“He is angry now because he whipped a woman. He will not kill me.”
Ohthere nodded sagely. “Then we will make our way to the Danes in the North if the chance comes. They will have ships to sail to the Northlands.”
“Good. And I will let you know how I fare if I can, so do not worry over me.”
“Enough!” Royce snapped, thrusting her at Waite. “Take her inside and have the women bathe her.” As she walked away from him, he was able to see the red welts on her back, one that beaded with drops of blood, and it was all he could do to speak in a controlled tone to Thorolf. “I know she told you more than I bid her. I tell you this now. The first time you try to escape or injure one of my people, I will make her wish she were dead. And I do not make idle threats.”
Chapter Eleven
Kristen felt foolish and out of place, walking into the Saxon house. The hall she entered was long and bigger than her father’s hall, but she had known it would be in a building this large. At home there was no floor directly above the hall, making it like a huge cavern of stone, so cold in winter that the family preferred evenings spent in the closed-off cooking area. This hall did have a floor above it, but the ceiling was still fairly high.
The cooking area was not closed off, either, as it was at home, something her great-grandfather had insisted on because the smoke bothered him so. Here the cooking was done in a long stone hearth that ran nearly half the length of the back wall on the right side, with stairs on the other side. There was another stone hearth, just as long, in the center of the longest wall on the right, but this one was cold and empty, undoubtedly not used in the summer months. Stone ran to the ceiling above the hearths, and for a few feet at the base of the hall, as well as around the high entrance doors.
The floor was made of wood and sounded hollow as Kristen walked over it, leading her to think there might be some kind of cellar beneath it. A thin square rug of the type Garrick had found in the East covered a small portion of the floor in front of two wide windows, this in the front of the hall and on the right again. Chairs and stools were placed on it, along with sewing looms and a tapestry stand. It was an area obviously reserved for the women, and three were there now working.
All the windows and the doors were open, letting in ample light and warm breezes. Opposite the women’s area and in front of windows again, but more toward the center of the hall, there was a large barrel of ale with a spout on it. Benches and chairs surrounded the barrel, as well as several small tables set with gaming pieces. There was a rack of tools and another, longer table covered with weapons, stools, even wooden bowls, all in different states of completion. A man stood at the table working thin leather strips about the handle of a whip. Kristen cringed, the pain on her back suddenly more pronounced.
There were seven women in the hall, and every one of them stopped what she was doing when Waite stepped inside with Kristen. The combination of her male garb, half of it torn open and hanging on her, and her height, which let her tower over every woman there by half a foot or more, made Kristen feel like a freak. All the other women were covered from their necks to their feet by their long-sleeved chainses, a few even wearing veils to hide their hair as well, while her arms were bare and her back was now exposed too. They were clean and tidy, while she was filthy from the dirt and mud she had purposely smeared on herself to disguise her smooth skin.
One woman, garbed more richly than the others, rose from her seat and called Waite to halt. Her light-blue outer gown was embroidered along the edges, even on the wide elbow-length sleeves over the white of her tight-fitted chainse sleeves, and girded about the waist to reveal a tiny frame. Her hair, golden-brown in color, was dressed in a net of woven beads. Her eyes were a light blue, very bright, like those of the man Kristen hoped she had killed.
Kristen thought the woman would be very pretty if she didn’t frown so, as she was doing now. She was probably the lady of this hall if she could halt the soldier with such authority in her voice. Kristen was not surprised that the Saxon lord would have a lovely wife. She could almost envy this lady such a fine-looking husband, if she were not the prisoner of that husband.
“How dare you bring him in here?” the woman demanded of Waite after she took a few steps closer, but still left a long distance between them.
“Milady, he is a she and Lord Royce orders the women to bathe her.”
“A woman?” the lady gasped, coming closer now, her eyes traveling from the top of Kristen’s head to the chain still binding her feet together. She shook her own head. “Nay, ’tis not possible.”
Waite grabbed Kristen’s long braid and tossed it over her shoulder for the lady to see. “Lord Royce had her whipped, which led to the discovery of her deception.” Roughly he turned Kristen around. “’Tis not the back of a man.”
“A smooth back and long hair do not a woman make.”
Waite chuckled. “Milord made certain in another way, which you will see for yourself when she is bathed.”
The lady made a sound of disgust with her mouth. “And what are we to do with her after she is bathed?”
Waite shrugged. “Put her to work as you see fit, milady. She is to remain in the hall.”
“What can Royce be thinking of,” the woman wailed, “to keep a heathen in our home?”
“He means to use her—”
“No doubt!” she snorted. “In the same way those Vikings surely used her!”
“Mayhap that, too.” Waite grinned. “But used more for a hostage.”
“Oh, very well.” A long-suffering sigh was forthcoming. “Send someone for the key to those shackles if she is to be washed thoroughly. But take her to the bathing room first and leave two men to watch her until I tell my women what they must do. They will not like this any more than I.”
Kristen was left with Uland and Aldous, though she didn’t know which was which, for Waite had simply shouted their names as he passed through the hall. The small bathing room was partially under the stairs, with a door leading directly to the back yard, where water could be brought from a well. The other door was under the stairs, near the cooking area. There was a wooden tub inside, not nearly big enough for more than one person as the one in her uncle Hugh’s bathhouse was. It seemed the Saxons did not share baths.
The two men Kristen dismissed as servants and ignored as such. They were both small and dark in coloring, one old, the other young, perhaps father and son. They watched her fearfully, as if they knew they would have trouble stopping her if she tried to leave.
Kristen had no thought for leaving. She was very much looking forward to this bath, now that she no longer had to hide her femininity. The filth she had worn on her person until now had been a sore test of her endurance. She would probably have pleaded for this bath if it hadn’t been ordered.
The blacksmith came in to remove her shackles, though he did not take them away with him. Kristen immediately sat down on a bench to remove her boots and inspect her ankles. The skin was chafed bright red, but not broken. It would mend soon enough if the foul shackles could be dispensed with.
Kristen stayed where she was, busying herself with unbraiding her hair, while a line of boys began bringing in buckets of water from outside. It did not look as if they would bother heating any for her, as the tub was nearly full already. She didn’t mind, though, accustomed as she was to swimming in cold water.
