The Lost Tales of Mercia (19 page)

“You know full well, you little witch.” She
repressed a whimper as his hand found her breast, bolder now, and
squeezed. She felt a tremble go through his grip.

She glanced at the doorway again, but Aidan
was too far-gone to notice. The shadow was still there, moving
slightly. Someone definitely stood outside. Spite filled her as she
imagined Eadric, listening in on her torment. Perhaps he had
encouraged the monk to do this so that he could enjoy the show. She
hated him with all her being.

“I want you to say it,” she managed at last.
“I want you to swear to God that you’ll let me go if I .. if I
...”

“Give yourself to me?” His other hand
reached out, pulling at the fabric of the dress. “Yes,” he said,
more urgently now. “Yes, I swear I’ll let you go after this, if you
don’t make a sound ...”

The door behind him creaked open. His
fingers froze in place, his body going as tense as a yanked rope,
as torch-light spilled onto his figure. He turned slowly, his
horror only rising as he looked upon the intruder. For there behind
him stood none other than the reeve himself, Wuffa.

Next to the reeve stood Eadric, a somewhat
pained and disgusted look on his face.

“What the devil is going on here?” cried
Wuffa.

Very belatedly, Aidan drew his hand from
Hildred’s chest. “I … I … I ...” He swallowed thickly.

“I don’t know about you, Wuffa,” said
Eadric, “but I heard very clearly what was going on.” His voice
sounded strained. “The monk said it himself.”

Flinching with rage, Aidan straightened
somewhat and found his voice. He left Hildred’s dress gaping open,
and she burned with the shame. But the sight of her exposed chest
made Aidan look all the more guilty to Wuffa. “She stole from me,”
Aidan burst at last. “She’ll hang tomorrow, so I might as
well—”

“Not anymore, she won’t,” snapped Wuffa.
Hope stirred within Hildred, but the sensation was faint beneath
her ongoing humiliation. “Eadric tells me he saw nothing but the
two of you wrestling, and suspected you had some trick like this up
your filthy sleeves. Get out of my sight before I tattle to your
abbot.”

Aidan’s lips blubbered helplessly a moment.
“But … you wouldn’t!”

“I will, unless you hurry along, pig!”

The monk let out a very fitting snort, then
stormed away per Wuffa’s advice. When passing Eadric, he paused,
but the young thegn did not look at him.

“You—you!” cried Aidan, as if he could not
even think of an insult. Then he rushed out.

Wuffa, long wearied of the entire affair,
turned to follow the monk’s footsteps. On his way, his shoulder
knocked forcefully against Eadric’s, as if on accident, but he did
not bother to apologize. Eadric did not acknowledge this. He stood
still with his head bowed, saying nothing and staring into the
floor until only he and Hildred remained.

At last, Eadric looked at her. “I’m sorry
about that,” he said weakly. “I wouldn’t have let it go much
further … but of course you didn’t know that. Good move on your
part, making him state his … intentions.” He grew quiet again, and
she realized he was staring at her breasts.

She flushed, drawing her knees up to cover
herself. The slight movement made her realize how violently she was
shaking.

“Sorry again,” said Eadric. “Perhaps you
should turn around?”

Feeling faint, Hildred lifted herself to her
knees and turned as he suggested. The hay rustled as he moved
towards her, causing a fresh onslaught of tremors to wrack her
body. His touch was so gentle on her wrists that she thought she
imagined it at first, and when his grip tightened she did not
flinch; then with a sharp tug, he sliced a dirk through her
bindings.

She scurried away, using awkward fingers to
shut her dress and tie it back together. Now that she was freed, a
feeling of urgency overcame her. “My brother,” she gasped. “He’s
only a baby. He’s dying.”

“Of starvation, I suppose? And that’s why
you stole the milk?”

She glared at him, tears of rage and sorrow
flooding her vision. “What would you know of it? You, whose tenants
and livestock are the fattest in the land! Did you achieve that
with lying and deceit as well?”

“How could you say that?” He actually looked
hurt, his blue gaze crinkling. “I helped you, didn’t I? I saved you
from the noose!”

“You really did arrange all that on
purpose?” She couldn’t help but be impressed.

