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.

Chapter Two

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.

The older woman brushed off Endredi’s gown, straightened her belt and tidied a stray wisp of her mistress’s thick, red-gold hair.

“Will you please stop?” Endredi asked, trying to keep annoyance from her voice and reminding herself it was simply Helmi’s way to be always hovering about like an insect.

“Dagfinn said you had to look—”

“Beautiful?” Endredi looked at Helmi skeptically. “I look presentable—beautiful will be for Bayard to decide.”

“Unless the man is stupid and blind, he can’t help but think so. Still, he is a Saxon, so who can say how his mind might work? Everyone knows they are all vicious, horrible barbarians—”

“You have done your best,” Endredi said, interrupting the woman before she began another tirade against the Saxons. Endredi knew that there could be good Saxons as well as bad, just as there were good and bad Danes.

“I don’t know what that oaf Dagfinn is trying to do, marrying off his brother’s widow to some Saxon.”

“Dagfinn seeks peace.”

“Huh! I think I am not the only old woman among the Danes here! When I was young, a man was glad to fight. Wanted to fight. Dagfinn is a coward.”

Endredi put her finger to her lips. “Take care, Helmi, lest he hear your insult.”

Helmi straightened her slim shoulders. “Well, he and his men could not win a battle if Odin himself was on their side.”

Endredi could not argue with her servant’s observation. Indeed, Dagfinn’s thoughts were all too obvious, despite his attempts at subtlety. Nevertheless, she felt duty bound by her respect for her dead husband to say, “Dagfinn may be acting with more wisdom than you think. After all, who among his people would marry a woman of my ill luck? Besides,” she finished, “Dagfinn is the chieftain, so I must obey.”

“I do not believe Dagfinn thinks of anything but his silver and his belly. And where would he be if he didn’t have Bera to oversee everything?”

“I shall miss her.”

“I will not. A harder mistress never breathed, I can tell you.”

“She was always kind to me,” Endredi answered truthfully, although now she knew why Helmi had offered to go with her to the Saxon village. Obviously Helmi considered even the Saxons less threatening than Bera.

As for Endredi, she would miss Bera, but she had always been alone. Even as a child, she had had few friends. The sins of her mother had made her an object of curiosity and scorn, and she had soon learned that sometimes it was better to be alone than to be questioned, or worse, pitied.

“I almost forgot!” Helmi cried, hurrying to Endredi’s small chest. “Dagfinn said to be sure you wore this.” She took out a jeweled crucifix.

Endredi stood motionless while Helmi put it over her head. She had heard that Bayard’s priest had asked if his future wife was a Christian.

She put her hand to the crucifix. Thanks to her stepmother, she understood the Christians’ beliefs and indeed found it no hardship to believe them, too. When a priest had traveled to their village, she had been baptized. Nonetheless, she wore an amulet of Freya beneath her gown. Surely the Christian god would understand that it was hard to ignore the old beliefs.

“I have never seen such an enormous building as that hall,” Helmi said. “I wonder what it is like inside. Why, I wouldn’t be surprised if the tapestries are full of gold thread.”

When Endredi didn’t respond, Helmi went on. “It is also a good thing you speak that Saxon language, although I must say it has a most horrible sound to it.”

“My mother was a Saxon.”

“Oh, yes, well then, have you heard anything about Bayard? His looks, I mean.”

Helmi’s eyes gleamed eagerly, and Endredi knew she would hear what Helmi had learned whether she wanted to or not; however, Bayard’s appearance mattered less to her than the way he would treat a foreign wife. “Dagfinn said he is not old,” Endredi said slowly.

“A mature man and no foolish youth, thank the gods. Handsome, too, I hear.”

“He is a respected leader.”

“He wears fine clothes and much jewelry, Erik said.”

“If he were not just and good, surely he would not have so many men under his command.”

“He washes regularly and trims his beard.”

“I hope he will be patient.”

“He has no children.”

Helmi’s last announcement caught Endredi’s attention. “No children?”

She shook her head. “And he’s been married at least two times.”

“Oh?”

“Still, I hear he is quite virile. Rumors abound that he has bedded dozens of women.”

“And yet no children?”

“Not one.”

“How could anyone you know come by that knowledge?” Endredi asked, her immediate surprise replaced by suspicion.

“I heard some of the men talking about it.”

“Why would any Danes know about Bayard’s children?”

That seemed to shake Helmi’s confidence in her sources. Which was quite as it should be. Surely Helmi could have no valid information concerning Bayard’s wives or women or children. Nonetheless, Helmi’s gossip had disturbed her. Endredi had agreed to this marriage because she had few alternatives, but also because she dearly wanted children.

