by Sandra Hill
“Oh, Rafn, you should have seen Vana. Black and blue marks on her face, finger marks on her neck, a broken arm, and…” Drifa’s words trailed off as she saw the horror on Rafn’s face. “I am so sorry. I did not mean—”
But Rafn stood abruptly, appearing as if he might hurl the contents of his stomach, and staggered out of the room.
“Nice work, Drifa,” Ingrith remarked.
Drifa started to cry.
“’Tis not your fault,” her father said, pulling her onto his lap. “We had to learn the details eventually. Why the disguises?”
They told him of King Edgar’s reputation for sexual assaults, whether the women be lowborn or noble.
Their father bristled with indignation. “Did he touch any of you?”
“Nay, but I am not sure how long we will be able to fool him,” Breanne said.
“Well, keep your distance ’til we are ready to leave. And, believe you me, when I meet with these Saxon miscreants later today, I will make it clear that no complaints will be filed against any of my daughters. If there are, they will have not just me to deal with, but many of our Viking neighbors. Eirik’s brother Tykir at Dragonstead and Brandr of Bear’s Lair have pledged hirds of soldiers, if need be.”
“Not to mention Ravenshire men,” Eirik pointed out.
“Now, tell me, daughter, why it is that you stayed back at Larkspur whilst your sisters came here? And what is this about a betrothal?”
The door was opening as her father started to speak.
Caedman entered and said, “Forget about the betrothal for now. Edgar has a dairymaid trapped in a locked milk shed, and her father is heading that way with a battle-axe.”
“Let me take care of it,” Rafn said, coming in behind Caedmon. “I am in the mood for killing someone.”
That was all they needed.
It all comes down to money, honey…
The meeting of the Witan later that day was vastly different from the one held that morning.
It was difficult…nay, impossible…to ignore King Thorvald’s presence. Equally difficult to ignore was King Edgar’s surly disposition. He was not a happy king, having been thwarted in his swiving of the dairymaid, not that the maid was objecting, but her father was. It had taken Archbishop Dunstan’s intervention to pry the king away and to appease the angry father with a handful of coin. No one knew where the two thanes were. They had disappeared after the Vikings’ arrival, mayhap gone back to their Wessex homes.
Thorvald had taken one bite of food at an earlier meal and spat it out with contempt. Disregarding any of their arguments, he ordered Ingrith to the kitchen to prepare her usual sumptuous fare. That was where she and the other princesses were now. They would dine royally tonight.
Rather than the ealdorman magistrate, Eirik was the one to open this meeting. “We are here to discuss the disappearance of Lord Havenshire.”
“More like murder,” King Edgar grumbled.
“Until you find a body, there will be no talk of murder,” King Thorvald asserted.
“Putting aside any accusations of murder, why do you seek Lady Havenshire?” Eirik inquired.
“She had cause to want him gone,” Edgar snarled.
“Oh?” Eirik lifted one haughty eyebrow.
“Havenshire beat her regularly, no doubt because she needed it,” Dunstan elaborated. “All women do at one time or another.”
Rafn let out a roar of outrage, and it took both Caedmon and Geoff to hold him down in his seat. Even so, Rafn managed to yell, “You bloody bastards! Vana was a gentle woman, the least deserving of any soul I have e’er met. Personally, if he were here now, I would lop off his head. Then you would not have to search for his vile body.”
“Rafn, you are not helping matters,” Caedmon whispered.
With a snarl of disgust, Rafn plopped down in his seat, stone-faced with fury.
Caedmon pinched the bridge of his nose as he contemplated how this mess was going to be ironed out. “Do you have a headache?” Geoff asked him.
“Why? Is blood seeping out of my eyeballs?”
“That bad, huh? Methinks you need a bout of bedsport.”
“Hah! That is not likely to happen in the near future.”
“I could lend you my hunchback.”
“Geoff! You are getting married on the morrow?”
“I was just teasing, lackwit.”
“I wonder if Sybil would appreciate the jest.”
