The King's Hounds (The King's Hounds series Book 1)

by Martin Jensen

  I was going to snap back that I remembered quite a few of the servants’ names, but the words froze in my mouth as I realized he was right.

  “Frida, thank you very much for your help,” Winston said as he stood up.

  Godskalk and his housecarls were waiting for us, and we walked back across the meadow toward the camp together. When we reached the kitchen tents, Frida let go of my hand.

  “Maybe we’ll see each other again,” I said, reaching out and giving her arm a squeeze.

  “Maybe,” she said, looking down demurely. “You know where to find me.”

  The three housecarls that Godskalk had sent up to Tonild’s tent were standing at a suitable distance from the tent, putting up with silent glares from Tonild’s own soldiers. As soon as Godskalk’s team spotted us, one of them stepped forward and announced, “No one has left the tent.”

  “But do they know you’re out here?” Winston asked. I had filled Winston in on my instructions to Godskalk’s men on our way over here.

  The housecarl nodded. “One of the lady’s men passed a message inside. It was that one over there,” he said, pointing out one of Tonild’s guards, who looked back at us defiantly.

  “We’ll manage on our own from here,” Winston said, smiling at Godskalk, who dismissed his housecarls with a hand gesture.

  “And the girl?” Godskalk asked, before leaving to join the housecarls.

  “She should be safe enough, I think,” Winston said. “Presumably she’s already told us whatever they wanted to stop her from telling us, or maybe she doesn’t even know what she knows. In any case, whoever gave the order for the attack may already know that we’ve spoken with her—and if not, they’ll know soon enough—so she should be out of danger now.” Winston walked over to Tonild’s tent flap but was stopped by the guard whom the housecarl had singled out.

  “Would you kindly ask your lady to receive us?” Winston asked cordially.

  We had to wait quite a while.

  When we were finally shown into the tent, Tonild did not get up out of her chair. Nor did the priest or the broad-shouldered nobleman who occupied the other chairs.

  “I thought we were done,” Tonild said flatly.

  “I’m not here to see you, my lady,” Winston said. Though he was standing stiffly, he sounded relaxed.

  “You’re not?” Tonild sounded surprised. “You do know that this is my tent, do you not?”

  Winston and I had turned our eyes toward her guest. Filling the chair nicely, Osfrid’s brother sat with his legs outstretched and appeared to be quite at ease. While his brother’s hair had been only tinged with gray, Osmund’s was wiry and steely gray all over. Though less fleshy, he had the same ruddy complexion as Osfrid.

  “We’re here regarding your brother-in-law,” Winston said.

  Osmund’s eyes widened, but he didn’t say anything.

  “I’m sorry for your loss,” Winston continued, still sounding cordial.

  Osmund tipped his head slightly forward in response.

  “You’re intruding on our grief,” Tonild said, scolding us more stridently than before.

  “Only because it’s necessary,” Winston said. He hadn’t taken his eyes off Osmund. “I’m looking for a soldier who works for you.”

  “I have a great many soldiers,” Osmund said. He had a deep voice.

  “This one is a Viking,” Winston explained. “His clothes are worn and his doublet has seen better days.”

  Osmund shook his head. “I’m a Saxon. I have no use for lousy Vikings.”

  “An axman,” Winston continued, undeterred.

  “I don’t know him,” Osmund said.

  “And dead,” Winston finally said.

  I trained my eyes on Osmund. Even given the dim light under the canvas of the tent, I would have been willing to swear his face did not twitch once during this exchange.

  I shook my head at Winston, who sighed quietly.

  “Well, surely not dead from disease,” Osmund said. He was teasing us.

  “Killed, in fact,” Winston said.

  “As Vikings are wont to be,” Osmund said. His gaze moved over to me for the first time, coming to rest on my sword belt. “By you?”

  I nodded.

  “Well, then it’s a good day for the Saxons,” Osmund said. “Yesterday the Danes killed my brother; today an English sword has cut one of them down.”

  Clearly he knew nothing of my background.

