by Betina Krahn
Saxxe stumbled to the bed and sat down. The soft feather mattress billowed around him, and he ran a callused hand over the fine linens, then down the silken bed hangings. In all his travels, he had never seen anything more appealing than this unexpected little jewel of a kingdom. Mercia, they called it. He had never heard of it, he suspected few people had. Not even in his dreams of a kingdom of his own, had he—
A kingdom of his own.
He shoved abruptly to his feet and made a circuit of the chamber, touching the colorful weavings and stroking the polished stone and wood. His hands began to tremble and his heart beat faster.
Marriage. King. The chancellor’s words echoed in his head and heart. A kingdom of his own was his heart’s desire, and this ripe little plum of a realm had a royal vacancy! All that was required was marrying its prickly but eminently desirable princess.
That thought stopped him cold.
“Dieu, Rouen, you are a dreamer. What could possibly make wealthy, refined Thera of Aric marry a crude, penniless barbarian like you?” He gave a pained laugh at the horror that prospect would conjure in Thera, and answered himself: “Only a bloody miracle.”
* * *
Cedric hurried straight from Saxxe’s quarters to the council chamber in the north wing and found the place in turmoil. His fellow councilors were pacing and arguing, shaking fingers and heads at one another. They descended on him with a vengeance the instant he stepped through the doors.
“Did you speak with her?” Elder Mattias demanded.
“Three nights! What in God’s name possessed her to promise him such a thing?” fastidious Elder Gawain proclaimed. “Why, it’s indecent!”
“What sort of man would go about without a tunic?” Elder Margarete declared. “And that beard—he looks like he’s carrying around a litter of hedgehogs!”
“Is he locked in—are we safe?” ancient Elder Agnes asked in her reedy tones.
“Sons of Thunder—did you see that sword?” barrel-chested Elder Hubert crowed, shaking an exuberant fist. “Longer than a man’s stride. Now there’s a worthy blade!”
Aghast at the turmoil of the usually dignified council, Cedric raised his hands in self-defense and headed straight for the chancellor’s chair. “Let us have order here—order!” He held up his hands for silence. “Look at you, acting like quarrelsome children.” After a stunned moment, the chaos subsided and the elders retreated to the circle of chairs with mutters and reddened faces.
“I have spoken with our . . . guest. He was left to bathe and don proper garments”—he nodded to Agnes—“well away from here, in the east wing. From my brief encounter with him and the fact that he has brought the princess back to us, safe and sound, I do not believe we need fear him. He is a soldier for hire, born at Rouen in Normandy, and is called Saxxe Rouen. And it seems he rescued Princess Thera not just once but at least five times . . . from at least three different perils.”
“I said she never should have gone on that journey,” aged Elder Fenwick declared, raising a gnarled finger. “Said it would bring naught but trouble.”
At the word trouble, every person present had the same thought leap to mind. It was the chief woman among them, Elder Audra, who gave voice to their common thought.
“It’s the prophecy, that’s what,” she said, rising from her chair. “The ancient scrolls do not lie. The princess’s difficulties on the journey were but a partial fulfillment of the prophecy. Mark my word, there will be more trouble in the days ahead . . . caused by her empty marriage bed and empty throne. This barbarian she has brought back to Mercia is only the start of our difficulties.”
“She should have stayed in Mercia and married amongst her people,” Margarete insisted, “and not meddled with the outside world.”
Stout, ruddy-faced Hubert rose to his feet and punched a thick finger at Audra. “You and those wretched prophecies,” he said with disgust. “Did you not hear Cedric? The man is a soldier . . . a fighting man, not some wild savage.”
“And perhaps it is a stroke of good luck, not bad, him being here. After all, he did rescue the princess five times,” Elder Mattias added. “I personally accompanied his horse to the stables and—saints!—it is a most magnificent animal. A great Norman stallion . . . gray as fog, with hooves as big as cart wheels and ballocks the size of melons! If we could get the fellow to stay a fortnight, we would have a crop of foals next spring that would—”
“You and your wretched horses!” Margarete snapped. “We are speaking of our princess’s virtue, Mattias! That great brute has laid claim to it.”
