by The Saxon
The Saxon
Margaret Moore
To Mom, Deb and Bill. Thanks for listening.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter One
Wessex—902 A.D.
“Leave me in peace,” Adelar muttered drowsily, one arm draped over the naked woman beside him. The serving wench sighed and burrowed deeper under the warm blankets laid upon the fleeces in the storage hut.
“My lord Bayard summons you,” Godwin repeated, a wry grin on his round, perpetually pleasant face.
“Bayard sends his gleeman to give his orders?” Adelar growled skeptically, barely opening one eye to squint at the minstrel. “I expect you to sing them, then.”
“Alas, oh my bold lover, your game must now be o’er. My lord calls you to the hall and you must away ere break of day,” Godwin warbled, his fine voice filling the hut as he took hold of the Saxon warrior’s exposed bare leg and tugged.
Realizing Godwin had no intention of leaving him alone, Adelar rose from the makeshift bed. “You do not rhyme well and the noon repast finished long ago,” he noted sarcastically while he drew on his breeches.
The wench sat up, displaying a pair of enormous breasts and a pretty, pouting countenance. “You must go, my lord?” She twisted a strand of her tangled dark hair around her finger.
Gleda was her name, Adelar recalled. She was relatively clean, had breasts like small mountains and a most enthusiastic manner, but her high-pitched voice was enough to drive him mad. Not that he had to listen to her much, of course.
“Indeed he must,” Godwin said mischievously. “But not I, my dear, my own!” He threw himself down beside her and wiggled his eyebrows comically.
“You had best be telling me no falsehood, Godwin,” Adelar muttered.
The minstrel clasped his hands over his heart in mock dismay. “I, my lord? I, who am but a humble gleeman in the hall of the burhware of Oakenbrook? Of course I speak the truth, for I am honored to act as messenger to Bayard. Indeed, I am honored to breathe the same air, eat the same food—”
“—Talk too much and rouse men from their well-deserved rest,” Adelar finished.
“Aye, you need the rest, after what you’ve been doin’...and doin’ and doin’,” Gleda said with a giggle and a lustful look in her eye as she gazed at Adelar’s muscular body.
Adelar bent down to pick up his tunic. “What is so important that Bayard summons me?”
“He wants you to help him bargain with the Danes.”
“I have no desire to be among Vikings, or Danes, or whatever you wish to call them,” Adelar replied harshly. He was happy to be of use to Bayard, but the only time he wanted to be close to the Danes was in battle. He reached for his scramasax and tucked the short sword into his belt.
“Then you never should have let anyone know that you speak their language,” Godwin retorted, his hand straying toward Gleda’s naked breasts.
Gleda studied Adelar warily while neatly intercepting Godwin’s caress. “You can talk to those animals?”
“I understand them.”
“A most fascinating tale, my buttercup,” Godwin began. “He was kidnapped by a vicious band of Vikings when he was a child and—” He stopped when he saw the warning look in Adelar’s eyes. “I shall tell you some other time.”
“What kind of bargain does Bayard seek to make with those thieves?” Adelar demanded.
“I am not in Bayard’s council,” Godwin answered lightly. “Nor am I his cousin. I only do what I am told to do and since Bayard was in no mood for my amusements, I think his request must be somewhat urgent.”
“You should have said that before,” Adelar snapped. He slung his sword belt over his right shoulder and across his chest, his broad sword brushing his left thigh.
“Will you be coming back soon?” Gleda asked.
“Perhaps I will,” Adelar said when he saw that she was waiting for an answer. “It will depend upon what my lord decides. Or how long the bargaining takes.” He tugged on his boots. “Dagfinn probably wants to increase the Danegeld. We already pay those dogs enough money to keep them from our land.”
“And Alfred never should have allowed the Vikings to have the Danelaw,” Godwin added somewhat wearily, as if he had heard these words many times before. “It was that, or fight forever.”
“Then we should have fought forever. There is no honor in buying off our enemies.”
