Margaret Moore - [Viking 02]

by The Saxon

  “Nothing happened between Ylla and me. Dunstan accosted her and—”

  “Do you think I have grown foolish with age? Was it in defending her from Dunstan that your tunic came to be on the ground? I am not a child anymore, Adelar.”

  “I know,” he said softly.

  “She should have been at her work, that’s all. If you desire Ylla and she is agreeable, there is nothing I will do or say to stop you. Unless it interferes with her duties.”

  “I do not desire Ylla. There is only one woman who touches my heart.”

  At his softly spoken words, her heart thundered against her ribs like a charge of mounted men. Still, she could not deny what she had seen with her own eyes, in spite of her growing need to believe otherwise.

  He came close and put his cloak around her. For a moment, she allowed herself to feel the intimacy surrounding them the way the fur-lined cloak surrounded her with warmth. But only for a moment. “I am your lord’s wife,” she whispered, looking up into his piercing dark eyes.

  “Yes.”

  “Then there is no more to be said between us.”

  “No.” He regarded her steadily, his expression inscrutable.

  “I will not betray him.” She felt the soft brush of the fur against her skin.

  “Nor will I.”

  His breath stroked her cheek. She glimpsed the flesh of his chest where he had not laced his tunic. He placed his strong hands on her shoulders. “I must go,” she whispered.

  “Yes,” he replied quietly, pulling her into his embrace. Her hands pressed against him as if she would push him away even while she lifted her face for his kiss.

  She thrust herself back. “This is wrong! Do not touch me, Adelar!” She ran to the door and grabbed the handle, then bent her head and whispered, “Please, for both our sakes, do not ever touch me!” She pushed open the door, yanked his cloak from her shoulders and threw it at him.

  Then she was gone.

  * * *

  Adelar stood in the stables. Lost in thought, he made no move to retrieve his discarded cloak. Or to follow Endredi again.

  She was right. She belonged to Bayard, her husband and his lord. And more than that, she was Endredi, who would sooner die than betray her loyalty. He knew that as well as anyone could, for it had been one of the first things he had admired in her. She had never said one word against her father, even when Einar had paid no attention to her. Instead, she had sought to win his approval.

  As she was probably seeking to win Bayard’s approval now. Fool, he should have thought of that.

  Judging by his cousin’s good humor, she was obviously succeeding. He had no right to jeopardize her marriage. He had no right to come between Endredi and her husband. He must put aside his desire for her and remember his oath of loyalty to Bayard.

  So, to please Bayard and for Endredi’s sake, he would stay while Bayard went to the meeting of the king, the ealdormen and the other thanes. Then, when Bayard returned, he would go. He simply did not dare to remain here another day, for although Endredi was forbidden him, in his heart he could not be sure he would remember that.

  Determined to do his duty, too, Adelar strode from the stables.

  * * *

  Ranulf staggered into his bower and nearly fell over Ordella, who had been peering out the door. “Stupid oaf!” she muttered, tugging the corner of her cloak from beneath his feet, which made him reel into the room.

  “Wha’ in the name of Sin—Saint Alcuin are you doing?” Ranulf slurred angrily.

  Ordella turned to him and closed the door, leaning against it with a peevish expression on her shrewish face. She gestured toward the two servants sleeping in the corner. “Lower your voice, you dolt!”

  “Lower your own,” he muttered. “They’ll sleep through a thunderstorm, those two.” Then he leered at her. “Waiting for me, eh?”

  “Stupid sot!” she hissed. “I’ve been keeping an eye on some very fascinating things.”

  “In the dark?” Ranulf made his way toward the table where a goblet stood partly filled with mead.

  “Haven’t you had enough?” his wife demanded.

  “I’m still standing, aren’t I?” He downed the dregs and belched.

  She sniffed derisively. “You smell like you’ve been sitting in the ale barrel.”

  He didn’t reply, but sat down heavily on a stool. “So what have you seen? Dunstan and that wench? It was no secret what they were thinking about.”

