"Enough!" roared Ragnar Strongspear, drawing his engorged organ from her mouth. "This randy fellow wants to seek his proper place!" He began to slide himself down her body so he might couple with her.
She couldn't find it! Cailin's fingers sought desperately. It had to be there! She must delay him in his intent. "Ohhh, my lord," she pleaded prettily with him, "Will you not give me a bit of the same pleasure I have given you? Ohh, please! I must have it!"
Laughter rumbled up from his chest. "Then you shall have your desire, my russet-haired little fox vixen! I will not disappoint you!" Yanking her legs apart, he almost dove between them.
Cailin attempted to block the feel of his wet tongue on her flesh. Frantic, she dug into the straw beneath the feather bed, and just when she was certain that he must have found it and removed it earlier, her hand was sliced slightly by the blade she sought. Relief pouring through her, Cailin grasped the weapon, ignoring the pain of her wound. "Ohhh! Ohhh!" she cried, remembering he would expect something of her for his obscene efforts. "Oh, it is good! I am ready for you, my lord!"
Wordless, Ragnar Strongspear positioned himself.
"Ohh, kiss me!" Cailin cried to him, and when he leaned forward to cover her mouth with his, she plunged her knife several times into his back. With a surprised grunt, he rolled off of her onto his back. He was wounded, but not mortally so, she saw. "Bitch!" he growled at her. "You'll pay for that!"
Cailin quickly straddled him, grasped his head by the hair, and yanking it back, swiftly cut Ragnar Strongspear's throat. The look of total amazement in his eyes faded so rapidly that she wasn't even certain she had actually seen it. She scrambled off of him and stood shivering, staring down at the dead man, not even sure he was really dead. She was afraid for a long moment that he would jump up, but no. He was dead. Very dead. She had killed Ragnar Strongspear. She had killed a man.
Cailin began to weep softly with relief. When at last her sobs subsided, she became aware of the fact that she was covered in blood. His blood. She shuddered with distaste, and forcing herself to function, moved across the solar, poured water into a basin and washed, washed, washed, until finally she was clean again. Being clean and having fresh garments seemed to help a little. She avoided looking across the room to the bed space where Ragnar Strongspear lay sprawled in a widening pool of his own blood. Instead she sat down by her loom, eventually dozing with exhaustion, until the birds, twittering excitedly in the predawn, roused her. Starting awake, Cailin remembered what had happened the previous night.
What was she going to do? When Ragnar's men discovered that she had killed their master, and they certainly would, they would kill her. She would never see Wulf and their children again. Nervous tears began to slide down her pale cheeks. No! She would not allow herself to be slaughtered like a frightened rabbit.
Perhaps she could escape Cadda-wic before Ragnar's body was discovered. It was very early, and no one was stirring in the hall. She could climb down, and then she would hide the ladder to the solar. Everyone would assume Ragnar was sleeping off the excesses of his night's sport. She would rouse the other women, and together they would all slip through the gates on one pretext or another.
No! It simply wouldn't work. There were too many of them not to seem suspicious. She couldn't leave the other women behind to face the violent wrath of Ragnar Strongspear's men. She would go and fetch the two girls hidden in the bake house. They would join the other women beneath the grain storage barn. Yes! That was a far better plan. No one would find them there, and surely Wulf would come soon.
Cailin pushed the chests from atop the door and, sliding the bolt, opened it, and lowered the ladder before her. Drawing the door softly shut after her, she swiftly descended into the hall. Where would she hide the ladder? Cailin wondered. She would throw it down the well! She could never go back into the solar again. Not after what had happened to her there last night. A hand fell heavily upon her shoulder, and unable to help herself, Cailin screamed softly with her terror.
"Lambkin! It is I."
She whirled, heart pounding, and Wulf Ironfist stood before her. Beyond them in the hall, Ragnar Strongspear's men stood shackled and surrounded by their own people. "Ohh, Wulf," she sobbed, collapsing with relief into his arms. After a moment she stiffened and, pulling away from him, she queried, "How did you get into Cadda-wic? Were the walls not manned by Ragnar Strongspear's men?"
