The Saxon. Margaret Moore

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СКАЧАТЬ bound by her respect for her dead husband to say, “Dagfinn may be acting with more wisdom than you think. After all, who among his people would marry a woman of my ill luck? Besides,” she finished, “Dagfinn is the chieftain, so I must obey.”

      “I do not believe Dagfinn thinks of anything but his silver and his belly. And where would he be if he didn’t have Bera to oversee everything?”

      “I shall miss her.”

      “I will not. A harder mistress never breathed, I can tell you.”

      “She was always kind to me,” Endredi answered truthfully, although now she knew why Helmi had offered to go with her to the Saxon village. Obviously Helmi considered even the Saxons less threatening than Bera.

      As for Endredi, she would miss Bera, but she had always been alone. Even as a child, she had had few friends. The sins of her mother had made her an object of curiosity and scorn, and she had soon learned that sometimes it was better to be alone than to be questioned, or worse, pitied.

      “I almost forgot!” Helmi cried, hurrying to Endredi’s small chest. “Dagfinn said to be sure you wore this.” She took out a jeweled crucifix.

      Endredi stood motionless while Helmi put it over her head. She had heard that Bayard’s priest had asked if his future wife was a Christian.

      She put her hand to the crucifix. Thanks to her stepmother, she understood the Christians’ beliefs and indeed found it no hardship to believe them, too. When a priest had traveled to their village, she had been baptized. Nonetheless, she wore an amulet of Freya beneath her gown. Surely the Christian god would understand that it was hard to ignore the old beliefs.

      “I have never seen such an enormous building as that hall,” Helmi said. “I wonder what it is like inside. Why, I wouldn’t be surprised if the tapestries are full of gold thread.”

      When Endredi didn’t respond, Helmi went on. “It is also a good thing you speak that Saxon language, although I must say it has a most horrible sound to it.”

      “My mother was a Saxon.”

      “Oh, yes, well then, have you heard anything about Bayard? His looks, I mean.”

      Helmi’s eyes gleamed eagerly, and Endredi knew she would hear what Helmi had learned whether she wanted to or not; however, Bayard’s appearance mattered less to her than the way he would treat a foreign wife. “Dagfinn said he is not old,” Endredi said slowly.

      “A mature man and no foolish youth, thank the gods. Handsome, too, I hear.”

      “He is a respected leader.”

      “He wears fine clothes and much jewelry, Erik said.”

      “If he were not just and good, surely he would not have so many men under his command.”

      “He washes regularly and trims his beard.”

      “I hope he will be patient.”

      “He has no children.”

      Helmi’s last announcement caught Endredi’s attention. “No children?”

      She shook her head. “And he’s been married at least two times.”

      “Oh?”

      “Still, I hear he is quite virile. Rumors abound that he has bedded dozens of women.”

      “And yet no children?”

      “Not one.”

      “How could anyone you know come by that knowledge?” Endredi asked, her immediate surprise replaced by suspicion.

      “I heard some of the men talking about it.”

      “Why would any Danes know about Bayard’s children?”

      That seemed to shake Helmi’s confidence in her sources. Which was quite as it should be. Surely Helmi could have no valid information concerning Bayard’s wives or women or children. Nonetheless, Helmi’s gossip had disturbed her. Endredi had agreed to this marriage because she had few alternatives, but also because she dearly wanted children.

      It could very well be that Bayard did have illegitimate children. He was a Christian, and if they were born out of holy wedlock, he might seek to keep their parentage secret. Or it might be that Bayard’s other wives had simply been unable to bear children, although that would be a rare misfortune.

      “If he doesn’t give you children, you could always divorce him,” Helmi noted optimistically.

      “No, I could not. Christians are not allowed to divorce for any reason. Besides, where would I go?”

      “You could go home to your father.”

      “My father has other children and other responsibilities. When I married Fenris, I became his family’s concern. Because of his death, I must do as Dagfinn wishes, since he is the head of the family as well as the chieftain, and he desires this alliance.”

      Endredi sighed as she moved away and sat down on a stool. Her father had married a Saxon woman, and their union was a joy to both. Perhaps, just perhaps, she might find it so with Bayard.

      She fingered her crucifix, trying to calm her growing dismay and bury her memories of the boy she had once cared for but who had left her to her fate, never trying to find out what had become of her. Despite what he had done—or not done—she had hoped, dreamed...until years had passed, and she had grown into a woman. Adelar had never returned. So Endredi had put him from her heart and from her hopes, and wed another.

      Although Fenris was kind, he had inspired no passion within her, and she feared there was no passion left to inspire. When Dagfinn had told her what he planned for her, she had thought not of her own seemingly impossible happiness. This marriage might bring a measure of peace between Saxon and Dane, so she had agreed.

      Helmi paused for a moment in her bustling near the large curtained bed, an object Endredi had been doing her best not to notice. “I think someone’s coming!” she cried. “Stand up, stand up!”

      Endredi obeyed and despite her resolve to face this marriage resolutely, she had to clasp her hands together to keep them from trembling.

      Dagfinn entered the bower and surveyed her slowly. “Good,” he muttered. He nodded toward the door. “Come to the hall.”

      Endredi followed the big man out of the bower. In the yard before the hall several women and children were standing at a respectful distance and staring at her. They looked well-dressed and well-fed, a sign that Bayard took care of his people.

      Some were curious, others openly hostile as they stood silently. Endredi raised her chin. She was the daughter of Einar Svendson, and no hint of fear or doubt must show on her face.

      She continued to walk proudly as she entered the huge wooden building, which was as richly decorated as Helmi had guessed.

      There was another crowd of Danes and Saxon men inside. Here, Endredi lowered her eyes as a woman should in such company, lest she be thought immodest, but she glanced up when they paused before proceeding. Standing at the front of a group of СКАЧАТЬ