Season of the Sun (10 page)

“There is no place for you to bathe or change your gown. Keith and Toki have moved into Olav's house.
Come now, for we don't wish to keep the king waiting.”

King Guthrum's palace stood on high ground above York harbor, stone walls surrounding it, and its white stone, quarried nearby at Helleby, gleamed in the summer sunlight. She had visited the palace once before in the company of Olav when he'd delivered a magnificent otter pelt to the king as a birthday present. She had waited in an outer chamber and been awed by her surroundings. She wasn't awed now, she was too frightened. Exquisite tapestries in bright colors still covered the stone walls. Those walls that were wooden rather than stone had been smoothed down and covered with more hangings of vivid red silks and blue wools. The king, Olav had told her then, was fond of red silk. He wore little else. And jewelry. He loved finger rings and neck chains and arm bracelets of thick, heavy gold and silver.

But today she wasn't in Olav's company. She was no longer a girl to gawk and admire. She was a prisoner. She straightened her shoulders, waiting.

Old Arnulf's hand stayed flat on her back. He pushed her forward as if she hadn't the ability to walk herself without his direction. It angered her. She wanted to turn on him and scream that he was a fool, and more than that, he was blind to the truth. No, no, she must wait, she would tell the king the truth and he would at least have to consider her words.

King Guthrum was no longer the handsome young Viking who had held all the Danelaw in his hands for nearly three decades. He was old and gnarly and white-haired and his face was deeply creased from the sun. He was seated in a magnificently carved throne chair of oak with finely ornamented arms. He believed them magic. Whenever he fought, the chair arms went with him. He was garbed splendidly in red silk, as was his wont, and he wore many arm bracelets and rings.
Around his neck was a thick gold neckband, polished and inset with rubies and diamonds. At least a dozen men stood around him. None sat save the king. Arnulf shoved Zarabeth forward and she stumbled to her knees.

“Stay there,” he hissed behind her.

She looked up into the king's eyes.

“You are Zarabeth, widow of Olav.”

“Aye, sire.”

“Before, you were his stepdaughter, and then he condescended to wed with you. At your wedding I believed Olav had made a fine choice.”

She jerked back at the cold words and the wrong conclusion. She shook her head. “Nay, sire, 'twas not like that. He wished to protect me and Lotti, my younger stepsister. Thus he insisted that I wed him.”

King Guthrum turned to Keith, and she followed his gaze and saw Keith shake his head. She saw Toki standing behind him. She looked around frantically for Lotti, but the child wasn't there.

She felt fear and rage pound through her, choking her, but she managed to hold herself silent.

The king turned back to her. “Arnulf tells us that you wish to speak in your own defense. Do it now. There are more important matters that await my attention.”

Slowly Zarabeth got to her feet. She straightened her gown and pulled back her shoulders. Her chin went up. She knew her life hung on her words.

“I will say the truth, sire. I did not kill Olav. I tended him faithfully during his illness. He was kind to me. You were there at our wedding and you saw that he was pleased. That night he was drunk, as were all the guests. The next day, he became ill and his illness remained for weeks and each day he worsened. I did all I could for him. Then there was an evening when Keith's wife, Toki, was more than passing cruel
to me and Olav ordered both his son and his wife from his house. They were not to come back. Almost immediately Olav began to improve. He was nearly well when he forgave Keith his wife's ill-temper and they returned yet again to share our evening meals. He became ill and died that same night. I did not poison him, sire, but I imagine that Toki did, and now she has convinced her husband to have me blamed.”

The king said naught, sat there stroking his gnarled fingers over his chin.

“We have heard speech from both Keith and Toki and now we have heard your words. A young wife seeks to have her husband's wealth but she doesn't want him, for he is old and no longer comely. She wishes to free herself of him and his demands on her.”

At least part of it was the truth, and Zarabeth felt herself paling under the king's gaze. Then she shook her head. “You will ask Arnulf about my husband's wishes. He wanted to leave to me all his earthly goods, not to his son, for he felt no more kinship for him. This is why Keith and Toki blame me for it. They are responsible, there is no one else! They want what is mine, what is my sister's!”

The king raised his voice then, and it was stern and cold, cutting her off. “I have heard how you wished to leave Olav's house to travel away with a Viking, a man young and comely and finely hewn, but then you changed your mind, for Olav had offered to wed with you. You decided to stay and have your wealth, for you saw it there and did not wish to take a chance on offerings in a faraway land.”

“That is not true! Where did you hear this, sire?”

Arnulf poked her in her ribs. “Watch your tongue, stupid wench!”

