A n old woman came among them to tend their wounds. She was dirty and unkempt, wearing the tight, long-sleeved undergown called the chainse, with the shorter sleeveless gown over it unbelted, making it look like a sack. She walked very straight for her age, and said her name was Eartha. Her disposition was that of someone who had lived all the years she wanted to, and so she was bold and saucy and fearless, as if she cared not what consequences her actions might bring her.
Kristen was amused by her and wary of her at the same time. She watched Eartha push and poke the men around, men that were like giants beside her small frame, and laugh at their grumbling or sharp words. She was wary because she knew Eartha would come to her eventually, wanting to see her supposed head wound, which she could not allow.
Kristen was not in the best of moods, either, because of the heat, which none of them were used to. Many of the men had torn away most of their leggings, but much as she wanted to do the same, she knew she dared not. She would have pitied Eartha wearing her two gowns, and no doubt a shift under them, too, except that the heat seemed not to bother her at all. But then, the Saxons would naturally be used to it.
Eartha finished with Ivarr and squatted down next to Kristen, indicating that she should tell her where besides the head wound she was hurt, assuming that she was because of the numerous bloodstains covering her. Kristen simply shook her head. In response, Eartha reached for the head bandage. Kristen slapped her hand away, only to have her own hand slapped in return. When Eartha tried again to remove the bandage, Kristen jumped to her feet, towering over the little woman now, and hoping that her stature would dissuade the nurse. It did not. She had to catch Eartha's wrists and hold them firm to keep the woman's hands away from her head. For this she felt the point of a sword pressed into her side.
Several other Vikings stood, and the Saxon guard who had come to Eartha's defense stepped away. He was intimidated enough to call immediately for help.
Kristen groaned, seeing what she had caused, though it couldn't be helped. Seven Saxons were running toward them with drawn swords. She glared at Eartha for being so stubborn, then released her. It was Thorolf who stopped the old woman now, pulling Kristen behind him.
Fortunately, the Saxons hesitated when they reached the prisoners, seeing that Eartha was no longer threatened. "What is amiss?" Hunfrith demanded.
"The young lad will not let me tend his wound," Eartha complained.
Hunfrith looked for explanation to Thorolf, who stated plainly, "Is mending. Leave alone."
Hunfrith grunted, then glowered at Eartha for causing them all to panic. "Aye, if he can jump up the way he did, he needs not your skills, old woman."
"The covering should be changed," Eartha insisted. " 'Tis all bloodied."
"Leave off, I said. Tend those who want it. Leave the rest alone." But to Thorolf he added, "Warn your friend there to keep his hands to himself from now on."
Hunfrith was obviously not willing to make an issue of it when so many Vikings were ready to come to the boy's defense. But Eartha did not like it and moved off grumbling that the lad was too girlish by half. One of the Saxons commented that mayhap that was why the Vikings brought him along, and they left laughing among themselves.
Kristen's cheeks had blushed brightly at the remark. When Thorolf noticed and asked why, she shook her head, blushing more. He meant only to tease her, detaining her to insist she tell him, because it was so rarely that Kristen was ever embarrassed. But she slapped his hand away and angrily sat down, giving him her back.
From that position her eyes wandered over the hall, and she could see that a man stood watching them from an upstairs window. His face was in shadow so she could not guess who he was, but it made her uncomfortable to know that others besides the guards could watch them. She had only been concerned with the guards' positions whenever she had spoken to Thorolf or the others. She would have to be more careful now, knowing that anyone from the hall could also be spying on them.
They were fed after Eartha left, and those of them who had lost their boots because they were new or of a fine quality, got them back, though they couldn't put them on over the chains. This situation was rectified later that afternoon, when the blacksmith came to them.
The iron bands on their ankles were removed and replaced with new ones, these with a short chain permanently welded on each set. The bands snapped on and were held firm, but there was a keyhole on each one to remove them, though there was no sight of the key around. An iron ring at the back of each band allowed for a longer chain to slide through. This chain was only twenty feet long, and once it was threaded through the ring on each man's foot and then the ends locked together, their circle around the tall post became much narrower, making the positions they could assume extremely limited.
