Authors: Elizabeth Mayne
The Vikings turned away. They went back to their leisure, to their suppers, to their games of chance and skill that whiled away the evening.
In a few moments, two hundred men melted down to a handful. The majority of those were Edon’s thanes. Embla remained rigidly where she had started her challenge. Her breath came sharp and fast. Her eyes filled, yet she fought bitterly against allowing the sheen of those angry tears to show beneath her pale lashes.
That touched Edon in a way he hadn’t anticipated. For it was one thing to witness Embla’s petty pride drive her to challenge him. It was another when that same pride shattered her shell and left her hopeless and empty. He could not imagine what had destroyed her soul, crushed her femininity and obliterated all traces of womanliness from her being.
In Embla’s shoes, Tala would be weeping. In Embla’s shoes, Tala would never have issued such a challenge in the first place. What woman with any grain of love in her heart would risk all for a scrap of earth?
Silence settled over the hill, broken by the calls of night birds and predators prowling the nearby woods. Edon softened his stance somewhat more, but he couldn’t bridge the gap between him and his nephew’s wife. The barriers she’d throw up prevented any softening of his office. He
was the atheling. The blood royal flowed in his veins, not hers.
Still, he gave her more time to back down gracefully, to pull back behind the line she’d crossed, to apologize or beg his pardon. She let the opportunity go to waste.
He lifted his chin—a signal that he was going to speak. His words were well modulated, neither loud nor soft.
“Now is the time for you to explain what really happened between Harald Jorgensson and you, Embla. I would listen fairly to your side of the tale, withholding judgment…‘haps even to letting bygones be bygones.
“My point to you is that I am not a man without mercy. If I forgive a boy for allegedly poisoning a well, I could be induced to forgive almost anything.”
That momentary glaze that had softened the hardness of Embla’s eyes faded as her lids brushed down and lifted. The steel inside her had been tempered in the hot furnace of her anger. Now it cooled too quickly and became brittle.
“Nearly a year ago Jarl Harald disappeared. He was lured into Ardon Wood by your whore, Tala ap Griffin.”
Edon stiffened, hating the insults Embla delivered as easily as she breathed. But he made no move to stop her speech, determined to let her say her fill. He was more positive than ever that the truth of his nephew’s disappearance was near at hand, only waiting to be revealed by her next words or actions.
“I can tell you exactly how he died, for I have lived here with your beloved Celts for ten years. I know my enemies far better than you, Edon Halfdansson.”
Edon nodded, urging, “Go on.”
“The witches ap Griffin cast powerful spells, luring men to their grove. On the night of Lughnasa, a special cake was baked of the last corn of the land. One piece was marked deliberately with a burning brand. It was offered to the male guests at their great feast of the first fruits.
Harald Jorgensson selected that piece when the food was passed.
“Because of that marked bread, my warrior was stripped naked after the meal. His head was light from the drugged mead in his cup. Then the ritual death began, but it seemed only a mummers’ play at first, not real.
“The witches and the druids give all the celebrants a full share of potent mead, until their cauldron was empty. Then Harald was paraded before them, strong and virile, a man who could pleasure every witch in their forest. A man envied by the druids for his prowess and skill in battle, his strength and his bravery.
“They led him onto the causeway crossing Black Lake, to their bloody altar where the fens turn into mire. A strand of catgut was looped around his neck and knotted three times. A warrior struck him from behind, delivering a stunning blow to his temple, dazing Harald.
“The druid twisted the garrote at his throat. The veins in his neck bulged with his blood. His throat was crushed and he could no longer breathe, but he saw the bone blade they put to his gullet. He felt it sink into his swelling flesh and knew the moment his blood spurted out in a hot, thick stream.
“His heart beat strong and fierce, in a cadence matched by the drums of the mummers. Your witch held the empty caldron to catch every drop of his blood, until his very heart, that strong heart that I loved so well, emptied his veins of all the life within him.
“His feet slipped from beneath him, sinking into the black water little by little. But they held him from his boggy grave until the last drop of blood clotted. Then they let his body sink of its own accord into the mire. A triple death—stunned, garroted and drained, Lord Edon.
“A warning to you, would you but heed it. Lughnasa comes anon. Beware. The witch of Black Lake has cast her spell on you.”
Finished, Embla sheathed her sword. Then she spat on the ground at Jarl Edon’s feet. “Keep your pretty painted Mercian boy, Wolf of Warwick. May the both of you rot for eternity in ten Christian hells, tormented by every evil known to mankind.”