He shrugged. “I know Aidan well. I knew what
he would do.”

Her anger returned to her. “In that case you
tempted a monk into sin,” she said, “like the devil himself.”

“Oh really?” He crossed his arms over his
chest and cocked his clean-shaven chin. “And was it the devil who
made you steal?”

“I … I ...” She wiped her tears from her
cheeks. “I suppose so.”

“No it wasn’t,” snapped Eadric. “It was you
who stole, and you did it to save your brother, which sounds to me
like a noble cause. And if you’re still feeling proactive, perhaps
we should go and check on him.”

“We?”

“Unless you’d like to walk home in the dark,
while you’re still half-starving?” His tone was sharp now,
reprimanding her. Feeling duly humbled and grateful for his help,
Hildred bowed her head and followed him out.

This time, when they rode together, she sat
behind him. She tried at first not to grip him, but sometimes she
had little option but to wrap her arms around his stomach so she
didn’t fall off. He offered no reaction, nor said a word for a long
time. The sun fell behind them, and the fields took on gradient
hues of green and gold. In this light, they did not seem so
withered and rotten as they truly were.

It occurred to her to wonder why Eadric had
bothered to help her. After all, he had benefited from his
underhanded dealings with the monk; why turn on him now? Was it
because he had truly run out of ale and thus would get no more
business from Aidan anyway? Was it because he wanted something from
her? Or perhaps he had never made a plan to help her at all, and
simply played along with the events as they unfolded? She could not
figure it out, but she did not think Eadric was the sort to do
something without reason.

Eventually her small home peeked out from
behind a slope of shrubs, its thatched roof glowing with the warm
colors of the sunset. But the sight did not comfort her, for
sitting outside was her father, his head clasped in his hands.

Eadric reined his horse to a stop. Hildred
slid to the ground and rushed to her father’s sobbing form. She
held him, and together they wept until the moon appeared in the
pale sky, taunting them like a freshly-minted coin beyond their
reach.

*

By nightfall the tiny, stiff bundle that was
once Hildred’s baby brother lay buried underground alongside the
mother who died bearing him. Hildred and her father knelt at the
freshly churned earth a long while, crying until their eyes ran dry
and muttering nonsensical prayers.

When Hildred heard someone approaching, for
a moment she panicked. She had forgotten Eadric’s presence, or
assumed he left some time ago. But there he stood, and he had been
watching them from afar all the while.

“How do your make your living?” he asked
Hildred’s father.

The man looked up with no expression at all,
his eyes vacant, as if his soul had long since fled his body. “I’m
a free man,” he said, “but for a long while I made my living
reaping Thegn Sigbert’s crops. He dismissed me a few months ago,
saying he could no longer afford me.”

“So this is your land?”

“Yes.”

“Then it will be mine now.” The confidence
in his voice shocked Hildred, but her father did not react at all.
“In exchange your daughter will come work for me on my estate, and
I’ll supply her enough food to feed you both. I will also give you
seeds to plant here.”

“It’s too late to plant,” her father
said.

“I speak of the future.” Irritation grated
on Eadric’s voice. “In a year I’ll expect you to pay me my dues as
your lord, and such charities to you will cease. Do you agree to
this or not?”

Her father hesitated.

“Yes!” cried Hildred. Such elation filled
her that her soul seemed to peer down on her body from afar. She
could hardly believe this was happening. Only hours ago she had
looked upon Eadric as the most vile man on earth, but now she
wondered if he was an angel sent from heaven. Enough food to feed
her and her father for a year? Seeds for next year? A chance for
her father to get back on his feet? She had never heard of such a
proposal from any other lord before, but that didn’t matter. The
alternative was poverty and destitution.

Even so her father looked upon the land with
sadness; he did not want to lose it. But he must have realized,
too, that there was no better option left to him. At last, he bowed
his head in assent.

“Yes.”

“Very good.” Eadric exhaled, and Hildred
realized he had been holding his breath. Perhaps he was newer to
all this than he seemed. She must have been glowing with
excitement, for when his gaze fell upon her, it narrowed. “As for
you, er … what is your name?”

She lowered her gaze. “Hildred.”

