A Pound of Flesh

by Susan Wright

  As we made our way through the meandering streets, Londinium reminded me of the overlord’s bastion in Viinland, writ large. The shops and houses faced each other so closely there was barely room for a cart to maneuver between them. Through the occasional gate or alleyway, we could see yards beyond the walls, with gardens, trees, and outbuildings. Mist hung heavily in the air, muting the colors and making the outlines of everything seem fuzzy.

  When we arrived at the waterfront, Lexander went straight to a big-bellied merchant ship that rode high on the water. It looked battered but serviceable. There were a number of olfs hanging about, examining the off-loaded cargo and tripping up people who were passing by.

  The shipmaster emerged from a cabin belowdecks. He was a small man, nearly two heads shorter than Lexander. With his leathery skin and prominent nose, he was as spare as if he had been carved from a wooden post.

  They had obviously talked before, because Lexander omitted any preamble. "When are you to sail?"

  The shipmaster pushed at his short hair that was standing up in stiff locks. He spoke the Noromenn’s tongue with a drawling accent. "There’s no telling now. We’ve reports of knaars full of warriors blocking the mouth of the river. More than fifty all told."

  "Massing to attack?" Lexander asked. "That’s hardly enough to threaten the conqueror. Especially if he takes a stand in the fortress."

  "They’ve shut down Londinium and blocked trade," the shipmaster said. "The conqueror will have to act to open the waterways, and soon."

  I realized that the shipmaster was also Frankish, and therefore must be supportive of the new overlord.

  Lexander nodded sympathetically. "I’m sure the residents are pressuring him for fear of what vikingr would do in Londinium."

  "The town surrendered to the conqueror when he arrived to escape a burning," the shipmaster agreed with a short laugh. " ’Tis sure they’ll not want to risk themselves in defending their new master. But if Swegn’s warbands head upriver, we’ll slip down along the shore so as not to be caught between them."

  "In that case, I’ll want passage for myself and my slave," Lexander said.

  "If you’re here when we depart, you can sail for the price we’ve agreed on," the shipmaster acknowledged. "But I can’t be held waiting for you."

  "Send the boy to Becksbury, but he’s only to speak to me," Lexander replied. "No one else."

  The shipmaster snorted in something that could be considered agreement. But I got the distinct impression that he cared little about passengers, and he wouldn’t hesitate to flee without us if the need rose.

  Indeed, Lexander frowned as we left the waterfront. I refrained from questioning him, because that would be out of character for a slave. A rough boy whom I’d seen in the kitchens of Becksbury was hiding among barrels on the wharf watching us.

  Lexander must have sensed my unease, because he quietly said, "Let’s go to the fortress to see how the conqueror fares."

  The riverfront was unusually busy, yet there was no sense of frantic haste or panic about the massing Noroships downriver. People were rude, shouting and shoving one another, but not violent. Olfs darted among them, cheerfully adding to the mayhem. Lexander tried to shelter me through the throngs, and it took some effort to reach the end of the street.

  The fortress rose up in the fog before us, with a few windows facing over the river and the town. Men stood along the crenellated top peering down. The buttresses that ran up the sides were nearly as thick as the walls themselves, supporting the immense weight of stones and mortar.

  The muddy ground from the ongoing construction was interspersed with clusters of sheds and barns. Among them were men enough for a dozen warbands, and the waterfront was crowded with their boats. Everyone was wearing leather armor and most were sharpening or mending their weapons. It certainly looked like a battle in the making to my appalled eyes.

  Lexander cursed under his breath as he tried to withdraw, keeping ourselves from being pulled deeper into the fortress yard. I understood why—we had already seen the worst. There would be a fight, but whether it took place in town or on the river remained to be seen. And in the midst of so many short, dark-haired Franks, Lexander was at risk. He looked like a Noromann because of his height.

  Lexander pushed our way out, heading back into town. We followed a wide thoroughfare away from the waterfront. It was filled with people and carts, some pulled by donkeys or small horses.

  The close-packed buildings opened into a large muddy square. A market was briskly underway on the far side.

