Viking Love Beyond Time (Time Travel Romance) (10 page)

“After you sir” he said to Oswy, shooting an ironic grin in Alodie’s direction.  The thegn clicked to the horse which stumbled into a walk, causing Alodie to give a little shriek and cling to him, which made him quiver with laughter.

“What little maid, are you afeard of riding?  Luke will cure you of that once you’re wed eh Luke?  By the Rood, Nephew, I wish I were twenty years younger - I would give you a run for your money!”

How crude
thought Alodie.  Luke only laughed.

After crossing the stream they headed east along a wide path made velvety with moss. It was now almost mid morning and birdsong filled the air, the path angled this way and that through stones and rocks, clumps of wild thyme and thistles.  The ground was a mass of campion and milkmaid whilst thick blossoms covered the trees, their heady perfume almost overpowering.   Myriad insects buzzed between them and bees, their legs fat with pollen, lurched drunkenly from bloom to bloom.

A tiny crystal clear freshet gurgled between the stones and multi coloured fish darted here and there.  A squirrel chattered angrily at them from a nearby oak tree and the sudden flash of a beautiful blue and gold kingfisher had Alodie open mouthed in astonishment and delight. 
What a beautiful planet we had
she thought, her mind going back to the barren, almost lifeless mess the Earth in the twenty fifth century had become.  True, the cities had noble architecture under  the plexi domes, but nothing like this, this was real, you could smell it, taste it, hear it.

The forest thinned, then suddenly stopped and they approached what looked like a wooden stockade.  A well worn mud path led to an open gate and going through they found themselves in a street with huts on either side, some tumbledown, some in a better state of repair.

The mud track which led through the village was pitted and puddles of water muddied the homespun dresses and leggings of the unwashed inhabitants.  A carter with a wagonload of straw pulled by an ox walked slowly in front of them, dropping stalks to mix with the mud.  There were open rubbish pits outside almost every house and the stench of these almost took Alodie’s breath away.  She had never smelled anything quite so appalling in her life, the whole village seemed to reek of a mixture of unwashed bodies and dung, both human and animal. 

A scream of hysterical laughter made her turn her head to a group of filthy, almost naked children who were screaming and giggling as they wrestled in the mud.  Alodie could not even begin to bring herself to think of the germs they must be exposed to.  Added to this cacophony was the high pitched shouting of the women, the grumbling baritone reply of the men and the various noises made by the dogs, cats, goats, hens and pigs which were either wandering free or tethered next to the houses.  Alodie had never seen such a collection of exotic animals in her life.

As they progressed through the village, the inhabitants showed their respect  to Oswy by either knuckling their foreheads or curtseying, a practice which Alodie found amazing - in the twenty fifth century power, prestige and wealth were gained not by an accident of birth but by what a person accomplished during his or her life and as for one person making an obeisance to another, why it was unimaginable.

The track and village sprawled up a small rise, in the lee of which was a tiny hut, set apart and back from the rest.  This dwelling seemed to be even filthier than the rest  and  Alodie’s attention was taken by the screams and giggles of a group of children who were gathered round the tiny window.  The larger ones seemed to be lifting the smaller children up to enable them to view what was  going on in the interior of the hovel.

As they passed, the door flew open and a fat man appeared, fastening a pair of filthy hose.  The children scattered like flies, screaming with a mixture of  hilarity and fear. “Bugger off yer imps o’Satan!” snarled the man and, throwing a couple of coins to a slatternly woman of indeterminate age who had appeared in the doorway behind him, he mounted an underfed pony and, touching his greasy cap to Oswy, rode off.

Noticing Alodie’s look of amazement Oswy grinned.  “Hyld the bawd - does a necessary job!  I trust you won’t need to visit her though Nephew, tried her myself a few times when my wife was away, but I wouldn’t recommend it unless you’re desperate.  She comes in useful though, has a brat a year and rents her dugs out for wet nursing”

“Where are her children now?” asked Alodie.

“Graveyard, mostly” he replied.  Alodie’s retort was stillborn as they arrived at a high hedge and passing through a gap came to a barn somewhat larger than the rest, surrounded by outbuildings around which several hens were pecking.

