by The Saxon
“Let us hope they choose a land attack. We cannot hope to beat the Danes on the sea.”
Cynath nodded. “It is unfortunate they have taken Essex.”
“What of the men of Mercia?” Dunstan demanded. “Have you heard anything of them?”
“They are still with us.”
Ranulf and the others exchanged skeptical looks. Alfred’s wife had been the daughter of an ealdorman of Mercia, and he had married his daughter to Ethelred, the most powerful of the Mercian ealdormen. However, it was possible there remained some bitterness that a man of Wessex was ruling over Mercia, rather than their own king.
“Surely they realize they will simply fall to the Danes without us,” Bayard said thoughtfully. “We must stand united to have any hope of defeating them.”
“Yes. But now,” Cynath said, “I am sure you are all hungry and thirsty after your journey. Eat, drink and listen to my gleeman. He has just come back from Agincourt with some new riddles.”
* * *
Some time later, Bayard and Cynath sat beside each other in the hushed hall. The gleeman had been excused, the serving women sent away. A few of the men still remained awake, but they spoke softly among themselves at the far end of the hall where they were preparing to bed down for the night. Dunstan was already sleeping, his loud snores clearly audible.
“It is good to have you near me again, Bayard,” Cynath said quietly.
“I am always glad to come to your burh,” he replied with a smile, “although this time I was not sure of your reception. Your son made it sound as if you considered me a traitor.”
Cynath sighed wearily. “He is his mother’s son, that one. Outspoken as a simpleton.” He gave Bayard a wry grin. “Can you imagine what it is like to live with a woman who says whatever is on her mind all the time?”
“You would appreciate Endredi, then, Cynath. She is a quiet woman.”
“Think yourself lucky, Bayard.”
“You used to have a serving maid here, named Janeth.”
“She lives in the burh still.” Cynath regarded him shrewdly. “I did not think you knew her well enough to remember her name. I seem to recall it was Adelar who enjoyed her favors.”
“It was.”
“Then he may be disappointed to hear she is wed to my armorer.”
“There was a child, I thought. A son?”
“Yes. He died not three months ago. Janeth never named the father.”
“You have seen Adelar. What do you think?”
“It is possible, I suppose. But Janeth was a friendly girl. The child also looked rather like me.” There was a touch of pride in Cynath’s voice that brought a slight smile to Bayard’s face and a twinge of jealousy to his heart.
“It could have been Adelar’s son?”
“Is it important to know?”
“No. I had heard rumors and wondered.”
“We sound like two old women gossiping at the well,” Cynath noted wryly. “Next we shall take to bragging about our warriors, like women do of their children.”
“Dunstan is a good fighter.”
“Because he has not got the sense to realize what might happen to him in battle. I say it even if he is my own son.” Cynath looked fondly at Bayard, and then at the sword hanging nearby, exactly like the one hanging behind him. “I would rather you were my son.”
“He asked about the weapon,” Bayard said, following Cynath’s gaze.
“What did you tell him?”
“I told him it was a gift from you. He thought it was extremely generous of you to give me a replica of your own sword.”
“Perhaps I should be glad my son lacks an imagination. He would have never forgiven me if he knew I had given you my sword and had the replica made for myself.”
“Still, Cynath, at least you have sons.”
“True enough, Bayard, and so I cannot be angry that you married again even though you did not seek my permission or ask my advice. And if what you say about this woman is true, then I believe you have chosen wisely. I know how much you yearn for a child.” Cynath and Bayard both glanced at Ranulf, who slept with his head upon a table and a goblet in his hand, having passed out some time before. “I can understand why you would not wish to leave your property to that one.”
“Yes,” Bayard said coldly.
“I see you have not forgiven him yet.”
“His insult was unconscionable.”
“You were children.”
“Young men.”
“It was before you came to me,” Cynath reminded him.
