The Saxon. Margaret Moore

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СКАЧАТЬ did not reply. Endredi’s beauty was not the kind that most men would see. It did not flaunt itself with bright eyes, pink cheeks and beguiling, empty smiles. It was far more subtle, in her intelligent eyes, in the slight flush that would steal over her soft cheeks when she was embarrassed, in the fullness of her lips when she smiled her shy, sweet smile.

      The same smile she had given Bayard last night. He stabbed at the bread in front of him. “Why don’t you stop talking and eat?”

      “Careful! You nearly got my hand. I didn’t realize you were that hungry. You are right. We mustn’t tarry or Bayard will be even more angry. I do not want to be the one to further sour his mood.”

      * * *

      “Where is the priest?” Endredi asked Helmi, who had been bustling about the bower trying to look busy for some time. She knew the serving woman was probably full of questions about her husband, but she was in no mood to satisfy a servant’s need for gossip.

      “That one? He has done their ceremony and gone already, I am happy to say. A more pompous, miserable, misguided man never lived, I believe. Do you know he actually thinks all women evil? Everyone knows the gods and goddesses are both good and bad. I think this Christianity is a Saxon plot to disrupt the natural relations between men and women. I hope your husband does not think you are evil, my lady? I trust he treats you well?”

      Endredi did not answer Helmi’s questions. “So I have missed Mass.”

      “The noon draws near, my lady,” Helmi said with a knowing grin. “A good sign, being so tired. Your husband must be a virile man, eh?”

      Again Endredi did not answer. Her husband had done what was necessary to consummate the relationship, no more, but that was no subject to be spoken of to another.

      Helmi finally seemed to understand that she did not wish to discuss her husband or the wedding night. “Do you have any plans for today, my lady? Or would you rather rest?”

      “I wish to meet all of the servants,” she said thoughtfully. “Bayard said he would see to it that someone shows me about the burh, too.”

      “I should hope he would arrange an escort. We couldn’t go by ourselves. It wouldn’t be safe.”

      Endredi kept her smile to herself. Helmi thought all Saxon men were little removed from rutting rams, at least those who weren’t vicious murderers. “Perhaps one of the thanes will escort us,” she said, washing her face and reaching for the comb Helmi held out to her.

      Helmi opened a chest of clothing. “This gown is a pretty one. I am sure your husband would like it.”

      “What of Dagfinn and the others?”

      “Still snoring in the hall, no doubt.”

      “I believe you are right. It would be an act of the gods if they move before nightfall after the amount of ale they imbibed at the feast.”

      Helmi grinned slyly. “Perhaps you would rather wait here for your husband’s return.”

      Endredi picked up her thin wool cloak and an intricately carved wooden box. “I will meet the servants of the hall now, and see to the preparations of the meals. Will you come with me?”

      Helmi looked as if Endredi had suggested she run naked through the burh. “There will be Saxons in the hall.”

      “I expect so.”

      “I...I have too much to do here, my lady. I will eat later, when the men are gone. All of them.”

      Endredi suppressed a small smile as she went and crossed the yard, surveying the timber wall surrounding the burh as she did so. It was of stout oak trees, and the ends were sharpened to dangerous points. The gate they had entered yesterday had been thick, too, and the village that surrounded the thane’s enclosure had been a large one, for Saxons. It was not as big as some of the Viking towns, and certainly not to be compared to Hedeby or one of the other Viking ports, but obviously Bayard kept a sizable force near him, and it was the workers who serviced warriors that no doubt made up most of the village trade.

      She could hear the rhythmic clangs of more than one smith at work, and judging by the smell, knew the stables were being cleaned out.

      A few women lingered by the well and made no secret of their curiosity as they stared at her. She bowed her head very slightly, acknowledging their presence but making it very clear that she was of superior rank to them.

      Endredi entered the hall and at once she realized Adelar was there. He was sitting at the farthest end, near Bayard’s seat, and the gleeman was beside him.

      He was no more than any other warrior in her husband’s service, she reminded herself. She turned her attention to the hall, which was now her concern. Her nose wrinkled with disgust as she picked her way through the soiled rushes. The fire in the large hearth was out, goblets and drinking horns lay scattered amid puddles of ale and mead, benches were overturned. Several men were still sleeping there, oblivious to the time of day and the activity outside. She spotted Dagfinn immediately, his loud snoring like the growl of a bear. A young female slave she recalled from last night appeared. “Where are the servants?”

      “I...I don’t know, my lady.”

      Endredi knew the girl was lying, but it was also obvious that she was frightened, so she spoke kindly. “What is your name?”

      “Ylla, my lady.”

      “Where are the cook and the other servants, Ylla? They need not know how I discovered where they are.”

      “He, um, they... Duff is in the potter’s shed.”

      “And Duff is...?”

      “The cook, my lady.”

      “Ah. Can you point out the potter’s shed?”

      Ylla went to the door and did so.

      Endredi handed her the wooden box. “Please hold this for me,” she said, then she left the hall and marched toward the shed. Once there, she peered inside and saw a man and a woman, their half-clothed bodies intertwined.

      Endredi turned away and went back to the hall, where she picked up one of the iron kettles and a spoon. She began to bang on the pot, the loud sound enough to wake all but the dead. Adelar and Godwin stared, and Ylla looked startled until Endredi smiled at her.

      “By Odin’s eye!” Dagfinn shouted. “What are you doing?”

      “It is nearly noon. I thought you might want to eat.”

      He frowned as he adjusted his rumpled tunic. “Come,” he barked at his men. “I have no wish to linger here. I want to be in my own longhouse.”

      Dagfinn ignored his curious men while he gathered his scattered belongings. His men staggered after him out the door, several of them barely able to stand.

      In the next moment those still in the hall heard angry mumbling, then the cook came inside, pulling on his tunic. “What in the name of—”

      Endredi put the kettle down.

      Duff СКАЧАТЬ