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table in front of him. "I could be very useful to you."
Valgar only nodded, his mouth set in a grim line.
Osrick turned hard eyes on Pony. "She stole a horse from me. She should be punished."
"What punishment would you make?" The Viking's deep voice rumbled. Pony held her breath. Was this
Osrick's opportunity to be revenged on her?
The Saxon thegn's eyes narrowed. Suddenly he laughed. "Perhaps she should escape having those lovely
hands cut off they could be put to better purpose. But I might lash her, just to make sure she was
diligent in pleasing me." His eyes roved Pony in ways that made her skin crawl.
The Viking looked at her. "Did you steal?"
Pony felt tears of anger start to her eyes. "I gave Young Black to a farmer who made a covenant with me
and with the horse. Osrick took him from the farmer. He made no covenant. I set Young Black free to
run with Herd, where he was safe from Osrick's whip." She choked. "Only I can make a partnership.
The crime is his."
The Viking stood. He pulled her up with him and drew her in against his burning side. He was not entirely
steady on his feet. "I see your value," he said to Osrick.
The Saxon grinned. "Then we are agreed."
"Do you know the word law?" the Viking asked. His voice was light, inviting.
"Law? No. What is it?" Osrick leaned back, confident.
"It is a Danish word. You will grow to know it well." Valgar's voice was filled with the steel of a sword. "
Law sets the tithe. Law says a jarl does not 'squeeze' his people. Law says the punishment for crimes.
The jarl cannot 'take his share of wergild,' or another's horse."
Osrick looked puzzled. He sat forward slowly. "A thegn takes what he will. Why else be thegn?" The
words clanked onto the table between them.
"You are jarl that your strong arm may serve your people, to judge with law, to see the land heavy with
harvest." Valgar's voice was ragged, but there was no mistaking his meaning.
Osrick's eyes narrowed. "You sound like my father. He never took what he might have. I vowed I would
not follow his way." Pony could feel the Viking stiffen.
"Nor am I like my father," he barked. "But I follow law."
Osrick glanced to the open doorway. Vikings crisscrossed the yard. The confiscated pile of Saxon
weapons was clearly visible. Pony could see him realize that his choices were few. "If you would have it
thus." He nodded. How that must gall him! "Your law will be thegn here."
Don't believe him, Pony wanted to shout. He lulls you into thinking he is with you!
Valgar grunted. "Order women to bring food. My men are hungry."
Osrick rose and dipped his head again. Pony saw his jaw working. "Of course."
Pony pulled at the scratchy hemp that bound both her arms to the ornately carved chair so big it looked
like a throne. Her wrist was raw with pulling, but she was bound as tightly as ever and the chair was
much too heavy to drag with her, even should she find opportunity to escape. Valgar had tied the knots
himself and they were tight. More, he had fended off what she could tell were several offers for her from
his men. One had held back her head by her hair and stroked her cheek, not caring that she spit at him.
What he cared about was the snaking sound of steel behind him as the big Viking drew his sword. The
man had lifted hands in the air, pretending to laugh as at a joke. By that action, Valgar had claimed her.
Pony was half-grateful and half-chilled. What did he want? Did he wait only to take her to his bed? Herd
was far away, out on the downs around the town. It could not help her.
She pulled at the knots again, but that would only make her wrists bleed. She must be patient until she
could run. Like her horses, that was her only defense.
Pony looked around at the great feasting hall. Her throne was at one end of the great room, no doubt
Osrick's favorite chair. Smoke hung in the rafters above. She was sweltering. In the blaze behind her,
what was left of a pig turned on a spit. She was glad she didn't have to look at the carcass. Doors to
shadowy rooms opened off the main hall, and at the other end a stairway ascended to rooms above. The
chamber echoed with Viking guffaws as they ranted in their barbaric tongue. They were singing sagas of
their homeland.
The Saxons were left outside the hall under guard, except for Osrick, who sat among the Vikings,
toasting songs he could not understand with a smile that looked like it was killing him. His discomfort
gave Pony joy. He thought the barbarians might still kill him. Let him stew in his own juices.
The smell of meat and smoke and sweating men was almost overpowering. Pony refused the plate of
food a Saxon serving woman offered, for the juices of the meat had spoiled even the roasted parsnips
and the summer beans. The mere sight of the bleeding haunch sickened her. "Do you not care what devil
you serve?" she whispered as she refused the plate. The serving woman eagerly took Pony's portion and
snorted in derision. Osrick had no doubt been as cruel a master of humans as he was of horses. That
made his retainers not overly particular.
Again and again, Pony found her eyes drawn to the Viking leader who sat off to her left. Just because she
was curious about when he would actually fall over, she told herself. She wasn't sure how he had made it
here, let alone directed the taking of the faesten. He had put off his chain mail, even his leather jerkin, and
now sat in his flaxen shirt, his arm cradled on his lap. She could see the bulk of his shoulders, the light [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]