Authors: Kristin McTiernan
Thorstein took the reins of both horses, but five animals seemed to be a bit much for him, so Isabella reached out with her right hand (the one Garrick had
not
crushed) to take two of the horses from him. Cædda stopped talking and immediately grabbed her wrist. It wasn’t painful, but his grip was hard enough to halt her.
“Stay,” was all he said to her.
He must have thought she was trying to escape with the horses. She hadn’t gotten a good look at him earlier, but now she could see he was handsome under that beard, seeming to be around her age, perhaps slightly younger. He had the most astonishing golden-hazel eyes and was tall, unlike the other men that surrounded her. As she focused on the sensation of his hand on her skin, she thought perhaps it wouldn’t be so terrible if he kept her. Given a little time, she could have the run of this place.
The sound of a child’s voice broke her thoughts and Cædda released her wrist. A look of pure joy took over his features as he bent to scoop up the laughing little boy into his arms. Isabella felt a stab of disappointment as she listened to Cædda speak so lovingly to the child, obviously his son. Her hopes of him being a widower were quickly dashed as a woman crossed in front of her.
She was of average height, probably tall by their standards, with red hair and a belly practically bursting with child. Cædda leaned down and kissed her quickly, then placing his hand on her stomach while he spoke to her, probably asking after the health of the child. Isabella did not realize she was staring until Father Sigbert caught her eye. He raised a disapproving eyebrow at her, letting her know that he had correctly interpreted the emotions behind her stare.
Annoyed at being distracted from Cædda, Isabella turned her eyes back to him, only to find him
and
his wife looking at her now. The wife was looking Isabella up and down as if she were a large slab of possibly spoiled meat. Isabella was hard pressed to find any redeeming features in the plain and dumpy woman.
Sigbert broke the three-way stare by saying something to Cædda in their native tongue. Their lord nodded and responded, then walked with his wife into the long building. When they were safely out of view, Sigbert turned to her, his previously kind tone replaced with exasperated disgust.
“I see now why your husband dropped you over the side of a ship.” He held up his hand sharply to cut off her impending angry retort. “If you plan to live well here, I suggest you set your mind to pleasing Lord Cædda through your works rather than your wiles.”
“I didn’t do anything, I was just looking. It’s not my fault he married beneath him.”
Sigbert gritted his teeth and breathed out an irritated laugh. He grabbed her none too gently by the arm and pulled her in the direction of the long building.
“I’d like to help you, my impudent child, but I require some assurances from you.”
Isabella was torn between being annoyed at being dragged around yet again and wanting the priest to like her. He reminded her so much of her father, despite their dissimilar appearances and ages. He was a kind man, if not quick to judge, and she would need his help.
“I assure you, I plan to behave, if that’s what you mean. I won’t try to escape, and I’ll follow directions.” She stopped walking. “Is that all you need from me, Father Dear?”
Sigbert inhaled deeply and slowed his walk. “I need nothing from you. But God has put you in my path, meaning you should survive and,” he rolled his eyes upward, “live your life in the image of Christ. That in mind, you will also come to confession every day. You will come to Mass every Sunday. You will learn Saxon from Thorstein and you will obey Lady Annis in all things. Or I will know the reason why.”
“What could I possibly have to confess
every
day?” she flicked her hair out her eyes and stopped walking. “And I’ve never missed Mass in my life, so I certainly don’t need a mandate from you. I have
always
been faithful to Christ and his Church, so I don’t know why you’re being so cruel to me!” The words sounded childish, even to her own ears.
The priest gave another exasperated sigh and stepped in front of her. “My intention is to help you, not to throw platitudes at you. As I see it, your head has already been filled with complimentary nonsense from others. So tell me, my child, what is it
you
think you need?”
Much to her irritation, Isabella felt tears come to her eyes. “Can you get me my crucifix back?”
He took his hand from around her arm, and moved it to her face, cupping her chin. “You have no more need for riches my dear, surely you know that. Tell me why you want it so badly.” He looked at her intensely, clearly searching for something. Deception? The stern manner had waned from his face and voice and Isabella truly believed he wanted to help her.
Not wanting to lie to him any more than she already had, Isabella blurted out a semblance of truth. “My father gave it to me. I’ll never see him again, and I need that crucifix. I just—” Her voice gave out slightly as her chin quivered uncontrollably. “I just need it.”
