Loveweaver (4 page)

“The promise has never been far from either of our thoughts. Yet Gala did not consider that your brother would keep you from its fulfillment. Now his actions give you opportunity to pursue it. You can sing and weave, talents for which you are valued. And you are beautiful.”

“What power are those things when Mother bade me go to father to make him suffer for her suffering? I well remember the pain and evil she said he has done to her, but where shall I begin?”

“You promised her you would discover a way and you shall. The river will take you away this night, so the time has come for me to tell your father’s name. The rings your mother gave you bear his mark, the same he put on you. It will be proof that you are your father’s child.”

“Where shall I direct my course that I may find him? The River Trene to the North Sea? Or the River Elder to the Baltic?”

“The Trene to North. Then get you to the Great Isle. In Danelaw you will find your father. His name is Haesten, the warlord and conqueror.”

“Pray it is not true! It is a daunting task, Soso, to cross the ocean to go find a father who is a cruel stranger."

“Aye, and he has searched for you since your were but a tiny girl.”

“But I shall never see you again. Take these coins to pay for any grievances incurred this night. You have been my mother, my sister, my teacher. When I see a length of linen or wool or silk finely spun, tightly woven and brightly hued, I will think of you.”

“When I see an artful pattern, worked in a tricolored braid, I will think of you, the Songweaver. Go out claim your rightful name. Now travel with God, whom I have taught you to love.”
 

Aunt Solvieg. There would need be a time to cry over that parting. Now Llyrica fretted over Broder, as it seemed he had quickly found kindred troublemakers.

Eadgyth returned with a wedge of bread, handed it to Llyrica and readied to speak. But a sound outside caught the thrall’s attention, prompting her to cry out.

“The StoneHeart is coming!” Eadgyth’s shout echoed from thrall to thrall and brought Llyrica to her feet.

A chaotic spectacle, each woman made a quick end to her chores, then ran out of the hall at the loom end of the lodge. Llyrica was nearly induced to follow. But the sight out of the open door proved a stronger enticement, bade her stay and stare, indeed rooted her to the spot.

A sight to behold, this ealdorman Slayde of Kent, son of Ceolmund, rescuer of drowning women, kisser of virgin lips, ascended the steep, terraced stonewalk, leaving his fleet moored below. He was owner of such male composition that Llyrica could scarcely give its description lest it related directly to her own body. His long legs made those two dozen men who flanked and followed him work to keep up. They entranced her.  Powerful thighs were covered with red linen braccas and massive calves wrapped in winnigas of soft leather. She remembered his legs pumping below the water and pressed to hers during the kiss, tantalizing
her
legs with strength and efficiency. Her eyes traveled up Slayde’s torso and found narrow hips and waist. Over a broad chest and shoulders spanned his black tunica, its ill fit saved only by the sublime shape of the wearer. But Llyrica knew this upper half of him by the security of hard strength. She had felt it twice, first in the water, as he held her in safety, and then on the deck, when he had pulled her against him in some sort of male demonstration.

Now she considered his bare arms as they swung at his side, flexing so hard, that if not for the bronzed skin, she might see in detail the inner workings of every tendon and muscle. Yet the encircling of those arms around her, in the water and on the deck, demonstrated not just brawn, but the knowledge of how to utilize it. 

In Llyrica’s limited knowledge of the creature called man, she had not fathomed one who was not as Xanthus, squishy and mired in flesh, nor as her father, a cruel wife-beater, nor like her brother, impulsive and directionless. She at once defined the StoneHeart as the true meaning of
man
.

“The spear drove so deeply it broke Sigehelm’s foot.” Slayde’s voice carried up the walkway. An afternoon breeze from the estuary below lifted his untamed black hair from his shoulders as he told his tale. “But he yanked out the weapon, turned it on his assailant and gutted him with it. Then Sig bound his bloody foot with wood slats and continued to fight.” Slayde paused dramatically. “When later his men asked what bade him go on with such an injury, he replied, ‘Wooden shoe?’ ” 

His poor joke elicited laughter in the men around him while his lips did not so much as twitch. But neither this stay of a smile nor the set of his teeth made Llyrica forget the hidden talent of his mouth, and she could barely withstand the fluttering in the pit of her stomach.  