Kristen was disgusted with this new precaution taken against them. She supposed the long chain would be removed when they were made to work, but the short chain between her ankles would only allow for short steps, certainly nothing hurried, and she could imagine all of them stumbling and falling as they got used to having to practically hobble as they walked. It would be degrading, but that was probably how the Saxons intended it.
Like the others, Kristen had gotten her boots back, though the fur trimming had been ripped away. But at least they kept the irons from chafing against her bare skin. The bands were tight, however, and would no doubt wear through the soft-skinned boots eventually. Since her ankles were so much slimmer than the others', the blacksmith had had to send for a special pair of irons for her, smaller ones that she could only imagine were made for a boy much shorter than she.
It rained that night, and left out in the open as they were, they were all made miserable by the deluge. Kristen was the most wretched, for she tried futilely to protect her bloodied bandage from being washed clean. Thorolf finally laughed at her efforts and helped by wrapping his own arms about her head and lying partially on top of her. This kept her bandage dry, but made for a very uncomfortable night.
From his window, Royce watched the scene below in the yard. He saw the lad protest being covered and try to throw Thorolf off, saw the larger Viking slap his backside and shout something in his ear and then cover the boy's head with his arms, which forced Thorolf to lie half on top of the boy. They were still after that, as were the others. The guards had erected a shelter from the rain in front of the storehouse. The rest of the yard, growing muddy, was quiet.
"Which is the one Eartha said attacked her?"
Royce glanced down absently at Darrelle. She had come to stand beside him at the window, having put away the ivory pieces of the game they had just finished playing.
"The Viking did not attack her. He simply protested her treating his wound."
"But she said—"
"I saw it all, Darrelle, and the old woman exaggerates in the telling."
"If he were to have laid hands on me, I hope you would not take it so lightly," she grumbled.
"I would not," he said, grinning.
"Which one is he?"
"You cannot see him now."
"Alden said 'twas only a boy who wounded him. Is he the one?"
"Aye, the youngest among them."
"You should have had him whipped, then, if you saw him lay hands on Eartha."
"Too many were ready to fight for him. 'Twould have served no purpose but to have more wounded."
"I suppose," she agreed, though with reluctance. "They cannot build our wall if they are dying. The wall is more important. They are few and can be controlled, but the Danes are many."
Royce chuckled. "I see Alden has convinced you that they are needed."
"You would have killed them all," she reminded him with a haughty look that made him smile. "At least he realized they would better serve you alive."
"Is it not time for you to check on Alden?" Royce threw the hint out deliberately.
Darrelle clucked her tongue indignantly. "You could have just told me to go."
"I would not be so churlish," he replied innocently, pushing her toward the door.
Royce stood at the window often, watching the Vikings labor. It was an indication that he had yet to accept their presence at Wyndhurst that he felt unease except when he had them within his sight. He was not so in favor of using them to build his wall as Alden and Lyman were, for he would be meeting the Danes on the Wessex borders when the time came to fight them again, and he was doubtful they would ever push so far south as to do damage to Wyndhurst.
But since King Alfred wanted his lords to fortify their holdings, and since they had ample stone at the old Roman ruins near here, he had agreed a stone wall should be built, whether it would ever be needed or not. And already the Vikings had set the stones that had taken months for the serfs to bring here, and this done in only a week's time.
"Meghan tells me this has become a new habit of yours, Cousin."
Royce swung around to see Alden in the doorway. "Should you be up so soon?"
Alden groaned. "Not you, too. I get enough coddling from the women."
Royce grinned at the younger man as Alden made his way slowly to the open window to stand next to him. "Your company is welcome, for I find I brood too much on the past in here alone. But, God's truth, I cannot help but feel they will try something now that they are near all mended, so I find myself ever standing here watching them. Only two of them remain unable to carry the stone with ease."
Alden leaned out the window, and then he whistled softly at what he saw across the yard. " 'Tis true, then! We need more stone already."
"Aye," Royce admitted grudgingly. "Only two of them are needed to lift the largest stones that it took five of the serfs to carry. In the same amount of time, the serfs are still not finished with the shelter I set them to build for the Vikings next to the storehouse. It will be another few days before they can be locked in there at night. Then we will not need so many men to guard them, at least at night."
