Hunfrith grunted, then glowered at Eartha for causing them all to panic. “Aye, if he can jump up the way he did, he needs not your skills, old woman.”
“The covering should be changed,” Eartha insisted. “’Tis all bloodied.”
“Leave off, I said. Tend those who want it. Leave the rest alone.” But to Thorolf he added, “Warn your friend there to keep his hands to himself from now on.”
Hunfrith was obviously not willing to make an issue of it when so many Vikings were ready to come to the boy’s defense. But Eartha did not like it and moved off grumbling that the lad was too girlish by half. One of the Saxons commented that mayhap that was why the Vikings brought him along, and they left laughing among themselves.
Kristen’s cheeks had blushed brightly at the remark. When Thorolf noticed and asked why, she shook her head, blushing more. He meant only to tease her, detaining her to insist she tell him, because it was so rarely that Kristen was ever embarrassed. But she slapped his hand away and angrily sat down, giving him her back.
From that position her eyes wandered over the hall, and she could see that a man stood watching them from an upstairs window. His face was in shadow so she could not guess who he was, but it made her uncomfortable to know that others besides the guards could watch them. She had only been concerned with the guards’ positions whenever she had spoken to Thorolf or the others. She would have to be more careful now, knowing that anyone from the hall could also be spying on them.
They were fed after Eartha left, and those of them who had lost their boots because they were new or of a fine quality, got them back, though they couldn’t put them on over the chains. This situation was rectified later that afternoon, when the blacksmith came to them.
The iron bands on their ankles were removed and replaced with new ones, these with a short chain permanently welded on each set. The bands snapped on and were held firm, but there was a keyhole on each one to remove them, though there was no sight of the key around. An iron ring at the back of each band allowed for a longer chain to slide through. This chain was only twenty feet long, and once it was threaded through the ring on each man’s foot and then the ends locked together, their circle around the tall post became much narrower, making the positions they could assume extremely limited.
Kristen was disgusted with this new precaution taken against them. She supposed the long chain would be removed when they were made to work, but the short chain between her ankles would only allow for short steps, certainly nothing hurried, and she could imagine all of them stumbling and falling as they got used to having to practically hobble as they walked. It would be degrading, but that was probably how the Saxons intended it.
Like the others, Kristen had gotten her boots back, though the fur trimming had been ripped away. But at least they kept the irons from chafing against her bare skin. The bands were tight, however, and would no doubt wear through the soft-skinned boots eventually. Since her ankles were so much slimmer than the others’, the blacksmith had had to send for a special pair of irons for her, smaller ones that she could only imagine were made for a boy much shorter than she.
It rained that night, and left out in the open as they were, they were all made miserable by the deluge. Kristen was the most wretched, for she tried futilely to protect her bloodied bandage from being washed clean. Thorolf finally laughed at her efforts and helped by wrapping his own arms about her head and lying partially on top of her. This kept her bandage dry, but made for a very uncomfortable night.
From his window, Royce watched the scene below in the yard. He saw the lad protest being covered and try to throw Thorolf off, saw the larger Viking slap his backside and shout something in his ear and then cover the boy’s head with his arms, which forced Thorolf to lie half on top of the boy. They were still after that, as were the others. The guards had erected a shelter from the rain in front of the storehouse. The rest of the yard, growing muddy, was quiet.
“Which is the one Eartha said attacked her?”
Royce glanced down absently at Darrelle. She had come to stand beside him at the window, having put away the ivory pieces of the game they had just finished playing.
“The Viking did not attack her. He simply protested her treating his wound.”
“But she said—”
“I saw it all, Darrelle, and the old woman exaggerates in the telling.”
“If he were to have laid hands on me, I hope you would not take it so lightly,” she grumbled.
“I would not,” he said, grinning.
“Which one is he?”
“You cannot see him now.”
“Alden said ’twas only a boy who wounded him. Is he the one?”
“Aye, the youngest among them.”
“You should have had him whipped, then, if you saw him lay hands on Eartha.”
“Too many were ready to fight for him. ’Twould have served no purpose but to have more wounded.”
“I suppose,” she agreed, though with reluctance. “They cannot build our wall if they are dying. The wall is more important. They are few and can be controlled, but the Danes are many.”
Royce chuckled. “I see Alden has convinced you that they are needed.”
“You would have killed them all,” she reminded him with a haughty look that made him smile. “At least he realized they would better serve you alive.”
“Is it not time for you to check on Alden?” Royce threw the hint out deliberately.
Darrelle clucked her tongue indignantly. “You could have just told me to go.”
