The Fighting Man. Adrian Deans

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СКАЧАТЬ war … men accustomed to taking without asking. I must preserve my maidenhood, and the only way to do that among such men is to be already married to one of them.’

      As she spoke, I knew it to be true, but I had a few questions of my own.

      ‘But … as your husband, I’ll be expected to go to your chamber at night … ’

      ‘And so you shall while we’re in their company … but you’ll not be sleeping in my bed.’

      ‘What?’ I demanded. ‘You suggest the thegn of Stybbor should sleep on the floor like a dog?’

      ‘The thegn of Stybbor can please himself, as long as he plays the part I require of him.’

      ‘And if I refuse?’

      ‘You can’t refuse. You’ve already confirmed the arrangement to Harold and his brother, which according to Carl makes it official. Danish marriage … more danico … is simple to arrange.’

      ‘You mean we really are married?’

      ‘In all senses but one … there will be no consummation.’

      Strangely enough, I found myself grinning. Valla might have said that she would never lie naked beneath me but, now I was her husband, I considered my chances had rather improved.

      Chapter 7

      A Profoundly Arousing Pleasure

      We could smell Theodford long before we could see it.

      There must have been nothing but tanners and butchers because the place smelled like rotting meat, turd and piss – all mixed together with vomit and fermenting into a stench so strong and foul I thought I would never scour it from my nose and throat. And that was from half a mile away!

      When it finally came into view, I was amazed not so much by its size as by the concentration of so many dwellings in one place. There had to be hundreds of shacks and hovels all clustered together around a church and a strange-looking conical hill, which looked like a good site for a fort – and sure enough, as we approached, I could see men watching from the summit. Harold raised a great standard – The Fighting Man he called it – with the strangely angular warrior brandishing his sword on a white field with a red and gold border, and the banner was answered by those on the hilltop who dipped their own flag twice in acknowledgment of Harold’s return.

      A shallow stream flowed through the town, which we forded – the water rising no higher than our knees and the stench increasing with every step. In area, the town was not much bigger than the village of Stybbor, but Stybbor had only twenty or so small buildings between the church and the monastery, whereas Theodford must have had hundreds all crammed and clustered together with wattle walls, thatch and wooden roofs, and in between them tiny, twisting lanes like the game trails of the forest. And although it hadn’t rained for some days, the lanes were all thick with mud. As we passed, women threw scraps and slops onto the ground outside their doors and grimy children pissed against their own wattle walls. There were butchers hanging joints and carcases which dripped onto the ground and tables of eels and fish next to a vast tannery with its vats of piss and pig shit for the curing of leather. Smoke seemed to pour from every roof and fires burned in forges and open kitchens.

      The main street of the town headed more or less straight towards the church. People – hundreds of people – far more than I had ever seen in one place – thronged from their houses and lined the street to catch a glimpse of Harold and his party. Harold was cheered but the serfs were jostled and jeered and pelted with garbage. Slops and buckets were thrown over them and the stink of turd was stronger than ever.

      Valla looked terrified and, dressed in similar fashion to the serf women, she was soon mistaken for one of them and attacked by the hags of the town. A woman, snarling with delighted venom, threw a bucket of piss at Valla, splashing me also. But before I could react, Tostig bellowed in anger and clubbed the woman with a mailed fist, so that she collapsed into the mud with blood streaming from her broken nose and mouth.

      ‘Can’t you protect your own wife, Brand?’ laughed Tostig, as I stared at the woman groaning and bleeding in the filth until she was trampled and obscured by the crowd that followed hard behind us, calling for Harold to resolve arguments or give favours.

      As we approached the church, I could see yet another large building standing well away from the cluttered mass of shacks and hovels, raised above the ground on stone foundations but with sturdy wooden walls and a wooden roof. It was surrounded by a six foot fence of thorn and sharpened stakes, with a large courtyard and even a stable. I had seen few horses in my short life.

      ‘Welcome to my house,’ said Harold. ‘I stay here rarely, but for tonight we will linger.’

      The new serfs were led over to the stable where a huge man with a black beard was tending a forge, and the women began to wail.

      ‘What will become of them Lord?’ asked Valla, and Harold glanced over with little interest.

      ‘Do you have no bonded servants of your own?’ asked Tostig, strangely amused I thought.

      ‘We have servants,’ I replied.

      ‘Then your wife should know that these scum will be marked with Harold’s device so that should they ever stray they can be reclaimed and corrected.’

      As he spoke, the first of the men – the snaggle-toothed red head – was branded on the arm where he’d been cut by my sword, thus marking and sealing his wound in one action, causing him to erupt yelping from his stupor, and causing Tostig and the other soldiers to laugh – Tostig almost doubled over with mirth.

      The rest of the serfs were pushed into line for marking but Harold was beckoning me up his stairs and shouting for servants.

      ‘Rooms!’ he shouted to a fat and flustered chamberlain, who glanced at me askance from his deep bowing.

      ‘I need two extra guest rooms,’ boomed Harold. ‘One fit for a man of God … and one for a thegn and his lady.’

      Harold’s house was large and open, and despite our proximity to the stinking town, smelt clean and sweet, not unlike my home in Stybbor. Carl, Valla and I were ushered down a passageway by a couple of servants as Harold cried after us, ‘Come to me in an hour Brand. We have much to talk about.’

      ∞ ∞ ∞

      ‘Tostig wonders,’ said Valla, sitting at a low table, brushing the tangles out of her long, black hair.

      ‘In that case,’ I said, ‘you should act in a way to allay his suspicions.’

      Valla was dressed in a pale green samite gown with a black girdle. It had been delivered by one of the servants with the message that Harold wanted to see Valla restored to garb befitting her station. Valla had ordered me to turn my back as she changed out of her skins and rags but I had managed to sneak a glimpse of her and felt heady with desire – to be in a rich bedchamber with my naked ‘wife’ was a profoundly arousing pleasure.

      ‘He stares at me,’ shuddered Valla.

      ‘I do not!’

      ‘Tostig fool … what sort of husband misses the carnal stares of other men?’

      ‘Maybe if I had the rights СКАЧАТЬ