by Sandra Hill
"So, Alrek, tell me everything that has been going on in my castle."
And Alrek did, leaving nothing out. The king was especially engrossed by the events surrounding Tyra and Adam, but he was also more than interested in the outlaws who'd attacked his holdings the night before. Alrek thought he heard the king mumble, "Rafn did not tell of this yet. Where is the man? Has he become a slugabed now?"
Alrek wasn't sure he'd heard right, so he withheld comment.
"I need your help, Alrek."
Alrek sat up straighter.
"Can I trust you?"
"With me life." Oh, this was the best day of Alrek's life. To think his king was going to trust him with some special assignment. "Shall I tell the smithy to make me a sword? Even the lowest knight needs his own sword to slit his enemy's gullet, or cut out his heart, or lop off his head. I do so want to lop off a head or two."
"Uh, I do not think a sword will be necessary just yet," the king said. A weak smile slashed his still ashen face. Mayhap the king was not as well yet as Adam had thought. "The task I would set for you requires a sharp mind, not a sharp blade."
Alrek tried to look intelligent and alert, but he feared he just looked bug-eyed.
"Firstly, you must tell no one—no one—that I have awakened."
He nodded his understanding.
"You must be my eyes and ears about the castle. Report everything to me, no matter how insignificant it might seem. Can you do that?"
"Yea, I can that. Am I to be yer spy, then?"
"Exactly."
Alrek stepped off the bed and rose to his full height, which wasn't all that much. A spy! I am to be a spy. Praise the Gods! 'Tis just as Adam predicted back on the longship. Mayhap he made this miracle come true fer me. I should thank him, but nay, I cannot thank him properly because it is a secret. Still… me, a spy! Alrek wiped the smile of pure joy from his face and tried to appear somber and responsible. "I will not let ye down, Yer Highness. Even if they torture me with burning splinters. Even if they chop off me ear. Even if they shave me head. Even if—"
"I don't think it will come to that," Thorvald said with lips that twitched oddly, as if he were suppressing a smile.
"Now, Alrek, summon Rafn for me. Do not tell him I called for him, especially if others are about. Just say that you must go to the garderobe or some such thing, and that you hate to leave your king alone."
Alrek kept nodding at each of the king's orders.
"And remember, this is our secret."
"It will be our secret," Tykir assured the king.
Rafn had summoned him to the king's bedchamber after spending some time there himself, asking if he would keep the sleeping king company whilst he prepared for the early morning patrol.
It appeared that the Stoneheim ruler had come out of his sleep state but wanted no one to know about it yet except Tykir, Thorvald always had been a wily man… and smart. Tykir was not about to question his motives.
"I want you to report back to me what you see around my keep," the king said. "It is important that I know not just what is happening with my men-at-arms and the Stoneheim cotters, but with my daughters, as well."
"Why not just ask them?"
"For shame, Tykir! Methought you knew better than that. Women never answer a question when it is put to them directly."
"I suppose."
"Now, what think you of a match betwixt my daughter Tyra and your nephew Adam?"
" Tis not for me to say, Thorvald. It's what they want. I will say this: the sap of lust is running high in both of them."
The king clapped his hands gleefully. "Perfect! Perfect! All according to plan."
"What plan?" Tykir asked, wondering if the king had heard of the plan he and Rashid and Rafn and Bolthor had devised for Adam, but nay, that was impossible.
The king never answered him. Instead he ordered, "Send that rascal Rashid to me. Do not tell him I am awake. Just say it is his turn to sit a spell with the king."
"Why would you want the Arab here?"
"I have heard strange murmurings of a harem. A harem, indeed! There will be no harems at Stoneheim… unless they belong to me."
"So, tell me about your master, Rashid. What is he like?"
Rashid was honored to be taken into the king's confidence, especially since he was the only one the king had confided in.
