by Sandra Hill
His eyes widened with surprise at her softly spoken words. No doubt she wanted a favor.
“The reason I begged you to take me to Jorvik was so that I might be able to better understand why I was sent here. If I can stand on the same spot where the museum will later be, maybe I will—”
Selik made a loud harrumphing sound of disbelief. “What? Get a message from God?”
“You’re impossible!”
He turned and looked at her, shaking his head incredulously. “Is that like the river calling the ocean wet?”
Rain laughed, and his heart seemed to expand in his chest, almost choking.
“Oh, Selik, I lo—”
He raised a hand to halt her next words, knowing that she was once again going to try to tell him that she loved him. And that Selik could not allow. He looked at the enticing wench, having a hard time resisting her tempting words. He had been successful thus far, since that day at the pond, in refusing to allow her to repeat the precious words. As long as he did not hear the words spoken aloud, somehow he could deny the growing bond between them, could pretend that he did not care. He closed his eyes wearily for just a moment.
Oh, God, or Odin, or whatever being is out there, please do not torture me so. I cannot bear to love again. And lose. ’Tis more than any man can bear.
He straightened his shoulders with determination.
Trust in me.
“What did you say?” Selik asked with alarm.
“When?”
“Just now? Something about trust.” Even as he spoke, Selik knew it had not been Rain’s voice in his head. Oh, bloody hell! She truly was turning him inside out and senseless as a lackwit.
Her wonderful golden eyes widened and seemed to glitter with enchantment. “You heard the voice, too. Didn’t you?”
“Nay. I heard naught.”
“Liar.”
“Men have died for less insult than that.”
“I’m not afraid of you.”
“You should be.”
“Why?”
“Argh!”
“Selik, you really should be careful about losing your temper so much. Every time you get angry with me, a vein pops out on your forehead. You could have a stroke.”
He snarled. “The only stroke that is going to occur is that of my blade when I lop off your wagging tongue.”
Ubbi guided his horse forward. “M’lord, wouldst ye like me to gag the lady so she does not bother ye anymore?” Ubbi asked Selik with oily consideration. He had been practically dancing with glee ever since Selik had told him yestereve that he could accompany him to Jorvik.
Selik raised a brow at that enticing picture. “’Twould be worth a fortune in gold to see you try. And ’twould be worth a double fortune to have both your mouths sewed shut and give the world some blessed peace.”
Ubbi’s shoulders slumped and his lips turned down in dejection at the insult, but Selik could swear he saw the traitor wink conspiratorially at Rain. Wonderful! The two halfwits are in collusion.
“Everyone is ready to depart,” Ubbi announced then.
Selik looked about with dismay at the motley group of retainers and hangers-on he had managed to accumulate. Even though he had ordered a half dozen hesirs to stay with Tykir, along with Bertha to do his cooking, Selik still had two dozen soldiers and six captives in his traveling party. Seven of the male slaves had opted to join the ranks of his followers. All rode on horseback, even Blanche. Somehow his men had found enough horses in the countryside to steal.
Selik was about to give the signal to move out of the bailey when his eyes froze on the last person in the entourage. Persons, rather, he immediately corrected himself. A young woman carrying a babe in her arms rode astride the last horse.
“Get them out of my sight,” Selik ordered Gorm through gritted teeth.
“But, master,” Ubbi intervened, “her husband was a Ravenshire churl fer many a year. He died yestermorn of the fever, and she must get to her family in Jorvik.”
“I care not if her husband was a bloody king. I want no ba…” His words trailed off for a moment as he sought to control the shakiness of his voice; then he amended, “I want no more blathering, shrewish, troublesome women in my company. I have more than enough with these two,” he said, waving a hand toward Rain and Blanche. “Thank the gods I will be done with them both when I reach Jorvik.”
“But, master, ’tis cruel ter leave her here without a mate ter protect her and give her sustenance.”