“Yes, but not much.” Bayard turned to Cynath with a hard and fixed expression. “Would you ever forgive anyone who called your mother’s sister a whore and implied that the rest of the women in the family probably shared the same morals?”
“No, I would not.”
Bayard smiled slowly. “We are very much alike, Cynath. We recognized that at once about each other, did we not?”
“But he did not actually accuse your mother of immorality.”
“That was the only thing that saved his life. Yet if you had seen his face, Cynath, you would have known, as I did, that he thought the whole family less than honorable.”
“Does your cousin Adelar know of this accusation against his mother?”
“Ranulf would be dead if he did.”
“Yet you keep them both near you.”
“Ranulf is not a complete fool. He knows it would be death to insult Adelar’s mother, even if she has been dead for a long time.”
“What about his father?”
“That is a more difficult question to answer. That Adelar has no love for his father is clear by his refusal to remain with him. Considering the sort of man Kendric is...”
“Those accusations were never proved. It might only be rumors about his wife’s death. And as for leading the Vikings to his own burh, that is simply ludicrous.”
Bayard did not reply. Cynath had never met Kendric, but Bayard had. A sly snake of a man he was, with Adelar’s good looks and none of his principles. Bayard could believe Kendric capable of nearly anything, and remembering Adelar’s words, he knew that what was said of Kendric was true.
“I thought you would have Adelar with you.”
“No. I left him in command of my burh.”
“Do you intend to will it to him? If anything were to happen to you in battle, I would not be happy to have to put Ranulf in command.”
“Nor would I.”
“You would be dead,” Cynath pointed out.
“It would be enough to make my spirit rise from the grave.”
“Why do you persist in having Ranulf about you, then? He obviously thinks you intend to bequeath all your property and goods to him.”
“Perhaps I let him remain with me the way a cat toys with a mouse, until I can snatch what he wants from his very grasp.”
“You may be playing a dangerous game.” Cynath looked at Bayard shrewdly. “It would be even more dangerous to toy with Adelar.”
Bayard shifted uncomfortably. “What do you mean?”
“He is the best-looking fellow I’ve ever seen. Women like a good-looking man.”
“As you well know?”
Cynath took another drink. “Is this a test of your wife?” he said at last. “Leave her with the most attractive yet loyal man you have and see if she tries to entice him while you are gone?”
“No.”
“Oh, did that thought not enter your mind at all?” Cynath asked quietly.
“If I were going to do such a thing, I would have made certain Ordella came with us. The woman has the eyes of a hawk and the tongue of a snake.”
“True,” Cynath conceded. “Unless you wished to ensure that nothing happened between the two. Like putting a mare and stallion in separate pens, but close enough to smell each other.”
Bayard frowned at Cynath’s earthy comparison, but admitted to himself that it was rather accurate. Nonetheless, he repeated, “I am certain of their loyalty to me.�
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“Then if you have such faith in Adelar and such loathing for Ranulf, why do you not name Adelar in your will as your successor?”
“If I name Adelar in my will, Ranulf will surely come to know of it, and then he would make trouble.”
“Yes, he does have many friends. There is also the matter of Kendric’s burh,” Cynath remarked thoughtfully. “Adelar may stand to inherit that.”
“That I doubt. Kendric shares his son’s animosity, and Kendric has other sons.”
“None of them legitimate,” Cynath noted.
“Still, I think he would name one of them over Adelar, since his son has so little use for him.”
“Ordella is quite capable of using her influence, as well.”
“Yes, the only real hope I have of preventing Ranulf from taking everything is to have a child of my own. Then all the force of law will be on my side, as well as Adelar. And I have married a woman who will surely fight for what she believes is right, whether for herself or her children.”
“Ah!” Cynath sighed as the pieces of the puzzle fell neatly into place. Nonetheless, he gave Bayard a sidelong glance. “Let us hope that happens, then.”
Bayard smiled somewhat wistfully. “I am doing my best to ensure it.”
“But if not?”
