Sandra Hill - [Vikings I 02] (36 page)

“Just get me in to see the king,” she said. “I’ll take care of the rest.”

Eirik nodded, then shook his head in wonder. “A sister? That will take some getting used to.” He stood, seemed to hesitate, then held out his arms for her, enclosing her in a huge bear hug. “Later you will have to tell me about this Eddie person, my twin. No doubt he was fiercely handsome and very brave.” He deliberately puffed his chest out.

Rain sniffled and looked up at him. “Yes, and extremely arrogant.” Suddenly, she thought of something else. In a soft shaky voice, she asked, “Can I see Selik?”

Eirik shrugged uncertainly. “I will see what I can do, but Rain…I am not sure Selik would want you to come.”

“Why not?”

He grimaced and tried to joke. “He is no longer as comely as he once was.”

She put a hand to her chest and closed her eyes for a moment to fortify her courage. Then she looked directly at him. “For God’s Sake, Eirik, I’m a doctor. How badly hurt is he?”

“No mortal wounds, as far as I could tell. But—well, there is not a part of his body that has not been battered or broken.”

“Broken?” she gasped out.

He nodded. “A broken arm, cracked ribs—oh, Rain, I do not know. I just got back today from Normandy and only saw him for a short time.”

Rain lifted her chin defiantly. Someone would have to pay for Selik’s torture. She began to think there was nothing more deadly than a former pacifist. But for now, she had to get Selik free.

“Go and arrange for my audience with the king. There’s no time to waste. And see if you can find some medical supplies—linen strips, ointment, anything.”

“First you had best bathe and change your garments. The king will not see you in such attire, stinking up his noble air.” He grinned as she jabbed him in the arm with mock annoyance.

A short time later, Rain had bathed and washed her hair and donned the clothing Eirik had provided for her—a beautiful belted tunic of deep amber silk over a soft, cream-colored wool chemise. She sat anxiously wringing her hands as she listened to Eirik speak of his meeting with King Athelstan.

“The king will grant you an audience on the morrow, but a short one only. Know this—Athelstan can barely speak over his fury at the deaths Selik has caused and his glee at finally having caught The Outlaw. ’Twill be nigh impossible to convince him to soften his attitude.”

Rain swallowed hard.
I’ll be talking to You about this later, God. Depend on it
. “And can I see Selik?”

He nodded.

“When?”

He held out a hand to her. “Best we get it over with now.”

They walked outside the castle, across the bailey, and then entered an underground room under the soldiers’ barracks that held the prison. Rain assumed it was the same dank dungeon she’d been held in earlier. It didn’t look any better at night in the morbid shadows of their torchlight. Nor did it smell any better. And the screams and moans seemed to have increased.

Despite Eirik’s warnings, despite Rain’s medical experience in a city hospital, nothing could have prepared her for the horror of Selik’s tortured body.

He lay on a hard bench with his arm thrown over his face. His clothing lay in shreds, and he shivered in the cool dampness. Rain eyed Eirik’s fur-lined mantle, vowing that it would cover Selik when they left.

“Selik,” she said softly and saw his body stiffen. Slowly, he lowered his arm and turned, as if afraid of what he might see.

“Rain!” He sat up and groaned with pain. Then he shot an angry glare at Eirik. “How could you have brought her here to such a hellhole?”

“I was in the same prison, just down the hall, until a few hours ago,” she remarked and heard Selik curse under his breath, something about stubborn wenches.

She moved the torchlight closer and cried out at her first look at his face. Both eyes were black-and-blue and swollen almost completely shut. His nose appeared to have been broken again. And his hair—oh, sweet Jesus—his beautiful blond hair had been cut off completely, chopped so close to the scalp that bloody gouges showed through in some places.

“Your hair,” she moaned. “Oh, Selik, they cut your beautiful hair.”

Selik tried to laugh, but it sounded more like a grunt. “Christ, my body feels like a chopping block, and the wench worries about such vanities as hair.”

Rain knelt in the rushes beside the pallet and put her arms around his waist, tears rolling down her cheeks.

Absently, he ran a palm over her hair, crooning, “Hush, sweetling, hush. Ye should not have come.”

