The Viking's Defiant Bride

by Joanna Fulford

  After that they spoke no more, being unwilling to draw the attention of the Viking guards. However, Elgiva’s mind was in turmoil. Aylwin was alive. He had survived against all the odds. The news made her glad and at the same time much disquieted. He would not lightly relinquish what had been his, but this plan was madness. He had too few men. Surely he must see that. She prayed he would heed her message and go before Wulfrum found out. She shivered, not wanting to contemplate the thought. She was married to the Viking earl and he would keep her. He had made that plain enough. Plain too, what would happen if she disobeyed him again. If he thought for a moment that she plotted his overthrow with her former betrothed, his wrath would be terrible indeed. She had meant it when she said there had been enough bloodshed. Pray God Aylwin saw sense. She could not speak of this to Wulfrum—to do so would be to betray her own people. However, it sat ill with her to deceive him, though she could not have said precisely why.

  Halfdan’s war band left the next day and Sweyn with them. Elgiva watched him go with a certain sense of relief, for soon he would be far away and she would never see him more. Besides, there were other things on her mind quite apart from Aylwin—Wulfrum had let it be known that he would decide on the fate of the Saxon prisoners taken in the forest. Suddenly she wondered if her optimism had not been misplaced. Would he really kill them, or exact some other fearful penalty? There was no way of knowing.

  At midday the prisoners were dragged in their chains to stand before him on the greensward outside the great hall. Having been chained in the open for several days, prey to the elements and fed on scraps, all were filthy and ragged and fearful now for their lives. Wulfrum had given them time to ponder their fate, time for their defiance to leach away. Now he had their full attention. He surveyed them keenly, flanked by two of his most trusted warriors, Ida and Ceolnoth. Behind him the rest of his men waited in silence, flanking the fearful Saxon villagers who had been rounded up to watch the punishment. Off to one side stood a brazier full of hot coals in which irons were heating. Beside it was a large wooden block where stood Olaf Ironfist, leaning on the handle of a great axe. From time to time the prisoners eyed him with distinct unease.

  Elgiva slipped out of the bower and along the side of the hall unnoticed, coming to a halt on the leading fringe of the Danish group. She could see her husband quite clearly, but his face was impassive and it was impossible to tell what was in his mind. Then he turned and said something to Ida. As he did so, she saw him look beyond the man to the place where she was standing. Her heart beat faster. Would he command her to leave, tell her this was men’s business, that she had no place or right here? However, Wulfrum said nothing, turning back to the prisoners. Elgiva moved closer. Then she heard him speak again, this time to Ironfist.

  ‘These are all the men who were taken in the forest?’

  ‘Aye, my lord. Cowardly dogs all that fled after the battle.’

  ‘Indeed.’ Wulfrum let his eyes rest on them. ‘They will learn that there is no escape. This land and its people belong to me now and I will guard well what is mine.’

  Elgiva shivered, recalling how he had used the words to her on another occasion. Their import was the same, but the tone was grimmer by far.

  ‘The penalty is clear enough for slaves who run: the loss of a foot or the cutting of the hamstrings.’

  The prisoners shifted in their chains, looking with horrified understanding at the brazier and the guards who flanked it, then at Ironfist. Elgiva drew in a sharp breath, shooting a fearful glance at Wulfrum as the implications sank in. Surely he could not really be going to do this. It was inconceivable. With thumping heart she moved forwards. For a moment his glance flicked towards her but the handsome face remained stern and he made no other acknowledgement of her presence.

  ‘Bring forwards the first prisoner.’

  Elgiva watched appalled as the guards moved to obey, seizing the nearest man, a serf called Drem, who, panic stricken, began to struggle. Several heavy cuffs about the head subdued him while they unfastened the length of chain that joined him to the others. Then he was dragged forwards and thrown at Wulfrum’s feet. The earl glanced down a moment and then turned to Elgiva.

  ‘Well, my lady, what is it to be? Shall we hack off a foot or have the varlet hamstrung?’

  ‘Have mercy, lord, I beg you.’ Elgiva fought back tears. ‘Do not maim these men.’