“Let her help Bertha in the kitchen. Or let her go to bloody hell. ’Tis not my concern.” Selik jerked his head at Gorm, who followed his orders by roughly pulling the woman and the squalling child off the horse. Selik ignored the tears streaming down the young woman’s face and turned his horse toward the gatehouse, leading the chain of horses over the bridge. Stiff-backed, he never once turned back to look at the crying babe or its sobbing, forlorn mother.
And Selik refused to look at Rain, knowing the condemnation he would see on her face.
Did your own wife seek escape before the Saxons came? And was she refused aid, like this woman? the voice said.
Selik swallowed hard over the lump in his throat. What was happening to him? A month ago, a year ago, he would not have hesitated to turn the woman and her bloody babe out to fend for themselves. In fact, he would have pulled them from the horse himself.
Without looking at Ubbi, who rode beside him, he reached into his tunic and withdrew a small sack of coins. Tossing it at the startled servant, he ordered in a gruff voice, “Give it to the maid and arrange for her later transport.”
Ubbi’s cloudy eyes brightened, and he turned his horse back toward Ravenshire, never once questioning which maid Selik referred to, nor his motives. But Selik thought he heard Ubbi mutter, “I knew ye would. I jist knew ye would.”
Selik did not like the turn his life had taken of late. It lacked control. Too many people were attaching themselves to him. He determined to rid himself of the whole bloody lot of leeches once he reached Jorvik. Then off he would go again on his quest of vengeance against his Saxon enemies. And Steven of Gravely. Alone. That was the path he had chosen long ago. There was no turning back, no fork in this life-road for him. He would not allow it.
Hah! The single word echoed in response to his thoughts.
Selik sneered at the damned voice in his head. Bloody hell! If it was God, then he had an ungodly sarcastic tongue. He turned quickly to see if anyone had spoken nearby, but his companions stared straight ahead, concentrating on the rough road. He shrugged, refusing to believe the impossible. No doubt he had spoken aloud. Yea, that was it. He could not accept that it might be that voice in his head again. Never would he believe that it was God—may all the saints preserve his sanity!
You’d better believe it.
He groaned and Ubbi looked his way, raising an eyebrow in question. Selik said a foul word and spurred his horse forward, feeling the need for a good gallop to clear his senses.
Rain could barely contain her excitement when they arrived in Jorvik the next morning. Selik’s men surrounded them and kept a wary lookout for Saxon soldiers as they crossed a bridge over the River Ouse, then followed the traffic moving along a thoroughfare Ubbi identified as Micklegate or “Great Street.”
Rain’s mother had long ago told her that Jorvik, the tenth century name for York, was the gateway between Scandinavia and Anglo-Saxon England. Its trade routes reached out to Ireland, the Shetlands, the Rhineland, the Baltic and even farther.
Her head pivoted on her neck as she tried to absorb all the marvelous sites as they moved through the narrow streets of the market town, shaded by the overhanging thatch eaves of the wattle-and-daub buildings.
The ancient Roman walls, with their eight massive towers that surrounded the city, and some of the buildings lay in ruins in places, thanks to Saxon assaults of recent years. But Ubbi told her no Norse king ruled at the moment, and everywhere an air of rebuilding and prosperity prevailed, the new quickly
blending in with the old. Like the people, Rain thought—a vast assortment of Norse, English, Icelanders, Normans, Franks, Germans, Russians, even traders from the Eastern cultures.
The cacophony of their musical, sometimes guttural, tongues provided a discordant background to the sounds of the busy city. Merchants and sailors swore fluently in various tongues as they discharged exotic items from the wide-bellied cargo ships at the confluence of the Ouse and Foss Rivers—which Ubbi identified as fine wines from Frisia, amber, furs and whalebone from the Baltics, soapstone from Norway, lava querns from the Rhineland and rainbow-colored silks from the East.
Craftsmen called out their wares from where they sat in stalls in front of their primitive homes, selling their handiwork—ivory combs, bone ice skates, bronze brooches, belt buckles and armlets, strings of glass and jet beads, wooden bowls and cooking utensils, jewelry of silver and gold imbedded with precious stones. Oddly, each of the streets, or “gates” as the Norse called them, seemed to cater to tradesmen in a particular product; there was a street of woodworkers, another of jewelers, still another of glassblowers.