“I am no warrior, but it strikes that me that there is no honor being dead, either,” Godwin replied.
Adelar marched from the shed, not bothering to wait for Godwin, who might very well decide to stay with Gleda, which troubled Adelar not at all.
As he hurried to the hall, Adelar surveyed the newly completed walls of the burh, which had been built on a rise at the junction of two rivers. Nearby, a forest of oak, beech and hazel trees was beginning to show the first signs of early spring.
Although it was not the Saxon way to live in villages, the invasions of the Vikings and Danes had forced the Saxons to construct fortresses, an idea the recently deceased king, Alfred, had championed. Cynath, Bayard’s overlord, had been one of the first to see the wisdom and the necessity of such structures, for his lands bordered the Danelaw, a large portion of land Alfred had given the Vikings as a way to ensure peace. Cynath, in turn, had ordered Bayard to oversee the building of this burh and named him the commander, or burhware.
Bayard had more than obeyed his overlord’s orders. The fortress’s walls were of thick timbers, with a gate at the main road. Inside, the other buildings were all nearly finished. The hall, where Bayard’s people ate, slept and spent their time when not working or, in the case of the warriors, practicing for the warfare that would inevitably come, was the finest Adelar had ever seen.
Around the hall the more important and richer thanes had built bowers, smaller buildings that doubled as personal halls and sleeping quarters. Bayard, too, had a bower, the largest, of course, and his was closest to the hall.
Adelar hoped he would never see this burh aflame, destroyed by marauding Vikings. Indeed, he would fight to death to prevent it.
When he had arrived here months ago, he had made no claim of kinship on his cousin, yet Bayard had accepted him into his household at once. Bayard’s nephew Ranulf had protested, citing the tales of Adelar’s father’s traitorous and criminal acts. Bayard had discarded them all, although Adelar had revealed to him privately that everything Ranulf had said was true. His father, Kendric, had led the Viking raiders to their village. He had paid them to kill his wife, and when that plot failed, Adelar had no doubt that his mother’s death had been no accident, as Kendric had claimed. Because of all this, Adelar had disowned his father, and his father had disowned his son.
Bayard had listened to everything, then he rose and said simply, “Welcome to my hall, cousin.” For that, and the trust that Bayard had demonstrated thereafter, Adelar would be forever in Bayard’s debt.
Adelar entered the hall and divested himself of his weapons. Low, guttural voices and an outburst of raucous laughter told him where the Danes stood.
Filled with the anger that always rose in him when he saw Vikings, Adelar strode down the hall beside the long central hearth.
Bayard, high-born, well-respected, handsome and proud, s
at in a chair at the far end of the hall. To the right of him, seated on benches and stools, were the Danes, including Dagfinn, the leader of the band that lived closest to Bayard’s land. Ranulf and several of the Saxon warriors sat to Bayard’s left. Father Derrick, Bayard’s priest, stood behind him in the shadows.
The Saxons’ faces were carefully blank and their sword belts obviously empty. Nor were their visitors armed, for no weapons were to be worn in the hall. Nonetheless, several Saxon swords, bows, axes and spears were hung about the hall, a silent reminder that the Danes had best think again before provoking a fight.
Bayard did not immediately acknowledge Adelar’s presence, despite the Danes’ glances in his direction, and Adelar knew his cousin was not pleased with his tardiness.
“Ale, Dagfinn?” Bayard offered.
“Ya.” The huge, fair-haired fellow held out his goblet for a young female slave to fill. He gave her a long, lustful look, making the girl flush deep red as she moved quickly away.
As he watched them, Adelar realized that Bayard could be held somewhat accountable for these maggots waiting to have a part of his flesh. Even now he wore his finest brooch on his shoulder, with the Danes sitting close enough to count the jewels in it. His tunic was of wool dyed with the most costly of blue dyes, his sword’s hilt was of silver, the belt of soft worked leather. If he were the burhware, Adelar thought, he would take care not to be so ostentatious...but that would never happen. The only burh he stood a chance of commanding would be that of his father, and he would take nothing from him.