“Do not dare tell her.”
“We cannot resume our meeting until you two stop chattering,” Lord Orm said.
“Back to your comment about Lady Havenshire having cause to kill her husband,” Eirik said to Dunstan. “Are you aware that the earl has many enemies?”
Caedman noticed that Eirik always spoke of Oswald as if he were still alive, saying he “has” enemies, and not “had” enemies. It was a lesson he would follow.
“In fact, I have been told that Lord Havenshire has a reputation for whipping or striking anyone who displeases him…housecarls, maids, even his own hirdsmen,” Eirik went on. “Therefore, if you want to make accusations of murder, or some other foul act against the earl, why not accuse them?”
Dunstan and Edgar were at a loss for words.
“Do not throw the arrow that can come back to you,” Rashid muttered behind him.
Caedmon had no idea what that meant, but he did know that it was a good thing the king or Dunstan could not hear him.
“Here is the situation,” Dunstan said. “The four princesses were at the castle the night the earl went missing. It is very suspicious that they were in the earl’s bedchamber just before his demise.”
“Demise?” Thorvald hollered. “There you go again, dreaming up murder when you have no proof it ever happened.”
Dunstan held up a hand. “Let me finish. We are trying to piece together what happened at Havenshire from the time Lady Havenshire’s sisters arrived until the earl’s disappearance was noted.”
Caedmon inhaled deeply. This was the do-or-die moment.
“When we arrived at Havenshire, ’twas early evening. I recall because most of the Havenshire folks were still in the great hall, eating dinner,” Ingrith interjected, her speech slurry from the fleecy cheeks.
“Our sister Vana was not present, and we were not looking for Lord Havenshire; so, we do not know if he was there. We went directly upstairs,” Drifa said.
Breanne picked up the lie…uh, story…from there. “Our sister was badly injured. Black eyes, neck-strangling marks, a broken arm. All our attention was focused on helping our sister. Did Lord Havenshire cross our minds? Yea, but only as we cursed the man who would do this to a woman. We assumed that he had beaten his wife, then left to visit his mistress, which I understand was his routine.”
Dunstan was not happy with her story because it not only put Havenshire in a bad light but also himself, as Dunstan had claimed on more than one occasion that beating a woman was not only acceptable but a good thing. “I find your story highly implausible,” Dunstan spat out, drool pooling at the edges of his mouth. “Methinks a torture test to determine your truthfulness might be in order.”
There was a ludicrous method of ferreting out liars. Have them put a hand in boiling water. If the skin did not blister or peel off, they were telling the truth.
King Thorvald stood to his impressive height and pointed a long finger at the archbishop. “You will perform no torture on my daughters. You can accept what they say or not, but this farce is over.”
“And how do we know that none of you is responsible?” Rafn added, looking pointedly at Dunstan and the king.
“How dare you!” Edgar jumped to his feet.
“I understand you want lands…Heatherby, Larkspur,” Rafn blundered on. “Why not Havenshire, which is a much more prosperous estate?”
“Your question is insulting and inappropriate,” Dunstan said, ice coating his words. Turning to Lord Ravenshire, he demanded, “Remove him from our presence.”
; Eirik made some silent signals to Caedmon and Rafn, and the Viking got up and walked out. But just before he exited, he said, “If any of you does one single thing to harm Vana, you will feed the raven so fast you will not know what hit you.”
“That…that man threatened us. Take him into custody,” Edgar shouted.
The two soldiers in the room looked from the king to Dunstan to the magistrate, Lord Orm, to Lord Ravenshire, confused about what to do. Dunstan waved a hand and said, “Let him go. For now.”
“You were saying…?” Lord Orm prodded Lord Ravenshire.
“I was saying that Lord Havenshire had many enemies. Seems to me that you have concentrated so much on Lady Havenshire you have failed to investigate anyone else. If naught else, you have prematurely judged this woman.”
King Edgar’s response was a crude Anglo-Saxon word.
