Chapter Ten #2
Royce grinned at the younger man as Alden made his way slowly to the open window to stand next to him.
“Your company is welcome, for I find I brood too much on the past in here alone. But, God’s truth, I cannot help but feel they will try something now that they are near all mended, so I find myself ever standing here watching them.
Only two of them remain unable to carry the stone with ease. ”
Alden leaned out the window, and then he whistled softly at what he saw across the yard. “’Tis true, then! We need more stone already.”
“Aye,” Royce admitted grudgingly. “Only two of them are needed to lift the largest stones that it took five of the serfs to carry. In the same amount of time, the serfs are still not finished with the shelter I set them to build for the Vikings next to the storehouse. It will be another few days before they can be locked in there at night. Then we will not need so many men to guard them, at least at night.”
“You worry too much, Royce. What can they do shackled as they are?”
“’Twould take only a strong axe to sever those chains, Cousin.
One of them with his bare hands could crush two of my men before a third could draw his sword.
And the fools still get close to them, even though I have warned them to keep their distance.
If the Vikings are determined on their freedom, and I cannot doubt that they are, then they will make a bid for it eventually, and many will die when they do. ”
“Burn their ship and let them know the sea is closed to them,” Alden suggested.
Royce grunted. “I am surprised no one has told you that has been done already.”
“Then what you need is an inducement to keep them tame,” Alden replied.
“Yea, but what?”
“You could take their leader away. If they think you will kill him at the first sign of revolt, that should—”
“Nay, Alden. I thought of that, but they say the one who led them here is dead. ’Twas his father’s ship I burned. They chose a new leader from among them, and would only do so again if I separate him from them.”
“They say he is dead?” Alden was frowning thoughtfully now. “What if he is not?”
“What!” Royce exclaimed.
“If he were down there among them, why should they tell you so and risk losing him for what I suggested.”
“God’s breath, I did not think of that.” But Royce frowned then. “Nay. The only one they rally round is the boy. They protect him as if he were a babe.”
At first he had thought that the lad was only Thorolf’s brother, and that was why the bigger man cosseted him.
But once the prisoners began the wall, they all seemed to look after the lad, stopping the guards from prodding him, taking the heaviest stones from him and pushing him toward the lighter ones, two or more of them moving to help him up every time he fell.
But damned if he wasn’t the filthiest among them, never making use of the water given them to wash. Still they pampered him.
“Could he be their leader?” Alden ventured, looking at the one in question sitting down on the low wall while the last few stones were moved in place at Lyman’s direction.
“Are you daft, Cousin? He is but a smooth-faced boy. Granted, they are all young men, but he is the youngest among them.”
“But if his father supplied the ship, then they are bound to follow whom he chooses to sail it.”
Royce scowled darkly. Could it be that simple?
His own king was younger than he by a few years.
But Alfred had been second in command since he was sixteen.
This was an untried boy who still needed cosseting.
Yet it was that untried boy who had wounded Alden, and Alden was as seasoned a warrior as Royce was.
And now that he thought of it, every one of the Vikings stopped whatever he was doing every time attention was drawn to the boy, almost as if they waited, ready to come to his defense if necessary.
“I think ’tis time I had another talk with Thorolf,” Royce said tersely.
“Which one is he?”
Royce pointed out the window. “There, the one who just called the lad to him. He is the only one who understands our tongue, though not clearly.”
“Lyman is finished with them for this day, it seems,” Alden remarked.
“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. “He is 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!”
Thorolf said nothing. More guards had come forward, and a long spear held him away from Royce. Others held the rest of the group back.
“Do you need an incentive to loosen your tongue?” Royce demanded.
He lost his patience when Thorolf still didn’t answer.
He began to drag the lad to the prisoners’ post. When the boy fell because of his angry stride, Royce yanked him roughly to his feet, barking orders at his men as he went.
When they reached the post, he shoved the boy against it, facing it, and caught both wrists together around it, holding them firm until one of his men ran up to him with a short rope, which he quickly used to bind them.
He stepped away from the post then, looking to where he had left Thorolf behind.
Other of the Vikings were now shouting at him, but Thorolf kept his mouth firmly closed, though his blue eyes were hostile.
Did Thorolf think Royce only meant to keep the lad tied here?
He would disabuse him of that notion quickly enough.
Royce stood behind the lad, his own back blocking the post from the prisoners’ view.
Then, taking the dagger from his belt, he cut away the boy’s thick fur vest down its center.
The leather tunic he attacked next was so tight that he knew he probably cut the boy’s back as he sliced it open from top to bottom, but not a single sound was heard in protest.