Rain knew she didn’t have unlimited time with Selik and quickly regained her composure. She made him lie down so she could examine his wounds. Clucking, she cleansed and bandaged the numerous cuts and bruises on his totally battered
body. She sent Eirik for a straight stick which she used to set and bandage his broken arm. She stitched gashes on his thigh, forearm, and abdomen, much to Selik’s dismay at the first sight of her needle. With the linen strips, she tightly wrapped his cracked ribs, as well as a swollen knee. She had to repeatedly send Eirik to dump the pail of bloody water and get fresh water to clean his wounds.

Finally, Selik looked much better, dressed in a clean tunic and braies Eirik had brought for him. They set food, some coins, and other items in a basket at his feet.

Selik sat on the bench and pulled her into the crook of his good arm, kissing the top of her hair gently. He touched the swelling at her jaw and shook his head sadly. Then he forced himself to brighten. “So, Eirik, what do you think of my angel?”

Eirik arched a brow. “Angel? I do not know about that. Methinks she has the gentleness of a battering ram.” Rain reached out a foot to give Eirik a playful kick, but he jumped out of the way. Then Eirik added, more seriously, “But after the way she just cared for you, I must believe her claim of being a physician.”

Selik smiled at her as best he could with his cracked and swollen lips. “You should have seen her deliver a babe in Jorvik. She outshines all the culdees at the hospitium. Truly, your sister is a fine healer. And she saved Tykir’s leg from the healer’s knife.”

Rain looked at Selik with surprise. She hadn’t realized that he was so proud of her medical skills. He winked at her, and her heart did flip-flops of sweet love for him.

Eirik questioned Rain about his brother’s injuries and thanked her for her help.

“Where is Ubbi?” Selik asked then.

“Back at the farmstead, caring for the children.
He wanted to come, but his arthritis is paining him terribly.”

“Rain, I want you to go back to Northumbria. You should not be here,” Selik said urgently.

“I told you I would come after you,” she teased, nuzzling his neck, clucking over his butchered hair.

“I find no humor in your words, wench. And stop fretting over my bloody hair. It will grow back,” he said, rubbing his chin against the top of her head. “The important thing is that you
must
go back to Jorvik.”

“I can’t, Selik. I have to meet with the king tomorrow.”

He removed his arm from her shoulders and turned her so he could study her face. “Why?” he asked in a suddenly cold voice.

Rain felt her face flush. “I just want to meet him,” she said lamely.

“You would not dare try to ransom yourself for me,” he said evenly. “Would you?”

“No, of course not—I mean, I never thought of that. Now, Selik, don’t go getting stubborn on me. What I was thinking is that maybe if I offered the king some phenomenal medical remedy, he might be willing to release you.”

“It would have to be mighty phenomenal,” Eirik commented dryly.

“And what remedy, pray tell, did you plan to offer?” Selik asked cynically.

“I don’t know,” Rain said on a groan. “I haven’t thought that far, but there are many, many medical wonders that I could pick from.” She smiled then. “I remember my mother telling me that King Athelstan was a celibate, that he deliberately abstained from—you know, so that he wouldn’t have children. He wants the throne to pass to the true blood heirs, his young nephews.”

“And?” Selik and Eirik both asked dubiously.

“I could give the king a vasectomy.”

Selik choked and burst out laughing, obviously remembering the time Rain had explained the procedure to him and Ubbi. “Lord, I would love to be a fly on the wall if you performed such an operation on him. Sticking a needle in that bastard’s cock would give me a lifetime of pleasure.”

“Needle? Cock? Are you two going to share the jest?” Eirik finally asked with exasperation.

Rain explained, and Eirik grimaced painfully. “We are all laughing, but he just might be interested. Being celibate has been sore hard on him.” He grinned at his pun.

Selik gave Eirik a look of disgust and turned back to Rain. “I am serious, Rain. I want you to leave Winchester.”

Fortunately, she had no chance to respond because a guard knocked on the door and told her and Eirik they had to leave.

Selik stood painfully and took her face between both his palms. With the tenderest care, he placed his lips gently against hers and whispered, “I love you.”

“I love you, too, Selik. More than I ever dreamed possible.”

Then Selik pushed her toward the door, adding, “Next time you are talking to that God of yours, tell Him to stay out of my bloody head.”

Rain swiveled around. “God has been talking to you?”

“Like a blathering lackwit. Day and night. He offers more advice than a shrewish woman.”