“Well, I say let him have it,” Mattias said irritably, drawing gasps of outrage from a number of the women councilors. He pulled in his chin defensively. “Well, a fat lot of good it has done us to have her hoard it!”
“Mattias may be right,” Hubert declared. “After all, it was her that promised him the nights. And she cannot refuse to honor her word.”
“She loathes the barbarian . . . anyone can see that,” Margarete insisted. “How could she possibly bed him even once, much less three nights!”
“And three nights . . . that is almost halfway to seven!” Elder Jeanine declared.
Seven. The number gave them all pause. If Thera did honor her word, the barbarian would be almost halfway to being their king.
Margarete turned to Cedric. “You spoke with him. Is there any chance he might be persuaded to take something else as his payment instead?”
Cedric sighed, thinking back to Saxxe’s righteous anger and emphatic words. “Princess Thera has already tried that, I believe, and succeeded only in rousing both his anger and determination. I believe he intends to make a point of holding her to her exact word.” Around the chamber, there was sighing, fidgeting, and shifting on seats.
“Well, I for one do not intend to sit by and watch our future queen devoured by some lustful beast,” Audra declared, crossing her arms. “I say we should search the sacred scrolls and prophecies for guidance. They have always provided it. There must be some way for her to escape so vile a bargain . . . some exception to the rule of Truth. And we must find it. Who goes with me?”
Shortly, a small contingent of women led by Elders Audra and Jeanine were traipsing out of the council chambers, headed for the kingdom’s archives, located in the maze of caverns below the church. Cedric watched them go with a sigh. He held out little hope for any help from the sacred scrolls. In his experience the voices of the ancients were more likely to make trouble than to alleviate it.
“What do you think, Cedric?” Elder Gawain asked as the remaining elders drifted to other parts of the palace and out into the city, still arguing.
“I think,” Cedric said with a thoughtful expression, “that there is a good bit we do not know about this ‘barbarian’ and our princess.” He thought of the possessive way Saxxe had held Thera against him and of the nights of pleasure she had promised him. And he wondered about her nights on the journey. His face lighted slowly with a small, cherubic smile. “And I think it will be most interesting finding out.”
* * *
Just at sunset that evening, as the Vesper bells rang drowsily over the valley and servants hurried about the private dining hall, setting torches and oil lamps high on columns around the walls, Thera emerged from her chambers. She had spent long, restless hours that afternoon trying to adjust to her reimmersion in royal life. It should have been wonderful, being back in her spacious, comfortable quarters, bathing, resting on her huge feather-soft bed, eating something besides dry oats and charred rabbit. But it wasn’t wonderful, and it didn’t take a sage to understand why.
He was here, in Mercia . . . in her palace and in her mind and heart. And his presence changed things in ways she didn’t want to think about. She had fully intended to leave the woman in her outside Mercia’s borders, and he had come barging in after her, dragging her womanly desires with him. What in Heaven’s name was she going to do now? How was she to deal with him and his unthinkable demands?
&
nbsp; By the time she called for Lillith and left her quarters for her private dining hall, she was gowned in her finest embroidered tunic and her most royal-looking surcoat, made of white silk and spun gold woven together. Her burnished hair was braided with strands of pearls and wrapped into elaborate coils at each side of her head, and she wore her ceremonial coronet . . . a thick circlet of gold embellished with small, stylized oak leaves. She intended to appear as regal and dignified as possible tonight, for she knew the elders would have questions about her abduction and the outrageous reward she had been forced to promise her rescuer.
Waving aside the page at the door, she entered the large dining chamber where generations of Mercia’s kings and queens had dined with their Councils of Elders. In the center of that hall stood a great circular table designed to allow the royal couple to see and to converse with all of their advisers and guests without straining. Tonight the table was draped with fine linen, set with silver goblets, and festooned with garlands of evergreens.