“Ah, there she is now!” Byrnstan shouted up at her in the doorway, advancing from behind Slayde. The priest held the hand of a towheaded boy, perhaps five years old, alert and small for his age. “Just as I said, Elfric. A woman from Denmark in StoneHeart’s house. Tell Teta all about it when I return you to her.”

The boy stared mutely at Llyrica after flicking a glance up the tremendous height of his half brother, a look to seek permission. Dwarfed amid a crowd of men was not the proper place for the poor boy. The effort showed on his face as he made an attempt to resemble Slayde’s posture and mannerisms.

Slayde seemed to disregard his brother as he looked at Llyrica with dark, humorless eyes. He then shot her a hostile glance, a warning which oddly invoked more trepidation in her than had an evening with Xanthus. It urged her to turn and run for cover in the abandoned hall. Old habits carried her toward the far end of the lodge, where she gathered an armload of carded wool and dove behind the safety of the loom. Through the yarns of the warp and the stone weights, Llyrica watched the hall fill with Slayde’s uniformed captains and heard the wood on wood scraping of benches pulled back from the table. A youth, out of breath and sweaty, ran into the hall, handed Slayde a rolled parchment, bowed, then made a hasty exit. Slayde unfurled and read the dispatch, then tucked it into his belt, perhaps saving it for later. Llyrica nibbled at the bread, still in her hand.

The StoneHeart took a seat at the center of the gathering with the violent tapestries behind him and stared across the hall to Llyrica’s hiding place. “This is a good start, Byrnstan.” 

The priest sat to his left, young Elfric to his right and across was the man called Ailwin. The remaining, all yet dressed in black tunicas, filled in.

“The vixen knows to stay out of my sight. Pray she remains so, and also unheard.” Slayde glanced around the table, motioned for all to sit and eat. “Although when after our supper and business is concluded, I might allow her to show herself, providing she is wet from head to toe!”  His comments summoned pounding on the table, and whoops and whistles of appreciation. He swept his gaze across the congregation, waited until the noise died down. “Then you all might go home this night to your wives, mistresses or whores and imagine what you
cannot
have!”

Llyrica understood he dangled the idea of her before these men, but oddly put her off limits to them. They laughed though, and made lewd comparisons about the size of women’s breasts, the lengths of their legs and other references that Llyrica could not decipher.

“Indeed, she wisely stays hidden,” agreed Byrnstan. He looked to shake his head at the lustful male attitudes. “There would be little discussed among such men of brawn and distinction to interest a mere woman, and of course, nothing she would say could be heard above the din of intellect.” His remark contained sarcasm, and he looked toward Llyrica’s hiding place at the loom with a compassionate smile. He turned to the boy beside him. “Elfric, watch and listen well to all you see and hear. We will discuss it later.”

After the little boy nodded and Slayde gave Byrnstan a stony glare, the company at the table turned their attention to the food, limiting their talk to only that which pertained to passing a round of bread, filling a cup with ale, and spearing slabs of meat. Elfric observed the adults, especially Slayde, and mimicked them, but listened intently whenever Byrnstan bent to the boy’s ear.

A half of an hour passed before Slayde pushed his trencher away, tossed in a heel of bread. He put a leaf from a green sprig into his mouth, chewed it as he cleared his throat. This seemed to signal the men at the table to quiet and take heed.

“We bettered the Vikings today.  I consider it no less a feat than if they had been other than unseasoned youngbloods. But as the harvest nears, Haesten surely plans to send legitimate forces to engage us at sea, while he moves into Kent by land.”

Haesten.
Llyrica gasped distinctly at her father’s name, then listened well to determine if it might belong to another man. Slayde cocked his head at her little shriek, frowning before he continued.

“Such pincers are his method and we must double our vigilance during the changing of the fyrd. He might see it as a time of disorganization, when our army is at its most vulnerable.”

A fair-haired man leaned in to address his ealdorman. “We all know that Haesten has again got his eyes on our corn crops. We can not be in two places at once.”

