Runa jumped at Bard’s sudden appearance behind her. Intent on studying the women, she had not heard him approach.
“Would you like some time to wash, and perhaps a change of clothes?”
“Don’t need no new clothes,” Magnus grunted. “I’d like to scrub my face and comb my beard. But honestly, I’m hungry.”
“Ah, yes!” Bard laughed at Magnus’s artless statement and gestured toward the fire. “A stew is boiling as we speak.” Then he returned his attention to Runa. “Yet I am sure you would welcome a change of clothes. It will cheer your master to see you freshly attired.” He let his eyes wander the curves of her body beneath the grubby shift.
Runa understood Bard’s look all too well-the look of a man eager to plow her field. Even in her disgraceful condition, she could attract a man. In better times, Runa had prided herself on it, but now she regarded her looks as a curse that led to rape and slavery. Runa took a cautious step back and nodded in agreement.
To her surprise, Bard noticed her apprehension and also stepped back. His ears, peeking from his pulled back hair, turned red. “I’ll have one of the women bring you something suitable and show you a place to clean up,” he said, averting his eyes. Turning, he walked back to where Ulfrik and Yngvar were being joined by a fat man, who must be the healer.
Runa watched them examine Ulfrik’s ravaged leg, the healer rubbing his chin.
“He’ll be all right, if that’s what you’re worried about.” Magnus gave her a quizzical look. “His leg might be as red as raw meat now, but it’ll heal, girl. No worries there.”
Runa smiled and thanked him. Then she looked back at the pale, thin man who called himself Bard, hoping his was just a passing attraction and nothing more. He played a refined and gracious host, but Runa had an instinct for men’s intentions. Perhaps she was wrong in this instance. Remembering the skulls and severed arms in the surrounding woods, she thought, but perhaps I am right.
Nineteen
Ulfrik was relieved to finally be under a roof again. He knew little about Jarl Frodi and his son Bard, other than that they kept to themselves and raided overseas. He had taken a risk coming to them; however, Bard was proving a generous host, treating them as royal guests. In fact, he thought, the welcome felt a little overzealous, like a boy trying to impress everyone with his manners.
Ulfrik’s leg still burned, but the healer had cleaned and redressed the wound daily, and propped his leg up on a block of fresh-hewn ash wood that had been adzed to a rough finish. The ash wood, the healer had explained, would draw out the evil. A salve was also applied, and healing runes brushed over the bite. Within days, the redness receded and the pain dulled.
During those few days, Yngvar kept him company most of the time and Bard often sat with them and traded news. Frodi was visiting the lands of Agder, to the west, and planned to return with the Jarl of Agder’s son. Bard kept the reasons for the visit vague, and Ulfrik did not press him. Talk of his father clearly agitated Bard, who blushed often although he said nothing embarrassing.
In return, Ulfrik shared his news with Bard as honestly as he thought prudent. Sometimes, Yngvar would cock an eyebrow, warning Ulfrik to not reveal too much as he told Bard about Orm’s death, Grim’s rise to power, and the burning of Auden’s hall. Bard nodded throughout, offering platitudes in response until Ulfrik dropped the subject.
Magnus was less at home, appearing rangy and gaunt, unlike this former self. His eyes searched everywhere, and he wore his fur even when seated by the hearth. Any mention of his family made him surly and silent. Runa was more hospitable. She had come several times to inspect his wound and to bring him food.
When she had first appeared dressed in the green and red broadcloth worn by the other women, Ulfrik and Yngvar had mistaken her for one of Bard’s slaves. While still too thin, her delicate figure was enhanced by the dress and she had washed and combed her hair, which settled in ringlets every bit as beautiful as Ulfrik had expected. He noticed she was taking care to play the role of loyal servant, lending legitimacy to his lordship. But they traded smiles in secret, and Ulfrik wished for time alone.
Bard had not stated as much, but Ulfrik knew he was waiting for Jarl Frodi to return with a decision on their fate. With that delay, and the rest needed for his wound to heal, there was nothing to do but wait. A squall had arrived the day after them, and continued to howl outside. Ulfrik was glad to have missed it.
“Bard is an anxious pup,” Yngvar said, his voice hushed by the wind and his eyes scanning the hall. A few hirdmen threw dice and Magnus watched over their shoulders; otherwise, they were alone. “He’s treating us nicely because he doesn’t know what to do. When his father gets here, things will change.”
“I’ve been thinking the same. But maybe Jarl Frodi will be reasonable.”
“Merciful, is what I’m hoping for. What are you hoping for?”
Ulfrik had been lying down with a blanket covering his legs, but raised himself on his elbows at Yngvar’s question. He wanted to lay out a detailed proposal, but instead heard himself say, “Well, I’m hoping my damn leg will heal.”
“It will heal, just like your brother’s face will. What is your plan to see that face again?”
“So you’re not letting me off that easily?” Ulfrik laughed, and then he flattened out again, facing the beams above him and watching smoke from the hearth curl around them. “Runa said Snorri and others would come if I sent word. That would be the plan, then.”
“Brilliant. Just walk back into Grim’s hall and ask if they can leave with you?” Yngvar stretched his legs out and sighed. “I was supposed to kill you, remember? But gave you my oath instead. That’s not going to happen again with the others. How many will come to you? Enough to threaten Grim, do you think?”
The air soured between them. Ulfrik knew these were the right questions, and that the right answers would only anger him. He felt rage twisting in his chest already, a black worm boring into his heart. Vengeance would not be swift, if it came at all. His fists clenched at the thought.
“So why did you change sides?” The question was out of his mouth before he even realized he would ask. “We’ve got time now for you to explain it.” He sat up straight again.
Yngvar rubbed the back of his neck, seeming to search for the right place to begin. “I told you-your brother has no honor.”
“So you sullied your own honor? I mean no disrespect, but in the eyes of others you are now an oath breaker.”
Yngvar smiled but did not meet his eyes. “I’m not worried. I was an oath breaker before that.”
“Then you had better explain.”
Yngvar slumped back on his elbows, looking at nothing in particular. One of the dice players shouted in victory while the other cursed his luck. The wind rattled at the shutters and Yngvar laughed to himself before saying, “I came to Grenner at the invitation of your father. We met at Kaupang while he was buying that lovely slave girl.” Yngvar pointed his chin at Runa, who whispered to Magnus as he watched the dice game. “I was in Kaupang on the run from my former lord. I had given him my oath of service, but later found keeping that oath was impossible. So I ran. Orm and I shared some drinks, I explained myself, and he said he could use a man like me. It was a perfect fit, since I needed someone respectable for protection.
“I heard all about you from Magnus, Snorri, and others whose names I can’t remember. What I heard about your brother was exactly the opposite. Anyway, when I saw him and that hag sneaking around together, I guessed what was going on. Your father got sick, and I knew that meant I was going to have to move again. Then your brother picked me for his plot against you-not the best judge of loyalty, that one.”
“Why ally yourself with me? Why not just keep running, like you had planned?”