“Well, Hildred ...” He tilted his head to a
ridiculous angle until she could not help but look at him. Then he
gave her a playful smirk. “If you ever steal from
me
, bear
in mind I will not be so forgiving as when you steal from someone
else.”

Despite everything that had happened,
despite the old and fresh graves in the ground next to her feet,
Hildred felt a grin winding up her face. “Yes, of course, my
lord.”

“Dear God!” said Eadric.

Fear coursed through her veins, and a frown
returned to her face. “What? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Please smile again.”

Though now she was fidgeting with
nervousness, she forced herself to smile.

“There.” She tensed as he reached up with
one hand, but his touch was gentle as he brushed his knuckles
across her cheek. “When you smile, you have dimples. Did you even
know that?”

“I … I …” Hildred wanted to laugh at this
ridiculous observation. But sobs welled unexpectedly into her
ribcage.
I forgot,
she might have said. Instead, she turned
aside, away from his touch, tears flooding her eyes. She found it
difficult to speak at all. “I’ll start work on your estate
tomorrow,” she managed, just barely.

“Very well.” She could not bear to look at
him as he returned to his horse; she wondered if he thought her
silly and foolish for crying again so suddenly. But how could she
explain that she did not remember the last time she smiled?

As Eadric rode away, her father held her,
and they stood together until her sobs faded once more to silence.
She drew a deep breath, and exhaled as the wind stirred the dark
world. She harbored the brief hope that from now on, she would find
reason to smile more often.

**

8

The
Eighth Lost Tale of Mercia:

CANUTE THE VIKING

(Or go back to
TABLE OF
CONTENTS
)

*

JOMSBORG

1012 A.D.

Canute’s palms sweated as he stood across
from his sparring partner. This was the most formidable opponent,
he suspected, that he had ever faced next to Thorkell the Tall
himself.

They were of a similar age and height,
fifteen or sixteen years old, tall and wiry, though Tosti was a bit
broader in the shoulders and hips. His most incredible feature,
Canute deduced, was his incredible agility. Every part of his
body—all except his fierce silver eyes and unwavering smirk— seemed
to be constantly moving at every moment. His feet strolled across
the wet earth without leaving an indention in their wake. His
fingers fidgeted playfully along the handle of his wooden sword. He
tilted his head, back and forth, back and forth, as if to watch
Canute from every possible angle. The muscles of his bare torso
undulated in the diffused sunshine like rippling water. And all the
while, his long blond braids flowed along his chest and back, like
snakes writhing about his shoulders.

Canute’s own fighting posture was the exact
opposite. He stood very, very still, his boots sinking into the
mud, one hand clenching his poised sword until splinters bit into
his skin. Nothing moved along his pale chest but for glittering
trails of sweat. His blue eyes focused on Tosti through narrowed
lids, blinking only when his hair lashed against them, which made
him regret cutting it too short to pull back. But beyond this
fleeting thought all his concentration centered on Tosti. He tried
not to think about the group of young Jomsvikings watching them. He
tried not to think about the humiliation he would face should he
lose this skirmish.

With very little warning at all, Tosti
struck with his wooden sword. Canute lifted his own to block,
sinking his weight deeper into his legs. He absorbed the blow and
tried to redirect its momentum back on Tosti. The wooden rods
creaked as they clashed, and splinters flew as Canute twisted,
hoping to offset Tosti’s grip. Tosti reacted quickly, shifting his
stance completely. He made another lunge with his weapon, and this
one swiped Canute across the side. He winced as the wood scraped
his skin, struggling not to move.

“Get him, Tosti!” shouted one of the
onlookers, and a resounding cheer echoed him.

Canute gritted his teeth, trying to ignore
this insult. How dare they? Though only fifteen years old, he was a
leader to these men in almost every conceivable way. His father was
Sweyn Forkbeard, King of Denmark and Norway. His grandfather was
the great Harald Bluetooth, founder of the Christian church of
Roskilde. His ancestor was Gorm the Old, the first king of Denmark.
His foster-father was Thorkell the Tall, the greatest and mightiest
Jomsviking next to his own brother, Jarl Sigvald. Canute’s own
brother, Harald, ruled as regent of Denmark while their father
harried the coasts of Engla-lond with Thorkell.