It could very well be that Bayard did have illegitimate children. He was a Christian, and if they were born out of holy wedlock, he might seek to keep their parentage secret. Or it might be that Bayard’s other wives had simply been unable to bear children, although that would be a rare misfortune.

“If he doesn’t give you children, you could always divorce him,” Helmi noted optimistically.

“No, I could not. Christians are not allowed to divorce for any reason. Besides, where would I go?”

“You could go home to your father.”

“My father has other children and other responsibilities. When I married Fenris, I became his family’s concern. Because of his death, I must do as Dagfinn wishes, since he is the head of the family as well as the chieftain, and he desires this alliance.”

Endredi sighed as she moved away and sat down on a stool. Her father had married a Saxon woman, and their union was a joy to both. Perhaps, just perhaps, she might find it so with Bayard.

She fingered her crucifix, trying to calm her growing dismay and bury her memories of the boy she had once cared for but who had left her to her fate, never trying to find out what had become of her. Despite what he had done—or not done—she had hoped, dreamed...until years had passed, and she had grown into a woman. Adelar had never returned. So Endredi had put him from her heart and from her hopes, and wed another.

Although Fenris was kind, he had inspired no passion within her, and she feared there was no passion left to inspire. When Dagfinn had told her what he planned for her, she had thought not of her own seemingly impossible happiness. This marriage might bring a measure of peace between Saxon and Dane, so she had agreed.

Helmi paused for a moment in her bustling near the large curtained bed, an object Endredi had been doing her best not to notice. “I think someone’s coming!” she cried. “Stand up, stand up!”

Endredi obeyed and despite her resolve to face this marriage resolutely, she had to clasp her hands together to keep them from trembling.

Dagfinn entered the bower and surveyed her slowly. “Good,” he muttered. He nodded toward the door. “Come to the hall.”

Endredi followed the big man out of the bower. In the yard before the hall several women and children were standing at a respectful distance and staring at her. They looked well-dressed and well-fed, a sign that Bayard took care of his people.

Some were curious, others openly hostile as they stood silently. Endredi raised her chin. She was the daughter of Einar Svendson, and no hint of fear or doubt must show on her face.

She continued to walk proudly as she entered the huge wooden building, which was as richly decorated as Helmi had guessed.

There was another crowd of Danes and Saxon men inside. Here, Endredi lowered her eyes as a woman should in such company, lest she be thought immodest, but she glanced up when they paused before proceeding. Standing at the front of a group of Saxons was a tall, bearded, finely dressed man who moved with the natural arrogance of a nobleman. He had to be Bayard.

There was another, younger man at his elbow, with light brown hair, a cruel mouth and thin lips. He looked at her with an impertinent curiosity that annoyed her, despite her anxiety. A woman stood beside him, thin, too, and motionless, her face placid but her gaze darting everywhere.

On the other side of Bayard was a man who had to be a priest. He wore a huge wooden crucifix and a strange black tunic that reached all the way to the ground.

Dagfinn walked ahead of her. “Bayard, here is your bride,” he proclaimed.

Helmi moved behind her and gave her a gentle shove. “Go forward! Go forward!”

Endredi went toward her betrothed slowly, looking at Bayard steadily. He was handsome, dark and well-built. His tunic was a brilliant red, his belt studded with gold, his boots made of fine soft leather, and he wore a beautiful silver brooch with many jewels.

But there was an expression in his eyes.... Suspicion? Reluctance? Then it was gone, masked by a charming smile.

“You spoke the truth, Dagfinn,” Bayard said when she was close to him. “She is beautiful.”

Another man spoke, this time in the Danes’ tongue, obviously translating Bayard’s words. She recognized the voice instantly and quickly scanned the crowd, her heart beating as rapidly as the wings of a bird trapped in a net.

Adelar! Here! She knew him at once, although it had been years. The color of his hair, the shape of his features—even the way he stood was as familiar as her own body. Her mouth went dry, and for a moment she thought she was going to faint.

She had tried to forget Adelar and had convinced herself that she had, but she knew now it was a lie.

For a moment she saw recognition in Adelar’s eyes and something that thrilled her beyond words, something that made all the long years disappear. She could not marry Bayard now. She would refuse, no matter what Dagfinn said or did.

Then Adelar’s demeanor changed, as if a flame had been blown out, replaced by something hard and cold as iron. He looked away.

Oh, Freya! Was he his father’s son, after all? Kendric had been a base traitor, a man outwardly handsome, but inwardly as corrupt as a man could be. Had Adelar grown that way, too?

What other explanation could there be for his action? He was not going to acknowledge that he knew her, not even when she was about to be married to another. He was staring at the floor, not daring to meet her gaze, willing to abandon her again. Acting like a dishonorable coward.

