Sandra Hill - [Vikings I 02]

by The Outlaw Viking

  Twice, he repeated that motion, then proceeded to do the same in the area just below her breasts, which had developed an aching need to be touched. Each time he reached forward under her arms to stretch the cloth behind her, Rain felt his warm breath against her shoulder and choked back a groan of pleasure. Once, his knuckles brushed the underside of her right breast, and Rain felt the shock of the slight caress ricochet all the way to her toes.

  When he was ready to bind the breasts themselves, he moved behind her. “I will have to pull hard. It may hurt.”

  Rain thought the need to be touched was much more hurtful than any pressure from a flimsy cloth could be. When he carefully drew the strip across the middle of her breasts, he asked, softly, “Is that too tight?”

  The tickle of Selik’s breath against the nape of her neck was Rain’s first clue that he was standing so close, peering over her shoulder.

  “It must be tighter still, I see. The nipples are still visible.”

  Rain inhaled sharply. “Is this necessary?”

  “Yea, ’tis,” he said, jerking the cloth tighter, creating a delicious, quick, abrasive caress across her sensitized breasts. Rain could barely stifle a moan. Then he wrapped the cloth around her several more times, pulling painfully tight. Finally, he tied the ends together and moved around to the front of her, surveying the results. He made a soft clucking sound of dismay. “’Twill have to do, but are your nipples always so large?”

  No, you fool, only when you are staring at them and pulling a scrap of silk across them so seductively.

  She started to reply, then noticed the edges of his lips twitching with suppressed laughter as he lifted the amber beads in his hand, his knuckles grazing her chest. Apparently, he’d known all along how uncomfortable she was under his scrutiny and near-caresses. And he enjoyed it immensely. “Oh, you are a brute.” She reached for her blouse to put it back on, but Selik held her back.

  “I have a priest’s robe and shoes for you as well.”

  Somehow, Selik had found a smaller version of the same robe he wore. After she was fully clothed and had skinned back and braided her hair beneath the hood, she looked first at him, then at herself. With a soft giggle, she commented, “We look like Mutt and Jeff.”

  Selik tilted a brow in question, but Rain just shook her head, knowing it would be impossible to explain the comic strip characters to the Viking. Rain had a sudden, enticing image in her head of Selik lying on her king-sized bed on a lazy Sunday afternoon, coffee in one hand and the comics in the other.

  A few moments later, they were making their way through the busy streets of Jorvik. Because of the short distance, they walked. Besides, Selik feared that two priests riding horseback through the city would attract too much attention.

  “Must you jiggle your arse so much?” he cautioned once. “Remember, you are supposed to be a monk, not a dockside tart.”

  “I do not jiggle.”

  “Hah! And stop touching my sleeve when you want to call my attention to every blessed everyday event happening in the streets. People will think us sodomites.”

  If he only knew how she restrained herself! Rain wanted to loop her arm with his and rest her head on his shoulder. All her new feelings for him bubbled inside her, threatening to overflow each time she accidentally brushed against him or saw some particularly interesting sight in the fascinating city.

  “And I warn you, Rain, do not interfere with aught you see at the hospitium. I care not if they have better healing methods in your country. You are not to tell the culdees how to heal. At the least hint of unnatural talents, the priests could imprison you for practicing black arts.”

  “Selik, I’m here to learn, but if I can help—”

  “One other thing—many of the clergy have a contempt for womanhood. Even if you are the best healer in the world, they would spit in the face of any advice a female would give them. To them, women are the gates leading good men to hell.”

  Rain couldn’t remain silent now. “The gates—oh, that’s so unfair! As if women have the power to lead men anywhere! And who’s responsible, in the priests’ eyes, for a woman’s downfall?”

  Selik grinned. “No one, I presume, since women—the daughters of Eve—are born with the sin of seduction bred in them.”

  Rain shoved Selik in the arm with disgust, uncaring if any passersby saw one priest touching another in an intimate fashion. He made her so mad.