"You worry too much, Royce. What can they do shackled as they are?"
" 'Twould take only a strong axe to sever those chains, Cousin. One of them with his bare hands could crush two of my men before a third could draw his sword. And the fools still get close to them, even though I have warned them to keep their distance. If the Vikings are determined on their freedom, and I cannot doubt that they are, then they will make a bid for it eventually, and many will die when they do."
"Burn their ship and let them know the sea is closed to them," Alden suggested.
Royce grunted. "I am surprised no one has told you that has been done already."
"Then what you need is an inducement to keep them tame," Alden replied.
"Yea, but what?"
"You could take their leader away. If they think you will kill him at the first sign of revolt, that should—"
"Nay, Alden. I thought of that, but they say the one who led them here is dead. 'Twas his father's ship I burned. They chose a new leader from among them, and would only do so again if I separate him from them."
"They say he is dead?" Alden was frowning thoughtfully now. "What if he is not?"
"What!" Royce exclaimed.
"If he were down there among them, why should they tell you so and risk losing him for what I suggested."
"God's breath, I did not think of that." But Royce frowned then. "Nay. The only one they rally round is the boy. They protect him as if he were a babe."
At first he had thought that the lad was only Thorolf's brother, and that was why the bigger man cosseted him. But once the prisoners began the wall, they all seemed to look after the lad, stopping the guards from prodding him, taking the heaviest stones from him and pushing him toward the lighter ones, two or more of them moving to help him up every time he fell. But damned if he wasn't the filthiest among them, never making use of the water given them to wash. Still they pampered him.
"Could he be their leader?" Alden ventured, looking at the one in question sitting down on the low wall while the last few stones were moved in place at Lyman's direction.
"Are you daft, Cousin? He is but a smooth-faced boy. Granted, they are all young men, but he is the youngest among them."
"But if his father supplied the ship, then they are bound to follow whom he chooses to sail it."
Royce scowled darkly. Could it be that simple? His own king was younger than he by a few years. But Alfred had been second in command since he was sixteen. This was an untried boy who still needed cosseting. Yet it was that untried boy who had wounded Alden, and Alden was as seasoned a warrior as Royce was. And now that he thought of it, every one of the Vikings stopped whatever he was doing every time attention was drawn to the boy, almost as if they waited, ready to come to his defense if necessary.
"I think 'tis time I had another talk with Thorolf," Royce said tersely.
"Which one is he?"
Royce pointed out the window. "There, the one who just called the lad to him. He is the only one who understands our tongue, though not clearly."
"Lyman is finished with them for this day, it seems," Alden remarked.
"Aye, he will cart them to the ruins for more stone on the morrow. Which means I must waste more of my men guarding them again."
They both watched for a moment as the guards walked beside the Vikings, hurrying them back to the post. Royce turned away from the window, but was stopped short by Alden's cry.
"You have trouble, I think."
Royce turned back around. He could see that one of the Vikings had fallen, and Hunfrith was prodding him with his boot to get up. He did not have to guess which Viking it was, for the whole group had stopped. Thorolf shouted something at Hunfrith, and then Hunfrith's feet came out from under him and he landed hard on his backside. The lad stood up, brushing dust from his hands, and the Vikings roared with laughter as they continued on their way.
"I warned that fool to leave them alone," Royce hissed between clenched teeth. "He is lucky they did not disarm him while he was down."
"God's breath," cried Alden, "he means to attack the boy!"
Royce too had seen Hunfrith rise with his sword drawn, but he was already running out of the room and down the stairs. Nevertheless, when he reached the yard the damage had been done. One of the guards had called for help, and archers surrounded the group at a safe distance. Three of the guards threatened Ohthere, who had Hunfrith gripped in a bear hug that was likely to break his back, though the Viking did not seem to be applying much pressure at the moment.
Thorolf was speaking quietly to Ohthere. Of the lad there seemed to be no sign, until Royce finally noticed him peering above the shoulders of those in front of him. He had been thrust into the very center of the group.