Dunstan flashed him a warning glare, then surprised them all by saying, “Your words are well worth heeding, Ravenshire. On the issue of Lord Havenshire,” he looked at his fellow Witan members, “I suggest we do more investigation.”
Neither Orm or the king was happy with Dunstan’s suggestion, but the archbishop was a powerful figure. Even the king rarely disagreed with him in public.
Dunstan addressed King Thorvald then: “Do I have your word that you will make Lady Havenshire available for further questioning if need be?”
King Thorvald hesitated, then nodded, but Caedmon knew there was no chance in hell that Vana would come back on Saxon soil once she was gone.
“The last thing we are to discuss is Caedmon’s hasty betrothal to Lady Breanne,” the king said.
Caedmon and Thorvald both tried to speak at the same time. Caedmon won. “There has never been a formal betrothal, just talk of one.”
“By the runes! That matters not. My daughter will be betrothed only when I say so.” Thorvald glanced at Caedmon. “No offense, but I know nothing of you and your affections for Breanne. You are aware she has this tiny little quirk.”
Dost mean she likes to brush her naked breasts against my chest hairs. Caedmon grinned. “Dost refer to her woodworking skills?”
“For a certainty. She cannot be left alone for even one day without building something. We have more benches at Stoneheim than we have people to sit on them.”
Ravenshire cleared his throat. “Uh, could we go on here?”
“Listen,” King Edgar said to King Thorvald, “you surely understand that noble marriages are arranged here for political reasons. Favors granted. Adjoining estates. Pacts with other nations. And, yea, Caedmon, your estate is small compared to some, but we believe there is merit in your remarrying some Saxon lady who brings profit or merit.”
To the crown, Caedmon finished for him.
“I know what you mean,” Thorvald said. “That is true in the Norselands, as well, but in my family it is different. I have promised each of my daughters that she may choose her own husband…a decision that has come back to bite me in the arse since only two of them have wed, and one of those badly. But that is neither here nor there. It should be noted that their dowries go to them, not their husbands, on marriage. Unless they choose to gift their husbands.”
“Will you at least put off the betrothal ceremony, if there is to be one, until we can discuss a certain widow we had in mind for you?” Dunstan asked Caedmon.
“What widow?” Caedmon eyed the king and Dunstan with suspicion.
Reluctantly, Edgar told him, “Lady Helen of Lockhaven. She brings two castles, many hectares of land, and a good annual profit from her sheep.”
“Whaaat? She is more than forty…closer to fifty.” And homely as the back end of a hog. Not to mention the sheep smell that followed her everywhere.
Geoff was scarce hiding his mirth beside him, but Caedmon considered it no laughing matter.
“All the more reason for it to be a good match,” Dunstan opined, “since you have said on more than one occasion that you have too many children already.”
King Thorvald leaned forward on his bench to address Caedmon over the two people between them. “You do not intend to have any more children? Well, that does it then. No betrothal with my daughter. If naught else, my daughters owe me a grandson. I am sick to death of an all-female household.”
For some reason, Thorvald’s dismissal of him as a prospective groom cut deep. He should not have been offended, but he was.
“Have you been dallying with my daughter?” Thorvald asked of a sudden.
What exactly is dallying? Less than swiving, I would wager.
“Nay,” Caedmon lied.
“Well, do not, lest you want at least five more children.”
Whaaat?
Geoff chuckled and pretended to be counting on his fingers, up to fifteen, counting this current five.
“Never!” Caedmon mouthed silently to Geoff.
“Definitely,” Thorvald insisted, having interpreted their silent exchange.
Everyone started talking at once.
But then Geoff stood and spoke over all the voices, “’Tis past time we held a wedding. Mine.”
Caedmon breathed a sigh of relief then as the room began to empty. It would be a short-lived relief, though, because nothing had been settled.
Fifteen children? He almost gagged.
And Lady Helen? Hah! He would sooner wed a camel.