  “Do not take your ill humors out on me. I merely relate what the priests preach from their pulpits.”

  “But you love it, don’t you?”

  “Me?” Selik said with a widespread palm to his chest and exaggerated affront in his voice.

  Rain turned away from him in disgust. Once again, she’d reacted to his baiting just as he’d planned. She decided to ignore him and take in all the amazing sights instead.

  But soon Rain’s initial wonder over the bustling market city faded as she began to see the wanton destruction caused by the Saxon assaults and the resulting squalor. Part of the city walls had been battered down and homes burnt to the ground. Worse, a large number of people seemed to be homeless, begging for food or coins.

  “Selik, why are there so many children on the streets?”

  His jaw tensed at her question. “They are orphans, by-products of the Saxon carnage.”

  “But why aren’t they being helped?”

  “By whom?” he scoffed.

  “Other people who’ve survived.”

  “Many of them have trouble enough surviving themselves.”

  “And the churches—”

  “—are too busy feeding their bloated coffers. Bloody hell! There is enough gold in one of their fine chalices to feed the city for a week.”

  “How about the government?”

  “There is none now. The Norse king was exiled, as you know, and Athelstan has not yet appointed a new Saxon ruler.” He shrugged. “Even so, the government would not help such worthless curs.” He pointed to some nearby children huddled in an alley.

  Rain cringed at his unfeeling words. “Because they’re Viking children?”

  “Partly. But any poor children—those of the common folk—are of little value. Plenty more where they come from.”

  “Oh, how cruel!” But really, Rain asked herself, were things any better in her time, when homelessness and child abuse had reached all-time high proportions, when children of third-world countries starved to death, and abortion far exceeded the million mark each year?

  “’Tis life. For certain, ’tis one reason why I have vowed to bring no more children into this world.”

  No more children? Rain’s heart melted at Selik’s soft-spoken words.

  I will never make love with Rain, Selik vowed as he looked at the city and the pitiful orphans. Now that I understand the dangers she spelled out to me so clearly, I will never take the gamble of breeding another babe. Especially not on her. Nay, I could not bear the pain of bringing another child into this cruel cesspit of a world. But a babe of my blood, and hers—oh, sweet Lord, the prospect nigh brings me to my knees.

  Selik felt racked with both intense pleasure and torment at the forbidden thought.

  “Selik, what’s wrong? Why are you looking at me like that?”

  He shook his head to clear the bedeviling thoughts.

  “Naught is wrong. We are at the hospitium. Pull your cowl farther onto your face.”

  Selik put a finger to his lips to motion her to silence as they entered the huge, arched double doors that led into the main section of the minster. With a jerk of his head, he indicated for her to follow him.

  He went down the main aisle of the central chapel, genuflecting automatically before the crucifix as he had been taught when baptized years before. Rain followed suit, clearly puzzled by his Christian response. Then he veered off to the left, ignoring the monks and other church prelates engaged in prayer and religious duties. A large group of boys from the minster school, sons of area noblemen and merchants, nudged each ot
her and whispered mischievously as they followed a pompously pious, tonsured priest who was lecturing them on church manners.

  Finally, after traveling down a number of corridors and through several sets of doors, they arrived at the hospitium, a timber addition to the church structure. A spindly young priest, whose face was still covered with the bothersome pustules of youth, peered up at them from the table where he had been working, rolling strips of linen into bandages.

  “Yea? I am Father Bernard. Can I be of help?”

  “I am Brother Ethelwolf, and—”

  “Ah, Ethelwolf—‘the noble wolf’—a fine name for such a large priest as you,” the young cleric said enthusiastically, obviously not long removed from his final vows into the Holy Orders.

  Rain darted a look of surprise at him.

  “And this is my companion, Brother Godwine.”

  She choked and he slapped her heartily on the back.

  “Truly, ’tis unfair. Godwine—‘friend of God’—’twas the name I chose for my consecration into the priesthood, but another at the abbey had picked it first.” The young priest pursed his lips and rambled on with a wistful smile that displayed an ungodly number of rotten teeth for one so young.