“Deorlof is right about the harvest,” Slayde said, straightening. “Haesten and his thieves have been seen skulking along the Thames just north and east of the border, inspecting the richest fields. The same fields he ransacked last autumn from the safety of his fortress on the Lea. He thinks to feed his men on the fruits of Wessex’s labor while he deprives us of our harvest. Folks in the fields make easy targets.”  The StoneHeart fisted his hands where they rested on the table. “He still thinks London can be his.”

“We estimate he has a thousand men at Fortress Lea,” Ailwin said, sweeping his sights around the table. “If he operates as he did last year, he will wait until the harvest is near complete, move his men out in bands of fifty or so, and take by force our carts of corn, oats, barley and whatever livestock they can haul off. Damn that he is not opposed to setting fire to fields and houses if he meets with too much resistance.”

“He will not, by God!” shouted the man beside Ailwin.

“Give me clear aim at the Danish devil and I will put him down right quick!” another yelled.

“I will join you, Ciawulf! Two arrows through his black heart and his thieves
will fall asunder!” added yet another. “He will not add the Thames to his exploits on the rivers Loire, Sarthe, Maas, and Schedt!” 

“Aye, his stunts end with us, lest his legend grow to include the conquest of Kent and of Wessex!” Ailwin took to his feet, inciting others to theirs. Elfric climbed out of his seat, unnoticed and wandered around the hall. 

A furor arose in the lodge. Their hatred of Hasten and his history left no doubt in Llyrica that he was one and the same as her father. She listened to every heated word, but Elfric distracted her as he began climbing a ladder to an upper chamber.

Slayde did not wait until the clamor subsided, but spoke above it. “King Alfred took much of the wind out of Haesten’s sails when he booted him out of Benfleet three years ago. And when Prince Edward pressed him from Appledore and when my father, Ceolmund and his army forced Haesten to leave Milton. I say we now demand he honor the clear terms of Guthrum’s Treaty and resign himself to Danelaw. I say we now dislodge him from Fortress Lea.” Cheers rose up to the rafters, rewarding his proclamation. None but Llyrica noticed Elfric swinging with one arm on the ladder.

Ailwin’s eyes were lit with excitement. “When we took over Benfleet, we found it complete with its earthworks, training fields, and village dwellings. With the StoneHeart’s house and lookout tower, StoneHeart’s fleet is a formidable power. If we win Lea and find the same, the Kentish border will be secure at last!”

“Aye, to win Lea is our goal,” said Slayde. “If we are to concentrate our efforts north of London, it is as Deorlof said, we cannot be in two places at once. So I will divide the fleet. I have just received a message from the king, that we will change the fyrd two weeks earlier this season. Therefore, tomorrow, each of you will go to your designated burh and inform its citizens. It is King Alfred’s command that it be done swiftly, and with resolve, that neither village nor field be left undefended. 

“Meet me then in London where we will gather an eager army to march on Haesten. The OnyxFox and six ships go with me, and the rest of the fleet stays here with five hundred men under Deorlof’s command, keeping a vigilant patrol on the Gate of StoneHeart.” Slayde raised his cup of ale. “Let us drink to the success of those who will remain and to the citizens of Kent in their ultimate victory against Haesten!” Cups, sloshing ale as they went, were lifted in a salute.

“I will go, too!” announced little Elfric from a high rung on the ladder. “Let me shoot an arrow at Haesten!” All eyes turned to him and a new tumult of laughter and shouts rang out. The boy beamed at the attention he received as he mimed drawing back a bowstring. But this left him without a handhold from his perch above and he slipped to the floor, falling the distance equal to the height of two men. He lay without moving, at the foot of the ladder.

Llyrica dashed out from behind the loom, reaching Elfric first to lift him into her lap. Slayde arrived the next instant, knocking over his bench in haste. Byrnstan soon followed to kneel beside them. Now silenced, the remaining men formed a semi-circle around the four. Llyrica inspected the boy’s limbs as she had often done after Broder had fallen from a rooftop or fence. She found no breaks and breathed a sigh of relief when Elfric stirred and opened his eyes. A moment later, he began to cry.