  I kept a watch out for the Becksbury kitchen boy, but we must have lost him in the crowd by the fortress. Lexander relaxed as if pressure had been lifted from him, giving me a brief smile.

  In one corner of the market stood a stone structure, not as massive as the fortress but on a similar scale. The pale gray walls rose several times higher than the houses around us, solid and powerful, with only a single row of arched windows near the roof. A tall pointed tower rose at one end, with a cluster of slender points thrusting into the sky around it.

  "What is it?" I asked.

  "A Kristna sanctuary," Lexander replied.

  I gaped up at it, astonished at the size. In Issland, the land had been ravaged because the people had turned away from the gods to worship Kristna alone. But here, the olfs had no compunction at popping into the sanctuary itself and swinging from the decorative carvings around the door.

  I extended myself into the olfs to try to understand. Many generations of people had lived on this riverbank, weaving their inua into the fabric of the world. They had always given abundant praise to the sun and the wind and the rain, so the olfs prospered. Perhaps if Silveta had kept her bargain with Issland and brought clerics to my homeland, Kristna would not have subsumed everything else. But as I took another look up the towering walls, I still doubted. Why did a god need a sanctuary second only in might to the conqueror’s fortress?

  Lexander saw my curiosity, and with a quirked lip, he led me up the steps. It was brighter inside than I had expected, and my gaze was drawn up to the arched ceiling far overhead. It was so high that it seemed a place fitting for a god. Slender columns marched the length of the sanctuary, with the arches between them leading to narrow corridors that ran the length of the building.

  The clean, chiseled stone reflected every sound, echoing voices into a finely sustained, high-pitched tone, like the walls themselves were humming.

  It wasn’t until Lexander drew me down the side corridor that my tension eased. I couldn’t feel the presence of Kristna in this place, but there was no mass worship under way as I had observed in Issland.

  My feet scuffed over the carved runes in some of the floor stones. Each wall niche was brightly painted with ingenious scenes of miniature buildings and people. They were veritable windows into distant places, much like the visions the sea spirits showed me. It was quite beguiling, but I was still not tempted to let a god take up residence inside of me as the Kristna followers did.

  "Kristna holds great power here," I murmured.

  "Not as much as in the Holy Empire, but certainly Kristna followers here have a great deal of wealth. The conqueror is a supporter of Kristna, as many Frankish people are, so likely the influence of the clerics will grow—" He stopped as if struck, staring up at a scene of a naked man and woman. "It’s said the conqueror brought a new bishop to Danelaw, one of his own loyal men."

  I was not surprised that the dreaded conqueror was also a Kristna follower. Surely he would be eager to share the piece of god inside of him with everyone here. I only hoped the olfs could withstand such a siege.

  Lexander gestured to the scene on the wall. The unclothed man and woman were standing among the trees, reaching out their hands to each other. Their dreamy expressions made it seem as if they were about to kiss. "This scene shows the Kristna legend of when men were once godlings, and how they lost that part of themselves."

  "So that’s why they allow Kristna inside them," I exclai
med. "They believe that he belongs there."

  "They claim it was a woman’s fault that they lost Kristna. She used her sensual wiles to tempt her mate into forsaking the godly part of themselves. They flaunted their freedom and lured others into their abandoned state. That’s why Kristna clerics are celibate. They believe it’s the only way to avoid the temptation of this earthly realm."

  My mouth fell open. There was nothing the olfs loved more than a good rutting. I could not believe any god would reject that life-building force.

  "How do you know this?" I asked.

  "I spent two decades in the Veneto house. We were surrounded by the Holy Empire on every shore, so I had to learn the ways of Kristna." His hands tightened into fists. "I can use Kristna to bring down Becksbury. If we can make the bishop fear for his eternal salvation, he will muster all of his power against the pleasure house."

  "But I thought Becksbury was a great manor, like Vidaris."

  "Ukerald has isolated himself," Lexander explained. "He’s made no ties with the leading families. How could he when there have been three claimants on Danelaw in the past decade? If Becksbury is not aligned with anyone, they cannot be brought down by their opposition. But that is also a weakness."