Her chilling curse delivered, she swung around and walked, proud and tall, through the fortress gates, and never looked back.
Maynard gazed grimly at Edon, gauging his reaction to the woman’s mad words. None who remained outside the walls of Warwick laughed, for a curse was no laughing matter to any of them.
“How do you suppose she knows that ritual?” Maynard asked in a voice pitched softly, for Edon’s ears alone.
“That, my friend, is a very good question. If you find out an answer to it, tell me immediately,” Edon replied. “Take charge of that satchel and gather up any roots that may have spilled from it. Nels, I will need your help, if you please.”
“I am at your service, Lord Wolf.” The young bishop bowed, discreetly in awe of Edon’s ability to take command of a dangerous situation without faltering. “There are many devils at work this night.”
“Aye, there are.” Edon nodded. He quickly told the priest what he wanted him to do. Nels listened to the jarl’s instructions gravely, promising that he would see to it all at the rising of the sun.
This night had proved why two kings put so much faith in the Wolf of Warwick. If he comes willingly to be baptized, Nels suspected, all of Warwick would come willingly, too. Such charismatic leaders were rare and precious, but their every action inspired their people to follow them to the very ends of the earth.
Tala’s heart hammered long after the doors of the keep had slammed in her face. Edon had just sprinted off to find
the reason behind that horrible scream when she was caught up by one of his soldiers and summarily returned to the keep.
The heavy oak doors were barred from without and secured within by loyal soldiers of Edon’s guard permanently assigned to protect the women.
“Praise God you are safe, Princess.” Lady Eloya embraced Tala in relief. Arm in arm they retreated up the steps to the security of the jarl’s hall.
All the torches had been doused. Amber moonlight drenched the wide aperture of the unglazed window. Surefooted and familiar with the hall’s furnishings and dimensions, Lady Eloya crossed to the clutch of frightened women gathered at the window.
Tala followed, straining her ears to make sense of the howls and shouts in the ward. All she really heard was the panic of frightened womenfolk who assumed Warwick was being attacked.
“Theo, tell us, what do you see?” Lady Eloya asked.
“No army is beating down the gate, ladies,” the blind oracle said with conviction. “Hush and listen with your inner ears. You hear not the clash of iron nor can you smell bloodletting. There is no need to panic.”
Tala bit hard on a knuckle of her left hand. The Vikings‘ women were not nearly as frightened as she was, although she, too, knew no battle was being pitched beyond the palisade. The commotion was much less intense. She moved between some servants to get a better view out the window, certain that at any moment she would see old Selwyn being dragged into the ward by his great braid of hair.
Tala wrung her hands in despair, fearing for the old warrior’s life, railing at herself for her foolish impulses. When was she going to start acting the cool princess again? Why was it every time she got near the Viking jarl,
all her wealth of good common sense flew right out the window?
“Look,” Lady Eloya cried. “The men return!”
Tala braced her hands on the stone ledge. Lady Eloya was right. The Vikings returned. Many had doused their torches, but enough remained to light Embla Silver Throat’s arrogant swagger across the breadth of the ward.
There was a prisoner.
Tala’s breath was arrested. Rig of Sunderland looped an iron collar around Venn ap Griffin’s throat, chaining him to the whipping post in the middle of the ward. Tala’s knees weakened. If she hadn’t been gripping the window ledge, she would have fallen in a heap.
What was Venn doing here? What could he possibly have done to cause Edon’s best man to chain him like a wild dog? Horrified, Tala watched the Viking fasten secure irons to Venn’s wrists and feet
A small, jeering crowd had collected, of men returning from outside the fortress walls. Embla stopped at the fringes of that crowd, like a vulture waiting for the carrion to drop. No sooner did Rig turn away from completing the task of locking up the prisoner than Embla picked up a stick and began tormenting the defenseless boy, taunting Venn to fight back if he could.
Tala almost leaped out the window. Her brother nearly broke his neck, lunging the full length of the chain to get back at Embla. Tala caught herself and whirled around, shoving servants and women out of her way. The darkness in the keep swallowed her as she stumbled back toward the steps.
“Princess!” Lady Eloya cried out, alarmed. “Wait! Someone, quick, light a lamp. Princess Tala, come back.”
Tala couldn’t wait for a lamp to be lit She groped for the bannister and found it, falling down the dark steps. In the cavernous lower hall, a lone lamp still burned near the
door, where Eli stood guard. Tala flew at him, commanding, “Open the door! Open it, I say. Do it now or die.”