Thank You, God
, Rain whispered silently. Somehow, she knew that God would not be speaking in Selik’s head without a reason.

There was hope, after all.

Rain didn’t speak to King Athelstan the next day. Nor the next. Each time her appointed interview came due, he suddenly had other, more pressing engagements—a portrait sitting, an audience with a representative of the Prankish king, a chess match.

Rain should have been pleased that Eirik had gained her release, but each wasted minute that fled by left Rain in nerve-racking despair about Selik’s condition and whether he was being tortured further. The Winchester castellan refused permission for her or Eirik to see Selik again. Rumors flew of a public flogging and execution sometime in the near future.

She was sitting in the ladies’ solar on the third afternoon, fidgeting nervously, fighting to control her temper among the insipid chitchat of the court ladies who gossiped over their needlework.
Needlework!
Hah! The only needlework that interested Rain right now was sewing a few mouths shut.

The Lady Elgiva, a stunning, raven-haired widow
from Mercia, approached her, a fine lavender samite robe swirling about her exquisite figure as she walked. She was one of the few females who bothered to treat Rain with any consideration, probably because her place in the Saxon court was just as shaky as hers. Some said Elgiva was hopelessly in love with the celibate king.

Elgiva asked politely, “May I join you?”

Rain nodded toward the windowseat at her side.

“You have not had your audience with the king yet?” she inquired.

“No,” Rain said with a sigh. “If I could only talk with King Athelstan, I think I might be able to convince him to release Selik.”
Are you listening to me, God?
“I’ve heard he’s a fair man.”

Elgiva raised a perfect eyebrow. “Fair is one thing, but the king is no fool. He would not trust Selik. The Outlaw is just as likely to turn and stab him in the back—or kill a hundred more Saxon soldiers.”

Rain felt her face Hush with anger. “Selik’s word is gold. If he made an oath, even to a Saxon king, he would keep it.”

Elgiva tapped a graceful forefinger against her cheek thoughtfully. Rain had never seen such a beautiful, creamy complexion in her entire life, and she wondered how the king could resist this woman’s beauty.

“Do you love Athelstan?” she asked suddenly, unable to control her curiosity.

Elgiva leveled an assessing look at Rain, seeming to weigh her words carefully. Finally, she raised her chin haughtily and admitted in a soft voice, “Yea, I do.”

“And is it true that he took a vow of celibacy to protect the royal bloodlines for his young nephews?”

Tears pooled in Elgiva’s hazel eyes, and she nodded.

“Does he love you?”

“Yea, he does. We have known each other since he fostered at the court of his aunt, Queen Aethelflaed, in Mercia. But there is no hope for us,” she said, her voice cracking with emotion.

Rain put a hand gently over Elgiva’s. “I understand perfectly what it’s like to love a man and know there is no future.”

They both sat silently for several moments. Rain laughed lightly then. “Too bad I couldn’t have brought some birth control pills for you from the fut—from my country.”

Elgiva’s posture went suddenly alert. “Birth control pills?”

Rain explained and told her about all the methods available for women. Elgiva was
very
interested.

“And you say that patch under your skin protects you from conceiving a child?”

“Yes. Implants are still somewhat experimental, but supposedly they last for about five years.”

Elgiva’s lush lips formed a perfect O of amazement. “Could I have one?” she whispered hopefully.

Rain smiled. “No, unfortunately I wouldn’t have any idea where to get another.”

“I will have yours then,” she said imperiously.

“No, that wouldn’t be safe.”

Elgiva’s shoulders slumped. “The future holds naught for me then. I may as well return to my home in Mercia. ’Tis torture to be near Athelstan and not be with him.”

“It’s funny, but when I was talking to Selik and Eirik the other day, I laughingly mentioned giving the king a vasectomy.”

“A vas…vasectomy?”

Although her face paled when Rain explained the intricacies of the operation, Elgiva asked, “And the man can still…you know…perform?”

Rain nodded.

“And the pleasure is the same?” she asked incredulously.

Rain nodded again.

“Could you do it for Athelstan?”

“Oh, no! I was just teasing. It would be impossible without anesthetics and painkillers.” Rain suddenly thought of Tykir and the operation she’d performed on him with acupuncture.

“It can be done! I see it on your face. I had heard you were a healer, but this—oh, ’twould make you world-renowned.”