  “Something far more interesting, I assure you.”

  Ranulf’s eyes appeared a little less glazed. “Oh?”

  “I’ll tell you in the morning.” Ordella took off her cloak and laid it on a nearby chest. She walked toward the bed, ignoring her husband.

  Ranulf got to his feet. “What did you see?” he demanded. “Was it important?”

  She continued to undress, her thin lips a disapproving line in her long face. With a scowl, Ranulf went to his wife and stood in front of her. “What did you see?”

  “I said, I will tell you in the morning. You are drunk.”

  Through his haze, Ranulf glared at the homely woman who treated him as if he was a servant at her beck and call. The same way Adelar treated him. And Bayard, and most of the other men. But he was no dog—he was a man of noble blood, and he would show this woman that she had best remember that. He raised his hand and struck her hard across the cheek. “Tell me!”

  Ordella fell back, startled, her eyes wide with fright. He clutched his hand, which stung from the blow, but he was vastly pleased to see her fear, and somewhat more sober. He raised his hand again in an obvious threat. “Tell me what I want to know!”

  “It was Endredi. And Adelar,” Ordella said tremulously, and with new respect.

  Ranulf’s eyes gleamed. “Together?”

  “Yes,” she said, a note of triumph in her voice. “We could not have planned things better ourselves.”

  “Tell me what you saw.”

  “I was looking out for you—”

  Ranulf thought that was true enough. She had often waited for him and then plied him with a thousand questions about this man and that, their alliances, their weaknesses, seeking any little morsel she might be able to use in her schemes.

  “—and I saw Endredi come rushing out of her bower. She was looking for someone, that much I could tell. I remembered that Ylla had left the hall some time before and wondered if she was seeking her. She began going to the sheds and outbuildings, searching.”

  “You did not offer to help,” Ranulf observed.

  “No, I did not. I will have nothing to do with that slave. But Adelar does not feel that way,” she added slyly.

  Ranulf appeared slightly less hostile, and Ordella continued eagerly. “I saw Endredi go to the grain stores. She was inside a few moments, then Ylla ran out. She went at once to the bower. Then Endredi left, but she didn’t go to her quarters. I thought it was odd and was going to see what was the matter—”

  Ranulf saw through those words. To be sure, Ordella was probably telling the truth, but she would have wanted to find out what was going on. Sympathy for Endredi would not be her motive.

  “—when Adelar came out of the storehouse.” Ordella dropped her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “He was obviously finishing getting dressed!”

  “Then he was with Ylla, not Endredi,” Ranulf grumbled. “I see nothing so exciting in that.”

  “I have not finished! Adelar followed Endredi to the stable.”

  “And?”

  “They were alone together.”

  “For a long time?”

  “No,” Ordella said regretfully. “But when she left, she stood for a moment at the door, and I saw that she was wearing a cloak. She hadn’t been before, and I’m sure it was Adelar’s. Then she took it off and threw it back into the barn. I think she was jealous.”

  “Well, well, well,” Ranulf said thoughtfully, a wicked smile on his face. “Bayard’s wife jealous of Adelar’s dalliance with a mere serving wench. T
his is indeed welcome news.”

  “Yes,” Ordella agreed, but her tone had grown more thoughtful.

  “What is it now?”

  “They may not have committed adultery...yet. And we are going to need proof.”

  “Surely the word of a thane—”

  “Do you honestly think Bayard will take your word over Adelar’s?” she demanded sarcastically. She saw the anger in her husband’s eyes and added, “He should, of course. But he would not. No, we are going to need other witnesses.”

  Ranulf smiled cruelly. “That may not be so difficult, since Bayard is leaving them alone here.”

  Ordella’s smile was even more vicious. “I think it is a good thing that I do not go with you to Cynath’s burh.”

  Chapter Nine

  “As you can see, my lord, my father has spent much effort and money on the fortifications,” Dunstan boasted as Bayard and the rest of the mounted troop crested the wooded hill near Cynath’s burh.

