Margaret Moore - The Saxon

“My lord, surely you know I hope you will live a long and happy life and leave many sons to follow you,” Ranulf said.

“I know precisely what you hope, Ranulf,” Bayard replied.

“Beware the yearning for earthly wealth,” Father Derrick intoned. “A camel can pass through the eye of a needle sooner than a rich man enter the Kingdom of Heaven.”

“Thank you, Father, for your timely reminder,” Bayard responded with his usual good humor. “Someone find Godwin. We need music—oh, there you are, Godwin. No time for hanging about in the shadows, gleeman. Sing something suitable for the occasion. Adelar, where is your ale? Are you not going to drink to my impending marriage and my future bride? What was her name?”

“Endredi,” Adelar replied, looking about for that timid female slave. “Ale!” he shouted impatiently. He wanted to get very drunk very quickly.

But not for celebration. He wanted to forget.

* * *

Ranulf’s wife shoved his wandering hand away. “I’m talking to you about serious matters, dolt!” Ordella said sharply, her pale blue eyes seeming to glow in the dim building.

Ranulf, lying beside her in bed, gave her a peevish look. “And I’m acting like a husband.”

“Speak quietly, you lustful beast. A husband would have his family’s interest in mind, and that is what I am trying to discuss.”

“Oh, very well.” Ranulf shifted to a sitting position in his bed. In the other part of the building, which was only half the size of Bayard’s hall, slaves and servants slumbered. His wife, however, had the amazing ability to sound as if she was almost shouting without waking anyone. “What is it?”

“I want to know what you are going to do about this marriage.”

“Do about it? Nothing. An agreement has been made.”

“Because of your stupidity.”

“Mine? I am not marrying some Viking widow. And you yourself said we should make peace with the Vikings. If the betrothal is broken now, who knows what those savages might do?”

“I didn’t mean a marriage alliance.”

“And I tell you again, I did not suggest it. Dagfinn did, and Bayard agreed.”

“Yes—and for that reason alone you should have stopped it.”

“I should have stepped into the middle of the discussion and ordered Bayard to refuse?” Ranulf asked scornfully. “He would have had me tossed from the hall.”

“If you had been witless about it, of course he would,” she snapped. “You merely needed to find a way to delay the negotiations. Then you could have dissuaded him.”

“I did protest his decision, after the Danes had gone.”

Ordella fought the urge to scream. “ After was much too late. You should know that about Bayard by now. The time was already past to influence him! He will never alter his course now—never!”

“How was I to even guess he would consider a marriage?” Ranulf whined. “All I knew was that he was prepared to argue over the amount of the Danegeld. It’s taken me many days to convince him to go that far. Nor has he ever so much as hinted at a marriage.”

“Bertilde has been dead these three years,” Ordella reminded him, all the while wishing she had waited a little longer before agreeing to marry Ranulf. Then she might have had a chance for Bayard, rather than this clod.

“So I thought he had no interest in marriage.”

“That is the stupidest thing you have said yet. He is a wealthy thane with no children. You should never have dismissed a possible marriage.”

“As you have just pointed out, Ordella, it is done. I cannot undo it.”

“But now he might have children, too.”

“He hasn’t yet, and he’s had many women.”

“That is no guarantee. He so rarely stays in one place for long, it could be that he is gone before a woman knows. Or perhaps he has never acknowledged any children, if they were born out of wedlock. If you had the sense of a donkey, you would have considered these possibilities.”

Ordella was almost weeping with frustration. Her only reason for marrying Ranulf had been to become part of Bayard’s wealthy, important family. Unfortunately, she had come to realize she had chosen the least promising member of the clan. “She is young, too. She could give him many children.”

“Or maybe he will hate her and never go near her. This is a political match, Ordella. Don’t forget that.”

“I hope for your sake it is so. Or you can forget any hope of inheriting anything from him.”

“You said the same thing when Adelar arrived.”

“That was before I knew the kind of man Adelar is—and for that you should thank God. If he was more ambitious, he could have you living in some hovel at the edge of the wood. It is clear Bayard favors him, and their mothers were sisters.”

“You are forgetting the stories about his father.”

“That old tale? No one believed that Viking. Imagine trying to imply that a Saxon thane would betray his own people.”

“Yet Kendric has never tried to be in the Witan, and any other man of his stature would have.”

“The main thing to consider now is how to increase your importance to Bayard.”

“I am his nephew. What more reason should Bayard need to listen to me?”

“If that’s the only cause he has to suffer your presence, he can easily discard you, fool!”

Ranulf started to climb out of the bed. Ordella grabbed his arm and held on. “Forgive me,” she said in wheedling voice. “I am upset to think that Bayard did not take you into his confidence. After all, you deserve to be. You are his closest relative. Adelar is but a cousin.”

Ranulf relaxed a little. She crawled closer and encircled him with her thin arms. “I simply fear you may not get what is your due, Ranulf, and then I get angry. Forgive me for taking out my indignation on you.” He sighed softly as she caressed him. “You do forgive my harsh words, don’t you?”

“Yes.” He twisted and his mouth swooped feverishly over hers. His hands groped her breasts.

Ordella made all the appropriate noises. But her mind was not on Ranulf, or his clumsy attempts at lovemaking. She was wondering how to proceed when Bayard’s bride arrived.

* * *

“The hour grows late, and I think I have done enough celebrating,” Bayard proclaimed as he rose clumsily to his feet. Around him, his men raised their drinking horns in yet another salute.

Except for Adelar. He had left the hall some time ago, his arm draped over a serving wench with a high-pitched voice and a constant giggle.

Bayard made his way past his men and past the servants who were already asleep. Once outside, he walked casually around the outer wall of the hall and into the shadows.

Then, with a muffled groan, he suddenly doubled over.

His malady was worsening. There could be no doubt of it. The pains were coming more frequently and growing in intensity.

When the spasm passed, Bayard straightened slowly, certain of two things. His plan had to work, and he had little time left to implement it.

A fortnight later, a Danish maidservant fussed about Endredi as they stood in Bayard’s bower. They had been told to wait there until the marriage ceremony, while Dagfinn and the others had gone immediately to the hall.

Thick, colorful tapestries hung over the wattle and daub walls. The chest of the bride’s goods stood in a corner. Other, larger wooden boxes were placed throughout the room, a testament to the groom’s wealth. There were also two intricately carved stools beside a delicate round table upon which sat a jug and two silver chalices. Light came from a many-branched iron rod bearing several tallow candles. A large bed, ornately carved and hung with heavy curtains, dominated one end of the building.