  “Well, it’s not yet clear who murdered Osfrid,” Winston said, looking around. Tonild, however, pretended not to understand what he was waiting for and continued to make us stand.

  Osmund snorted in response, a snort that he only half stifled for politeness’ sake. Then he said he was sure I had my reasons for killing a Viking in the middle of a town currently under tight lockdown by Cnut’s housecarls.

  I glanced at Winston, who nodded at Osmund. I noticed that Winston seemed to be keeping a close eye on Tonild.

  “The Viking attacked a girl,” I said, speaking aloud for the first time—in Saxon.

  The nobleman’s teeth flashed as he grinned. “Those Viking assholes have a habit of doing that. I suppose she was English?”

  “Yes. It was the lady’s girl,” I said. Like Winston, my eyes were also focused on Tonild, who looked up in concern.

  “My girl?” she asked.

  I nodded.

  “But …” the widow began, looking toward the back of the tent. A woman wearing homespun sat bent over her sewing on a daybed in the very back.

  “A girl you hired here in Oxford,” I explained. “Her name’s Frida.”

  Tonild shook her head, drawing a blank. “Frida?”

  Father Egbert leaned forward and said under his breath, “One of the temporary girls. She was hired to help out while we’re here.”

  The widow seemed very confused. “And what … Why should I … I don’t understand,” she stammered.

  Winston looked at me to signal that we were leaving and then bowed low before Tonild. “I apologize for having taken up your time, my lady,” he said.

  Once outside the tent, we exchanged looks.

  “What now?” Winston asked, scratching his chin.

  “We didn’t get anything out of that,” I said.

  “Maybe not. And yet,” Winston said, smiling to my surprise, “we learned that that priest fellow has an eye for the ladies and knows their names.”

  Chapter 15

  Winston glanced at me when he saw Godskalk waiting for us outside Tonild’s tent. He was clearly wondering if I knew why he was there, which I didn’t. Winston stopped and nodded politely to the housecarl.

  “Do you have any news I can give the king?” Godskalk asked.

  Winston shook his head. “No such luck. But we could use your help.”

  “Of course.”

  “A tall, redheaded warrior by the name of Horik has gone missing. Can your housecarls find him?” Winston asked.

  “They can try,” Godskalk replied.

  I opened my mouth, then closed it again. I was going to remind Winston that Horik’s hair was braided, but then braids can be undone.

  Winston looked out at the throngs of people in the camp and turned to me.

  “The man you killed by the stream, Toste, what about his companions from that night in the hamlet?” he asked.

  “What about them?” I said.

  “Would you recognize them?”

  I thought about it. I hadn’t paid much attention to that pack of masterless Viking dogs; they looked like any other highway robbers.

  “If I were sitting across from them, maybe. Bedraggled ring mail, threadbare clothes, shabby sacks of dung.”

  “Just like scores of others,” Winston said, smiling slightly. He turned back to Godskalk and continued, “In any case, we could also use your help with this matter. We encountered the man who was killed today once before, along with four others.”

  Godskalk nodded. “I heard you tell the king about them.”


  Had he been standing that close to us in the king’s Hall? I remembered it differently—that he’d come rushing over to us only when Cnut yelled for him. But of course, the head of the king’s housecarls was surely never out of the king’s earshot unless he was under specific orders.

  “Your housecarls are everywhere. Do you think they could they find these four men for us?”

  Godskalk laughed. “Find four warriors who look like all the other warriors in this gathering of warriors from all corners of the realm? I doubt it.”

  “The man I killed had a Northumbrian accent,” I said. The housecarl raised his eyebrows at me.

  “Ah well, that certainly narrows it down,” he said, rolling his eyes. “There are probably only a couple of earls, a handful of thanes, a hundred or so lesser noblemen, and who knows who else from Northumbria. And they’ve all brought retinues with them.”

  “Still,” Winston said courteously. “Four masterless men—who are also broke—because otherwise they would hardly have tried to loot that hamlet.”

  “And that’s what they were planning to do?” Godskalk said, suddenly keenly interested.