“Hold,” the king said, lifting a beringed hand. “Leave her be, our good Arnulf. She deserves to know all the proof against her, then perhaps she will
beg and plead for forgiveness. Now, girl, I heard it from the man you encouraged, then scorned, for you could not be certain that he would give you all that you wanted. Aye, I have it from Magnus Haraldsson that you are a perfidious, faithless wench who, in our view, decided to make Olav jealous, and thus prodded him until he promised to wed with you. And then you dismissed the man who wanted you and promised you all his loyalty and his wealth. And thus there will be no consideration for you. Olav's son deserves his father's possessions, not a young wife who wedded him only to gain his wealth, a young woman who eagerly turned away another man, a young man with true honor, and taunted him with her decision in full view of York's citizens so his humiliation would be all the greater.”

Zarabeth stopped thinking, nearly stopped breathing, for as the king spoke, the deep crimson silk curtain behind his chair parted, and Magnus came through to stand beside Guthrum. He stared at Zarabeth and she saw the coldness in his eyes, the loathing for her in his heart. She felt shock at the sight of him, an instant of wild hope, then despair. Only he could have told the king these things.

“It isn't true,” she heard herself say in a low whisper.

“Well, girl, speak if you would, for I would have this done and punishment meted out!”

“Olav made me dismiss Magnus! He forced me to do it!”

“And how did he do this?”

“He threatened to kill Lotti, I swear it!”

Keith yelled, “ 'Tis a lie, a damnable lie! My father loved the little girl, gave her all that she wished to have. He favored her and played with her. Zarabeth killed him and now she lies! My father was a sainted man. Never would he threaten a child!”

The king said aught for several minutes. Then he turned slowly to Magnus and said something in a low voice. Zarabeth waited, so terrified that she couldn't have moved in any case. She saw Magnus lean down and reply to a question.

Then slowly Magnus straightened and looked directly at her. He said nothing. Then he smiled as the king rose and said, pointing a finger at Zarabeth, “Your punishment for murder should be death, but Magnus Haraldsson, a young man of good faith and fine family, has convinced me otherwise. You, Zarabeth, who could have once been his wife and lived a life of honor, are now his slave to do with as he pleases. If he pleases to kill you, then so be it. If he pleases to beat you until you are senseless, then so be it. Go with your master and never again return to the Danelaw, for death awaits you here if ever you return.”

“No,” Zarabeth said, “no.”

She stood still as Magnus strode toward her, his face set and cold, nothing but contempt in his eyes.

M
agnus stared at her from behind the crimson curtain. He felt such pain he thought he'd choke on it. As he watched her, his pain cleansed itself into pure anger. Even though she was dirty, her hair straggling down about her face, her gown torn at the shoulder where someone had ripped off a brooch, still, she looked proud and unbending.

By Odin, he had missed her, had dreamed of her more nights than he could remember now, for she always seemed to be there with him, in his mind, soft beneath his hands and whispering his name only the way she could; and yet she was naught but a fraud, the woman who had played him for a fool, the woman who had betrayed him.

He listened to her speak, so impassioned she was, and felt the pain return in full measure, but not with pity or longing for her, but with building rage. She had wronged him. She deserved to suffer for it, and she would.

When he came out to stand beside King Guthrum, when she saw him, he thought she would faint. For an instant he thought he saw joy in her expressive eyes, and hope . . . nay, it was surprise and chagrin he saw, for he was here now, to face her. It was guilt too, he realized, for what she'd done to him, perhaps even a moment of remorse.

Had she killed Olav?

He hadn't wished to believe it, had initially
dismissed it as absurd, but the witnesses were many and their words rang true to his ears and to the king's ears as well. They reported how Olav had told all of his love for the little girl, how Olav had wanted Zarabeth and the little girl to be protected and thus he wedded with her, how Olav had planned to give Zarabeth all upon his death because of her hold on him. Did that make her guilty of murdering him? Did that mean she had turned Olav away from his own son? Evidently most believed so.

But then, many witnesses also spoke of Zarabeth's kindness, her care of Olav during his illness, and her love for her little sister. Still, he found himself looking again and again at Keith and Toki. Again he found himself going over Zarabeth's story in his mind, and he looked toward Toki. The woman's eyes were lowered now, modestly, her mouth a tight line, but he felt something malignant about her, something that was cold and unwholesome.

Not that it really mattered to him. He was glad Olav was dead, truth be told. The man was no longer Zarabeth's husband and she was free now to be whatever he, Magnus, wished her to be. He had come in time to save her, and that should have amused him. He, the man she'd betrayed, saving her. Aye, there was humor in that. But when he tried to find the humor, he failed. The thought that if he had been just several days later she would have been dead made him nearly double over at the empty blackness her death would bring him. But he refused to dwell on that. No, what would happen now would give him pleasure, great pleasure. She would get the punishment she deserved.