“Adelar has made it clear he has absolutely no ambition or desire for command. I shall have no choice but to name Ranulf.”
Cynath yawned and got up. “You are right. Things would be much simpler if this new wife of yours gives you a son. Now, the hour grows late. I bid you good night.
“What is wrong, Bayard?” the older man asked as Bayard rose slowly, a grimace on his face.
“A stiffness is all, my lord. I am not the youth I was,” Bayard replied with a somewhat forced smile. “Sleep well, my lord.”
“Time touches us all, Bayard. Sleep well.”
* * *
“What sour apple have you bitten into this morning?” Godwin inquired cheerfully as Adelar rose from the bed of straw laid upon a bench in the hall. “Have you the toothache? Is that why we have seen almost nothing of you these past few days?”
Adelar’s only response was a darker scowl.
“I see no swelling on your handsome face—ah! Is it Ylla?”
“I have been hunting.”
“Is she angry with you? Or are you angry with her? Or are you sulking because Bayard has chosen to leave you behind?”
“Do you never cease your idle prattling?” Adelar grumbled. He yawned and surveyed the hall.
“Idle prattling? Is that how you interpret my concern for your health? A fine thank-you, I must say! Perhaps I shall see if the master of that new burh in the valley requires a gleeman.”
“Now who is sulking? Come, let us see what Duff has prepared this morning.”
“You have reminded me of the best reason for staying here. His cooking has improved immensely.” Godwin followed Adelar to the table and sat beside him. “So, this new burh. Who will be put in command of it? Is it too much to hope it will be Ranulf?”
“Bayard told me Cynath will decide later. Perhaps Oswald, if he continues to do a good job with the building.”
“He is rather young, is he not?”
“I think that is the only reason Bayard hesitates.”
“And he has little wealth. I really do have no choice but to remain here.”
Adelar wasn’t fooled for a moment. Bayard generously gave Godwin money and gifts. The gleeman would be stupid to seek another lord’s patronage.
“What about you?” Godwin asked. “You have but to ask, and Bayard would put you in command.”
“I have no aspirations to be in command of anything.”
“By the saints, you are a stubborn fellow.”
“And you are full of questions.”
“Here comes Ylla,” Godwin said, nodding as the young woman entered the hall. “See? She doesn’t even look at you.”
“So?”
Godwin gestured at the cook, bustling about preparing the first meal of the day. “And Gleda spent the night with Duff. Merilda is going to fall into a fit when she finds out.”
“Jealous?”
“Not about Gleda. Ylla is a pretty girl and a Mercian, too, like me. If you no longer desire her...”
“I am in no mood for your chatter today, Godwin.”
Godwin shrugged dismissively. “Very well. I shall simply take my prattling tongue elsewhere.”
“Good.” Adelar watched Godwin saunter toward Ylla and begin to talk to the young woman.
He raked his fingers through his hair and rotated his stiff neck.
Then Endredi entered the hall. How lovely she looked, with her large, questioning eyes, her unruffled calm, her grave demeanor. Today her gown was of a somber brown, her jewelry plain and simple. She did not look like a burhware‘s wife, but rather like the girl she had been.
Was it wrong to ignore the demands of his heart? And what of her heart? She had wanted him before, that night in the stable. Did she still? Or was she strong enough to deny the yearning that seemed to burn in the air between them that night and ever since?
Ordella arrived to break the fast, her manner subdued. She had been taken ill, so she had not stirred from her bower since yesterday morn. The illness was not serious, which Adelar considered rather unfortunate.
Baldric, the dogs not far from him, sat at the far end of the hall. The animals waited patiently for the fine bits of meat he would feed them. Indeed, Baldric kept all the best portion of his meals for his charges, which he treated considerably better than many men did their children.
Helmi also sat below the salt, watching the Saxon men and taking care that she was as far away from them as possible. After she had eaten, she would leave at once for the weaving shed, where she seemed to be spending most of her time since Ylla had become Endredi’s servant.