"Tell him to put my man down, Thorolf, or I will have to kill him." Royce said this slowly so the man could understand. He was looking at Ohthere, who was staring back at him without emotion. "Tell him now, Thorolf."
"I told him," the Viking replied and then tried to explain. "Ohthere's cousin. No attack Ohthere's cousin."
Royce's eyes turned on Thorolf now. "He is the boy's cousin?"
"Aye."
"Then what are you to the boy?"
"Friend."
"Is the boy your leader, Thorolf?"
Thorolf met this question with surprise, and then he grinned and repeated it to his comrades, many of whom began to laugh. The laughter at least eased the tension. Even Ohthere chuckled and dropped a wheezing Hunfrith at his feet. Royce picked up the little Saxon by the scruff of his tunic and shoved him away from the Vikings.
Hunfrith's sword lay in the dust between Royce and Ohthere. Royce picked that up, too, leaning the point into the ground in a nonthreatening manner.
"We have a problem, Thorolf," he said quietly. "I cannot have my men attacked."
"Hunfrith attack."
"Yea, I know," Royce conceded. "I believe his dignity was suffering."
"Tripped apurpose—kicked—deserved," Thorolf retorted angrily.
Royce took a moment to digest that information. "If he did kick the lad, then mayhap he did deserve to get laid low. But the boy is becoming more trouble than he is worth."
"Nay."
"Nay? Mayhap if I separate him from the rest of you and give him easier tasks—"
"Nay!"
Royce's dark brows narrowed at this. "Call the boy forward. Let him decide."
"Mute."
"So I have been told. But he understands you well enough, does he not? I have seen you talking to him often. Call him forward, Thorolf."
The fair-haired Thorolf pretended ignorance this time, keeping his mouth shut. Royce decided to take the rest by surprise before Thorolf told them what had been said. He shoved those Vikings in front of him aside, caught the lad by the shoulder, and dragged him out to the edge of the group. Ohthere moved to pull the boy back, but stopped when Royce pressed the tip of the sword against the young one's neck.
Royce looked straight at Thorolf, his eyes narrowed angrily. "I think you have lied to me about this one, Viking. Tell me now who he is!"
Thorolf said nothing. More guards had come forward, and a long spear held him away from Royce. Others held the rest of the group back.
"Do you need an incentive to loosen your tongue?" Royce demanded.
He lost his patience when Thorolf still didn't answer. He began to drag the lad to the prisoners' post. When the boy fell because of his angry stride, Royce yanked him roughly to his feet, barking orders at his men as he went. When they reached the post, he shoved the boy against it, facing it, and caught both wrists together around it, holding them firm until one of his men ran up to him with a short rope, which he quickly used to bind them.
He stepped away from the post then, looking to where he had left Thorolf behind. Other of the Vikings were now shouting at him, but Thorolf kept his mouth firmly closed, though his blue eyes were hostile. Did Thorolf think Royce only meant to keep the lad tied here? He would disabuse him of that notion quickly enough.
Royce stood behind the lad, his own back blocking the post from the prisoners' view. Then, taking the dagger from his belt, he cut away the boy's thick fur vest down its center. The leather tunic he attacked next was so tight that he knew he probably cut the boy's back as he sliced it open from top to bottom, but not a single sound was heard in protest.
Soft white skin met his eyes, making Royce frown. There was no thick muscle to take the sting of the lash. And he had in fact cut the boy's tender skin. A thin streak of crimson ran from the shoulder blades halfway to the waist. This really was just a babe he was about to order whipped—if Thorolf didn't volunteer the truth about him.
Royce stepped to the side again so they could see what he had done. Thorolf cried, "Nay!" and shoved the spear away from him, trying to make his way to Royce. Ohthere pulled a spear from a guard's hands and with it knocked two others away, then dared anyone to take it from him as he too started toward the post in a murderous rage.
Royce called for their attention and they stopped, seeing his dagger pressing against the soft white back. "The truth, Thorolf."
"No one! A boy!" the Viking still insisted.