  ‘It is the standard punishment. They tried to escape.’

  ‘Surely there can be no blame in that. The battle was lost, the place overrun. Who could think of aught at such a time beyond the need to survive?’

  Wulfrum’s face was expressionless as he looked down into hers. For the hundredth time, Elgiva found herself wishing she might know what he was thinking. Seeing he did not immediately brush her aside, she pressed her case.

  ‘You said the slaughter was over, my lord. That you had need of every able-bodied man available. Does it make sense to cripple these? Spare them, and they will serve you well.’

  At her feet Drem hung on her words, ashen faced. Then both of them turned to Wulfrum, though in truth he saw only one. Elgiva was trembling now, her beautiful eyes pleading.

  ‘Show mercy, lord.’

  ‘Leniency may encourage further transgressions. Would you have me show weakness to these people?’

  ‘Mercy is not weakness. All here know you are the lord of this domain and its people and that your will is law. The matter is now beyond dispute. What purpose will be served by fuelling their hatred and their fear? Give them this chance, I beg you.’

  Wulfrum appeared to meditate the matter. Beside him Elgiva bit her lip, heart pounding in her breast. Would he heed her at all? The wretch at her feet closed his eyes.

  ‘Very well, then. Since it is your wish I show mercy, it shall be so.’ He turned to the guards. ‘Henceforth these prisoners shall wear the iron collar of the slave as a reminder of where their duty lies. In addition, each man will receive ten lashes. Carry out the punishment.’

  Elgiva let out the breath she had been holding. All around her she heard a similar exhalation and the tension eased as the watching Saxons gave silent thanks for the deliverance of the prisoners. A flogging was a painful reminder of the new order, but Wulfrum had let them off lightly and everyone knew it. The first glimmer of hope awakened in their hearts that perhaps the worst was truly over. In silence they watched as each of the prisoners was forced to kneel by the wooden block while the iron collar was fastened around his neck and then closed with a hot rivet. Elgiva had no desire to witness their humiliation and would have quitted the scene then, but Wulfrum’s hand closed round her arm.

  ‘You will stay, my lady, and watch the sentence carried out.’

  Swallowing hard, she looked up at him, but his expression permitted no further parley and she knew she must obey. Her heart filled with pity for the men beneath the lash, but she also knew that Wulfrum had shown great forbearance in this punishment. Even so, as the strokes were counted, Elgiva had to bite her lip to fight down the nausea she felt. Only with an effort could she prevent herself from flinching at each blow. However, she knew it was nothing to the way she would have been feeling now if he had followed his first thought.

  Eventually it was over and the gathered crowd began to disperse. Elgiva would have left then, but Wulfrum held her beside him, seemingly in no hurry to let her go, watching his men break off into smaller groups while the serfs returned to their allotted tasks. From the buzz of conversation it seemed that recent events were much under discussion. Elgiva turned to look at her husband.

  ‘Thank you for sparing those men.’

  ‘No thanks are necessary,’ he replied. ‘I have need of them and now they will all live to serve me well.’

  Elgiva caught the gleam in his eye and a suspicion began to form in her mind.

  ‘You never had any intention of doing anything other than flogging them, did you?’

  ‘No.’ Wulfrum smiled. ‘But it was important that they believed o
therwise.’

  Elgiva stared at him as the extent of the plan became apparent. ‘You knew I would plead for them too, didn’t you?’

  ‘I thought you would try to intercede,’ he acknowledged, ‘and you did. Most eloquently, I might add.’

  For a moment she was speechless before the sheer brazen effrontery of the man. Then anger replaced disbelief and she hit him hard.

  ‘You let me think you were really going to maim those men. You let me make a fool of myself.’

  Wulfrum caught her wrist before she could deal a second blow.

  ‘No, you didn’t make a fool of yourself. Anything but.’

  ‘I believed you back there.’ Elgiva tried in vain to disengage herself from his hold. ‘I really believed you.’

  ‘Yes, I know. I needed you to believe it.’

  ‘So you used me to make yourself look magnanimous.’