  The fortress was large, commanding a view of the river and surrounding downs. There were several well-made buildings inside the walls and also a fair number of other structures outside the fortress.

  When they paused to survey the burh, Bayard noticed a stream babbling beside the well-kept roadway as it headed for the river that wound around the fortress. On the banks of the stream, bedstraw and purple scabious, rush, lady fern and long, slender grasses nodded in the breeze. Red campion and bluebells, hawthorn and broom graced its edges, their tints of pink, blue, purple and yellow making splashes of color against the browns and greens of the sprouting trees close by. The oak and alder blossoms dangled overhead, and Bayard could see small yellow flowers against the sharp, dark leaves of holly bushes. Birds twittered in the trees, and a red squirrel scampered overhead, for the May day was a fine one. White, thin clouds littered the sky. As always upon the downs, soft breezes rustled through the wood, blending with the jingling of the harness and the panting of the dogs.

  “He has built well indeed,” Bayard replied, impressed more by what he saw than by Dunstan’s bragging.

  Dunstan nudged his horse forward. Behind him, Bayard and his cortege did the same, riding slowly toward the fortress.

  Bayard could not wonder at Edward’s choice of sites for an important meeting of the Witan and other followers of the king. Cynath was fiercely loyal to Edward, who had been named successor by the Witan according to Saxon custom. Alfred, with his exceptional wisdom, had refrained from naming an heir in his will, although there would have been few who would have protested. Unfortunately Aethelwold, his nephew, had foolishly ignored the Witan, demanding the right to rule because of an older will, which stated Alfred and his brothers were to rule in turn. Alfred, being the youngest, had ruled last, and obviously Aethelwold, the son of Alfred’s elder brother, had expected the succession to pass to the son of the older sibling.

  If Aethelwold had even a smattering of intelligence, he would have followed Edward’s example and made a name for himself in battle, so that should anything befall Edward—and considering the constant threat of warfare, that was not an unlikely circumstance—Aethelwold would have a chance to be chosen successor. Instead, Aethelwold had declared himself king, kidnapped a nun, seized a burh and announced that he would fight or die there. Then Aethelwold abandoned the nun and deserted his followers in the dark of night. No Saxon warrior had any respect at all for the fellow now, and it was surely only because the Danes welcomed the division between the Saxons that they had decided to declare Aethelwold king.

  Cynath, Bayard and several other thanes were certain Aethelwold was not a great threat. It was the Danes they worried about, and their eagerness to attack and plunder. Everyone wanted them gone, or at least under Saxon control. Let the Danes pay for the privilege of living on Saxon land, rather than Saxons bribing the Danes not to make war.

  Unfortunately, Alfred had not the strength or the means to keep back the Viking horde when he had first come to power, and so had sought to prevent them from seizing all the Saxon land in the only way he could, by giving them the Danelaw. But much had changed and much had been learned during Alfred’s reign.

  Edward was not a man to buy off his enemies. Most of the Saxon lords had no doubt that it was Edward’s intention to take on the Danes and force them to submit to Saxon rule. Edward had distinguished himself as a leader and as a warrior, so there were many who would gladly follow him into battle, Bayard among them.

  Bayard could hear Ranulf and the others talking behind him, obviously making comments about Cynath’s burh. Even Father Derrick was impressed, to judge from his remarks. A better compliment Cynath could not have. The priest was well read, thanks to Alfred’s encouragement of learning that had sent Derrick and others like him to school in Rome, and he had found much to criticize about Bayard’s burh, citing this example and that from the Iliad and seemingly every other classical reference he had ever read. The man was intelligent, tiresome and fiercely convinced he was always in the right. Endredi would surely welcome his absence.

  As for the absence of her husband... Bayard still had little clear idea what Endredi actually thought of him. She did not dislike him, and more than that he could not guess.

  Bayard fought a twinge of jealousy as he thought of Endredi and Adelar sitting together in the hall while he was gone.