  Winston and I looked at each other. Truth be told, I had intervened before the Vikings had a chance to make it clear whether they were planning to rob the farmers or pay them for a night’s shelter. But I hesitated because I didn’t want to put my head on the chopping block. Since I couldn’t swear they were there to pillage the place, I made do by saying, “They lied.”

  “As men do,” Godskalk said, bursting out laughing. “Did you expect them to tell the truth?”

  “But they were without a master,” Winston interrupted, “and judging from appearances, impoverished to boot. Could you at least ask the housecarls to keep their eyes open?”

  Godskalk studied Winston for a long time and then nodded.

  “Of course,” he said. He began to turn away but then paused. “Oh, one other thing! The king has demanded that you pay him a visit at dusk.”

  “Thank you, we were already planning on it,” Winston replied, bowing quickly.

  After Godskalk had disappeared down the makeshift footpath, I looked at Winston, who looked back at me, puzzled.

  “This Toste who I killed wasn’t masterless, was he?” I asked.

  Winston’s eyes widened a little.

  “Someone ordered him to kill Frida,” I pointed out.

  “Which means his buddies might be in the service of the same man.”

  “Toste claimed they served Thorkell the Tall.”

  “But he was lying?” Winston asked.

  “I think so,” I said with a shrug.

  “Right. Let’s keep that in mind,” Winston said, looking toward the flap of Tonild’s tent, which had just opened. “The easiest lie to crack is often the one right in front of you.”

  We turned our attention to the people coming out of the tent. Father Egbert emerged first, his hands folded around a cross, and was followed by Osmund’s broad, sword-draped form, then six soldiers who were carrying the bier. Osfrid lay as we had last seen him, dressed magnificently with a sword between his folded hands. Tonild came out of the tent last and walked behind the body, her back straight and her eyes dry.

  Winston and I were intrigued by her lack of tears. “Let’s attend the burial,” he said.

  So, as the procession passed us, we joined it.

  We had to stop at regular intervals on our way through the encampment, in part because the crowd was so thick, but also because many of the English wanted to pay their last respects to the dead by kneeling in silence before the bier for a few moments. Everyone seemed to know who it was—and was probably well aware of how he died.

  Several Vikings paused briefly and nodded at the dead man, and a few even moved their hands over their chests in the sign of the cross. However, none of them knelt before the bier or raised their hands to make the pagan sign of the hammer.

  Our procession moved just as slowly once we entered the town of Oxford itself. The narrow, twisting streets and lanes lined by wattle fences were filled with tradesmen; people pushing carts and handbarrows; women doing their shopping; craftsmen’s apprentices and merchants’ assistants; and soldiers on their way to the taverns, either alone or in the company of girls, who were peddling their services on every corner. Housecarls were visible everywhere, stiffly keeping an eye on everyone.

  Here in town as well, English and Danes alike paid their respects to the bier. I was most struck, however, by the fact that every housecarl straightened and bowed his head as the dead man passed by. Cnut clearly wanted everyone to see that he was sorry that this had happened.

  As the procession crossed the square in front of the Hall on its way to the church, I noticed that the Hall’s door remained closed. The king himself did not step out to pay homage to the dead.

  We reached Saint Frideswide’s and plunged into the cool darkness inside.

  A small gathering was waiting. Everyone knelt as the bier came through. By the time Winston and I found a place to stand off to the right, my eyes had adjusted to the darkness, and I could make out all the faces.

  There were quite a few women, as there always were at such events. I jabbed Winston in the side with my elbow.

  “I think Osfrid might have had a way with the ladies,” I whispered, discreetly pointing out the still-kneeling women.

  “Nonsense,” Winston replied, his voice even quieter than my whisper. “It’s not unusual for devout, newly converted women to show their piety by attending anything that takes place in a church.”

  In addition to the women, I spotted half a dozen clergymen, each of whom had some role to play in the ceremony, judging by their behavior.