"We got in the same way our men got out the other night. There is a small trapdoor in one of the gatehouses. It leads to a narrow tunnel beneath our defenses, lambkin. I sent Corio back for the men. They departed the other night by means of that tunnel. Then they told me in detail of Ragnar Strongspear's defenses. We returned this dawning the same way and took back Cadda-wic."
"Why did I not know of this tunnel?" Cailin demanded, outraged. "I had to hide our women in the cellar beneath the grain barns to keep them safe from these intruders. Why was I not told of it?"
"Corio sent Albert to look for you, lambkin, but you had disappeared. Albert had no choice but to go with the others," Wulf explained, but Cailin would not have any of it.
"He might have told one of the women," she insisted, forgetting that she herself had hidden the women away for safety's sake. "I had to barricade myself in the solar to escape the unpleasant attentions of Ragnar Strongspear. Would you have had me wandering the hall, playing the gracious hostess to that savage pig?" She was furious.
"But you did not escape my uncle last night," Aelfa said meanly, coming forward, a nasty smile upon her beautiful face. "You look quite well, considering the active night you must have had beneath my uncle."
"I will kill him if he has touched you!" Wulf Ironfist said angrily.
"I already have," Cailin told him bluntly, and Aelfa grew pale at her words. "He did not rape me, my lord, though he sought to do so."
"How could you have killed so large a man, lambkin?" her husband gently inquired. Was she truly all right? he wondered.
"I slit his throat," Cailin said tonelessly.
"With what?" he asked. The gods! She was so pale.
"The voice within would not stop nagging at me," she began. "I do not know why I did it, but when you departed to visit our villages, I put a knife beneath the feather bed in our bed space. When he climbed atop me, I found it and I killed him. There was so much blood, Wulf! I can never sleep in that solar again. Ever?'' She began to weep.
He comforted her as best he could, and when she had ceased to sob, he told her, "I have much news, lambkin, and it is good." Then seeing the darkling stain spreading across her tunic dress, he cried out, "Lambkin, are you injured?"
Cailin looked down and laughed weakly. "I need Royse," she said. "My breasts are overflowing with my milk."
"Nellwyn will have him here shortly," he promised her, and put a loving arm about her. "Aurora too."
"How devoted you are to each other," Aelfa sneered, "but what is to become of us, I should like to know?"
"Her memory has returned, I take it," Wulf said with a small attempt at humor. They walked into the hall and seated themselves at the high board. Aelfa followed, but positioned herself next to Harald.
"She never lost her memory," Cailin told him. "Let me tell you a story that I learned as a child. In ancient times a Grecian king named Menelaeus had a beautiful queen who was called Helen. The king was old, but he loved his wife. The queen, however, was young, and she fell in love with a handsome youth, Paris. They fled to his father's city of Troy. A war between Troy and several powerful Grecian states erupted over the insult to Menelaeus and his efforts to regain Helen, the beauteous queen.
"Troy, however, was considered impregnable. Enormous high walls surrounded it. There was a goodly supply of fresh water and food. For many years the Greeks besieged it, but they could not take the city. Finally they agreed to cease their war with Troy, and as a gesture of peace, the departing Greek armies left a magnificent large, carved, and decorated horse on wheels behind for the Trojans. The citizens of Tr
oy opened their gates and brought the horse into the city. All day they celebrated their victory over Menelaeus and his allies.
"In the dark of the night, when all lay sleeping, the Greek army, which had secreted itself within the belly of the Trojan horse, came forth and took the city of Troy, showing no mercy. All were killed, and the city destroyed.
"Aelfa was Ragnar Strongspear's Trojan horse. She allowed herself to be beaten, and she pretended to have no knowledge of herself but her name, so that she might gain our sympathies. Then she set about to fascinate and lure both our gatekeepers because she could not be certain which one of them would be on duty the night she intended to let her uncle and his men into Cadda-wic."
"Albert and Bran-hard told me what happened," Wulf said. "I have forgiven them both. They have learned a valuable lesson by this." He looked out over the hall at Ragnar's men. "Now I must decide what to do with these men. Shall I kill them, or show mercy?"
"Mercy, lord!" the men cried with one voice. "Mercy!"