“Oh, no, no,” Rain quickly interjected. What she didn’t want was fame, or to change the course of history. “I couldn’t do it.”

“Have you ever performed a vas—vasectomy?”

“Well, yes, but…” Rain found it impossible to explain modern medical facilities to this Dark Age lady, and Eirik had warned her about discussing the future or time-travel in a land suspicious of sorcery. “Besides, do you honestly think the king—any man here, for that matter—would let me tamper with his manhood? Men are really touchy about such things, even in my country.”

“Athelstan would if I asked him to,” Elgiva asserted, her slight laugh betraying her uncertainty.

“There’s pain and discomfort for a few days after the operation. The king would think I’d maimed him.”

“You could explain.”

“Elgiva, it’s out of the question.”

“If you say so,” Elgiva agreed much too quickly.

“We’d have a better chance of Selik telling the king how to find your G-spot,” Rain commented dryly, then slapped a hand over her mouth, wishing she’d kept her mouth shut.

“What is a G-spot?” Elgiva demanded to know.

Rain groaned, then explained, despite Elgiva’s con
stant interruptions to ask, “And what didst thou say the meaning of ejaculation is?”, or “orgasm?”, or “You say women in your country demand the same pleasures as men?” When she stopped talking, Rain turned around, horrified to see that several of the other gentle ladies had sidled closer, eavesdropping with avid interest in their conversation.

“Humph! ’Tis just like men to keep such information from women,” Elgiva complained. “I had a husband onct who considered himself quite the lover, but he ne’er mentioned any G-spot. No doubt he saved those pleasures for his mistress.”

Then Elgiva smiled mysteriously, and foreboding rippled over Rain in waves.

“I’m sick to death of King Athelstan’s court,” Rain complained to Eirik later that day. “And I’m even sicker of all the useless people who stand around posturing and begging for his favors.”

Eirik just smiled patronizingly at her, having heard her complaints enough the past two days to know them by heart.

They were seated along with a hundred or so other people at one of the numerous trestle tables in Athelstan’s great hall, where yet another feast was taking place. They’d been placed so far down the salt that she could barely see the king or his closest advisors. The abundance of smoke from the poorly ventilated hearths at either end didn’t help much, either.

Even by modern standards, the fare surpassed sumptuous—baked lamprey, veal and beef custard pies, swan neck pudding, lentils and lamb, pigeons in grape sauce, poached mustard-glazed pike, quail stuffed with dates, whole sides of beef and venison. And that was just the main course. Servants also carried in huge platters of cabbage with marrow, herbed beets, creamed parsnips, pickled mushrooms, a veg
etable gruel, artichokes with blueberry rice, even a medieval salad consisting of turnips, shredded cabbage, dried fruits, mustard, brown sugar, and honey. For dessert, there was gilly-flower pudding, almond creme, elaborate subtleties, custards, stewed fruits, and honey cakes. And barrels and barrels of wine and mead.

Rain would have given her eyeteeth for a pepperoni-and-mushroom pizza. And a diet Coke.

The king and his closest friends stood, about to leave the dais for their evening’s entertainment—music, storytelling, dice and board games. Rain accepted that another day had gone by and Selik still lay in that damned dungeon. And she’d accomplished nothing. There would be no other opportunities tonight to approach the king.

“Pssst!”

Rain twisted around, looking for the source of the noise.

“Pssst!” she heard again and looked the other way, noticing a flash of lavender material in the shadows of a hallway. She stood, telling Eirik she had to visit the garderobe, and walked toward Elgiva, who put a finger to her lips to indicate silence, then crooked her finger for Rain to follow. Once they’d gone down several winding corridors, she stopped and whispered, “You have several minutes to present your case to the king.”

Rain grabbed both of Elgiva’s hands in hers and squeezed. “Oh, thank you, thank you. How did you manage to convince him to see me?”

“Well, ’tis not exactly an audience I have managed,” Elgiva said, shifting her eyes slyly.

“Exactly what have you managed?” Rain asked suspiciously.

“I talked to him today about the vasectomy, and he was not yet convinced. In truth, he said, ‘The day I let The Outlaw’s wench within two hides of my
cock is the day I declare myself lackwit and give up my throne’, or some such foolishness. Methinks I will need more time to persuade him.”