The truth was, she didn’t necessarily need the crucifix, but it would certainly make it easier for another traveler to recognize her. That crucifix was the only beacon design ever used in the Agency’s history and, if visible, any other traveler who happened by could spot her and help. Her real need for the silver beacon was the joy of knowing that
when
she got home, Etienne would not be able to deny what he had done, no matter how carefully he had covered his tracks. The odds against her even finding another traveler without the beacon were astronomical, and compounded the hopelessness of her situation.
“I can help persuade Lord Cædda to free you and give you help,” Sigbert said, “whether that is getting you a husband or giving you to the sisters. I cannot say if he will part with that medallion.”
Isabella nodded and looked away. Throughout their conversation, the city continued its surge of movement around her; filthy animals followed unkempt people into squalid buildings. All the while whispers, stares, shouts, and howls of laughter assaulted her ears from every direction. The damp air had been pricking her bare arms and legs and causing her nose to run ever since she arrived here. The wind continuously flicked her hair painfully into her eyes. All the while, the dirty people stared at her. She despised England. She
hated
the English. And her desire to see Etienne punished was only surpassed by her own misery at where she now found herself.
Sigbert seemed already adept at reading her face. “I know this is not where you predicted your life would take you. But you were found by a Christian lord and not by the Danes. You are unhurt and will be cared for. Let you think on that while you mourn the loss of your old life.”
He looked at her with such love, it was hard to believe that she had only met him a few hours ago.
“I promise to do all those things.” The words were out before she could stop them.
He put his forehead against hers and spoke very softly. “Then I promise to help you.” He released her face and let her wipe her tears away, though she wished he would keep holding her. “There is a door to the far right of the Great Hall, this building here. You will go in and speak to Hilde; she is Annis’ nurse and directs all the woman’s work of the house. She speaks some Latin, but not much. She will tell you where to sleep and what to do. Obey her as you would Lady Annis.”
Isabella simply nodded and turned to go. “Father?” she asked, remembering something.
“Yes?”
“When you were talking to Lord Cædda, I heard him say something several times: dayarka? What does it mean?”
Sigbert smiled his toothy grin. “Deorca. It means Dark One. It’s what he’s decided to call you.” He turned and began walking down the hill, towards the church.
“My name is Isabella!” she shouted at his retreating form.
Without turning, he called back to her. “Not anymore.”
7
Not anymore, indeed, Thorstein thought to himself, as he watched the woman stare helplessly after the retreating form of Sigbert. His distance from Isabella and the priest prevented him from hearing the majority of their conversation, and Thorstein was not sure if she knew where to go. Her sad and bewildered expression did not reassure him. Hilde would be expecting the new slave to report to her. Having safely corralled the horses, his work was done for the evening, and it wouldn’t take long for him to show the lady to the servant’s quarters.
His legs tired from the day’s ride, Thorstein trudged up the incline toward the still form of Deorca, as she was apparently now to be called. He was approaching from her right side, so she hadn’t spotted him by virtue of her poor, mangled eye, now swelled fully shut. He opened his mouth to call out to her, but his voice and, for a moment his heart, caught when he saw Garrick swagger up to her from behind and grab her by the arm. The warrior was smiling, which was not necessarily a good thing. Thorstein heard her yelp and she slapped at Garrick, trying to pull away, only to be laughed at and dragged into the Great Hall.
“The Great Bitch then took my dagger and swung it at me, missing my eyeball by a hair’s width!” Garrick bellowed as he waved the blade around for dramatic effect; the warriors surrounding him laughed and cheered at their comrade’s story.
There were two tables vertical to Garrick’s position on either side of the hall, each filled with warriors, merchants, and the assorted tradesmen. The third table was at the head of the room, and was occupied by Cædda, his eldest son, and several of his captains. The lord of Shaftesbury looked up and saw Thorstein standing at the back of the room; he smiled to his slave in a knowing and reassuring fashion.
Thorstein breathed his relief. Garrick only wanted to relate the brave tale of how he beat a woman nearly into unconsciousness. Of course, Thorstein should have known that was his intention.
“But then,” Garrick’s voice lowered dramatically. “The pious Father Sigbert called out for me to stop.”
The warriors erupted in boos, one of them throwing a piece of bread at Deorca, who had the sense to be still and allow the dogs to eat it. Garrick brought up his hand to silence them, a magnanimous smile on his face.
“It was then I noticed the crucifix hiding beneath her dress. This dark woman is a Christian! An Asturian. So I drew my dagger away from the gentle woman’s throat. So grateful was she for my mercy,” he paused and pushed down on Deorca’s shoulders, forcing her to her knees. She looked wildly around her, tears pricking her open eye. “…that she took the crucifix from around her neck and gave it to me.” He turned and raised his cup to Cædda. “And I handed it to our worthy Lord Cædda.” The warriors cheered uproariously.