Cailin leaned over and whispered to her husband. "Ragnar's brother, Gunnar, will think to profit from his brother's death; but his daughter, Aelfa, is, I think, ambitious. She will want her uncle's lands for Harald, who is to be her husband. Is there not some way in which we might set these men against each other? If they are busy battling one another, they will not have time to bother with us, my lord. And let us not forget our old friend Antonia Porcius. Those lands were hers before Ragnar Strongspear stormed across them. I do not think Antonia is ready to let go of her dreams for Quintus, the younger, yet."
Wulf grinned at his wife. "Truly Flavius Aspar and Byzantium lost a valuable strategist in you, lambkin." Then he turned to his prisoners, his look fierce. "Ragnar Strongspear is dead," he told them. "Harald Swiftsword, will you swear fealty to me? If you do, I will not oppose your taking of Ragnar Strongspear's lands. You are, I think, your master's natural heir. His sons are too young to be strong neighbors."
"What of my father?" Aelfa demanded. "He is Ragnar's brother. Should he not inherit my uncle's lands?"
"Why would you want your father to have what your husband could have, Aelfa Gunnarsdottar? If Harald does not claim Ragnar Strongspear's lands for himself, he will never have anything of his own. If he is strong enough to hold them against your father, why should you mind? Do you not desire to be a great lady?"
"I am strong enough to hold those lands for myself," Harald bragged loudly, and turned to the other men. "Are you with me?" he demanded, and they cried their assent. Harald turned back to Wulf Ironfist. "Then I will swear to be your man, my lord, and keep the peace between us. Aelfa, what say you?"
"Yes!" she said. "It was decided long ago between us, Harald, and if I would take you landless, I would certainly not reject you when you are about to become a great and propertied lord."
"Then," said Wulf Ironfist, "I will free you all!" and they cheered him loudly.
Ale was brought, and a toast drunk to the peace between Wulf Ironfist and Harald Swiftsword. Then they prepared to march from the hall, but Wulf took Harald aside and told him, "Beware of the lady Antonia. The lands you now claim were her family's lands for many generations. Perhaps you might take her as a second wife to keep her from another man who might attempt to gain those lands through the woman."
"I thank you for the advice," Harald replied. "It might not be such a bad idea. Ragnar always said she was bad-tempered, but the best fuck he had ever had in his life. Under the circumstances I must either wed her or kill her. I'll think on it."
"Best to marry her," Wulf said. "She and Aelfa will battle each other constantly, and consequently keep out of your business."
Harald laughed. "Perhaps you are right," he said slowly. "Yes! I know you are!"
When they were gone, and the morning was beginning to take on a more normal tone, Wulf took his wife by the hand and led her out into the summer sunlight. They strolled together amid the ripening grain.
"This incident has made me realize that we cannot remain at Cadda-wic," he told her. "It is too prone to attack here in its narrow valley. The hills press too closely about us. We cannot see our enemy until they are almost upon us. I have ordered a new hall to be built at Brand-dun for us. It sits upon a hill, and we cannot be taken unawares by an enemy. We will continue to farm these fields and tend to the orchards that once belonged to your family, but we will no longer live here, lambkin. Will you mind very much?"
Cailin shook her head. "No," she told him. "Though I have many happy memories of the house in which I grew up, it is gone. The earth is drenched with my family's blood, and now the blood of Ragnar Strongspear as well. I do not think I could remain here even if you wanted me to, my lord."
He nodded with understanding, and she continued, "In my childhood the roads that the Romans built to connect the towns they erected in Britain became unsafe. There was a time, not in my memory, but surely in my father's memory, when those roads were safe; but then the legions left, and with them the way of life we had known for centuries departed as well. No one would have dared to attack the estate of Gaius Drusus Corinium or Anthony Porcius in that faded past. Times are different now, Wulf, and your people are a different people. To survive we must change, and I think we can do so without sacrificing the values that we hold dear. You are not like Ragnar Strongspear or Harald Swiftsword. You are a different kind of Saxon. Your feet, like mine, are not mired in the intractable past. You, too, dream of a future that cannot even be imagined by most. I will gladly go with you to Brand-dun! There is nothing left for us here at Cadda-wic but memories. I will discard the bad ones and leave them behind. The good ones I will carry in my heart always. Ohh Wulf! We almost lost each other once, but the gods ruled that we should be reunited to love again. I am so happy!"