“This is like a giant craft festival,” Rain said with awe as she drew up next to Selik. He had been ignoring her since yesterday, but he didn’t turn away now.
“Yea, the artisans impressed your mother, as well,” he recalled, seeming to find amusement in her fascination with the enchanting city streets. “This is Coppergate, the street where many of the workshops are located.”
Enthralled, Rain stared at the main crosstown artery of the tenth century city, knowing that some point on this thoroughfare was the site of the later Viking museum.
“Selik, this was the starting point of my journey in time.”
He groaned at her mention of time-travel, which he reluctantly accepted but didn’t like her to discuss. “No doubt you expect to stand on Coppergate the minute my back is turned and just fly through the air with your angel wings to your own time. Please, my lady, I hope you will invite me to witness that wondrous event.”
“Don’t be sarcastic. I didn’t say that I wanted to return home.” I might have thought it at one time, but not anymore. I don’t know what I want now.
Their entourage came to a halt suddenly as an oxen cart passed in front of them. Selik’s soldiers, who rode point guard before and after their traveling party, watched alertly for signs of danger.
“I would love to have a strand of those amber beads,” Rain commented casually of the orange-yellow, citrine-like stones being cut and polished by one highly skilled jeweler who sat on a nearby stool. Then she laughed. “Do you think they’d take a check?”
Selik smiled, scrutinizing her with what could only be called fondness, and Rain’s heart skipped a beat. She relished the rare moment of companionship and wished she could lean across the small space that separated them and brush his beautiful, flowing hair back from his face. Or trace the outline of his firm lips, curved now in an enchanting smile. But he would probably rebuff her gesture or make some sarcastic remark.
But Selik surprised her with a quick, knowing wink and turned to the artisan. Tossing the wide-eyed young man a coin, he pointed to the amber necklace in his hands. The jeweler tossed it up with a nod of thanks.
Delighted, Rain reached for the necklace, murmuring, “Oh, thank you, Selik. It’s beautiful.”
But he held it out of reach and demanded teasingly, “I will have one of those Lifesavers in payment.”
A piece of candy in exchange for a priceless necklace? Not a bad bargain! “I told you they were all gone.”
“But you lied.”
Rain laughed. “Okay, but just one.” She reached in her bag and pulled out the unopened roll of Tropical Fruits, then handed him a yellow one.
“What is this? I prefer red.”
“I gave the last of the cherry ones to Tykir and Ubbi. That one is pineapple, I think.”
Selik shot a look of annoyance her way as if she had given away his personal belongings. Then he skeptically placed the candy circle on his tongue. A momentary look of surprise crossed his face at what had to be an exotic new taste to him.
“Do you like it?”
“’Tis fine, but I prefer the red,” he remarked testily, then reached over and slid the necklace over her head, adjusting it under her single braid. “It goes well with your golden eyes, sweetling.”
He likes my eyes. “Have I told you what it does to me when you use those love words?” she said huskily, leaning closer.
But he pulled his horse back. “Love words? What love words?”
“Sweetling. Dearling.”
“Hah! Those are not love words. They are just…” He stopped himself.
The cart had cleared the street, and Selik moved his horse ahead.
She prodded her horse to follow Selik’s lead and soon caught up with him.
“Selik, thank you. I will cherish the necklace. Always.” Because it came from you.
“’Tis just a trinket. The gifting means naught.”
“Oh! It’s just like you to give with one hand and take away with the other. Why do you keep pushing me away from you?”
“Why do you keep pushing yourself in my face?”
“Because I was sent—”
“—by God to save me,” he finished for her with a disgusted shake of his head. “Please spare me, wench, and be someone else’s guardian angel for a while. Better yet, why not fly up and perch on the rooftops of one of these Christian churches,” he said, waving his hand to indicate the numerous houses of worship they had passed. “Your squawking wouldst blend in well with all the pigeons.”