She’d withdrawn her dagger from the sheath hidden under her tunic and leggings. Eli regarded her puny blade as insignificant. When she lunged at him, he caught her wrist and easily turned the point of the blade aside. “Eli, open the door!” Tala screamed at him. “The trouble is over. I must go out.”
Just then the guards outside hammered on the barred doors, commanding they be opened at once.
“See?” Tala said, justified.
Unimpressed, Eli said, “You will stand back, out of the way, lady.”
Summoning every ounce of patience left within her body, Tala obeyed. Her heart couldn’t have beat any harder as she waited for the door to swing wide. Its iron hinges squealed in protest from the heavy oak panels’ great weight. Finally, a gap appeared and Tala ran past Eli.
She came to a dead halt at an impenetrable wall just beyond the threshold, a wall made by Edon of Warwick and his henchmen, Rig, Thorulf, Rashid, Maynard the Black and Bishop Nels of Athelney. Edon put out his hands and stopped her, irately demanding, “Lady, where do you go?”
“Sweet Anu,” Tala railed at the Viking jarl, “why have you put my brother in chains?”
T
hat was the last straw. The lady was lucky the anger that flared in Edon’s eyes didn’t smote her dead. As it was her words left all six men standing outside Edon’s keep reeling.
“Are you telling me—” growling ferociously, Edon swung his arm in an arch and pointed at the boy chained to the whipping post “—that that boy is the atheling of Learn?”
Tears stung Tala’s eyes.
“Yes,” she whispered desperately, falling to her knees before the Wolf of Warwick. She grasped Edon’s hands, entreating him with tears. “Please, my lord, release him, and I will do anything you ask of me. I beg you, do not punish him for anything he’s done. I will take his place at the whipping post, suffer willingly any punishment he has earned. You must not harm him. He is the chosen of all the gods. Should you harm one hair upon his head, Lir will release his red javelin and yellow shaft upon this land. Everything will be destroyed—every animal and bird will die a terrible death, as will all the people of Leam, Viking and Mercians alike. Please, my lord. Release him.”
Edon stepped back. She was talking witchcraft again and he had little patience for that foolishness. He thrust
his hands through his hair, making the long black locks stand on end. “So you want to bargain with me, do you, Tala ap Griffin?”
“My lord,” she whispered, stricken by his sudden coldness. “Please, you do not know the vengeance of the gods as I do.”
“Jarl Edon, I must protest,” Nels interfered. “These pagan gods have no power on this Earth. Think what your brother will say if you entertain the lady’s whims in this regard.”
“If you please,” Edon said firmly, glaring at the priest, who interfered where he shouldn’t. “Let me resolve one thing at a time. The question at hand is the identity of the boy at the whipping post.”
“What harm could a mere boy have done you?” Tala demanded.
“Much harm, Princess.” Edon motioned to Thorulf to display the evidence in the satchel of herbs. “It was his intention to put those bitter roots in our water supply. Is that how your gods strike down their enemies, Tala ap Griffin? By sending boys to poison wells and murder innocent women and children?”
Tala started. She looked at the satchel, recognizing the roots that Thorulf displayed. She had never seen the leather pack in her life. It was not Venn’s.
“No, Edon of Warwick, that is not my gods’ way. They do not send boys to act on their behalf. They strike of their own accord. If my brother collected those roots, they were not for the purpose of poisoning your wells.”
“How do you know that?” Edon demanded angrily.
“Because we use all roots for harmless purposes such as charms to heel illness or potions for love and prosperity. Bloodroot is a potent aphrodisiac, and it will protect any who carries it.”
“It did not protect your brother this night, Tala,” Edon
said ominously, lifting a skeptical eyebrow at her glib explanation.
“My point exactly, lord,” she responded, undaunted.
“Then do tell me, what does a boy his age need with so many twigs of nightshade in his knapsack?” It had only one use. Let her explain that.
Tala swallowed, moistened her lips and answered, “Branwyn, the Lady of the Lake, took nightshade from her brother, Lir. He thought it only good for inspiring men to make war, but Branwyn found other uses for it, better uses. It can be used by a shape shifter or to travel into the otherworld, scan the past or see far into the future. Please, if you believe Venn brought those here to harm you, I swear I will take his punishment. Let him go, Edon. I will do anything you ask in exchange for my brother’s freedom.”
Tala gulped, swallowing her fear. Could she yield completely to this man? Submit her will to his for eternity?
She made her decision. “Yes, I will submit to your will in anything and everything. If you release the atheling, I am your servant all the rest of my days,” Tala promised earnestly.