"My master, Adam, is a good man. Honorable. But these last two years have been hard on him since he lost his sister. Before that, he was adventuresome, full of life and wit. Now, he is somber and reclusive. But methinks he is changing back to his old self, day by day."
"Thanks to my daughter?"
Rashid was surprised that the king knew so much about the developing relationship between Tyra and Adam—and it was developing, no matter how either of them protested. A person would have to be blind as well as deaf not to see that something was going on between those two.
"They fight the attraction mightily," he told the king, "but you know what they say, 'Lust is love's handmaiden.' "
"Huh?" Then he waved a hand as if it mattered not. "You will report back to me? You will be my eyes and ears? And you will keep my condition a secret?"
To all of these, Rashid nodded and replied, "I swear on the feet of Allah!"
But what he thought was, Tyra and Adam were in way over their heads, and not just because lust was in the air, but because the king was putting his finger to the wind.
"Now, my Arab friend, tell me how one goes about setting up a harem."
Chapter Eleven
Tyra awakened just after dawn the next morning, prepared to ride off again with her horse hesirs to patrol the borders. She would go in one direction, and Rafn with an equal number of men on horseback would go in another. Two of the twenty longships in the harbor would also be dispatched to inspect the coastal and river shorelines. They were taking no chances of being caught unawares again.
The first thing she saw when she stepped outside her bedchamber was Adam leaning against the corridor wall, waiting for her. The second thing she saw was Warrior hissing and biting at Adam's boot. While the kitten had developed an attachment for her, she seemed to have developed an aversion to Adam. Vana would have a hissing fit if she saw the cat in the keep.
"You are not coming with me," she asserted before he could even speak. Still angry with him for his words and actions of the previous night, she began to walk away toward the steps that led to the great hall.
He fell into step beside her, then took her by the arm and drew her to a halt. Warrior trailed behind them. "Not so fast, my bloodthirsty lady. Do not attempt to read my mind, for it is deep and hard to fathom."
She stood still and faced him, waiting for him to elaborate.
"You are wearing metal, aren't you?"
"Of course, I am wearing a chain mail shert under my tunic. Do you object to that, too?"
He shook his head sadly. "Nay. If you must ride like an Amazon warrior into danger, 'tis best that you are protected." He hesitated, then reached behind him and handed her a silver-embossed shield with a crest of writhing wolves. "Here. Take this with you… for luck. It is mine."
It was a fine piece of armory, but that was not why she was so stunned. It appeared she had jumped to the wrong conclusion. "You did not come this morn to chastise me again for my warlike ways, did you?"
He shook his head.
"You did not come to insist that you accompany me, either, did you?"
He shook his head again, then smiled, but the smile did not quite meet his eyes. "Actually, I probably would have… chastised and insisted… except that Dagma the dairymaid has chosen today to bring forth her first child, and it is a difficult delivery."
Dagma was only fourteen years old, and her pregnancy was the result of a rape the previous winter by a passing tradesman. The man had been executed Viking-style, but that did not help Dagma and her predicament.
Just then Tyra noticed the dark circles under Adam's eyes. "You have been up all night with Dagma,
haven't you?"
He nodded.
'Twould seem she had misjudged Adam in many regards. "Will she be all right?"
" 'Tis hard to say. The girl has a child's slim hips, and the babe is overlarge. Moreover, she has been laboring for a full fifteen hours already, to no avail." He shrugged. "God willing, she will survive."
Tyra could tell that Adam cared more than he was saying. "I'm sorry you are set in the midst of this. I know you did not want to resume your medical practice, and here you are, not just treating my father, but everyone else as well. You do not have to help Dagma. Let the midwife care for her… or Father Efrid."
"I must."
She frowned her confusion.
"I promised Dagma I would stay with her to the end."
"And your promises are solid as rock."
"Even rocks can be broken, and I have not always lived up to my promises in the past, my lady. Do not set me on a pedestal where I do not belong."