He realized in a moment of truth that what he blamed her for, what enraged him to the point of near-senselessness, what he wanted to punish her for until she was pleading with him, was not the poisoning
of her husband, but her betrayal of him, her humiliation of him, her freely given pain to him.

He nearly rubbed his hands together at the pleasure of his revenge on her. She was alive and the king had agreed he could have her. He had paid Keith the danegeld for Olav's life, an amount of gold that wasn't all that great after all, for, strangely enough, Keith had seemed anxious that Zarabeth not be killed for her act. His wife, Toki, had carped and yelled and screamed at him, but he'd stood firm.

Now Zarabeth was his slave. He could do with her whatever he wished to. He thanked Guthrum once again, then turned to walk toward her. He wanted to see the fear in her eyes, see her shrink back from him because of the lies she'd told him, because now she was whatever he dictated that she would be. He wanted to see her pale; he wanted to see her cower. Instead, to his surprise, her shoulders straightened even more and that damned pride of hers radiated outward like a shield.

He met her then, halting but inches from her, and he said low, “Justice has been served. You are mine now, completely mine. We are leaving on the morrow.”

Zarabeth felt the room darkening, felt the floor tilt toward her. She was going to faint, she realized, astounded, and the knowledge made her blink and shake herself. She looked up into his face, the beloved face that she had held close in her mind since the first morning he had come to her. She would make him understand. She had to.

“There is no justice in this instance, but there seems to be nothing I can say to change that. Very well, I'll come with you.” She would not thank him for saving her life, for it seemed to her that his words to King Guthrum had made her look all the more guilty.

Magnus frowned. Somehow he hadn't expected her to bend to his demands so quickly.

“I need my clothes.”

“You look like a witch, and your smell sickens me.”

She merely nodded. “Very well, then, clothes and a bath and a comb for my hair.”

“No.”

She found nothing strange at his show of perversity. She'd lived too long with Olav. Again she nodded, saying nothing more.

Actually Magnus had already had her clothing fetched from Olav's house, over Toki's loud and shrill objections. She had wanted to sell the clothing. The vicious bitch would die, so who cared what would happen to her clothing? But Horkel, a man of few words and frightening aspect, had merely taken Zarabeth's things without heeding the shrieking woman. In fact, he had smiled as he'd left Olav's house, Toki running behind him, yelling her head off.

“Come. We will go to my vessel now.”

She turned to walk with him from the presence of King Guthrum. She saw Old Arnulf standing there, displeasure weighing heavy on his face. Toki and Keith hung back, Toki looking furious and Keith looking, strangely, somehow relieved. And Zarabeth knew why. She wished she could place her hands around Toki's throat; she wanted to kill her, for it was she who was the murderess. No, there was no justice. Zarabeth didn't believe that Toki would ever be punished for her deed. As for being eaten with remorse, she doubted Toki had ever had a twinge of remorse in her life. She had won, but still she was furious because Zarabeth wasn't to die. At least by King Guthrum's order.

Zarabeth waited until they were outside the palace compound before saying, “Magnus, please, I will explain everything to you. But first we must fetch Lotti. She is frightened of Toki and she will hurt her, I know it. Please, we must get her.”

Magnus felt equal portions of rage and pain, and all
because of this damned woman who stood disheveled and dirty in front of him, still so proud, so certain of her ability to charm him that she gave him no real notice. He said, his voice as cold as the viksfjord in winter, “No. The child stays here with her brother. I do not wish to have her on the journey home.”

Zarabeth reeled back from his words. She'd never believed Magnus to be cruel; it hadn't occurred to her that he would refuse her in this, no matter what he felt about her. By the saints, what a fool she was. If ever she'd thought that he could be so quick to hurt a defenseless child, she wouldn't have come to care for him so quickly. She felt that pain, not elusive now, but full and deep, grind inside her. She wanted to scream at him that it was all a lie, that she loved him, but she knew that now, at this moment, he was set against her.

But she had to get Lotti. She shivered at the thought of the child with Toki for even another hour, let alone another day. But she was now Magnus' slave. His
slave.
A creature with no rights, no choices, no freedom. She would have to figure out something. She had to. She would not leave Lotti here at Toki's mercy.