  The cortege drew to a halt, and Dunstan leapt from his horse. Bayard and his men dismounted. Lads hurried out from the stables and took hold of the horses. Several servants and slaves hurried about, so that the air was filled with the noise of voices and activity. The sounds of weapons being made were discernible, too, and the shouts of men practising for battle.

  With a wave of his hand, Dunstan led his guests inside the hall. A servant waited to take their weapons, then they proceeded toward Cynath, who sat in a heavy, ornately carved chair at the far end of the well-appointed building. A fire burned in the long central hearth, and smoke-stained tapestries lined the walls. Many swords, shields, battle-axes and spears also hung there, a silent reminder of the impressive force Cynath commanded.

  “Greetings, my lord Cynath!” Bayard called out warmly to the man who had been more than his overlord in his youth. Cynath had been mentor, teacher and friend, and still was, although he had risen to a position of great power within the Witan.

  Cynath rose and hurried forward with a pleased smile on his face, and they exchanged the kiss of greeting. Cynath’s white hair brushed his still-muscular shoulders and his equally white beard fell upon his powerful chest. In all, he was a finer formed man than his son, whom he now greeted. Indeed, Dunstan was already far too fat to be a great warrior, while Cynath gave every indication that he could still beat several men in battle before he was winded.

  The ealdorman greeted the others in Bayard’s party with lordly dignity. “Father Derrick,” he said reverently when he came to the priest. “I am honored to have you in my hall. Do you recall Father Absalom from your time in Rome?”

  “Indeed I do!” Father Derrick answered with more enthusiasm than Bayard had ever seen him express. “A very learned, devoted man of God.”

  “He has recently arrived here. Perhaps you would care to meet with him?”

  “That would be most excellent, my lord. Where might I find him?”

  “He is in the chapel.”

  “With your leave, then, my lord.” Father Derrick did not wait for Cynath’s permission, but strode out of the hall.

  Cynath turned to Bayard with a serious expression, although his shrewd old eyes were dancing with laughter. “A priest is, of course, a necessary thing for a lord, to remind us that we are mere pawns to the will of God. However, sometimes it is better for men of war to think of the battle first, and then pray for help.” Cynath smiled broadly. “Besides, that fellow makes the ale sour in my belly.”

  Bayard and the rest chuckled, for most of them felt that way, too. For a man who had never actually wielded a sword or commanded a host of warriors, Father Derrick was quick to suggest ways a
nd means, often without considering that men must eat or that a day’s march could be twenty miles at most.

  “You are looking well, my lord,” Bayard said as he took a seat on the bench nearby and Cynath returned to his chair.

  “And you, too, Bayard,” Cynath replied jovially. Nevertheless, his eyes regarded his former pupil in the arts of war with some slight wariness. “I suppose I must infer, then, that this marriage does you good.” He gestured for the rest of the party to sit. Dunstan strode to the fore and sat before anyone else, throwing himself into the chair at his father’s right hand. Cynath glanced at his son, but said nothing.

  “All men want sons,” Bayard answered.

  “That is true,” his overlord conceded.

  “And by marrying this woman, I hope to keep Viking raiders from my land.”

  “If they abide by your agreement.”

  “They will. Their leader appears to have no stomach for a battle.”

  Cynath handed Bayard a drinking horn. “Against you, at any rate.” Ranulf, Dunstan and the others also picked up vessels, which had been lying on the table, as a serving girl came around with mead. “You seem very sure you understand these Vikings.”

  “I understand Dagfinn. And I have seen no cause to distrust my wife.”

  “You were always wise, Bayard.”

  “Thank you, my lord.” The two men exchanged knowing looks and let the silence of shared memories pass between them. “When does the king arrive?”

  “Two days. Until then, you and your men are welcome to stay in my hall. I am preparing another bower for your use when the king comes.”

  “You are a good host, Cynath.”

  “I am pleased to hear you say so.”

  “Does anyone know of Aethelwold’s plans?”

  “Not yet, but Edward still seems disposed to wait for Aethelwold to move first. There are too many places he might strike. If everyone is prepared, we can move swiftly to overtake him when he does.”