tunic under a full-length bear cloak, would act as both the lawspeaker and the Thing chieftain today. Agmundr was wise with age and was said to have five wives, six concubines, twenty-two children, and nineteen grandchildren.
Steven could only imagine how impressed Rita would be with those numbers.
Also represented were twelve men, himself included, representing the various jarldoms on the law council. At least three hundred other men sat about the field.
Agmundr raised his arms high toward the tent roof. “In the tradition of Odin who sacrificed one eye to drink from the Well of Knowledge, I exhort you to judge wisely by a majority rule. In the name of Forseti, god of justice, I exhort you to judge fairly. This is the way of all good men.
“Order depends entirely on the willing acceptance of those in judgment, which will be shown by the vapnatak, or weapon clatter.” All the men banged swords against shields to demonstrate the method by which votes would be cast.
Nodding his head with satisfaction, Agmundr then recited one-third of the Norse laws. The
same was done every year. On the fourth year, he started over again. Since there was no written law, this was the way that Norsemen remembered the wisdom of the elders.
Witches could be stoned or drowned, Agmundr told them.
Steven made a note to himself: Warn Kraka and Grima to not call attention to themselves.
Murder could be repaid with murder, rape with rape, except that mostly a sizeable fine was levied according to wergild, or the person’s worth. Agmundr recited each of those amounts. Cattle thefts, women thefts, and escaped slaves had specific punishments as well. Even wooing bees and bitter milk carried specific levies.
Smiling to himself, he wondered what Rita would think about these valuations, especially since women, even of the same class, had a wergild much lower than men, unless they were of childbearing years or proven breeders. Better yet, virgins. A high price was placed on maidenheads.
But then, he cut himself short. He was angry with Rita, had not spoken with her since he left the bedchamber last night to sleep in the stables.
A half dozen cases had been settled by mid-morning when they were about to break for the first meal of the day. Steven stood and said, “I wish to plead the cause of Brodir the Pirate. Let me tell you what has happened. Then you may ponder my words and decide this afternoon whether you will permit Brodir to come in person to tell you his story.”
An uproar arose, many of the Vikings outraged that he would even suggest leniency in dealing with the far-famed Norse outlaw.
When Agmundr banged his staff for order, Steven added, “Men may differ in opinions, but it has always been the rule that both sides must be heard to arrive at a just decision. I see that some of Hogar’s kin are here today. Let them speak, then let Brodir have his say. I must warn you, I have witnesses to support Brodir’s claims.”
Again, an uproar, mostly coming from Hogar’s contingent, which included King Olaf’s retinue. King Olaf glared at him as if Steven had performed some personal affront to him.
In the end, the law council, backed up by the vapnatak , agreed to hear Steven’s witnesses that afternoon. After that, a vote would be taken as to whether Brodir would be able to speak before them on the morrow.