  Friend of God, indeed! I could not have chosen a more appropriate name for my guardian angel, Selik thought, casting a look of dry amusement at Rain’s cheeks, which already reddened with apparent consternation at his priest-name for her.

  “Father Bernard, we come from the Friary of St. Christopher in the mountains of Frankland. You have heard of the famous hospitium there, have you not?”

  Rain hissed with indignation at his outrageous lie, and he jabbed her with an elbow to remain silent.

  “Nay,” Father Bernard said apologetically, “but I have been a priest for only a year, and I am training now to be a culdee. Perchance you would like to speak to the head of St. Peter’s Hospitium—Father Theodric. He is in the chapel just now, hearing confessions.”

  “Yea, ’twould be good to meet the esteemed healer, but for now, may we examine your hospitium?” Selik asked. “We visit here in Jorvik, on a mission for our abbey, and would like to learn of all the latest healing methods in the hospitiums we encounter in our travels.”

  The young cleric raised his brows in question.

  “Brother Godwine is an accomplished healer in Frankland, but since he cannot read or write, I am his scribe, taking notes on our findings for a book Brother Godwine hopes to write. The Holy Father has requested it.”

  Rain slanted a look of disgust at Selik for portraying her as an illiterate. He just stared back at her innocently.

  “You have heard of Bald’s Leechbook, have you not?” Selik asked Father Bernard, blinking guilelessly.

  “Yea, of course.”

  “Well, Brother Godwine’s book will be vastly different. Whereas Bald’s book studies the body from head to toe, Brother Godwine’s book will go from inside out. And he intends to call it a medical manual.”

  Father Bernard’s mouth dropped open, and a wave of fetid breath almost knocked her over.

  “Is that not so, Brother God-friend—I mean, Brother Godwine?” Selik inquired of her.

  Rain nodded reluctantly, and Selik knew he would hear more on the subject later.

  Selik did annoy her with his continual teasing, and she would tell him about it when they returned to Gyda’s house. Unable to read or write, indeed! And writing a medical manual! But she sensed his wisdom in warning her to employ caution. She should not interfere in the culdees’ medical practices or let them know she was a woman—and certainly not a woman who came from the future.

  “Can you show us around the hospitium until Father Theodric returns?” she asked, disguising her voice with huskiness.

  Father Bernard scratched his underarm lazily and broke wind loudly, without a hint of embarrassment or apology. Of course he thought she was a man, and Rain supposed men—some men, anyhow—did vulgar things like that. She saw Selik watching her with a blasted smile on his lips, just waiting for her usual unbridled reaction. She tapped her foot impatiently as the young priest bit his bottom lip uncertainly.

  “Father Theodric would, no doubt, approve,” he said hesitantly.

  Rain and Selik moved quickly ahead of him into the hospitium before Father Bernard changed his mind. Rain’s eyes devoured every detail of the large hall, which contained more than twenty pallets lined up on both sides of the drafty floor. Culdees in their long, flowing cassocks knelt at the sides of the patients, most often engaged in bloodletting. Rain had seen pictures in medical texts of the procedure involving leeches or bleeding cups placed on the patients, but still she was unprepared for the gruesome sight.

  Each of the culdees had two pottery bowls—one for the ‘unfed’ bloodsucking worms and another for the bloated, blood-engorged parasites. The primitive healers applied the leeches to practically all the patients, regardless of the type of illness or injury, to treat everything from broken bones to stroke.

  Rain felt Selik’s fingers dig into her upper arm in warning. She tried to shrug him off, but he pretended not to notice.

  One by one, the accommodating Father Bernard walked with them by the pallets, explaining the condition of the patients, often introducing them to the culdees who worked tirelessly with the sick. Aside from the bloodletting, Rain could not really criticize the healers, who did the best they could with the primitive materials available to them. After all, the one patient suffering from a stomach tumor could only be kept calm and sedated without the healing effects of modern drugs and medical procedures.