  ‘No, I used you to resolve a dilemma. Believe me, I am grateful.’

  ‘Oh, good.’

  Wulfrum smiled down into the amber eyes, thinking how very attractive she was when she was angry. ‘Come, now, admit that this was better than the alternative.’

  Elgiva was silent, but under her ire she knew he was right. He was also detestably arrogant and high-handed and much too close for comfort. The silence stretched between them.

  ‘Admit it.’

  ‘All right, the way it worked out was better,’ she conceded. ‘Let’s just say I don’t approve the means.’

  ‘Then for that I am sorry.’

  Elgiva wondered if she had heard aright, but there was no trace of mockery in his face or his tone.

  ‘I must govern these people, Elgiva, and they must learn to obey me. In that way only lies their peace. The sooner they learn it, the better.’

  He let her go then and she watched him walk away, turning over his words in her mind. Knowledge of the stratagem still rankled, however, and she felt foolish to have been so easily deceived. In truth, she had played her part to perfection. He must have enjoyed it enormously. Elgiva kicked a loose stone at her feet. Men! They were devious and ruthless in the pursuit of their goals, and Wulfrum was no exception. In future, he would not find her so easy a dupe. She had to admit his apology had sounded sincere enough, but then so had everything else. It was impossible to tell whether he meant it or merely wished to placate her.

  She began to walk back to the bower, her annoyance still simmering. Part of it was directed at herself for having fallen so easily for a ruse. Surely she should be able to read him better. He was her husband, after all, and yet it seemed to her now that she knew nothing about him. On the other hand, he seemed able to read her with uncanny precision. He could read a situation too, and manipulate it for his own ends. The man was insufferable. Worse, he was right—on this occasion, at least. The matter had fallen out better than she or anyone else could have devised. Except that he had devised it, of course.

  ‘Hateful brute!’

  Elgiva sent another stone scudding out of her path. He was an arrant knave, a domineering, overbearing rogue. However, he was not cruel. Sweyn would have punished the prisoners with the utmost rigour and would have enjoyed doing it. She shivered. Wulfrum was the lesser of two evils, although bad enough. Glancing across the intervening space betwixt herself and the barn, she saw him there speaking with some of his men. By chance he glanced round and she saw him smile. Disconcerted, Elgiva returned him a cool look and kept on walking.

  Chapter Eight

  As Wulfrum’s men began to set about the necessary repair work, Elgiva experienced mixed feelings. More than anything she wanted to see Ravenswood prosper again, but could never have foreseen the circumstances in which it might happen. That Wulfrum was a strong and capable leader was in no doubt. His word was obeyed without question and he supervised the work with a critical eye. Nor was he above getting involved when occasion demanded it. Gradually, life began to move into a routine as a sense of order and purpose were established.

  Wulfrum too noted this with satisfaction. He determined that Ravenswood would be prosperous again and bent his energies to that end. Slackness and mediocrity had no place in his scheme of things and he oversaw the ongoing work with a keen and critical eye. The Saxon workforce might resent his presence, but they were quick to recognise a master who would not be trifled with and bent themselves to their tasks accordingly. They discovered also that he was fair. While he would not tolerate poor workmanship of any kind, he was ready to praise when praise was merited. Nor did he punish lightly. However, a culprit got only one warning. The message was not lost on the rest. Moreover, no one knew where he would be at any given time and he tended to appear when least expected.

  One morning, having left Ida to supervise the serfs clearing a ditch, Wulfrum decided to see how the repairs on the root store were progressing. Heading that way, he had barely taken a dozen strides when a movement near the women’s bower caught his eye and he saw a small child running from the doorway. He recognised Ulric. Wulfrum grinned, expecting to see an anxious Hilda appear in pursuit at any moment. Even so, he kept his eye on the boy, following his erratic progress, only to see him stumble on a stone a moment later and fall hard. For a second there was silence. Then the air was rent by howling.

  Wulfrum sprinted across the intervening space and picked the child up. A swift inspection revealed little actual damage. The tears were more about fright than pain. Lifting Ulric into his arms, he held him close and spoke as he might to soothe a timid horse, letting him understand he had nothing to fear. Eventually the tears abated and the sobs quieted to shuddering breaths. Wulfrum ruffled the child’s hair and smiled. Very shyly Ulric smiled back.