It was appropriate then that Rashid, in passing, tossed one of his proverbs his way: “He who rides the camel should not be afraid of dogs.”
“We have a similar Saxon saying, Rashid,” Geoff interjected.
Caedmon could not wait to hear this one.
“He who tups the keg must take the foam with the ale.”
“Well said!” Rashid congratulated Geoff.
Caedmon just put his face in his hands.
CHAPTER TWENTY
The path to true love is mighty rocky…
It was by far the most unusual wedding that had ever occurred in Northumbria, perhaps the whole world. The blond godly handsome knight and the hunchbacked lady.
Breanne and her sisters could not stop giggling, even during the overlong ceremony performed by Archbishop Dunstan. The king and his troop had left afterward, having accomplished or not having accomplished what he had wanted. Besides, they had no way of knowing there would a real feast to follow, no more of that bland fare fit for only peasants.
Because it was a wedding feast, Dunstan had been forced to allow women at the high table, but he did not like it, and made sure he was at the opposite end. Working with the Heatherby cook, Ingrith had surpassed herself with the food.
The archbishop kept criticizing Sybil for providing such a merry feast when, in fact, she should still be in mourning. But Breanne noticed that the priests ate heartily; no fasting for them.
While several young girls played lutes, the kitchen helpers were carrying in trenchers of food. Among the meats were roast boar in Ingrith’s special sauce, mutton, several pigs cooked whole in hot coals, calf brains, and the organs of all the animals. If meat was not to the feast goers’ taste, there were five kinds of freshwater fishes: trout in honey cream, oat-stuffed pike, gingered carp, poached perch in mustard sauce, and pickled eels. Egg and mushroom pies, various cheeses including the Viking skyr, manchet bread, and honey-oat cakes accompanied various vegetable dishes, like creamed turnip, lentils with lamb, marrow-thickened cabbage, herbed beets, buttered peas. If that weren’t enough, there were savory puddings and apple tarts. And of course, mead and ale, lots of it.
“I think we should leave for Larkspur this evening, whilst there is still light,” Breanne’s father said to her. He was seated at her right, and Caedmon on her left.
“I have already sent word ahead to prepare for you and your army,” Caedmon told him. “You are welcome at Larkspur, but do not expect much.”
“Caedmon! Why would you say that? Larkspur is a lovely place,” said Breanne.
His face flushed. “I only meant it is not as grand as what you might be accustomed to.�
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“Hah!” Thorvald said. “You would be surprised at where I have put my head down on occasion.” He studied Caedmon for a few moments, then added, “I like you. Too bad you will not suit for my Breanne.”
“What? Father! Caedmon has not offered for me. We merely pretended an upcoming betrothal to divert the archbishop and king’s attention. So, discussion of his suitability is unseemly.”
Her father and Caedmon both grinned.
“Furthermore, if I wanted to marry this loathsome lout, I would be the one to judge his suitability, which would be more than satisfactory.”
“Huh?” Caedmon said.
Her father let loose with a chortle of laughter. “I merely meant that Caedmon wants no more children, whilst I yearn for a grandson.”
It was Breanne’s turn to blush.
The subject was changed when her father said to Caedmon, “Didst know that Adam, my son-by-marriage, drilled a hole in my head one time? Save me from death, it did.”
The two of them carried on a conversation around her then, but that was just as well because she felt a vise closing over her heart at the prospect of leaving Caedmon behind when she left with her father. They would all return to Larkspur to await Vana’s return, which might be only a matter of days.
And Breanne realized something horrible in that instant.
She had fallen in love with the loathsome lout.
And she was not the only one to come to that realization.
Rashid was just passing by behind her, and he leaned down to whisper in her ear, “To love and be loved is to feel the sun from both sides.”
Unfortunately, this was only a one-sided love.
And Caedmon must never find out.
The only gift he wanted was…you know what…
They had been back at Larkspur for two days, and Vana had not yet returned. King Thorvald and his followers were restless. And Caedman was miserable beyond anything he had ever imagined.
