To concentrate on those questions still hurt his head, so he didn’t dwell on them long. And the time of day became urgent now. With the sun dipped low, he knew not if it was morn or late in the day, but he needed to find aid before nightfall, and he couldn’t do that unless he got to his feet.
It was not easy. The first few tries landed him back on his hands and knees until the dizziness passed, and the first few steps he finally managed were laughable, his legs giving out beneath him, they were so weak. But it became a matter of determination and stubbornness now, not just survival, and at last he was plodding his way through the woods, pushing himself from tree to tree, which he used for support, stumbling when there were none, falling another half-dozen times before he finally got somewhere.
He stayed to the woods because the road wasn’t safe to travel alone, especially without weapons, and none had been left to him. His long ax was gone, his Frisian sword, the jeweled dagger he wore in his belt, and his beltfor that matter, with the silver-buckle talisman engraved with Thor’s hammer. If he ever found those thieves again…
He smelled the food before he saw the hut, and the luck that was associated with his name returned, for only the goodwife was there, and she took one look at him and set him down at her table. Loaves of freshly baked bread she put before him, along with creamy butter and whatever had been left from her morning meal, while she cooked him more, including the grouse she had set out for her husband’s supper.
A round cherub of a woman, in her middle years, she pampered him as he was used to being pampered by women, though he couldn’t understand a word she said. Saxon, he supposed she was speaking, but with an accent unfamiliar to him. And although he tried a number of languages on her, she could understand him no better than he did her. But he ate everything she set before him until he couldn’t stuff another bite down his throat—and yet he felt as if he could eat more.
He was tempted to pass the night there. Some of his strength had returned, but nowise all of it, and the constant ache in his head hadn’t lessened with the nourishment he had taken. However, what he needed now was a healer, not just rest, and he doubted the goodwife could help him in that, even if he could manage to make her understand what was wrong.
He was afraid, too, that he was getting feverish, for his thinking wouldn’t stay clear, wasoff and on becoming muddled, so that in one moment he knew where he was, but in the next he wasn’t sure. All he was sure of was that he had to get to someone who could understand him and have word sent to his sister. She would then come and fetch him home, because he was no longer certain that he could make it there on his own.
So he trudged on, moving south. The sun was definitely on its descent, giving him the right direction to take. And he now had a sack of victuals in his possession that would last him a day or two, thanks to the goodwife. It was, in fact, almost too heavy for him to carry, since he needed all his strength just to put one foot in front of the other. His unexplained weakness was still perplexing him, and his head still hurt too much for him to concentrate on that or the other puzzles plaguing him.
Hours passed, the sun set, the sky slowly darkened, and Selig’s strength was nearly gone—but his luck was holding. There was just enough light left to make out the manor he had come to at last, a large hall well fortified by thick wooden walls surrounding it. He wasn’t sure if they had passed it on the way to East Anglia, but a place this large had to have at least one person who could speak Celtic.
He followed the high wall around to the gate, anticipating a soft bed, anticipating women fussing over him and seeing to his comfort. But he didn’t quite make it to the gate. Dizziness assailed him again, and he slumped downagainst the wall, unable to go on until it passed.
He thought he heard voices on the other side of the wall, but they were too low for him to distinguish any of the words, and he wasn’t sure he had enough strength left to call out loudly enough to be heard. It wasn’t necessary. Four riders approached the gate, likely a returning patrol, and two veered off in his direction. Selig sighed in relief, which was unfortunately a bit premature, for it was not help he found in this place, but the agonies of hell.
Chapter 7
ERIKA HAD VAGUELYnoticed the returning patrol on her way to the hall. She was late for the evening meal again, a recurring habit of late, thanks to their wily thief. The culprit had struck once more that afternoon, this time stealing a piece of jewelry, hers. So her mind was preoccupied with that and her frustration at being unable to catch the thief after so many weeks of trying.
But she had no sooner reached the high table and greeted her nephew with a great hug than one of the guards appeared at her side to tell her that Wulnoth had captured a spy and requested permission to hang him. Typical of Wulnoth, to ask for judgment before she had time to even think about it—or hear all the facts.
“Bring the prisoner here anon, when the hall is less crowded,” she told the guard.
He hesitated uneasily before replying. “’Twould be a kindness, milady, did you come to him instead. It took six men to drag him to the pit. He refuses to walk.”
“Why is that?”
“He would not say—actually, he speaks a tongue we know not.”
She scoffed at that. “Come, now, if the man is a spy, he must be able to understand us, or he could learn naught except what he or anyone else can plainly see. Why does Wulnoth accuse him?”
“He did not say.”
Erika sighed. “Very well, I will come after I have eaten. Surely this matter will wait until then?”
He blushed at her dry tone, nodded, and hurried away. But as she partook of the fare set before her, she did so absently, puzzling over the guard’s words. Six men to get one into the pit? That made no sense whatsoever, unless this supposed spy was someone like Turgeis; and to her knowledge, Turgeis was one of a kind.
But her curiosity had been aroused, which had her leaving the hall before her hunger had been completely appeased. Her shadow, of course, followed, looking back longingly at his own unfinished meal, for his appetite was perforce much greater than hers.
The pit was no longer the deep hole in the earth that it had once been, that prisoners had been tossed into. It was now a sturdy shed of modest size, without windows, and with chains attached to each wall. The name it was called was the only thing that was the same about it.
Erika had been there only once before, not because there had been so few prisoners, butbecause she preferred to deal with them in the hall, and before they were incarcerated, in case they need not be incarcerated at all. She hated the pit herself, with the brutality of it, the chains, the whips hanging on the walls, and the stink of the place, not just of foul odors, but of fear.
Fortunately, prisoners were judged quickly, so they didn’t have to spend much time in the pit. And if men or women could not meet the fines of their crimes, then Erika preferred the local custom of enslaving them for a period of time, usually no more than a year, rather than Wulnoth’s custom of whipping them half to death.
But spying was a different matter altogether, without a fine attached to it, since it dealt with war and defenses, and strategies gleaned that could wipe out whole armies. Hanging would be a merciful death for a spy caught in the midst of war, and since Erika had to deal with this one, she could be glad the wars were over and the charge not so serious in her mind. Ragnar, who had fought in those wars, would be of a different opinion. But he wasn’t here.
Wulnoth was still there when the guard let her into the shed. One torch was burning, not enough to light the whole area, but enough to put a blanket of smoke over their heads and burn the eyes. She indicated that the door should be left open, making it easier to breathe. The pit was Wulnoth’s domain, but did he never have it cleaned?
Turgeis settled inconspicuously against the wall that the door was set in, where the light barely reached. The prisoner was chained to the far wall, his arms stretched high above his head. But that was all that was seen of him, since the stocky Wulnoth stood directly in front of him, blocking him from her view. Wulnoth had, in fact, been gripping the man’s hair to hold his head up when she came in, but he let go now and stepped aside. The man’s head had already slumped to his chest, as if he were unconscious.
Erika stiffened, her temper rising, but all she did was lift a questioning brow at Wulnoth, whose expression mirrored not guilt, but a definite degree of frustration.