A number of her elders stood near the door, waiting, and they met her with words of welcome and relief. She greeted them warmly, one by one, until she lifted her gaze and halted mid-word.
On the far side of the chamber, standing like a dark colossus, wearing cross braces and skin breeches and not a bit more, was Saxxe Rouen. His legs were spread, his massive arms were crossed, and he was staring at her as if she were tinder and he intended to start a flame with his gaze. Her face reddened in spite of her and she turned on Cedric, who had just hurried to her side.
“What is he doing here?” she demanded.
“The council requested his presence, Princess . . . to hear a full accounting of your journey and valiant rescue,” Cedric answered diplomatically, searching her reaction to her rescuer. She could scarcely refuse the council’s request without it seeming she had something to hide. She turned a narrow look on her earnest chancellor.
“Did I or did I not give instructions that he was to be bathed thoroughly and clothed decently?”
“Indeed you did, Princess,” Cedric said with a pained glance at Saxxe’s near nakedness. “I sent Ranulf, the chief steward, and Edwin, my own body servant, to see to it.” He paused, swallowed hard, and leaned toward her with an apologetic whisper. “He threatened to bite off their ears and have them for supper if they so much as laid a hand on him.”
She studied Saxxe’s savage appearance and defiant pose, and honestly couldn’t blame Cedric’s men for running in fear of their lives. Saxxe looked as if he was ready to rip out one of his daggers and carve some one into ribands. And from the glare trained on her, she could guess who he would prefer to make his first victim.
Saxxe was equally annoyed by Thera’s appearance. He had just arrived and was surveying the handsome carved chairs and the fine silver and linen on the unusual table, when he looked up to find her floating into the dining chamber like a vision . . . stately and regal and utterly untouchable. The warm glow of the oil lamps cast a golden radiance over her skin and turned her hair to a burnished halo that rivaled her crown. The gold wire embroidery of her elaborate surcoat shimmered with every movement she made, like the sun dancing on waves. She was breathtaking. . . out of the reach of ordinary mortals. And the look she had just given him proclaimed him far below “ordinary” in her estimate.
As soon as Thera was seated, the elders took their places along the great table for the serving to begin. Saxxe and Gasquar were shown to seats directly opposite Thera. They sank onto the chairs as if straddling a bench, with their legs braced for fight or flight.
Thera was fiercely aware of Saxxe’s glowering gaze trained upon her, but was determined not to let it make a difference to her. She turned to Cedric, and when she spoke, other conversation in the chamber damped considerably.
“On the journey home, we found the village of LeBeau overrun by a band of cutthroats and thieves. They had burned and looted the houses, and I am sure some of the villagers were killed.” Cedric and her elders reacted with shock and dismay, and she had to raise her hands for silence. “I cannot say what might have happened to Thomas Rennet and his family, but we must send help . . . food and covering for those who survived. And we must bring Thomas and his family back to Mercia straightaway.”
Cedric nodded soberly. “Some of our traders will surely want to go. They have all stayed with Thomas on their journeys and are used to traveling that road.”
“A good thought. They will need food and blankets,” she said, looking to Elder Margarete, who lowered her head briefly, accepting the task. “And whatever tools may be spared for rebuilding,” she charged burly Elder Hubert, who nodded gravely. Then she turned to Elder Mattias with: “And pack animals and riding mounts for Thomas’s family.”
In a moment it was settled, a quick and regal bit of command and delegation . . . a glimpse of the imperial Thera at the duty for which she had been born and raised. The scowl deepened on Saxxe’s face as what he had just witnessed shed new light on Thera’s conduct on their journey. Picked up by fate and set down in circumstances that would have undone most other mortals, she had maintained her self-possession and tried to assert whatever control she could in the situation. Her arrogance, her determination, her stubborn secretiveness . . . they all made sense to him now. She was a princess. A ruler.
He felt a strange, spreading hollowness in his chest.
