“Aye, he will cart them to the ruins for more stone on the morrow. Which means I must waste more of my men guarding them again.”
They both watched for a moment as the guards walked beside the Vikings, hurrying them back to the post. Royce turned away from the window, but was stopped short by Alden’s cry.
“You have trouble, I think.”
Royce turned back around. He could see that one of the Vikings had fallen, and Hunfrith was prodding him with his boot to get up. He did not have to guess which Viking it was, for the whole group had stopped. Thorolf shouted something at Hunfrith, and then Hunfrith’s feet came out from under him and he landed hard on his backside. The lad stood up, brushing dust from his hands, and the Vikings roared with laughter as they continued on their way.
“I warned that fool to leave them alone,” Royce hissed between clenched teeth. “He is lucky they did not disarm him while he was down.”
“God’s breath,” cried Alden, “he means to attack the boy!”
Royce too had seen Hunfrith rise with his sword drawn, but he was already running out of the room and down the stairs. Nevertheless, when he reached the yard the damage had been done. One of the guards had called for help, and archers surrounded the group at a safe distance. Three of the guards threatened Ohthere, who had Hunfrith gripped in a bear hug that was likely to break his back, though the Viking did not seem to be applying much pressure at the moment.
Thorolf was speaking quietly to Ohthere. Of the lad there seemed to be no sign, until Royce finally noticed him peering above the shoulders of those in front of him. He had been thrust into the very center of the group.
“Tell him to put my man down, Thorolf, or I will have to kill him.” Royce said this slowly so the man could understand. He was looking at Ohthere, who was staring back at him without emotion. “Tell him now, Thorolf.”
“I told him,” the Viking replied and then tried to explain. “Ohthere’s cousin. No attack Ohthere’s cousin.”
Royce’s eyes turned on Thorolf now. “Heis the boy’s cousin?”
“Aye.”
“Then what are you to the boy?”
“Friend.”
“Is the boy your leader, Thorolf?”
Thorolf met this question with surprise, and then he grinned and repeated it to his comrades, many of whom began to laugh. The laughter at least eased the tension. Even Ohthere chuckled and dropped a wheezing Hunfrith at his feet. Royce picked up the little Saxon by the scruff of his tunic and shoved him away from the Vikings.
Hunfrith’s sword lay in the dust between Royce and Ohthere. Royce picked that up, too, leaning the point into the ground in a nonthreatening manner.
“We have a problem, Thorolf,” he said quietly. “I cannot have my men attacked.”
“Hunfrith attack.”
“Yea, I know,” Royce conceded. “I believe his dignity was suffering.”
“Tripped apurpose—kicked—deserved,” Thorolf retorted angrily.
Royce took a moment to digest that information. “If he did kick the lad, then mayhap he did deserve to get laid low. But the boy is becoming more trouble than he is worth.”
“Nay.”
“Nay? Mayhap if I separate him from the rest of you and give him easier tasks—”
“Nay!”
Royce’s dark brows narrowed at this. “Call the boy forward. Let him decide.”
“Mute.”
“So I have been told. But he understands you well enough, does he not? I have seen you talking to him often. Call him forward, Thorolf.”
The fair-haired Thorolf pretended ignorance this time, keeping his mouth shut. Royce decided to take the rest by surprise before Thorolf told them what had been said. He shoved those Vikings in front of him aside, caught the lad by the shoulder, and dragged him out to the edge of the group. Ohthere moved to pull the boy back, but stopped when Royce pressed the tip of the sword against the young one’s neck.
Royce looked straight at Thorolf, his eyes narrowed angrily. “I think you have lied to me about this one, Viking. Tell me now who he is!”