Endredi tried to collect her scattered thoughts and marshal her confused emotions. She wanted to run. To hide like a wounded animal and let herself moan in agony. Or perhaps worst of all, she wanted to beg him to look at her again.

“I am honored,” Bayard said.

Adelar did not want her. Perhaps he never had. Perhaps she had only been swept away by his looks and his apparent need for her comfort.

Suddenly aware that they were waiting for her to speak, she said stiffly, “No, the honor is mine.”

Bayard held out his hand, and she put hers into it. She was a woman now, and the dreams of her childhood were dead.

* * *

The wedding feast was a long and very rich one. Dagfinn and the other Danes gobbled up the abundant food as if they had not eaten in days—so greedily, in fact, that Endredi was quite ashamed. It was obvious that the Saxons were not impressed by their guests’ lack of manners, either.

“That is my cousin, Adelar,” Bayard said to his bride as the Saxon warrior rose and left the table with only the curtest of nods toward his host when the gleeman began to sing, signaling the end of the feast but not of the celebrations. Others stood and moved about the hall, filling it with hushed voices and muted whispers, giving the lord and his bride the occasional curious glance.

Cousins, Endredi thought, watching Adelar go out the door. That explained the resemblance between them and why Adelar would be in attendance here.

The cousins had the same fearless brown eyes, dark hair and muscular build, Endredi realized. Indeed, even now, Bayard reminded her of Adelar so much that she found it difficult to look at her husband without a pang of bitterness.

But she would have to find a way. The gifts had been exchanged, promises made, the priest had even said a blessing. Only the consummation remained to make them truly husband and wife. One more duty to fulfill.

And to her, it was a duty. She could not understand why men seemed to find such a thing a tremendous pleasure. Nonetheless, she did want to have children. A baby would surely bring her joy and fill the loneliness in her heart.

“Adelar is one of my finest warriors and one of the few men I trust. You must forgive his seeming rudeness. It is just his way,” Bayard said with a look of concern.

“Is it?” she responded politely, but with growing dread. Bayard seemed all too ready to excuse Adelar’s impertinence. What else would he excuse his cousin?

If Adelar was so capable of deceiving her when he was but a lad, was he now deceiving Bayard, who obviously trusted him enough to have him in his counsel? She would find out and warn her husband if she suspected any treachery at all.

With even more dismay she realized that Ranulf, her husband’s nephew, was coming to sit in the space closest to her, away from his thin, sallow wife, who seemed not to notice.

“I trust, my lady, that you will not think we are all so lacking in our attentions to you, as my lord’s wife,” Ranulf said, attempting to sound polite but only succeeding in sounding the worse for too much ale.

She bowed her head toward Ranulf in slight acknowledgment.

Obviously taking Endredi’s response to be encouragement, he said, “Adelar is an uncouth fellow. But of course if one believes those tales about his family—”

Bayard said, “I am pleased he has decided to remain here.”

Ranulf returned to his wife.

Endredi fought to stay silent, although she was filled with curiosity. What did Ranulf know about Adelar’s family? Did others know what Kendric had done? What had happened to Adelar and his father in the years since she had seen them? She dearly wanted to find out, but until she understood the natures of these men, she had best speak cautiously. She had sensed an undercurrent of hostility ever since she had set foot in Bayard’s hall and had assumed it was the natural enmity between Saxon and Dane. Now, however, she realized all was not well within Bayard’s ranks. Bayard did not like Ranulf, Ranulf sought eagerly to please in a way that roused her suspicions, and Ranulf did not approve of Adelar although Bayard did.

She twisted her hands in her lap. She was completely alone here among these men.

“Adelar’s father is a wealthy thane, with lands and a burh further south,” Bayard explained.

Endredi nearly knocked her goblet from the table. Adelar’s father still possessed land after what he had done? What tales had Ranulf been speaking of, if not that Kendric himself had arranged for a Viking raiding party to attack his village, only too glad to see it destroyed? He had murdered his wife, too. It was not possible that his people could have forgiven such things—but once she would have said it was impossible that Adelar would ignore her, too. She would also have said it was impossible that Adelar could be like his father, but how else to explain his actions since she had arrived?

“If you will excuse me, my lord, I must prepare for evening prayers,” the priest sitting near her said gravely.

“Good even, Father,” Bayard replied, bowing his head.

Endredi watched the priest walk away. Before she had known a Christian, she had been told priests were evil men who would cast spells to send you to eternal torment if you didn’t pay them to say special prayers. She had learned otherwise, but this gloomy man still added to her dread. She did not trust him, either, especially as he had been giving her harsh looks for the better part of the meal.

Bayard, seeing where she looked, patted her hand. “It is not you he disapproves of, Endredi. It is women in general.”