Loveweaver (10 page)

“You have arrived with us and been here one day.” Haesten addressed Broder in voice of deep and astounding resonance. “And in your gratitude that I have allowed you a place in my army, you and these two others set loose a score of horses, chased them round the yard and caused one to stumble in a rut and fall lame. Since all witnesses deem you the instigator, you shall decide what your reparation should be.”

Broder’s thoughts turned to Soso, but mostly to Llyrica, prayed she was safe in her unknown whereabouts. He sorely felt her lack of assistance and money purse. “I have no money with me, hlaford. In time, I might arrange for payment ...”

“I have no use for your coin, boy.” Haesten’s voice reverberated through Broder’s chest. “You need make useful amends. You look to be full-grown and I have need for every man willing to do his part. Answer for this and I will not think you are slack as well as a prankster and will think of some remedy other than giving you the boot. Now name your punishment.”

The warlord’s words, which charged Broder with accountability, yet without condescension, invoked an odd effect: shame where pride should be. The fact that Haesten might consider him a ne’er-do well made for a bad start and Broder was suddenly wont to redeem himself. His mind cogitated as it seldom did.

“I have an idea, lord Haesten.”  Broder’s companions perked, since Broder’s fate included theirs. “We will put ourselves to mucking the paddocks, which are ankle deep in manure.” Egil and Lunt groaned, and Haesten’s advisors laughed. “I will see to the lame horse myself,” Broder continued. “Though I will need advice on how to go about it.”

Haesten leaned back, obviously pleased. “Well done, lad. Well done. Now go on out and find yourself a rake. Put your shoulder into it and see that the next news I receive of you is high. And take your cohorts with you.” He then dismissed Broder with a wave, making a remark to the man on his right about the next item of business.

A thrill ran through Broder at Haesten’s praise, though it was soon tempered by the warriors in the hall prodding the trio to the door, and by jokes about where a boy, whose beard was as soft as goose down, would haul a ton of horse dung. Broder must now go begin the task he had just promised, and do so with two comrades none too glad at the penalty they must pay.

They crossed the compound to the side farthest from the river, and upon Broder’s return to the scene of the misdemeanor, he viewed it differently. An opportunity for folly had become a workplace. A light rain had ended and the sun broke out, heating the wet air and causing steam to choke the empty paddocks. The herd of two hundred or so had been let out to the adjoining field and men had already mucked and hauled dung to a mountainous pile. Much was left to be done. Spurred by Haesten’s expectations, Broder picked up a pitchfork, his comrades sullenly following him, and began his chore.

An indeterminate number of hours later, long after the others deemed the job sufficiently done and quit, Broder kept at it, sore of back and neck and soaked with perspiration and horse wastage. The amount of manure these four-legged creatures produced astonished him, but his desire to please Haesten urged him to dig, fill the cart and remove the odiferous slush until he reached the layer of fresh earth.

“Hail, Broder!” 

He turned from the dung mountain to the sound of Haesten’s bellow, saw him in his staggering approach with an entourage of six.

“Lord Haesten!” Broder shouted, out of breath. “I had hoped to finish before a report was made you. I have not had a chance to look to the horse!”

“Put the fork down, boy!” Haesten leaned heavily on the paddock gate, waving Broder to him. “If you get this any tidier, the horses will fare better than my men. Or we will need name that mound of manure after you! Come instead and have some ale.”

“I will be grateful, hlaford, for I am parched indeed. But know that I will return anon,” said Broder. Once through the gate, Haesten motioned for Broder to walk beside him, and his men divided.

“You are past ripe, boy!” exclaimed Haesten, covering his nose. The others laughed, making rude noises as they stepped away. “Nay, you will not go back to it since I have other plans for you. The first is that you go to the bathhouse and use it.” He surveyed Broder’s dung-splattered clothes. “Put on the garments I will send, then come to my hall. You will stay there instead of the barracks.”

Broder suspected he was the butt of a jest. But if so, the drunken swaggering of the old warlord gave no clue. “I do not take your meaning, Lord Haesten. Your hall is meant for the higher ranked. For those who have proved themselves ...”

“As you have today. You did not flinch when you were accused, and then you chose the lowest of chores and labored at it as if it were the highest. I deem a man worthy who owns his mistakes and makes them right again. I also reward those who take my commands to heart with fervor, as you have done.” Haesten walked on, viewing the expanse of his fortressed yards and the plank buildings. Warriors occupied themselves repairing huts, wrestling, fist fights and spear throwing. Some played catch with dogs. Others could be heard at the river hammering strakes on ships, washing and even swimming.

Broder felt his life turn a corner. “If I have pleased you, hlaford, it is because I should like to serve you. Know I will always heed your commands and take lesson from you.”

Haesten laughed at Broder’s solemnity. “Very well, then. Be off. But show yourself by eventide. A nearby settlement has just brought us a load of meat, a welcome respite from porridge, and ale enough for five hundred men to drink their fill. In my house tonight is an exceptional event, of which I may partake though happily wed. Two score women have come to share their pallets with any man who has the need. Count yourself among them, Broder.”

“Aye, Lord Haesten. This command I will also take to heart.”

Upon first awakening Slayde had noticed it, and not even his morning sprig of mint dispelled the taste of soap in his mouth. It lingered as he had negotiated the terms under which his mother would keep Elfric and when he had patted his brother’s head with a good-bye and a promise to fetch him soon. The taste continued as he had taken his mother’s ring and allowed her to kiss his cheek when he took his leave. Neither did it wane throughout his State of the Shire address to the assembly of Kentish thegns and ceorls. Hours later as he journeyed to London, the flavor of soap yet prevailed.