  Elgiva watched in silence from the doorway. She had seen her nephew run from the nursery and, as Hilda had been busy changing Pybba’s soiled underclout, she had offered to go in pursuit. Her surprise could not have been greater to discover Wulfrum there first. The readiness and ease with which he comforted the child moved her to no small degree. She could never have believed a man so physically powerful could be capable of such gentleness. It was an altogether different side to him and one which drew her in spite of herself.

  Sensing a presence nearby, Wulfrum turned and she saw him smile. ‘Were you looking for the boy by any chance?’

  ‘Yes.’ She drew closer, looking the child over, but he seemed none the worse for his mishap.

  Wulfrum noted her expression. ‘He’s not hurt, are you, lad?’

  Ulric burbled a reply and smiled.

  His large mentor grinned. ‘I’ll take that as a no.’

  Elgiva found herself smiling too. ‘Hilda will be relieved. Ulric ran off when her back was turned.’ She paused. ‘Thank you for taking care of him.’

  For a moment Wulfrum was thrown by the warmth of that smile. To cover it he looked away and surveyed the child instead.

  ‘How old is he?’

  ‘Three.’

  ‘A fine boy. Like his brother. A man would be proud of such strong healthy sons.’

  ‘And yet my brother showed little enough interest in them.’ Elgiva bit her lip. ‘Do you think me disloyal for saying it?’

  ‘No. But you are not as your brother, I think. These little ones mean a great deal to you.’

  ‘Yes, of course. I am their aunt, after all.’

  ‘It is more than that,’ he replied. ‘You like children.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘That’s good.’

  The tone was light enough, but Elgiva sensed more beneath, and a suggestion that brought sudden warmth to her neck and face. Just then, however, Hilda appeared on the scene, holding Pybba in her arms. Seeing Ulric’s present situation, she checked uncertainly. Wulfrum glanced at her and then handed the child to Elgiva.

  ‘I’ll leave him in your capable hands.’

  With that Wulfrum took his leave. Elgiva watched him go. The man continued to surprise. Just when she thought she understood his character, some new facet was revealed. Clearly he liked children and would
not suffer them to be hurt or abused. Had he not saved her nephews from Sweyn? And now he had shown unlooked-for kindness to Ulric. Then she recalled the latter part of the conversation and was jarred by the unspoken implication. Once she had wanted children. Had she married Aylwin she would have borne his sons without complaint. Wulfrum was another matter—he was her husband, but how could she bear his seed without compromising everything she held dear? Elgiva took a last look at his retreating figure before turning abruptly away.

  Having spent some time at the root store and found everything progressing as he would wish, Wulfrum returned to the hall. There he found the two healers embarked on their morning round of the injured. His glance slid over Osgifu and came to rest on Elgiva. She was changing a dressing, her whole attention on the task as her hands moving surely and gently about their work. Occasionally she spoke quiet words to her patient. It was Harald, one of his own men. A youth of seventeen, Harald had received an arrow in the shoulder in the battle for Ravenswood and then contracted a fever afterwards. For some days his life had swayed in the balance and it was only thanks to the skilled care he received that he survived at all. Now it seemed he was recovering, for he was able to speak to his nurse. Wulfrum saw her smile. He could not hear the words she spoke in reply, but, from the expression on the young man’s face, they were having a most powerful effect. Wulfrum’s eyes narrowed.

  Before he had time for further thought, Ironfist appeared. One look at the giant’s expression was sufficient indication of bad news.

  ‘What is it, Olaf?’

  ‘Half the work party for the barn roof failed to turn up this morning. Their companions said they’d gone down with the flux.’

  ‘And have they?’

  ‘It’s true, my lord. I’ve just come from the village. They’re sick, all right.’

  Wulfrum frowned. ‘Is it known what caused this? Tainted meat, perhaps?’

  ‘No, lord. It seems only a few had eaten meat. The rest had bread and pottage.’