Rain groaned, feeling her case for Selik slowly slipping away. “Elgiva, get to the point. You said I would have an opportunity to speak to the king.”

“Yea. Athelstan intends to visit his scriptorium to view the manuscripts completed today by his scribes. If we just happen to be passing by at the same time—well, he cannot turn us away. Can he?”

Rain closed her eyes and gritted her teeth, fighting for courage and the right words to use in what might be her only opportunity to speak to King Athelstan.

Are you there, God? I could use a little help here
.

The blasted inner voice remained stone silent.

King Athelstan stood examining an illuminated manuscript while a tall monk pointed out its finer details. Dozens of candles lit the airy room, which had a number of high stools placed before tall, lectern-style desks containing parchment and colored inks.

“Elgiva!” the king exclaimed with delight, just noticing her in the doorway. “I thought you had retired for the night.”

“Nay, I was restless and decided to walk for a bit.” She placed both her dainty hands in the king’s, and Rain saw the love they shared in just that little gesture.

Athelstan was a good-looking man of medium height, about forty years old. His flaxen hair, with golden highlights, gleamed in the flickering candlelight, and Rain couldn’t help but admire the magnificent couple these two beautiful people made.

Emotion filled the king’s eyes, and he leaned toward Elgiva, brushing his lips against hers lightly. He seemed oblivious to the priest who hovered in
the background. Rain stood in the shadows near the doorway.

Rain turned away from the intimate scene and walked from desk to desk, admiring the exquisitely detailed illuminations—some copies from other books, others original compositions. Unfortunately, most of these priceless books would never survive the wear-and-tear of the centuries.

“Dearling, I would have you meet my new friend, Rain,” Elgiva said, drawing the king over to where she stood. “She is the one I spoke of earlier this day.”

The king raised an eyebrow and stepped closer, with Elgiva on his arm. “Ah, the self-proclaimed physician.” His lips twitched slightly with a smile, and Rain somehow knew he was thinking about vasectomies.

“Not self-proclaimed,” she asserted. “I have many years’ education and experience in some of the best hospitals in my country.”

“Do you mean hospitiums?”

Rain shrugged. “They’re about the same thing.”

“And these hospitiums in your country allow females to study?”

“Yes, we’re quite…enlightened.”

“Hmmm.” He studied her through eyes that Rain could see were very intelligent. “I have a medical manuscript here that one of my scribes is working on,” he said, walking over to a huge tome. “’Tis in Latin.”

Rain looked at some of the pages. “It’s beautiful, but I can’t read Latin.”

“Ahh,” he said, shooting an “I told you so” look at Elgiva. Apparently, all healers were supposed to know Latin.

His condescension irritated Rain, and she blurted out, “Some of the drawings are wrong.” She immediately regretted her outburst.

Rain heard the priest gasp with outrage behind them, and the king’s shoulders stiffened at her boldness.

“Show me,” the king demanded.

Rain looked to Elgiva for advice on how to proceed with the king, but the Saxon woman’s silent face spoke volumes. Rain was on her own.

“I don’t want to alter these beautiful illuminations. Give me a blank piece of parchment and a pen, and I’ll show you.” With a few quick strokes of the quill, which she dipped in thick black ink, Rain sketched the interior of the body, showing the location of the lungs, heart, liver, stomach, pancreas, large and small intestines. See,” she pointed out to him. “Your illustration has the liver and stomach in the wrong places. Also,” she added, doing another sketch, this time of the heart, “this is how the heart really looks when it’s dissected. There are four sections—the two above we call the atria, and the two below the ventricles—and the blood is pumped into and out of the heart through these veins and arteries.”

She stopped, suddenly aware of the ominous silence in the room. The priest was peering over the king’s shoulder, and both men were staring at her as if she’d just sprung a halo. She wished she had. A pair of wings, as well, would come in handy right now. Lord, when would she learn to keep her mouth shut?

“Father Egbert, is it possible that what the wench says is true?” the king asked.

“Nay, of course not.”

But they could all hear the hesitation in the cleric’s voice.

“Mayhap you would come back on the morrow and discuss this further with me?” Father Egbert asked Rain tentatively. “Your sketch is, of course, incorrect, but I would be interested in hearing more
of your theories. Where didst thou study?”