“Adelar, here at last,” Bayard finally said with a slight smile on his lips and displeasure in his eyes.
“Aye, my lord.” Adelar stepped forward, aware of the Danes’ scrutiny.
“Ah, you bring this fellow to our counsels again,” Dagfinn said, his Saxon words slow and halting. Although his tone was jovial, Adelar knew the Dane was not happy to see him, either.
“Since this meeting must be important to bring you onto my land, I wish to ensure that I understand correctly,” Bayard said smoothly. While Bayard did not like the provision for the Danes that Alfred had made, he thought it was too late to make them leave the country entirely. Bayard favored allowing the Danes to remain in England as long as they agreed to abide by Saxon law and to acknowledge Edward as the rightful king. He wanted peace above all things.
Adelar translated Bayard’s words into the Danes’ tongue. He did not agree that peace was acceptable by any means, but he had no right to interfere if Bayard wished otherwise. He was simply one of Bayard’s warriors, although kin. “I gather you wish to propose some kind of alliance?”
“Ya. A marriage alliance.”
Adelar stared at Dagfinn in stunned silence.
“What did he say?” Bayard asked. When Adelar spoke, Ranulf and some of the others shifted and began to mumble. Even Father Derrick moved a little as Adelar repeated the words. Bayard’s expression betrayed only slight surprise. “Tell him that I have no wish to take a wife again,” he remarked calmly.
“Why not?” Dagfinn demanded rudely. “You do not have a wife, or any sons. I have the perfect woman for you. And—” he paused a moment “—I might be persuaded to lower the Danegeld if our families were united in marriage.”
“I do agree that the Danegeld is much too high and welcome the possibility of altering it,” Bayard replied, “but I am not convinced a marriage alliance would be a wise solution.”
Adelar looked quickly at his cousin. Not only had he not scoffed outright at the Dane’s suggestion, he sounded as if he was actually considering the proposal. Yet such a thing was truly impossible. What would Cynath think of this marriage, let alone the king?
Dagfinn belched and shrugged. “If you do not agree, the Danegeld will remain as it is. Of course, you do not have to pay it. Then my men will attack your village, kill your warriors, burn the buildings to the ground and take your people as slaves.”
“Or perhaps my warriors will kill your warriors and you will get nothing. Then King Edward will make such war on you that your people will be driven back across the seas.”
“Or maybe Aethelwold will be acknowledged king.”
“The Witan has chosen Edward,” Bayard responded. “He is a proven leader in battle and Alfred’s eldest son. Although Aethelwold might believe he has some legal claim to the throne, no member of the Witan wants him for a king. He is a traitor and completely without honor.”
“In his will, Alfred did not say who was to succeed him,” Dagfinn countered.
Adelar masked his surprise as best he could, but how did this foreigner come to have such a clear understanding of the problem of succession?
“The Danes have acknowledged Aethelwold,” Dagfinn insisted stubbornly, as if what they did should influence the Saxons. “He already commands Essex.”
“So why do you wish to make an alliance?” Bayard asked.
Why indeed, Adelar thought, unless Dagfinn had little confidence in Aethelwold’s ability to rule or the Danes to control him. Adelar ran his gaze over Dagfinn’s men. Dagfinn was old and fat, and his men were not in good fighting trim. Only one of them, a red-haired fellow who watched Adelar constantly, looked to be capable of beating any of the Saxon warriors.
Was it battle Dagfinn feared? Did the Danes have as little wish to fight as Bayard? It didn’t seem likely, until one considered how long this band had been settled in the Danelaw. Years, with few true armed conflicts. And perhaps Bayard was not the only leader in the hall who sensed that Edward was going to be a more aggressive commander than his father.
“This squabbling need not touch us,” Dagfinn said in a slightly wheedling voice. “We are neighbors. And no one can profit during such times.”