  "They have no allies," I agreed.

  "Not among the ruling class. But from what I can tell, they take in many more slaves than they send to Stanbulin. They must be selling the slaves who are not fit to the gentry, perhaps even to merchants."

  My heart ached for the poor children they’d pulled off the streets and tortured into oblivion. Someone like Olvid would surely be sold here in Danelaw, rather than sent to Stanbulin with the more polished slaves. Perhaps the other failures became the slaves I had seen around Becksbury, like the collared gatekeeper. "Do you really think Kristna will help us save them?"

  Lexander actually smiled. "You seduce the bishop, Marja, and I’ll take care of the rest."

  8

  The bishop’s residence was next to the great sanctuary, an imposing house made of the same pale gray stone. The entryway was capped by a small spire just like the one over the door of the sanctuary.

  Lexander announced his need to see the bishop with such authority that he wasn’t challenged. Inside, one archway led to an altar. A statuette of a robed woman stood in a niche in the wall. There were other signs of worship—kneelers on the floor and several crystal and silver chalices on a wooden shelf. An olf or two drifted inside, watching us curiously. But most darted off to the market throng, where they could filch bits of food and drink.

  Lexander took my cloak along with his own and handed it to a servant. The bishop arrived soon enough. He was a man in middle years with pronounced round cheeks and a swelling belly. His florid health reminded me of Birgir, but the bishop was dark where Birgir was pale. For a Frankish man, he was quite imposing.

  He went to the ornate chair in the center of the room and sat down, his movements deliberately slow. I was reminded of Jedvard, the Viinland overlord, for a moment.

  Lexander wasted no time in coming to the point. "I am Lexander of Becksbury. I’ve come to negotiate for asylum for my house."

  "Asylum?" the bishop countered. "From whom do you flee?"

  Lexander raised one brow. "Noromenn warriors are preparing to invade Londinium. Surely you must be aware of the fleet that has gathered at the mouth of the river?"

  Lexander’s sneer was so open that my eyes widened. ’Twas most unlike him to reveal disdain for other people. He had treated even Helanas with courtesy.

  "One could say that sentiment is treason," the bishop retorted. His hands were in constant motion, fiddling with his robe. He had left his homeland to ally himself with the conqueror; he must have some unsatisfied ambitions.

  "We all must take precautions," Lexander said. "The conqueror has built a fortress for himself. I’m sure he wouldn’t be surprised to see the town in flames by morning."

  "Do you doubt the might of the conqueror?" the bishop demanded.

  Lexander ignored the obvious signs of his displeasure, stepping forward conspiratorially. "Come, my man, let us be reasonable. You have sacred ground on which few would step. I need to protect myself and my cohorts, along with our slaves. By staying here, we need not fear looters and raiders."

  Lexander let his eyes wander up, indicating he expected to be housed in the bishop’s own home. It was audacious, verging on insulting. Hospitality was given, not demanded.

  The bishop glared at Lexander. He was a proud man, but his post was newly gained. "I’ve heard something of Becksbury," he declared flatly. "Surely you know your trade is an abomination in the eyes of any man who follows Kristna."

  "So you say," Lexander said with a wink. "But any man would agree that he is well paid when he receives gold coins and the delight of a warmed bed at night."

  Lexander glanced at me. Seduce him, had been his order.

  I went forward, lowering myself as I approached, letting the bishop see how willing I was to abase myself. On my knees before him, I kept my head bowed as I lifted my hands to my breasts to offer myself to him. The low-cut gown girdled tightly at my waist showed off the flare of my hips. I moved slowly, sinuously, as if I could weave my way into his very inua and make him desire me.

  When I finally gazed up at him, his nostrils flared in resentment. I let my eyes linger, knowing this man wanted to strike back, to battle my allure, to ultimately conquer me.

  I slipped the neck of my dress off my shoulders, letting it slide slowly down over my breasts. With a slight breath, my nipples pulled free, tightening in the chill, moist air.