  Now the heart attack victim, on the other hand…she wondered if they ever used the digitalis plant.

  Near the end of the line of pallets, however, Rain couldn’t keep her opinions to herself. She sank to her knees next to a culdee who was removing blood-swollen leeches from the wheezing chest of a young girl, about twelve years old, who moaned deliriously from her weakened condition. The rancid smell emanating from the emaciated body was too familiar to Rain to ignore.

  “Do you know what’s wrong with her?” she whispered to the elderly priest, whom Father Bernard introduced as Father Rupert from the Rhineland. He was wiping the blood off the girl’s sunken chest with a damp cloth.

  The priest shook his tonsured head. “I have ne’er seen such a malady afore. No matter what I try—herbs, bleeding—naught works.”

  “The stench, Father—is it always so strong? And are her stools white in color and containing large amounts of fat? Does she continue to lose weight even though you feed her large amounts of food?”

  The old man’s bleary eyes widened in surprise. “Yea, have you seen other cases such as this?”

  “Actually, yes. My niece was recently diagnosed with Celiac disease, and this looks remarkably similar.”

  “See-lee-ack?”

  “Yes, the body develops an allergy—an inability to digest any grains.”

  “Truly? And what did you do for her?”

  “Well, I wasn’t her doctor, but I’ve been told that she can now lead a normal life, as long as she never eats or drinks anything made from grains.”

  He looked at her skeptically, no doubt leery of such a simple cure.

  “Try it, Father. What would it hurt? For a few days, don’t let her eat any bread or drink any beverage made from grains, like ale. If it is Celiac, you will begin to see a change almost immediately.”

  The old man tilted his head thoughtfully. “’Tis worth trying, I suppose.” He called out his orders to a nearby servant that the patient’s diet be changed immediately, then turned back to Rain. “What did you say your name was?”

  “Brother Godwine,” she answered, then looked up to see Selik watching her intently. His eyes glittered brightly with surprise and what almost seemed like pride in her diagnosis of the young girl.

  “Will you be able to help her?” Selik asked as he helped her to her feet.

  “I think so, but—” She stopped and addressed Father Bernard. �
��Could I come back another day and work with the patients? I think I could be of help, and of course, I could learn much from you and the other healers. For my medical manual.” She added the last with a rueful glance at Selik.

  “’Tis Father Theodric’s decision, but he is always complaining about the lack of good healers.” Father Bernard looked at her oddly then. “Your voice is very high…and melodious.”

  Rain cringed, realizing that she’d forgotten to lower her voice.

  Then his eyes riveted on Selik’s hand, which still grasped her arm. As if suddenly understanding the relationship between them, Father Bernard licked his chapped lips, inquiring of Selik, “Wouldst thou be accompanying Brother Godwine if he is permitted to work in the hospitium?”

  Selik shook his head slowly from side to side, a decidedly feral look hazing his gray eyes.

  Father Bernard giggled nervously and darted a look of appreciative appraisal at Rain’s face and form. “Now that I think on it, ’tis certain Father Theodric will welcome your…services. We can always use another good…culdee, especially if I recommend you to the good father.”

  Suddenly understanding, Rain’s mouth dropped open. Oh, Good Lord! A gay priest in the Middle Ages. And he’s got his radar set on me.

  After that, Father Bernard gave them a quick tour through the garden herbarium, where medicinal plants were grown, and the primitive “apothecary” where another tonsured cleric worked with a pestle and pottery bowls mixing healing potions according to ancient receipts listed in a dusty ledger. Fascinated, Rain decided that she definitely wanted to return to the hospitium and learn all she could about this primitive medical facility.

  “When you come back, be certain to identify yourself to the priest on duty. Father Ceowulf often takes my place. We cannot be too cautious. Saxon soldiers have been about all day, searching for some outlaw Viking.”

  Rain’s blood went cold at Father Bernard’s words. Could it be Selik they were searching for? Were they nearby?