"Mama! Mama!" Aurora came running through the fields toward them, her silky golden hair flying, her little legs pumping for all they were worth. "Mama!" Behind her Nellwyn came, carrying Royse.
Cailin swept her daughter up into her arms and covered the child's face with kisses. "I missed you, my darling," she told her daughter. "Did you miss Mama?"
"Are the bad men gone, Mama?" Aurora asked nervously.
"They are gone forever, and will never come back, I promise you, my daughter," Cailin answered the child, hugging her.
"When shall we leave for Brand-dun?" Wulf asked his wife, his heart full with his love for this brave woman who was his mate.
"Today!" Cailin said. "Have our men take our things from the hall. We will burn what we can of it, and tear down what is left. It is finished."
"Where are we going?" Nellwyn asked as she came abreast of them.
Cailin took Royse from her servant, praising her bravery. Then as she sat down upon the ground and put her son to her aching breasts, Wulf explained to Nellwyn what had been decided. When he had finished, and while Royse suckled greedily, Cailin said to her husband, "Nellwyn must have a husband. She desires Albert. Will you arrange it, my lord?"
"I will," he said, "and gladly! Your loyalty saved our children's lives, Nellwyn. It is little enough repayment. Albert is a very lucky fellow, and I shall tell him so."
Wulf gave the order to empty the hall of their possessions, and as it was being done, he climbed to the solar. Ragnar Strongspear lay spread upon his back, naked, and as white as a fish's belly. There seemed to be blood everywhere. Gingerly, Wulf pulled the man's head back, for it had fallen upon his chest. His eyes were wide and sightless, and there was a look of surprise on his face. The gaping wound shocked him. Ragnar Strongspear's throat was deeply slashed from ear to ear. How had she done it? His delicate lambkin did not seem capable of such a savage act, but he could not deny the evidence of his own eyes. It was certainly a most mortal wound, and hardly the sort of death a man would want to face. At best, a man died in battle. At worst, of old age in his bed. To die at the hands of a frail woman was shameful. There would be no Valhalla for Ragnar Strongspear. He would likely haunt this place forever. Cailin had been correct. They cou
ld hardly sleep and make love in the place where Ragnar had attempted to rape her, and where she had killed him.
"Is the hall cleared yet?" he called down.
"Aye, my lord," a voice answered him. "We are ready to fire it."
"Hand me up a torch," Wulf Ironside said. "We will start here." When the torch was given to him, he set fire to the bed space where Ragnar Strongspear lay. Then tossing the torch aside, he climbed down into the hall and directed his men to set the rest of the building alight.
He exited the burning hall, to find Cailin awaiting him, already mounted upon her mare. Aurora was seated before her mother, and Nellwyn was settled in the cart, Royse in her arms. He looked at his wife, and their eyes met in silent understanding. He looked at his children and smiled. Aurora and Royse and the children who would come after them were a bright future. He no longer feared a dark destiny. Whatever happened, the years ahead would be golden with their love and the hope of a better world to come.
Mounting his stallion, Wulf Ironfist smiled at his wife, and Cailin smiled back at him. With his love to sustain her, she thought, she could face any obstacle and overcome it. "I love you," she said softly, and was thrilled when he responded, "I love you, too, lambkin." Together they rode away from the bleak past and into a shining tomorrow.
Author's Note
The Celtic tribes of Britain faded into history as they intermingled their blood with that of the newcomers. Only in Cornwall and Wales could any strong evidence of them be found again in Britain.
The Saxons, the Jutes and the Angles poured into Britain in increasing numbers seeking land and a decent future for their peoples. For the next six centuries their combined cultures spawned kingdoms with names like Northumbria (which combined Bernicia and Deira); East Anglia, Mercia, Kent, Essex, Sussex and Wessex. Kings with names like Albert, Ethelred, Edward, Aethelswith, and Edwin ruled. Britain became England, the land of the Angles.
To Love Again Page 43