Waite brought the lash forward. Thorolf shouted, "Nay!" again and started to say something else, but the lad was violently shaking his head back and forth and Thorolf fell silent. Royce was enraged at that. Although he said not a word, the lad's wishes held sway.
"That was stupid of you," Royce snapped as he came around the post so he could see the lad's face, as well as the now-quiet Vikings. "You will suffer, not he. You cannot tell me, but I will have him tell me you lead them. 'Tis obvious. I want it confirmed."
He did not expect an answer from a mute, nor did he think his words were understood. He was angry that they would make him go through with this, and angrier still when those pretty aqua eyes peeked up at him for the briefest second, before the head was bent to where he could not see the face. Damned if that wasn't something a female would do. In fact, too many things about this boy smacked of femininity. If he didn't know it was impossible, he would be tempted to pull down the front of that tunic just to assure himself that his imaginings were groundless. Other lads were known to have long-lashed, pretty eyes and soft skin, until they passed that certain age to become men. This one just hadn't reached that age yet.
Royce nodded at Waite to begin. The lash fell and a soft whistle of expelled breath came from the lad. No other sounds stirred the quiet yard. Thorolf remained silent, though his fists were clenched and every muscle in his body was tensed to prevent him from moving. Royce nodded again.
This time the tall, slim body slammed into the post and then jerked back reflexively to the full stretch of the arms. The opened leather tunic started to slip down over the upper arms. The boy quickly pressed back against the post again without help from the lash, but not before a strip of white linen fell out from under the tunic.
Royce bent to pick up the cloth, which looked very much like a bandage, except there was no blood on it. A knot was on one end, revealing that he had cut through it when he had opened the tunic. Two round indents had somehow worked their way into the cloth, almost as if the strip had been placed over.. .
"Nay, I will not believe it!"
But his eyes rose to that bent head, and then his hand jerked out and gripped the tunic, yanking it down. He sucked in his breath, then swore violently on seeing the evidence that turned the boy into a woman. His other hand came up and tore the bandage from her head, and he swore again as a long golden braid tumbled down her back.
A collective groan now came from the prisoners, but not a sound had she made, not a tear was in the eyes that looked straight at him now. What in hell kind of woman was she not to prove her sex to save herself a whipping? Or had she not realized that he would not whip a woman?
He cut her wrists loose, and she immediately shoved her tunic back up to cover herself. As soon as she had done that, he grabbed her hand and dragged her back to stand before the subdued Thorolf.
"A boy, is she? No one? And you let me whip her! To hide what? That she is a woman? Why?" Royce demanded furiously.
"To protect me," Kristen answered.
Royce's eyes swung to her, but she did not flinch from the fury in them. "No mute, either, and another one to understand our tongue! By God, you will tell me why you did not open your mouth to stop the whipping!"
"To protect myself from the rape of Saxon men," she said simply.
He laughed cruelly at that. "You are too tall for my men to want, or did you not realize that? Nor are you a temptation in any other way, wench."
It was his anger that brought forth those words, but they stung nonetheless. "What will you do with me now?" she dared to ask.
Royce was chagrined that she ignored his insults. "You will serve in the hall henceforth. How you are dealt with will depend on their behavior. Do you understand?"
"Aye."
"Then make them understand."
Kristen looked at Thorolf and Ohthere, who had moved to stand beside him. "He thinks to hold me as hostage inside his hall to ensure your behavior. You are not to let this affect your decisions. You must promise me that if the opportunity presents itself, you will escape. If just one of you can reach home, then you can send my father to me."
"But he will kill you if we escape."
"He is angry now because he whipped a woman. He will not kill me."
Ohthere nodded sagely. "Then we will make our way to the Danes in the North if the chance comes. They will have ships to sail to the Northlands."
"Good. And I will let you know how I fare if I can, so do not worry over me."
"Enough!" Royce snapped, thrusting her at Waite. "Take her inside and have the women bathe her." As she walked away from him, he was able to see the red welts on her back, one that beaded with drops of blood, and it was all he could do to speak in a controlled tone to Thorolf. "I know she told you more than I bid her. I tell you this now. The first time you try to escape or injure one of my people, I will make her wish she were dead. And I do not make idle threats."