Rain started to stick out her tongue, but stopped herself in time. Instead, she wrinkled her nose at him mockingly. “Actually, I can’t believe how many churches there are here. I think we’ve passed at least a dozen. Where is St. Peter’s—the one with the hospitium attached to it?”
Selik pointed to a high spire in the distance.
“Will you take me there?”
“Mayhap…yea, I will.”
“I might even be able to practice medicine there.”
He grinned. “That would be a sight to see—you barging into the minster and offering your services to the holy culdees. Talk about bulging veins. You may cause a gusher of bursting blood vessels.”
Rain smiled.
“Well, better you attach yourself to them than to me,” Selik said gruffly. “Like a blasted shadow you have become to me. You and that damn Ubbi.”
Rain’s heart ached at Selik’s words. Did this man she was beginning to love really consider her nothing more than a pesky nuisance? She hoped not.
“Today? Will you take me today?”
He shook his head, laughing at her pushiness. “I must discharge all these captives today and rid myself of Ubbi and the soldiers.”
Discharge? Did that mean sell? Rain wanted to ask. And me? But she was afraid of his answer. “Where will you go?”
He shrugged. “Mayhap south, into Wessex.”
Rain was about to berate him once again for his continuing quest for vengeance when the most horrendous odor assailed her senses. “Oh, my God, what is that smell?”
“’Tis Pavement—a street one does not soon forget. You are, no doubt, getting a whiff of the butchers and the tanneries. See, over there.” Selik pointed to some buildings where all types of dead animals hung from giant hooks—the offal and blood being thrown into the gutters or carried as effluent to the slow-moving river behind them.
Industrious workers stripped the skin from the carcasses with bones implements, then covered the skins with what appeared to be a profusion of chicken dung. Still other workers were curing the skins, which had already rotted for some time in the earlier piles of chicken droppings, dousing them with what looked like fermented berry juice. Finally, she saw the finished products being stretched on wooden frames and worked into shoes and jerkins and belts.
From the women and children she could see in the backyards, the buildings must combi
ne homes and workplaces. The smell didn’t seem to bother them a bit. Geese and chickens wandered at will in the fenced-in properties, while pigs grunted noisily in small enclosures. Several children sat about playing wooden pan pipes.
In all, the artisans and merchants and families combined to form a picture of peaceable folks. Not at all the image modern people had of Vikings or Dark Age Saxons.
It was not the impression she had carried either, since her exposure to the Battle of Brunanburh, and Selik. Her mind began to work overtime, trying to fit her outlaw Viking into this tranquil domestic scene.
“Selik, what would you do if you weren’t a fighter?”
“Huh?”
“I mean, when my mother met you, you weren’t set on a lifetime of bloodletting, were you?”
He smiled at her choice of words. “I was a Jomsviking even then.”
“Yes, yes, I know, but that wasn’t something you intended to do for the rest of your life. In fact, you told me once that you had already quit before…well, you said you quit.”
“A trader.”
“A trader? You mean, like these people who sell their wares along the streets?”
He shook his head. “Nay. I had five trading vessels. I traveled several times each year to Hedeby and even Micklegaard, buying and selling.”
An awful thought occurred to Rain. Oh, please God, not that. “What kind of products did you carry?”
He shrugged. “Everything.” He studied her closely and seemed to understand her concern. “Nay, my untrusting wench, I was not a slave trader.”
Rain exhaled on a sigh of relief. “Yes, I could see you on a Viking ship, traveling from one trading center to another.”
“So happy you approve,” he said with a mocking bow of his head. “But actually I was an artisan of sorts at one time. I made…” He stopped short, his face reddening as he suddenly seemed to realize that he’d revealed too much.
“What? Don’t you dare stop now. What did you make?”
“Animals,” he admitted sheepishly. “I carved animals out of wood, but I rarely sold them. Mostly, I just gave them to chil—to family or friends who admired them.”