Tyra recalled then what Rashid had told her about Adam and his dead sister, Adela. Her heart went out to Adam, but she knew his pride was great, and he would not appreciate any overt sign of her pity.
"Should you not be with Dagma now?"
He nodded. "The babe will not come for several hours yet, though the birthing canal has finally started to open."
"So be it. I wish you well, physician."
"And I wish you well, soldier."
They nodded at each other.
Their conversation was presumably ended, but they both stood staring at one another.
Finally he said, "We are so different. You let blood, I stanch blood."
"There is no future together for the likes of us," she agreed, reading his inner meaning. But then she asked, "Have you never killed anyone, Adam?"
He stared at her for a long moment. "I have."
"More than once?"
He laughed grimly. "Yea, Tyra, more than once, and I did not like it any more the second and third and fourth time than the first."
"I do not enjoy it either, you know, but it is a fact of my life."
"I do not judge you, Tyra. I really don't. It's just that I have chosen a different path.
She nodded her understanding. "And so you will never take a life again."
"I did not say that."
She arched her brows in question.
"If I needed to defend myself, I would fight to the death. If the lives of Tykir and Alinor, Eirik and Eadyth, or their families were in jeopardy, I would not hesitate to take up the sword." He reached out a hand to her chin and raised it so that she would meet his gaze. "I would kill in a trice to save you."
Tyra was touched by his regard, but the fact remained that they were opposites. She sighed at the hopelessness of the attraction that thrummed between them.
"Will you take my shield Brave Wolf as a token?" Adam asked, looking down at the shield that she still held in her right hand. "It belonged to my stepfather, Selik. He claimed it carried much battle luck."
"I will be honored to carry it, Adam." The words came out hoarse over the lump in her throat.
He leaned forward, kissed her lightly, and whispered against her mouth, "Be safe."
Then he was gone.
But not from Tyra's mind… or heart.
Ingrith sniffed the air that morning, noticed the frost on the herbs in her kitchen garden and a few snow flurries in the sky. Clear signs that winter was almost here.
Satisfied, she gave a hearty shout of "Butchering day!" in the great hall where everyone was breaking fast.
She was not the least deterred by the equally hearty communal groan, nor by the few youthlings who attempted futilely to escape.
Tyra and Rafn and a hundred soldiers were off on patrol. Adam and Rashid were engaged in doctoring duties. But everyone else was forced to heed Ingrith's call to arms.
It was only early October, but already there was frost on the ground at night. Soon the days would grow shorter. In fact, this far north, there were long periods of time when daylight appeared only one or two hours a day. And so frigid cold was it that a person could not venture outdoors unless they were covered with numerous layers of furs.
It was a harsh land, but one which suited the Vikings well.
Throughout that day, everyone at Stoneheim, regardless of age, except for the guardsmen on duty, was enlisted to help with the fall butchering of the pigs… one hundred fat acorn-fed hogs. Eventually, the animals would hang by their tied hind legs from long poles susspended across tripods, which had been constructed by Breanne. The poles extended the Length of one of the far fields. Huge cauldrons of boiling water were ready to scald the skin for scraping, then to make the various dishes that would be savored on winter nights far distant.
A gruesome, smelly process it was, but one of many that were necessary for their survival during the winter months. Hay was already stored for winter silage. Massive amounts of wood had been cut to fuel the many hearths. Fruit and vegetables had been preserved. Hundreds of fish had been dried or salted. There were many other jobs to be done before snow and ice cut them off from the rest of the world, but the hog butchering could not wait.
By the end of the long day, every part of the hogs was put to good use, even the tongues and brains. The skins would be dried for leather. Hams, shoulders, and sides were cut and salted away in the smokehouse. The ears, head, and feet were boiled for many hours, then chopped and put back into the liquid to gel and be sliced into a delicacy called souse… an acquired taste, some said. Intestines and the stomach were cleaned and used to make sausages. Rendered lard that settled on the top of the boiling liquids was scraped off to be saved for cooking or making soap.