Edon saw then that he had won the battle between them. There would be no more talk of resisting the marriage ordered by the kings. Their marriage would join the Danes of Warwick and the Leamurians. Tala was the titular head, the sovereign of her land. It would work.
It was what Edon wanted—a marriage accomplished as ordered by the kings—but it was not what he wanted. Tala ap Griffin should be surrendering to him for love, not for fear of her brother’s life. How much sweeter his reward would be then. It shouldn’t have mattered how he accomplished his goal…but it did.
The woman he desired was sacrificing herself. She’d made herself an offering no different than the animals her druids slaughtered on their bloody altars. Again he took a
leveling breath before he proceeded. There was no going back; time worked against him. Tomorrow Alfred could arrive at Warwick. Edon turned to the men surrounding them.
“Nels of Athelney, have you heard the princess of Leam’s words to me this night? Her vow to surrender to me in all things?”
“Aye, Lord Wolf, every word,” the bishop answered, perplexed by this odd turn of events.
“And you, Rig?”
“Yes, lord. I heard the princess swear to yield to your will in all things in exchange for her brother’s life.”
“Rashid? Maynard? Thorulf?” Edon gravely surveyed the other witnesses to Tala’s urgent petition. All of them testified that they had heard her oath.
Edon nodded, satisfied. His grave expression did alter when he addressed Tala. “Then it is understood from this moment on, even when King Alfred comes, that there will be no argument over princesses of Leam being exempt from marriage. Correct?”
Edon saw her shoulders sink in defeat, but her proud chin never wavered when she reluctantly said, “Yes, my lord.”
He could just as easily have taken her response as a whispered endearment. Edon couldn’t believe his good fortune. A kingdom had surrendered at no more cost than a satchel of twigs.
“Very well, Tala ap Griffin, your vow to exchange your life for the atheling of Leam is so granted. Rig, go and release the boy. Nels of Athelney, I command you to take the prince with you on your journey to Evesham. You will keep the prince in your custody until he can be remanded to the care of his true guardian, Alfred of Wessex. Rise, Tala. You will come with me.”
Tala pressed her hands to her tearstained face, shuddering with relief. Edon reached down and lifted her to her
feet He knew she would want to rush across the ward and smother the boy in her arms, but he decided not to allow that.
For the time being it might better serve his purpose to keep brother and sister separated. There was a great mystery afoot here. Edon intended to probe to the bottom of it.
The princess was terrified. Edon could see that clearly as he came into his hall much later in the evening. Tala sat on a cushioned chaise, staring at her hands knotted in her lap. She contributed nothing to the lively discussion that erupted upon Edon’s entrance. His ladies buzzed with questions, wanting to know all the details—who the captive was, what his crime had been and what had come of Edon’s summary disposal of the problem.
Edon knew what troubled his princess the most. Tala ap Griffin was consumed by the repercussions of her rash promise. She was probably wondering right now why she hadn’t immediately exchanged places at the whipping post with the atheling.
The evening had cooled quite rapidly considering how very hot the day had been. Eloya sent for shawls and insisted on providing one of her best for Tala. Edon fixed a goblet of spiced mead for the princess and took it to her, joining her at the foot of the couch on which she rested.
“Drink this, Tala,” he said, putting the goblet in her still hands. “It will do you good.”
“What have you done with my brother?” she asked, lifting her face and casting woeful eyes up at Edon.
Edon stroked her soft cheek with the knuckles of his sword hand, touched by the wealth of sorrow and regret he saw reflected in her beautiful amber eyes. “I questioned the atheling at length regarding his activities this evening and the possessions he carried in and out of Warwick.”
“The satchel that your man showed me was not Venn’s,” Tala told him insistently.
“It was a common sack, unremarkable in any way,” Edon replied. The prince had made the same claim, so he was hearing nothing new. There was no proof that it belonged to anyone.
“Venn has many satchels, as I am sure you do also,” Tala said quickly. “But he is an atheling and every possession of his is finely made by our most devoted craftsmen. Were it Venn’s, it would have his crest upon it, tooled into the leather and embossing on the straps. Look…” Tala paused in her explanation to bend down and lift the hem of her tunic, exposing the leather shoes hugging her feet. “This is what I mean, lord. See the designs worked onto my boots?”
Edon looked at the trim, booted ankle she turned toward him. Her shoes were finely crafted of supple leather that folded across her ankle and laced at the calf. The tops of the boots were tooled, incised with an interlocking border of bold lines surrounding a minute dragon.