That made sense, for the Vikings Adelar had known were more concerned with gain than the business of state and the succession of kings.
Unexpectedly, Bayard smiled and said, “Tell me of this woman you wish me to wed.”
Adelar wondered what kind of tactic this was. A marriage alliance with the Danes was completely unacceptable, given the situation between Edward and Aethelwold, and suspicious for the Danes to suggest.
“The woman is young and beautiful,” Dagfinn said with a leer, and not a little relief.
“I want to know if she is healthy,” Bayard asked.
“Very. And she knows much of healing. My people will be sorry to lose her, but the alliance is more important.”
“Is she strong-willed?”
“She is no simpering girl,” Dagfinn replied carefully.
Adelar fought to keep a satisfied expression from his face. Bayard had never liked strong-willed women. He liked his women placid, or at least filled with awe at his looks, his status or his wealth. And most women were. Even if Bayard was considering this marriage alliance, Dagfinn’s answer would put an end to it.
“Nor is Endredi a scold,” Dagfinn continued.
Adelar could not breathe. He couldn’t think. Surely his heart had stopped beating, the sun no longer moved across the sky, the fire had died. He saw nothing except sea green eyes regarding him steadily, containing neither condemnation nor pity, but understanding and complete acceptance, because Adelar had not meant to bring harm to Betha, only to get back home to his village. As they fled, his sister had fallen ill, and when they were taken back to the Viking settlement, she had died. Endredi had said little, but her eyes...her eyes had said everything. How much her silent comfort had meant to his lonely heart!
And then his father had come with his warriors. He had destroyed the Viking village when the men were away trading, taken the women and children captive and slaughtered the rest. His father had even dragged Endredi to his hall, intending to rape the girl barely on the brink of womanhood.
The remembered sights and feelings rose in Adelar’s mind, strong and terrible, for Adelar had followed them there, prepared to do what he must to save Endredi. She had escaped his father on her own, but he had killed a guard who would have sounded the alarm.
He pushed away the memory and told himself that this woman could not be the Endredi he had known. It was merely a coincidence. Two women with the same name.
“Ask him if the woman is a virgin,” Bayard said.
Adelar managed to get the words out.
“No. She is my brother’s widow.”
Endredi lived in the northern land of the Vikings across the sea, not in the Danelaw. Adelar took another deep breath as some of the tension fled from his body.
“Does she have children?”
“No.”
Bayard’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Is she barren?”
“She was married for less than a month before Fenris died. In bed.”
No wonder Dagfinn wanted to be rid of this widow, Adelar thought. Viking men wanted to die in battle, with a sword in their hands. Otherwise they could not enter Valhalla to spend eternity feasting with Odin. The widow was probably regarded as a woman who would bring misfortune.
Bayard rose and drew Adelar away from the others.
“Tell me honestly,” he said quietly. “Do you trust Dagfinn? Will he abide by this agreement?”
At once an almost overpowering temptation to urge Bayard to refuse filled Adelar. He didn’t trust any Danes. He didn’t want his cousin to have a Viking wife.
But more importantly, he didn’t want to find out that this woman was the Endredi of his youth, the Endredi he had been too ashamed to seek again. The Endredi he was constantly trying to forget.
He regarded Bayard steadily, looking into his cousin’s eyes. He did not doubt that Bayard had already made his decision, for it was not Bayard’s way to rely on any man’s advice. This was likely a delaying tactic, or meant to annoy Ranulf, something Bayard seemed to delight in. Nonetheless, Adelar answered Bayard with his true opinion. “Dagfinn wants this marriage, or he would never agree to reduce the Danegeld.” He hesitated for a brief moment, then went on firmly. “I do not trust any of them, as you know, so of course I would refuse. However, it would be wise to delay your decision. If Dagfinn speaks sincerely, he will wait. And what of Cynath? He has great faith and trust in you. I would not want him to question your loyalty.”