“Are all Asturians so big?” One of the warriors yelled over the din, producing laughter all over the hall. Garrick laughed with them and jerked Deorca back to her feet, probably so he could show just how tall she was. It was then she noticed Thorstein, and Garrick followed her gaze.
“Northman! Come ask the woman if all her people look like this.”
Now the attention of the hall was on Thorstein, as they were eager to hear from the mystery woman who only spoke Latin. He made his way to the center of the room and stood next to Deorca. Up close, he could see that she was shaking. Of course she could not understand what Garrick was saying and did not know what they wanted from her.
“He’s just telling a story,” he whispered to her quietly. “He’s not going to hurt you. They want to know if all your people are so big.”
She looked at him in confusion, seeming to not know the answer to his question. But then she gathered herself.
“No. Most of them are not. But my husband was bigger than me. Bigger than Lord Cædda, even. So he didn’t mind my size.”
Thorstein translated her words and was met with cheers and expressions of disbelief that anyone could be bigger than Cædda.
“Well, I’m glad these idiots are so thrilled at my beating.” Deorca was angry again, but her tone was sufficiently muted to allow Thorstein latitude in his translation.
“She says she is honored to have fought the great warrior, Garrick!” More cheers erupted from the increasingly drunken men. “And she asks that she may be dismissed to begin her work to serve Lord Cædda.”
Garrick laughed and clapped Thorstein on the back. “She can go, Northman. Tell Hilde to get her some clothes. Otherwise I may be tempted to tear that dress even more.” He reached out and stroked Deorca’s chin with his thumb, lowering his voice considerably. “What did she really say?”
The dark woman stared defiantly back at him.
“She was angry at being mocked.” Lying to Garrick was both useless and foolish. But luckily, the ale and arrival home had lifted his mood.
“She dresses like a whore and fights like a man. I have found few things in life as funny as she is.” With that, the elder man turned his attention to the far table where Selwyn was seated, freeing Thorstein to leave with Deorca. They both looked to the head table, where Cædda was still watching them.
“By your leave, My Lord?” Thorstein called to his master. Cædda nodded his head, keeping his eyes on Deorca. And she stared right back.
“Come along,” Thorstein said, pulling her toward the door.
“Is this what I have to look forward to every night?” She hissed when they were clear of the hall.
Thorstein probably would have felt more pity for her if fear was the cause of her trembling voice. But it was not. Her pride was bitterly insulted, her need for Cædda’s approval apparently the cause of her embarrassment.
“You must admit our encounter with you is a story worth the telling. Garrick wasn’t hurting you. It’s expected that a warrior tells stories when he returns from a journey. He seems to have forgiven you; you should be happy. He didn’t forgive me so quickly when I tried to stab him.”
They walked toward the servant’s quarters at a slow pace, as Deorca was limping. Her strange shoes seemed to give her pain. What was the purpose of wearing shoes if they caused discomfort while walking in them?
“Why did you try to stab him?” she asked. He thought he noted a hint of pride in her voice.
“For the same reason you did. I was taken from my people and made a slave. I was only a boy, but like you, I did not wish to be captured. Garrick was holding me and I tried to fight him. I was a child, and thought that because I was his height that I could also compete with his strength.”
Deorca snorted. “You’re
still
only a boy.”
Thorstein stopped walking. He looked at her, stupefied by her gall.
“As you say, Madame.” He bit off each word as he angrily led her by the arm quickly to the door a few paces ahead of them.
“I just meant you’re young, Thorstein. You don’t need to throw a tantrum,” she spat, as if
he
had just insulted her.
He stepped up to the door and opened it. Hilde was sitting on the floor with the children, Dægberht and Ciaran. “Hilde, this is Deorca. She is Lord Cædda’s new slave. She needs clothes and a place to sleep. She only speaks Latin.” With that, he flung her into the room and closed the door behind him. He heard her protesting through the door.
“I didn’t mean anything Thorstein! What about my crucifix? I need it back!”
If there was any more after that, Thorstein did not hear it. He strode down the hill toward the church, trying to suppress his anger. A tantrum? A little boy? Why? Because he wasn’t so large as Cædda, that made him beneath her notice? She was completely impossible! He did not have a lesson with Sigbert tonight. But Thorstein would go to him anyway, perhaps make a confession. The priest was always able to restore him to good spirits. As it was now, Thorstein busied himself with wishing
he
had been the one to black Deorca’s eye.