The servants had entered with pitchers of wine and terrines of soup and trays of bread, and when he was served, he hauled the servant back by the arm and took the wine pitcher from him, filling and draining the delicate silver goblet twice, as if trying to fill that disconcerting emptiness inside him. And when the soup, a tasty brewet, was poured into the écuelles, which were normally shared by two diners, he seized the nearest vessel, hoisted it, and began to devour its contents without benefit of a spoon. As the aromas of barley, sage, and chicken filled his head and the soup filled his belly, his tension subsided and his thoughts shifted to more immediate and comforting concerns.
“Food,” he said with a low groan, and Gasquar grinned back at him. “Whatever else happens tonight, we’ll eat like kings!”
But in fact, as everyone else present would later attest, they ate like barbarians . . . and starving ones, at that. They tore hunks from loaves of bread, rubbed them around in a nearby crock of butter, and stuffed their cheeks, chewing doggedly. When the braised trout was served, they each snagged several and were so entranced by the buttery, peppery flavor that they consumed the fish without much regard for bones or for the niceties of using an eating knife or finger towel.
As the courses rolled on, whatever was on a platter or in a terrine when it reached them became their portion, and they consumed it down to the last morsel. Eating utensils lay unused on the linen as they stuffed and slurped their way through the greens, the stuffed quail with cream gravy, and the pottage of leeks, apples, and cabbage. They preferred their own huge daggers when hacking off pieces of steamed capon, and their fingers when fishing around in the gravy for bits of roasted pork. Platters, bowls, soggy trenchers, and bones accumulated on the table and the floor around them . . . even as horror collected on Thera’s face.
It was bad enough that she was forced to suffer him at her table, she thought with a groan, but she had to watch him making a glutton of himself as well. In recent days, she had forgotten his brutish behavior of that first night they were together. Now, seeing her elders’ reactions, her first impressions of him came back to her with a vengeance. She flushed and downed the rest of her wine as she recalled the reasons for her forgetting . . . the fact that she had taken pleasure from those hands and lips now covered with grease and gravy.
“Dieu!” Saxxe crowed minutes later, sinking his teeth into a pasty filled with apples and raisins. “This reminds me of that fruited roll they make in Bern,” he addressed Gasquar with a mouth full of sweetmeats. “What did they call it?” He swallowed and took another massive bite.
“I cannot recall. Stuben . . . struzen . . . something,
” Gasquar answered, engulfing another mouthful of the stuff.
Saxxe paused to cut off another hunk of mild white cheese and suddenly became aware of the intense silence around him. He froze.
Raising his head, he found more than a score of faces turned his way, bearing expressions ranging from astonishment to disgust. He looked to Thera and found her eyes glowing with angry heat . . . and realized that he was bent over his food, with his mouth stuffed so full that his cheeks bulged. As he straightened, his awareness widened to include the vessels and platters, the bones, crusts, and debris piled on the table and floor around him.
Red crept up his neck and into his face. It had been so long since he had eaten at a civilized table, in civilized company . . . and the food had been like a long-awaited dream come true.... He glanced at Gasquar and found him stuffing his face, saw the pastry juice joining the grease glistening on his beard. Suddenly he had difficulty swallowing.
“More wine for our guests.” Thera’s voice, though not loud, seemed to ring out over the silent chamber. She pinned him with a piercing glare. “And by all means, they must have another platter of pork . . . there must be a pig left somewhere in the kingdom undevoured.”
Her words stung. Embarrassed by his great hunger and crude manner, and feeling shamed in a way he hadn’t experienced in years, he raised his stoutest defense . . . which was, of course, his most barbaric behavior.
“Nay, that will not be necessary,” he declared. Glancing at wide-eyed Elder Hubert, who was seated closest to him, he smiled wickedly. “This good fellow seems to have lost his appetite. And you know how I feel about wasting food.”
He leaned brazenly over a stack of soggy trenchers to spear the roast capon on Hubert’s trencher with his dagger, and he proceeded to devour it with zest as a shocked murmur raced around the chamber.