“The ap Griffin symbol is the winged dragon. It is on every one of Venn’s possessions in one way or another, painted, drawn, sewn, cut or burned. If that sack were truly his, there would be a dragon on it somewhere.”
Amused by her simplistic explanation of Venn’s innocence, Edon smiled. He lifted his hand to her throat, touching the soft linen of her kirtle. “Are you telling me that every possession of yours is also marked, lady? Where are the winged dragons of your symbol on this kirtle?”
Tala frowned at him, her lips compressing. She set aside the goblet and lifted her fingers to the lacing at her throat, unfastening it to spread the neckline and expose the inner lining of the cloth. Turning the cloth down toward her breasts, she invited Edon to look at the carefully stitched banding that kept the linen from unraveling.
Edon would rather have looked inside and gotten a
glimpse of her breasts, but he contained himself to study the band on the garment. He saw a fine row of those curiously entwined bold lines with a tiny griffin in the heart of the vine.
Tala reached to her girdle and removed a small cloth purse from her belt, tugging on the drawstrings to open it. “Hold out your hand, please,” she requested.
Accommodating her, Edon held his palm open as she emptied the contents of the silk purse. Two stones and a packet of herbs dropped into his hand. Edon touched the herbs, seeing they were knotted at the stems with thread.
“What is this?” he asked, not identifying the dried flowers or leaves in the tiny bundle.
“My flower, bluebells, lord,” Tala said solemnly. “Anyone who carries bluebell is compelled to tell the truth.”
“Ah ha.” Edon nodded. “This is your point, then—that this herb commits you to the truth, always.”
“Yes and no,” Tala said somberly. “Testifying to the truth is also one of my most sacred duties as a princess of Leam. I must hold bluebells in my right hand when I sit in judgment over the disputes of my people, but as a rule the herb does compel truthfulness.”
Edon nudged the two stones with his forefinger. “And what purpose does this piece of lodestone serve you, my lady?”
Tala touched the stone in turn. “That has drawing power. It will bring the thing I most want to me.”
“And the pink agate?” He gently touched the small bright stone in the well of his palm.
“That contains the power to heal. It came from the bottom of my spring, the Leam, to which my powers have always been was dedicated. But truly, I do not think anything I ever did healed anyone. Leam’s waters have the power, not I.”
Edon took the small white purse from her hand and
returned her charms to it, noting that it also bore the crest of the house of ap Griffin embroidered on it.
Very well, he would believe, that the satchel itself did not belong to her brother. The boy could have gotten it from any where…even Embla Silver Throat.
“Edon, I must speak with Venn.” Tala laid her fingers gently on his forearm, as if to stir him from the depth of his thoughts. “He cannot go to Evesham just like that, on your command. He must have his better clothes and his horse, and Stafford must go with him.”
“And who is Stafford?” Edon inquired as he lifted his other hand to smooth a tangled red curl behind her ear. Her white ears were so tempting, he couldn’t resist following where his fingers strayed, to touch her with his lips.
“Venn’s henchman.” She bent her head as though she were a reed and he the wind blowing upon her. “The same as Rig is to you.”
Distracted as he was by the shiver that raced across her skin under his lips, it was a moment before Edon could make a sensible reply. “You taste like honey. May I assume that Stafford is as wise as Rig? That he will know where Prince Venn ap Griffin is when he does not come home this night?”
Tala sighed. She didn’t understand why she wasn’t in Venn’s place, chained to the whipping post. Edon had given her no explanation for their not exchanging places.
“Yes, Stafford will know where to begin his search, but it would trouble him greatly to arrive here in the morning and discover the atheling has been taken far from his jurisdiction. He will believe Venn has come to harm when he does not see him outright. That could cause trouble.”
“Evesham is within my jurisdiction,” Edon said, very distracted by the open collar of her kirtle and the sleek, pliable skin of her throat. He slowly worked his way up-ward to her mouth, intending to kiss her very, very soon.
Tala choose her words carefully. “The people of Arden
Wood are unaware of the boundaries of your jurisdiction, lord. Most will believe our prince has disappeared into Embla’s oubliette.”
“What do you mean by ‘Embla’s oubliette’?” Edon asked, coming instantly alert.
“Just that.” Tala met the intensity of his sharp gaze without reacting to his tone. “It’s a place where people are deliberately forgotten. Speak to any thrall who had the misfortune of serving her. They whisper of such a place. I’ve always taken the phrase to mean where the unlucky die.”
“Do you know of such a place here in Warwick?”
Tala shook her head. “You know Warwick much better than I. I have always done my best to keep my distance. It proved far healthier to stay away.”