She walked in silence now beside Magnus, trying to gather the proper words together to speak to him. She had to explain, to make him believe her. It was a goodly distance to the quay, but neither spoke. She was tired, so weary she was trembling, unable to find words to beg him to stop, just for a moment. She realized she was hungry, for she had been given nothing to eat since the previous evening. It was hot, the sun brutal on her head, and she felt herself becoming light-headed. She tried to shake it away, to keep control of herself and her body. She couldn't afford to show weakness. Not to Magnus, never to Magnus. She would die first.

Magnus was fully aware that she was slowing beside him, but he didn't shorten his step. He saw her weave, then get control of herself again, and against his will he
admired her. He quashed it. He saw her swipe her hand over her forehead and rub her eyes. He said nothing. He knew that if he did, he would want to strike her, and a blow from him could kill her. He didn't want her dead.

He remained silent. When she fell behind, he stopped and turned to face her. “Quicken your step. I have matters to see to and have not the time to waste in coddling you.”

The sun shone so brightly in her eyes that for a moment he blurred before her, his hair glistening nearly white in the shimmering heat. She raised her hand, then dropped it. She was so very thirsty. Her tongue felt swollen in her mouth. Slowly she shook her head and forced one foot in front of the other. One more step, she told herself, just one more step, and then perhaps another.

She smelled the water, the sharp salty smell, and the odor of fish. So very close now to the
Sea Wind.
She would make it; she wouldn't shame herself in front of him. And she would find the words to convince him of her innocence, soon, soon now.

It was the stone in her path that did her in. She didn't see it. She stumbled and went down to her knees, flinging out her hands at the last minute to protect herself. She felt the pain sear through her, felt the tearing of the pebbles and dirt into her palms. She remained as she was, on her hands and knees, her head lowered, her hair straggling to the ground on either side of her face.

“Get up.”

She thought about it, hard, and told herself to rise. But her body didn't obey her.

“Get up, else I'll tether you and drag you.”

She raised her head then, and her eyes were on line with his boots. She looked upward. He was bare-legged, his tunic coming to his knees, belted at his waist. A long
knife hung from the belt. His forearms were bare save for a thick gold arm bracelet. Then she saw his face, saw the emotionless coldness, and felt herself shrink inside.

“Get up,” he said again, impatient now, and she forced herself back onto her knees, drew her breath, and tried to rise. There were people gathering around them, people who knew her, and they were murmuring words she could hear:

“Aye, 'tis a slave she is now, but what she deserves is to have her bowels cut out.”

“Nay, 'tis our sweet Zarabeth, and she couldn't have killed Olav.”

“A sweeting she was when she was small . . . but now she is a woman grown, and greedy and evil, ah . . .”

It was suddenly too much. Zarabeth looked around at the faces of men and women she'd known since her mother had wedded Olav and brought her to York. She saw anger and contempt; she saw uncertainty and pity. She looked up at Magnus' face and saw nothing but coldness. Then she saw nothing. She fell sideways, unconscious.

He felt his heart lurch. Quickly he leaned down and drew her up into his arms. She felt lifeless, her head lolling backward, her hair wrapped around his arm and in thick tangles to the ground.

He said not a word to any of the people, but strode to the
Sea Wind.
He crossed the narrow gangplank.

Horkel greeted him. “This is the woman?”

“Aye, she fainted. From the heat, from her guilt, I know not.”

“I wonder when she last ate. She was in the slaves' compound, you know. 'Tis not a place for such as she.”

Magnus hadn't known. He'd assumed she was being kept in Olav's house, with Keith . . . but no, that couldn't be, else Horkel would have told him. He hadn't asked her whereabouts and no one had said anything. He swallowed, then hardened himself. “I will take her
into the cargo hold. It's covered and there is privacy and protection from the sun.”

“I will bring water and some food for her.”

Magnus nodded, then strode carefully over the planking to the bow of the vessel, where there was a goodsize space aft, enclosed for cargo. There was also room enough for three or four men to be protected from the weather when it was foul. He heard Ragnar, another of his men and a cousin, say to Horkel, “Will he kill her, I wonder.”

Magnus could practically hear Horkel shrug. If the man felt deeply about anything, he never let on. He was always so calm, so matter-of-fact, that it was a challenge to get him to bend, to yell, to jest even.

“Do you think her guilty of murdering her husband? All of York speaks of it. They call her young and greedy and evil. They say she betrayed Magnus.”

“I know not. Magnus believes it is so. He will bend her to his will.”

“I cannot believe she would not have him,” Ragnar said, his voice now more distant, for he'd moved away. “I thought he had forgotten her, for he bedded Cyra until she was sprawl-legged from his plowings. But now we are returned and he has taken her.”

Magnus smiled grimly at that, then pushed aside the otter skins that partitioned off the cargo hold.