Trade and military vessels choked the Thames, and Slayde’s men labored at the oars against the current, a headwind and treacherous fog. Though they maneuvered cautiously around oncoming ships and paid attention to traffic behind, a knorr had nearly tagged them once and they almost overran a faering, too small a craft to venture out in such crowded waters.

The OnyxFox and its sister ships made slow progress, and Slayde regretted that he had not scheduled an extra day to arrive in London. His landing now looked to occur in late afternoon. Yet there would be ample time before dark to hand Llyrica over the border, see that his London house was in order and prepare to organize a fighting force. Ah, yea, indeed ... and marry Athelswith.

By fixing his eyes starboard from the bow, Slayde resisted the urge to study Llyrica’s nimble fingers at work as she sat on the deck. He averted his attention from the diaphanous piece of white fabric she sewed in her lap. The vixen had told him, without his asking, that she made his bride a gown for their marriage: a gift of goodwill before he set Llyrica on East Anglian soil. To stay his arousal envisioning how
Llyrica
would feel in the gossamer, gold-braided gown, without a stitch underneath, her body wet and pressed against him, StoneHeart planned how to present the gift to Athelswith. He also kept his ear to Ailwin and Byrnstan. Slayde’s second was not yet wise to the futility of arguing with the priest about the meeting earlier that day.

“It was not open to a vote.” Ailwin said. “Yet if it had been, all but the most addlebrained would see the logic in StoneHeart’s decree. With an army of enough Kentish and London men, Haesten will turn tail and run, or if we are lucky, will fall quickly by an arrow to the heart. His levies will then disperse. But if we serve him Danegeld on a silver plate, he will bow most sincerely and swear oaths to leave us in peace. Then as history has proved us, as soon as we put out the lamps to sleep, he will return with his troops, newly paid with
our
tax, to plunder our homes, our churches and our crops.”

Slayde observed Byrnstan at the bow, saw him exchange smiles with Llyrica and give her a wink. The priest then returned his attention to Ailwin, continued: “Indeed, it was all discussed and decided so at the meeting this morning, Ailwin. I only remind you that he fled from Benfleet when paid with geld ...”

“Because King Alfred held Haesten’s first wife and two young sons as well-kept hostages, sons the king sponsored in a baptism! Haesten only sees to reason when his possessions are at stake. The warlord pledged another oath, took back his family, along with a generous payment of geld. Aye, he left. But here he is yet threatening Kent again!” Ailwin crossed his sinewy arms across his chest, flicking a glance to his ealdorman.

Slayde remembered the negotiation involving Haesten’s little boys and the reports of the tattoos on the bottom of their feet. The warlord’s insignia. The man was said to mark all of his belongings thusly, even unto family members.  

Byrnstan nodded solemnly. “Haesten is an old man now, of four score and nine years and some rumor he is approaching madness. His men are most likely close to starvation. They have met with only failure in their raids of the last season and might be ready for peaceful negotiation.”

“You will not draw pity from me, or any who have long memories of his bloody destruction. It is now when he is weak that we need press our advantage! With our troops motivated by full stomachs and good coin, they will fight until the battle is won. I know you, priest. You will be among us with your own sword.”

Byrnstan smiled, unruffled. “My sword is symbolic, son. It represents the word of God. I will be among you to lead you in prayer before battle, just as I have always done. I am present to save StoneHeart or any of his men from forging headlong onto the wrong path, then I do so.”

Thinking of the many times Byrnstan had intervened with his singular methods of meddling, Slayde readied with a quip for his godfather. But the sight ahead suspended his thoughts, jolted him with alarm.

“Larboard, hard!” StoneHeart shouted. “Double strokes!” Ailwin ran to the stern and repeated the orders to the sister ships.

An approaching ship swerved into their lane with another attempting to pass it. With a merchant’s knorr close on the starboard side and his own ships behind, Slayde strove to cut across the path of the oncoming vessel to the other side. His steersman and rowers made quick corrections, but as the OnyxFox nearly cleared past, the grinding roar of colliding ships met with a spine-wrenching blow. The aft of the OnyxFox took the brunt, launching the steersman from the tiller, and sent sea chests and oarsmen careening across the deck. As the ship lurched from impact, Slayde, Byrnstan and Ailwin tumbled foot over head, with a bruise-inducing force. They landed in a hard heap. Slayde’s own lucky sword cut his thigh as he fell.

He groaned to a stand. “Man again!” His crew quickly scrambled to reassemble since the danger of the crowded waters yet remained and they need stay on course. It appeared the OnyxFox’s sister ships escaped harm, and the cause of the accident cruised on down river, an unidentifiable offender.

The worst now over, Slayde hurried to Llyrica, who lay moaning softly, clutching filmy fabric in one hand, her ankle in the other. Her hood had fallen back, revealing her face pale with pain, her hair in dishabille. Whether or not she was a whore with a dubious past, the sight of her evoked a wrenching tug in Slayde’s chest. Would that he could gather her in his arms in comfort and stroke the blond hair that spilt around her. He bent to kneel beside her, imagined untying the laces of her leather scoh and taking her little foot in his hands ...

“We are taking in water, ealdorman!” The steersman, restored to his post, called from the tiller. “A cracked strake. It is not too much to bail though.”

Slayde straightened. “Then bail hard and set us to the shore.”

Bloody damn! His ship was damaged in a boating mishap after escaping unharmed from thirty campaigns against the Vikings. This proved a foul report, one that agitated him to the last of his tolerance. Holy Hell! His mouth tasted like soap, his thigh bled from a self-inflicted wound, he couldn’t shoot straight, his little brother was a Mary, he insulted his second in front of a woman, and his mother informed him that his father had a male lover! All had occurred within two days time, begun when he had pulled the wet vixen from the sea.