Moving forward, Adelar took Bayard’s place on the other side of Endredi, ignoring Ordella’s disdainful expression. It was his right to take that place when Bayard had made him second in command.
Duff, Merilda and Gleda were speaking together, or, it appeared, arguing over something. The sounds of their quarrel grew louder, and Endredi’s frowns were nearly as disapproving as Ordella’s.
Suddenly, Gleda shoved Merilda. Without warning, the argument became a fight, the women hurling shrieks, screams and vile epithets at each other. Some of the warriors began to shout encouragement to the combatants. Adelar half-rose from his seat until he remembered that he was not responsible for the servants’ behavior. That was Endredi’s charge.
At once Endredi strode toward the women, who were rolling around in the straw pummeling each other. Broken dishes littered the floor and foodstuffs were scattered about. The lovely wooden spice box was a shattered wreck.
“Stop!” she shouted, clearly enraged, although the others would perhaps believe she was merely annoyed. Adelar knew better.
The men fell silent. The battling women ignored her until Endredi went to Gleda and dragged her off Merilda. “I said, stop this!”
Gleda, panting, glared at Merilda. “She started it!”
Merilda, glaring back, rose slowly to her feet. “She hit me first!”
“She called me a whore!”
“She is!”
“You’re just jealous because Duff won’t have you anymore!”
“You’d even sleep with Baldric if he offered you a coin!”
“Liar!”
“Slut!”
Endredi stepped between them. “Enough of this.”
Suddenly Merilda’s chin began to tremble. “She is a whore, my lady! She took my man from me!”
Endredi had no great liking for Gleda, but Merilda had no claim on Duff. They were not married, nor even pledged, as far as she knew. If they were, then Gleda would be the one at fault.
Duff shifted uncomfortably a short distance away. Endredi looked at him. “Well?”
“Well, my lady, I...that is, she...Merilda, I mean
, she took it in her head that I said I’d marry her—”
“You told me that, you wretch! I never would have let you lay a hand on me but for that!”
“Did you say you would marry her?” Endredi demanded.
“No.”
Gleda smiled smugly until Endredi asked, “Are you intending to marry Gleda?” and Duff shook his head.
“What?” the girl screeched. “You promised!”
“I said I might.” Duff scowled.
“Gleda and Merilda, if either one of you ever puts on such a display again, I will see that you are sent far from here.” Endredi reached down and picked up the ruined spice box. “As for you, Merilda, I suggest you listen less to men’s promises. Duff, I give you a choice. Marry Merilda or marry Gleda or get out of this burh.”
“But my lord Adelar—” Gleda began plaintively, looking at him with dismay. She started to snivel again.
“Bayard will be angry,” Duff whined.
Adelar held up his hand for silence. “The burhware‘s wife decides such matters,” he said coolly.
Endredi felt a flash of gratitude, then told herself that she should not be so pleased. She was quite capable of controlling her own servants and did not need his help.
But this was finished, and she had no wish to prolong it, so she returned to her seat.
Merilda, pale and with a baleful expression, sidled silently away, followed by a repentant Duff and a sobbing Gleda.
When the meal resumed, Adelar cleared his throat, drawing Endredi’s attention. “I understand you wish help distributing the alms.”
“I can manage myself,” she said calmly.
“It is no trouble.”
“I am at your disposal, my lady,” Godwin remarked pleasantly.
“Thank you, Godwin. I will accept your assistance. It will save time.”
Endredi next spoke to Ordella, whose face displayed avid interest in their conversation. “How do you fare this morning?”
“Much better,” Ordella said. “The medicine you prepared has helped.”
“I am happy to hear it.”
“Is she not a clever woman?” Ordella demanded of Adelar.
He did not respond, and Endredi was glad he kept silent. She could see the suspicion on his face, and wondered that Ordella apparently did not. She, too, found this solicitousness dubious.
