Margaret Moore - The Saxon

“What time of day is it?” Baldric demanded. “I would have heard the ruckus if there’d been a proper meal. And so would they.” He nodded at the slumbering Danes.

“They would probably sleep through a thunderstorm—and you, too. We could have cut off your legs and you wouldn’t have noticed,” Godwin said. “The food’s been served and we’ve missed it.”

“I will be happy to find you some,” a young woman’s voice said shyly. Adelar turned around to see the slave Ylla standing inside the door. “There is bread and meat in the salter’s stores. If you like, I will bring it to you.”

“Delightful creature, I am beholden to you,” Godwin said with a courtly bow. “Bring enough for three starving men.”

She gave a slight smile and hurried away. Baldric whistled, making the dogs come instantly alert. “Save some for me,” he muttered as he led the dogs outside.

“She’s not bringing it for us, you know,” Godwin said quietly but pointedly to Adelar. “It’s you she wants to make happy.”

Adelar’s only response was a Baldric-like grunt.

Godwin joined Adelar on a bench. “She’s a pretty little thing, eh? And she’s a virgin, or so the merchant who sold her to Bayard claimed.”

“She is Bayard’s property.” Adelar eyed Godwin with some curiosity. “If you are so smitten with her, why are you pointing out her virtues to me?”

Godwin’s surprise was comical to behold. “St. Swithins in a swamp, why am I? Too much ale has addled my wits. Forget everything I said!”

“Very well, but I would suggest you keep your eye on Ranulf. He is the one not to be trusted around virgins,” Adelar warned.

Godwin’s eyes widened. “It’s true then, about Ranulf and that thane’s daughter at Cynath’s burh? How much did he have to pay?”

“You are much too interested in gossip, Godwin.”

“It was you who first told me the tale,” Godwin noted. “How much?”

“I do not know the exact amount, but let us hope Ordella never finds out. And,” Adelar said sternly, “I believe she would never forgive the messenger, either.”

“I think you are correct about that,” Godwin agreed. “Still, Ranulf had best take better care, eh?”

Ylla returned. She eyed the still-sleeping Danes warily and gave them a wide berth as she quickly cleared a space at the table. When she set the bread and ale down in front of Adelar, she smiled shyly. “Anything else, my lord?”

“No. You may go.”

One of the Danes stirred and snorted noisily, and Ylla scurried out of the hall as if she expected him to rise and give chase.

“You see, I was telling the truth. She likes you.”

“She belongs to Bayard.”

“Who never touches slaves.” Suddenly Godwin smote himself on the forehead. “Ah, I am the biggest dolt in the kingdom! You are not interested in that little slave because you care for another!”

“And who might that be?”

“Gleda—no! You have but to crook your finger and she is in your lap. Someone who lives elsewhere, perhaps. Let me think...you haven’t had her yet, or you would not be pining for her—a minor delay, I am sure.”

“You seem confident of my charms.”

“Are you going to try to deny that women find you irresistible? I tell you, Adelar, between you and Bayard, it is a wonder there is a virgin left in En- gland.”

“Who am I to disillusion you? But do you think I would wish to find myself in Ranulf’s place? I am not as rich as he is, to risk my money seducing noblemen’s daughters.”

“Perfectly right. So, she must be married. And she must be beautiful, because everyone knows you would only want a beauty. That lets out Ordella—” Adelar sniffed derisively “—and I think Bayard’s wife, who although not as ugly as Ordella, is no beauty, either.”

Adelar 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.