  For a moment, he wanted me fiercely. Then rage took over. His hand swung back, and I flinched, knowing he was going to hit me.

  Lexander stepped in, blocking the bishop’s arm. His voice was remarkably light. "Now, Bishop, you can do whatever you fancy with her. But first I must have your agreement that my house can take up residence with you until this crisis has passed."

  "Never!" the bishop shouted. He stood up and thrust Lexander’s hand off him. "You dare insult me on ground consecrated to Kristna! Becksbury will rue the day you thought to tempt me."

  Lexander pulled me up, shaking me as if I was on display. "This is what men want, Bishop. You and every other man. We supply pleasure, and even you cannot do without that."

  The bishop was red in the face. "I call upon you always to dread the Day of Judgment and every day to have before your eyes the moment of your death! Consider the condition in which you are seen in the eyes of our God."

  I wondered if Lexander had gone too far and the bishop would have us seized as blasphemers.

  Lexander inclined his head. "If that is your last word, then I will trouble you no further."

  I pulled up my dress as he accepted our cloaks from a wide-eyed servant. From the bishop’s reaction, I was certain he did not forgo the delights of sensual pleasure. He had responded to me, desiring me with a dark intensity that would have made me tremble if I’d had to bed him. But the servant thought his master truly lived without women.

  Back outside with the sanctuary looming over us, Lexander kept his pose of the perfect master as he murmured, "Well done, Marja. Now let’s complete the task and force it into the open. He won’t be able to ignore Becksbury for long when we’ve gone to every sanctuary in town and made them a similar offer."

  We spent the next two days visiting Kristna sanctuaries. Lexander insulted everyone we encountered, astutely judging the best way to irritate each man.

  Indeed, they were all men. We saw few women among those who served the Kristna clerics. Yet, in spite of the belief that women were responsible for the loss of their god, some clerics lived with consorts and had begotten large families. These men were not averse to helping the pleasure house. One cleric who watched over a humble shack not far from Becksbury was very interested in me, reaching out to stroke my hand. I drew closer, sitting on his lap and pressing my thigh against his thickened tarse.

  Lexander was hard-pressed to insu
lt this cleric, who was willing to take both coins and flesh in return for giving us shelter during the coming crisis. But Lexander dismissed the man’s house as a hovel, and declared the only suitable place for the Becksbury gentry was in the bishop’s home. He gave the man enough to wet his greed, but not enough to satisfy him, insisting that he convince the bishop to help them.

  We also ventured outside the town walls and visited a Kristna abbey where the followers had chosen to live in seclusion, devoting themselves entirely to the worship of their god. The cleric who ran the abbey drew back at the first sight of me, hardly able to bear my presence, as if his religious convictions had subsumed his reason. When Lexander saw that, he began to treat the abbot as if he were a lover of men, standing too close and reaching out to touch the man’s arm as he spoke. The abbot hardly gave Lexander a moment’s hearing before clerics in hooded black robes were ushering us out. Their faces were forbidding as we were escorted directly to the gate.

  To all, Lexander intimated that the bishop was open to our bribe, including a roll or two with me, but he was not being flexible enough in his negotiations. It ensured that our uncouth efforts would reach the man with the power to destroy Becksbury.

  Lexander paid a handful of boys to watch the sanctuary and the fortress to keep him informed. They reported in periodically at the cookshops and taverns we frequented. Too many Becksbury servants were seen in the same vicinity, indicating Ukerald was keeping a watch on our doings. We avoided him by taking our meals outside the manor, leaving early and returning late.

  But by the third morning, as we woke in each other’s arms, Lexander murmured, "It’s time to face Ukerald."

  I nodded, having expected it. "When do you think the bishop will act against Becksbury?"

  "It depends on how determined Swegn is. If nothing is happening on that front, then the conqueror may lend his support to the bishop."

  "And if the Noromenn do invade Londinium?" I asked.

  "Then we shall be in the midst of a war. I shall waste no more time on Ukerald and Drucelli."