***
Annis watched the Northman take the giant woman out of the Great Hall. From the shadows of her doorway, she had seen very clearly the look Deorca had given her husband. The chamber adjoining the Great Hall had been her prison this last month, ever since that fool priest had declared it unhealthy for the baby growing inside her to sit among the men. So she hovered on the edge of everything, watching everything from the dark. This was
her
house and she knew everything that happened within it. Better for Deorca to learn that sooner rather than later.
She must have leaned too far into the hall, because Cædda turned from his conversation with their son to look at her. His face morphed from an expression of surprise to one of guilt, and finally to the pretend smile he always gave her.
He’d forgotten I was even here.
As he rose from the table and moved toward her, Annis sullenly remembered how the day had held such promise when she woke up that morning. He had been gone these many days, only to pay homage to the grave of the late King Ethelred, Alfred’s brother. It was not the anniversary of Ethelred’s death, nor could Alfred himself make an appearance. She did not understand why he needed to go, but asking him for an explanation would only spark his anger. Annis knew he would come back today, and for that she was happy.
That happiness had been bled from her as if by a chiurgeon’s leech when she saw her husband had returned from his journey with a “present.”
“My lord and husband.” She smiled broadly at Cædda as he neared the doorway to their chamber. “I’m so happy you’ve come…” A roar of laughter from the men in the hall drowned out the remainder of her sentence, and Cædda looked wistfully back at his men.
When the cacophonous noise died down, Annis tried again. “I wanted to thank you for the gift of another slave. But I wonder if perhaps she could be of greater assistance somewhere else?”
Cædda’s head snapped back around to her, looking displeased. “Did you not, prior to my departure, expressly say you wanted a slave other than Saoirse to be your handmaiden?”
“Yes, of course you are right. I am grateful for the thought, My Love, but I see now I have all the help I need. Saoirse is perfectly suitable. This new woman is wholly inappropriate.” She moved away from the doorway of their room and seated herself heavily next to her spindle. The rain had started again, dampening her mood further, and the noise in the adjoining Great Hall was deafening now that Garrick had finished his story and joined the other warriors. Annis did not foresee her evening being a pleasant one.
Her husband stepped further into the room, reluctantly it seemed. “You haven’t even spoken to Deorca, Annis. How can you know you don’t like her?” His voice took on an impatient tone.
“How can I speak to her when she’s not Saxon? I know very little Latin, and you said she was difficult. I do not have the patience to wrestle with a stubborn ass of a woman. Give her to Redwald; Hilde says he needs an apprentice.”
Cædda laughed out loud at that, his voice booming over the din. “Tanning is not work for women, and dealing with Redwald is more punishment than she deserves. I might as well give her to Garrick—or the Danes for that matter.”
Punishment was precisely what Annis had in mind for the slave. If a Christian man had, in fact, thrown her from a ship, her crime must have been severe. Adultery was the only reason springing immediately to mind. Cædda’s attentions were diverted enough by Saoirse and the bastard child; Annis didn’t want another slave to compete with.
A serving girl squealed as one of the men grabbed her by the rear end, sending the other warriors into peals of laughter. Annis grimaced at the racket.
His mood seemingly lightened, Cædda smiled softly and walked over to her. “Don’t be troubled.” He bent down to kiss her. “Hilde is getting old and Saoirse is still a girl. I was hoping Deorca could be a companion for you while I’m away. She’s noble and educated; she could help with the children’s education. Perhaps she won’t be so difficult when she feels out of danger.”
Annis looked up at him with doubt. “I will see if she can be of use to me. But if she continues to be difficult, I’ll give her to Redwald.” She was about to ask him about his pilgrimage to Ethelred’s tomb when her two youngest sons came screaming into the chamber.
Dægberht was hacking at his little brother, Esmund, with a wooden sword Garrick had given him. Esmund had no sword and was deflecting the blows with one of the cook’s serving trays. The high-pitched laughter of the boys caused their mother to wince. She silently prayed, not for the first time, that her fourth child would be a girl.
Hilde tore into the room with a look of fury on her face. “I told you to come in and greet your father! If you keep acting like swine, I’ll hog-tie you and send you to slaughter with the rest of the pigs!” She snatched the sword away from Dæg’s hand and gave him a firm kick to the rump.
Cædda drained his ale and tossed the cup onto the floor. “My boys like to fight, Hilde. Let them be.” He mussed Dæg’s hair as the boy cowered from the nurse’s anger.