Captive Of The Viking. Juliet Landon
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They’ll not ravage the city again. Now, go quickly. I’ll send a message when they’ve gone. Hurry!’ she called, already running with Haesel towards the ferry. ‘May God protect you.’
But Mother Bridget did not run and, as Fearn looked back to see, she was standing on the path with both hands holding her head. The masts of the boats would soon be seen rounding the bend of the river—that was certain.
Expecting Gaut to be manning the ferry, as before, they were horrified to see that he had deserted it, though fortunately the boat was on their side of the river. They took an oar each, fumbling and rattling them in the rowlocks to bring them into some kind of unison which, in more normal circumstances, would have made them double up with helpless laughter. But not this time, for the current was strong enough to push the boat further down the bank than the jetty, making it impossible for them to clamber out without wading up to their knees in muddy water. Their walk along the path up to that corner of the city known as Earlsbrough, where the great Hall of the Earls was situated, was by no means as dignified as their exit had been one hour earlier. And to make matters worse, their arrival through a small opening in the enclosure was seen and intercepted by her two most critical relatives, horrified to see the two muddy young women with wet gowns clinging to their legs. Catla, her mother-in-law, and Hilda, her foster mother, wife of Earl Thored.
Having been advised more than once by the priest that a little subservience in her manner towards these two would not come amiss, on occasion, Fearn decided that now was not the time, with a Viking raid imminent. ‘Yes...yes, I know,’ she said to Catla, ‘but never mind the mess. Where is Earl Thored? There are raiders coming up the river and they’re not far away. Is he in the hall?’
‘If you mean the Danes,’ Catla said, icily, ‘your foster father has already been informed, so there was no need for you to act the heroine and be the first to tell him so. The situation is well under control.’ Her lined face registered a cold dislike of her daughter-in-law.
‘He knows?’ Fearn said. ‘Then Barda has returned?’
‘No, he has not, yet. But when he does, he’d better not see you looking like that, had he? Now I suggest you go inside and get that maid of yours to earn her keep and tend you, instead of playing silly water games. I have a mind to have her whipped.’
‘You’ll do no such thing, Catla. She probably saved me from drowning.’
With looks of deep disapproval, Catla and Hilda turned away, but not before making sure that Fearn heard Catla’s parting shot. ‘Pity,’ she muttered.
Fearn had never been under any illusions about the woman’s hostility towards her, but this undisguised malice stung, especially when women were expected to support and comfort each other in times of crisis. All the same, she could hardly subdue a leap of guilty relief at the news of Barda’s continued absence. The longer he took to do his scouting, the easier she would feel, but she refused to imagine what might be the reason, for that was a dangerous path to tread.
Waiting until the two older women were out of sight, Fearn went directly to the great hall where Earl Thored would give her the latest news. Her skirts still clung to her legs and her bootees squelched on the wooden floor as she approached, though her efforts not to attract attention to herself were rarely successful. For one thing, few women were allowed to take part in any discussion unless they had a role to play and, for another thing, so many of the Earl’s men desired her that it was asking too much of them not to be affected by her presence, dripping wet or not.
The great hall was by far the largest hall in Jorvik, even larger than the wooden church of St. Peter nearby. Massive wooden pillars held up the roof beams carved with grotesque faces and interlace patterns, the walls almost entirely covered with colourful embroidered hangings, with weapons, shields and polished helmets, decorative but functional, too. Earl Thored half-sat on the edge of a trestle table surrounded by some of his personal thegns, men of property, influence and loyalty, well dressed and well-armed. Their deep voices overlapped, but Thored’s was the one they listened to, authoritative and compelling. ‘I tell you,’ he was saying as Fearn approached, ‘they’ll not raid Jorvik this time. It’s wealth they’re after, not our land or property.’
‘But, my lord,’ one of the men protested, ‘they’re burning already. Why would they do that to the villages and not here?’
‘To show us what we’ll get if we don’t pay them off,’ Thored said as if he’d already made that point. ‘Scaring tactics. They’ll be looking for provisions, too. But I shall not bargain with them like a common merchant on the wharf. They must come up here if they want payment. They can carry it down to the ships themselves. Is Arlen the Moneyer here?’
‘Here, my lord,’ said Arlen from the back of the group.
‘Good. Start filling sacks with coin, then have it brought here.’
‘How many...how much?’
‘In Thor’s name, man!’ Thored shouted. ‘How do I know? Just prepare for the worst. These devils won’t go away without fleecing us for every last penny—that much I do know. Get that young lad of yours to help. He’ll have to learn the new way of fighting, though I’m ashamed to see them off in this fashion. I’d rather do it with a sword in my hand, but we don’t have their numbers and that son-in-law of mine hasn’t yet made up his mind how to deal with the problem.’ There were murmurs of agreement and dissatisfaction, too, but no open criticism of King Ethelred’s wavering policies, apart from that of his father-in-law. Then Thored caught sight of Fearn standing beside one of the oak pillars. ‘Ah, Lady Fearn, you’ll be wanting to hear news of your man. I’m as puzzled as you are. It doesn’t usually take three men two days to glean some news of the enemy. Well, we don’t need them now when we can see for ourselves where they are and what they’re doing. He’ll be back. Don’t worry.’
‘Thank you, my lord. I shall stay well out of sight until then,’ she said, turning to go.
‘No, I want you here. You can add some colour to the discussions, eh? Ye gods, woman! Where have you been?’ he bellowed, catching sight of her lower half as the group parted.
‘The ferry, my lord. Gaut was not there to row us. My maid and I—’ She got no further with her explanation before her voice was drowned by politely sympathetic laughter tinged with a masculine superiority in matters of river craft.
Pushing a fist beneath his moustache to stifle his laughter, Thored’s blue eyes creased into the weathered wrinkles of his skin. ‘Then you’d better go and change into something more worthy of a noblewoman, my lady. The Danes will not have anything as good to show us, I’ll swear. Go by the kitchens and tell them to prepare mead, beor and ale for us and our guests. The least we can do is to drink them legless.’ Unconsciously, his large hand stole upwards to grasp the solid-silver Thor’s-hammer pendant that hung from a leather thong around his neck. ‘Now, I need three of you to go down to the wharf and wait, then escort their leaders up here. And where’s the harpist? And the scribe? Let’s show the ruffians some culture while we’re about it.’
* * *
Passing the kitchen building, Fearn relayed the Earl’s orders, knowing that on her next entry into the hall, an army of servants would have attended to every detail, relying on his word that the Danes would be there to bargain, not to wreck. Inside the confines of her own thatched dwelling, she found that Haesel had anticipated her needs, laying out an indigo-dyed woollen kirtle to be worn over a fine linen shift that showed at the neckline, wrists and hem. Fearn had worked gold thread embroidery along all the edges that glittered discreetly as she moved, picking up the deeper solid gold and amethyst of the circular pin that held the neckline together. Her circlet of patterned gold and garnets was one of several she owned, but when she asked Haesel to pass her jewel casket, she discovered that it had been packed, along with extra clothes and shoes in a lined leather bag, the kind used for travelling. ‘What’s this about?’ she asked her maid.
Haesel sat down on the fur-covered bed and looked pensively at her mistress, obviously finding it difficult to give a convincing explanation.
‘Haesel?