The air was decidedly cold that day, but the people were hot, sweat dripping off their faces and arms. By the end of the afternoon, everyone was satisfied with a job well done, but they were dirty and greasy, men, women and children alike.
Because of the large number of people who required a bath, the bathing house and sweat rooms were set aside first for the women's use, then the men's.
It was there that Ingrith finally rested her weary bones next to Breanne, Vana, and Drifa, along with Lady Alinor. Naked, the women sat up to their necks in the bubbling, steamy water of the natural spring that came up from the ground into the stone pools. Later, after they'd soaped themselves off, they would move to the clear, cool water of the pool in the next room. There was also a separate steam house for those who were interested.
"And so, one job completed. What shall we do about the next one?" Ingrith asked with a long sigh of contentment.
"Please, Ingrith. If you suggest another butchering job, like cattle, I think I may vomit," Breanne said.
Ingrith laughed. "Nay, this is a task of another nature altogether. Tyra."
"Aaaahhhh!" the other ladies said.
"I recommend we skip ahead to the last step of our plan. Jealousy. Adam has got to do something to make Tyra jealous," Vana suggested. "But we cannot go to him for help. He is as bad as she is."
"I know, I know," Drifa said. "I can do it!"
"You?" the other ladies asked skeptically.
"Me! Really, it will be perfect. I will go to Adam to discuss my flowers and plants. I will ask for his advice on ways to use my herbs for medicinal purposes. Actually, I have wanted to do so for some time anyway. And then I can mention in passing to Tyra that since she is not interested in any lasting relationship with the man, then I am setting my cap for him. What think you?"
"It could work." Alinor tapped her chin thoughtfully. "I must go find my babe, and I must find Thork and have him eat soap for the new word he has been teaching all the children of Stoneheim today, but let me add this thought. Women have swarmed around Adam all his life. Tyra can see he is an attractive man. To be jealous, she must believe that Adam returns the attraction. So Drifa's suggestion may work. Adam loves to talk about his herbs and he will appear interested." At the sound of a squalling babe in the adjoining room, Alinor rose from the waters, her bre
asts heavy with milk, and grabbed for a robe.
"I could keep offering him tasty bits of food," Ingrith offered. "You know, show him preferential treatment."
"And I could ask for his advice in building a hospitium here at Stoneheim," Breanne said. "I know he would talk in earnest with me about that. Tyra would not have to know the subject of our conversation."
Everyone nodded.
Vana asked, "What can I do?"
"Nothing," the others agreed. "Tyra would never believe you have eyes for Adam when Rafn is anywhere about."
"Well, then, do you think we should engage any other women to help in our cause?" Vana asked, not at all perturbed by their assessment of her value in the jealousy scheme.
The four of them thought for a long moment.
" 'Tis best that we keep this amongst ourselves," Ingrith said, and all concurred, especially when she added, " 'Tis our secret."
"I'm thinking that perhaps it is time to go home to Dragonstead," Tykir told Bolthor as they rode back to Stoneheim. The patrols had finished early and should be back enjoying a horn of ale by late afternoon. "I am getting too old for this nonsense. Riding hither and yon, freezing my nose and toes and possibly other more important body parts. Pretending to be having a grand time when I would much rather put my feet up before the fire and bounce my little one on my knees."
"You are not yet a graybeard, my friend. Nor am I… though you do have five years on me, now that I think on it."
Tykir reached over and punched Bolthor on the upper arm, even as they rode side by side. The skald winced as if he'd been hurt, which was impossible with all the furs he wore. In truth, Tykir would never do anything to harm the man. Despite Tykir's complaining about always having the inept poet at his side, Bolthor had been a good and true friend through the years.
Unaware of Tykir's rambling thoughts, Bolthor continued the discussion of Tykir's discontent. "Methinks you are just frustrated with your nephew. You are not a man accustomed to defeat, and thus far Adam has not jumped into the wench's bed furs, as you had hoped."