“Ah, here’s Baric, here to ask you how you liked my singing and playing. You will tell him that you felt it in your soul, if you have one, or I’ll beat you.”
Baric was very short and thin. He had a lush dark brown beard that grew nearly to his waist. But he was completely bald. But he was kind and had merry, intelligent eyes. Chessa liked him and guessed he enjoyed watching Ragnor gnash his teeth. At his side was a woman, a very tall woman, whose head was bowed. She was carrying Baric’s prized harp. She wore white mittens on her hands and her hair was covered with the hood of her tunic.
Ragnor eyed her as he did every female. “Who is this, Baric? She’s twice your size. Do you like to climb her as a man would a mountain?”
“Aye, my lord. Her size gives me great pleasure as well as protection. She’s a hardy wench and strong. Her name is Isla and she comes from Iceland. I sang to her in the market and she swooned. Now she is mine and gives me all her loyalty. Such, my lord, is the power of music.”
Ragnor cursed.
“Have you given the princess pleasure, my lord, with your sweet verses?”
“I always gain pleasure in Ragnor’s company,” Chessa said, and chewed on her thumbnail. “Who could not?”
“I did mean with his music, Princess.”
“Ah, that is another matter. He sought such perfection, Baric, that when he didn’t achieve it, he stomped the harp into the ground.”
Baric looked at the destroyed harp and blinked back tears. But he did manage to keep his mouth shut. He mumbled something and picked at his huge beard.
The woman raised her face. She was beautiful. She was also painted like a harlot. Her brows were black with kohl, her one eye lined so heavily with it that it was difficult to gauge her expression. Ah, and the other eye was covered with a patch of white linen. The uncovered one was blue. Her lips were vermilion and looked wet. Her cheeks were dead white, painted thickly from ground cornstarch and panza root, mixed into a paste. Chessa blinked at her. Her face must weigh as much as the armlets Ragnor was wearing, heavy silver, coiled in the shape of snakes.
Ragnor blinked as well, only his blink was assessing and excited. “Isla,” he said, leering at her. Chessa had seen him once practicing that look when he saw his reflection in a metal shield one of the soldiers was holding.
The woman breathed his name, “My lord Ragnor. I’ve waited long to see you. Baric tells me you play brilliantly. I wish to hear you sing. Ah, but your poor harp. Did the bitch break it? And you’re so noble, you protect her?”
The bitch.Chessa eyed the woman more closely. This was interesting.
“Isla,” Baric said, shaking her arm. “This is a princess, not a bitch.”
“She is what she is,” Isla said. “It was another miserable princess who wounded my poor right eye and thus I have to wear this patch. It makes me look interesting and mysterious, but still I would like the use of both my eyes. This princess is a bitch. I know it.”
The bitch.Ragnor nearly burst with pleasure. This Isla was smart and big and he liked big women, at least he did now that he’d seen her and heard her insult Chessa. He also liked that patch over her right eye. He wondered what the eye looked like without the patch.
“What were you doing in the market when Baric came upon you?” Chessa said.
The woman shrugged, not looking at Chessa, her one good eye still trained on Ragnor. “I make the finest mead in all of York. I was selling it in the market when Baric came to have a cup to rest his throat. He drank it and swooned. He begged me to stay with him. I like a man with a lot of hair, particularly a thick beard and handfuls of it on his back. That his head is naked bothers me not at all.”
“Thus,” Baric said, running his long slender fingers through his beard, “I sing to her and she makes me mead and threads her fingers through the hair on my back.”
“Mead,” Ragnor said, his eyes lighting with hope. “Does she really make it well?”
“She is an angel,” Baric said. “Now, my lord, I have come to teach you another love poem.”
Ragnor said, “I haven’t any hair on my back. Will that make her dislike me?”
“Nay, my lord. Once you sing for her, she will love you for yourself.”
Chessa thought she’d gag. She said in a loud voice, “The babe is making me ill. I think I shall go vomit.”
Ragnor was looking at Isla with the hunger of a starving man. He said to Baric, “Aye, teach me a love poem and I will recite it to Isla. For practice.”
“Your sweet voice will tire, my lord,” Isla said. “Allow me to bring you some of my special mead to soothe you whilst you sing to me. For practice.”
Chessa walked quickly from the chamber, ran up against a guard who awaited her just outside. He grabbed her arms to keep her upright.
Suddenly, she heard Ragnor yell from the inside of the chamber, “Begin your monthly flow, Chessa, damn you.”
She heard Isla laugh. “Her monthly flow, my lord? What is this?”