  Two Saxon noblemen stood at the very front of the center aisle. After the soldiers had set the bier down before the alter, the two noblemen stepped forward and kneeled briefly before bowing in greeting to the widow and the brother of the deceased. They returned the greeting, though even in the dim light I detected irritation in Tonild’s face.

  Now Winston was the one jabbing me in the side.

  “Those are the brothers-in-law—the brothers of Osfrid’s first wife, Everild,” he said. Now I knew what Winston had been up to while I’d been with Frida.

  Before I could respond, my attention was diverted by a commotion by the front door. A man entered and I reflexively grabbed for my sword before I remembered that all our swords were lined up neatly against the wall of the church outside. My initial thought was that a heathen Viking warrior had been ordered to slay the several temporarily unarmed Saxons in the church. But I was mistaken.

  I recognized the heavy head and stooped silhouette almost before I noticed the wool collar. Archbishop Wulfstan himself had come to do Osfrid the honor of performing the service.

  At first I assumed that Cnut must have sent his archbishop as a sign of his solicitude, but the way Father Egbert, then Tonild, and finally Osmund greeted him made me realize my mistake; it’s quite natural for an English clergyman to want to bury an English nobleman.

  A good deal of mumbling and singing ensued, followed by a few swings of the censer, and some sprinkling of holy water before we eventually left the church, with the dead man in the lead.

  Winston and I hung back, in our unobtrusive position. Amid the flock of pious dry-eyed women, I was startled to see one with tears streaming down her cheeks.

  I was about to point her out to Winston, but saw that he had already noticed her, too. A short while later, as we stood graveside in the grass-covered cemetery, we didn’t take our eyes off her. After Wulfstan had said his final words and sent the dead man to Paradise, purified by intercession and holy water, she stayed on her knees slightly longer than the rest of the group.

  I turned to Winston, but he was watching Tonild, who was walking dispassionately away from the grave. She shot the weeping woman an icy look and then left the cemetery.

  We didn’t speak until we were back in front of the church.

  “Was that woman goi
ng to be Osfrid’s third wife?” I asked as I put my sword belt back on.

  Winston bit his lip thoughtfully. “Maybe.”

  “What did you find out about the brothers-in-law?” I asked, thinking he would be impressed that I had guessed what he had been up to.

  “Not enough, but I’m not done yet,” Winston said. Suddenly he turned serious. “Follow her and find out if our guess is correct.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “You didn’t notice, but Osfrid’s former brothers-in-law didn’t leave with Tonild and Osmund. I’m thinking the brothers-in-law are probably on their way to some tavern. Since I’m thirsty anyway, I figure a seat at their table might tell me what I want to know.”

  I was thirsty, too. But the prospect of comforting a grieving young woman was more appealing than even the fullest tankard of ale, so I nodded to Winston and set off. I found the woman walking slowly down one of the narrow lanes.

  Chapter 16

  I had the impression she was fairly young when I saw her in the cemetery, but now that I was following her from behind, I could tell that she was older than I’d first thought, despite her bouncy gait and swaying hips. She walked with purpose and dignity, elegantly maneuvering around all the piles of manure and various other obstacles, finally stopping where an alley intersected with the narrow street we were on.

  In three long strides, I caught up to her and could see her face. She had a broad forehead, gray eyes, a slightly plump nose, and a heavy chin. Though the hair that peeked out from beneath her head linen was dark and full, fine wrinkles around her eyes and the corners of her mouth revealed her age.

  Over thirty, in my opinion.

  Seemingly lost in her own thoughts, she didn’t notice me looking at her. After carefully checking that no one was coming down the alley from either side, she continued straight on the narrow street.

  I fell back a few steps and followed her without difficulty. Now I focused on her clothes. Her head covering, I noticed, was covered with fine embroidery. I noted the high quality of the weaving in her cape and the weight of the cloth in her dress. In her blue dress, red cape and pale leather shoes, she looked, all in all, like the sort of upper-class woman who would appeal to a man like Osfrid—but her age? I rejected the idea that she was meant to replace Tonild in Osfrid’s bed.