“You are not even a little upset by it?”
“But why? I was not harmed.”
Her attitude was so different from what he had expected, he became irritated with her. He had rushed inside to console her, to swear he would avenge her, only to have her treat the matter with indifference. He had wanted to skewer Eldred to a wall when Alden told him what the cur had attempted to do, and probably would have if Eldred had been within his sight at the telling. But fast on top of his rage had been concern for Kristen, concern she scorned.
“Mayhap you do not realize a crime was committed,” he said harshly now.
“Against a slave?” she scoffed, remembering his telling her she had no rights.
“Against the man you injured.”
She stiffened, the aqua brightness of her eyes fading to a frigid hue. “What crime? Defending myself? You dare to call that a crime?”
“Not I. ’Tis the law. A slave cannot bear weapons except at his owner’s behest, nor attack anyone, especially a noble. To attack a noble carries a high fine even of a freeman, but for a slave…”
“Is that why you expected me to be upset?” she sneered. “Am I to be hung for protecting myself?”
“Do not be absurd, wench. As your lord, it falls to me to pay your fine, and there is no question that I will. I just wanted you to see the seriousness of what you have shrugged off as being of no consequence.”
“I will not thank you,” she replied churlishly. “I do not like the idea that a payment must be made at all to that swine. Were I home, those men would be dead for what they attempted to do to me.”
“You cannot expect things here to be as they were for you at home, Kristen.” His voice was softer now, his anger having diminished with the reminder that she had not always been a slave, that she was accustomed to more worthy treatment. “I do not like seeing that lout Randwulf rewarded, either, and will ensure that he suffers a bit more for his wergild.”
Wergild was the man-price assessed to every free man, the amount of shillings at which each man’s value or importance to society in terms of wealth was registered for the purpose of laws. This was the amount payable in compensation for hurt done to a man, or hurt done by him. There were only three levels of distinction in Wessex: twelve hundred shillings, being the King and his family; six hundred shillings, being the King’s nobles; and two hundred shillings, the churls. Slaves had no wergild at all, but were valued at eight oxen.
Kristen knew all of this, thanks to Eda. She knew that a man’s full wergild was demanded for a death, with lesser amounts required for an injury, even exact amounts for specific injuries according to law. She imagined that a cracked rib, which would limit a man’s abilities for a while, would indeed be a high fine, as Royce had said, especially for a noble whose full wergild was six hundred shillings, a staggering amount for most men.
It dawned on Kristen that Royce was not at all annoyed that he would have to pay this fine for her. He had been annoyed that she had scoffed at his concern. And here he was now saying that he would personally see to it that Randwulf was punished even more. He was saying he would avenge her. Whom did she know, even of her own people, who would avenge a slave? God’s teeth! Why couldn’t this man be consistent? Why did he make her feel like the lowest of the low one moment, then like a cherished loved one the next?
Kristen lowered her eyes, feeling contrite now over her churlishness of the last few minutes. “I appreciate what you would do, milord, but ’tis unnecessary. As I said before, no harm—”
She didn’t get to finish. Two of the younger, more exuberant serfs burst into the hall, shouting that the King was here. Royce started away, seeming to have dismissed her completely from his mind with that news. He had not. He turned back, calling Eda to him.
“Remove her fetters, Eda.” Then to Kristen, his eyes fixing her with a fierce look, he added softly, “We needs make a bargain, you and I, but I have not the time now to speak of it. For God’s mercy, wench, be good.”
Kristen watched him move swiftly toward the entrance of the hall. She saw the Lady Darrelle hurry to join him and try to speak to him, but he waved a hand to silence her and did not slow his pace so she could keep up with him. The others in the hall all rushed to crowd about the windows to watch King Alfred’s arrival.
Kristen did not move herself, not even when the hated iron slipped off her ankles and Eda tugged the longer chain out of her girdle. Slowly her lips turned up until a brilliant smile sat there. Royce was going to deal with her, to accept her word for whatever the bargain would be. He was finally going to trust her. She felt euphoric. She felt like shouting her joy and would have, if Eda was not still watching her. The old woman had been right all along. She had only needed to bide her time.
“Aye, I can see how pleased you be.” Eda did not smile herself. “Just remember his warning, wench. Do naught that will put you back into these.” And she tossed the chains into the corner.
Kristen nodded, but absently. Her mind was too full of Royce and what his trust could mean. There was hope again that she had not been wrong after all to choose Royce of Wyndhurst for her man. He still thought of her as his enemy, but Garrick and Brenna had once been enemies, too, and their lives had been joined together despite it.
Strangers began crowding into the hall. In high spirits now, Kristen was open to feeling some of the excitement of the others in being allowed to see this great King of the Saxons. But she was the only one surprised, the others having seen him before. He was so young, surely younger than Royce!
She thought at first she must be mistaken. This could not be the man who had led Saxon against fierce Dane, who had won a temporary peace for his people. After all, there was naught to distinguish him from the nobles who crowded round him. They were all dressed in fine clothes, some more splendid than he. Others there, older men with fiercer looks, might be more readily thought King.
Yet this young man was King. She did not really need Eda to confirm it. There was that certain quality about him the others lacked. It was what she had seen in Royce that first day she met him, when his bearing, not his dress, had told who he was. This was a man used to command. The others, all lords and used to command themselves, deferred to him.
Except for his youth and the power that being King gave him, at first glance, Alfred of Wessex was not a remarkable man to speak of. He was tall for a Saxon fair in coloring, with blue eyes that were alert, taking in all about him without appearing to. He had not the look of a warrior, and Kristen was to learn later that he was in fact a scholar with gentle qualities. She was also to find that though he might not be remarkable in appearance, he was remarkable in his drive and energy, and his single-minded determination to keep his kingdom under Saxon rule.
At the moment he seemed like any other man, a little tired from his travels, appreciative of the chalice of wine Lady Darrelle brought to him, and attentive of the introductions as Royce reacquainted him with several of his men before they moved to the tables that were already set up for the feast. Kristen felt a measure of pride watching Royce, pride she had no business feeling, for she had no claim on him, but she felt it just the same.
She could see that Eda had been right again: Royce was favored by his King. There was no formality between them. They spoke to each other as friends would on an equal level. She even saw other men look askance when Alfred would laugh at something Royce said, and wondered if Royce knew he was envied by these other lords.
For the most part, the nobles that made up Alfred's entourage were men of an age with him, younger sons who followed the court in hope of currying favor. There were half a dozen ladies, too, wives and daughters accompanying their lords, though the Queen was not among them.
Only one of these women aroused Kristen’s curiosity a very pretty lady with flaxen hair bound up under a net of pearls. She was young, with buxom figure encased in a lovely fur-trimmed gown that Kristen might have envied, except she thought her own green velvet was much nicer. But then, she wasn’t wearing her green velvet, and she wasn’t noticed, and the flaxen-haired lady could not seem to take her eyes from the King and Royce, dividing her attention equally between them.