A chubby cheeked woman was spreading wet clothes on the hedge and on hearing the horses she turned and bobbed.  Oswy smiled, then, waving his hand expansively at the barn said “Well, we’re home, I trust you’ll be comfortable, a bit better than what you’re used to in
Bohemia
I’ll be bound”

Home?
thought Alodie
The boss man of the area lives here?  I’m going  to be sick, I can’t stand it I really can’t.  The filth, the squalor, the smell......
and for the first time in her life Alodie Austen fainted.

*****************

Emma lay on her bed, her hands behind her head, staring at the rafters.  She fancied she could see the face of a warrior there in the grain of the wood.

She was a tall, well built
, slightly plump
young woman of twenty nine.  Some considered her to be good looking although she was probably past marriage now.  Still, a widowed thegn who needed a lady to look after his house might
just
propose if she were able to meet one.  Time was running out.

She sighed and clambering from the bed, crossed to the dressing chest  and took up the hand mirror given to her as a gift  by her mother’s brother who had bought it in a bazaar in
Constantinople
, then, propping it against her bed head, examined herself critically.

Her chief beauty was her hair.  Long and mousy blonde, it was washed once a month and tightly plaited.  For the rest her eyes were dove grey and her teeth were well enough, though a little discoloured from eating too many sweetmeats, and the barber had to pull that right eye tooth last Michaelmas, her skin was clear apart from the odd pimple, Emma squeezed a particularly nasty looking one.

Standing up she pulled her frock against her body and surveyed it as well she could in the mirror.  Wide shoulders, small breasts, a sturdy waist
,
widish hips.  Not a fairytale beauty like the king’s Mercian wife, Aehlswith, who was reputed to be the loveliest woman in
England
, but fair enough.

She put the mirror down and threw herself on the bed, punching the bolster in frustration.  She had to face it, she knew she would have been married years ago but for the fact that her stepfather and mother had gone into mourning for her brothers.  There had been dancing and merriment before Ashdown and she had met friends of Cerdic and Aldred but she had been shy and dumbstruck in their company and none had asked for her, and since her brothers had died  no feasts had been given.

A fly, buzzing angrily, threw itself against the shutters.  Emma walked over to the window and watched it as it vainly tried to escape.  “I know how you feel!” she said aloud, then squashing it, she lay back down on the bed “Oh, for some excitement, the way things are going, the only way I am not going to die a maiden is if there is another Viking raid!”  Immediately the words passed her lips she regretted them, and crossed herself hurriedly “
Mea Culpa
Virgin Mother, forgive me, I did not mean that” she whispered aloud.

The last time the Vikings had raided she was eight.  Her stepfather had been away with the fyrd and her mother, brothers and herself had had to flee into the forest for safety; she could still remember the feeling of terror and her mother’s anguished prayers.  The Vikings had carried off Britta, the blacksmith’s girl and raped Mary the weaver, leaving her for dead but she had recovered and nine months later given birth to a strong, lusty boy who had grown into the village bully and, on reaching the age of sixteen and discovering the secret of  his paternity, had run off to Northumbria to join his heathen relations.

Her reverie was interrupted by the sound of voices in the courtyard and she had half decided to get up and open the shutters when she heard her mother outside the bedroom door, shrilly giving orders to the servants, then the latch lifted and Godgyth herself walked in.  Tutting at the darkness of the room she stomped over to the window and opening the shutters let the sunlight flood in, then turned to where Emma lay on the bed, blinking like an owl. “I hope you’re not going to start with your megrims again madam” she snapped “we haven’t time for them today, we have guests.  Apparently your father’s brother’s boy, Luke, has arrived from across the sea -
Bohemia
or some other such heathen land.  A funny thing in my opinion”. 

Emma swung her legs off the bed and smoothed her crumpled gown. “I did not know Father had any brothers” she replied, peering into the mirror and pinching her cheeks.

“Yes, one, Edmund, he left the country before we married, he was  younger than your stepfather by about a year, for which praise the Lord, otherwise there might have been some funny business over the inheritance.  He has a girl with him too but she’s passed out, banged her head on the cobbles, probably the shock of seeing a proper, clean, Christian house, she’ll have doubtless been used to some real hovels”.  The older woman bent down and began to pick some clothes off the floor. “I’ll put her in with you.  Now run to the thatcher’s house and get his girls up.  Oswy’s so delighted at finding his long lost nephew that there is to be a feast tonight!”

Emma’s face lit up, making her almost pretty, “A feast! Here?” she gasped.

Her mother tutted impatiently “Unless we get help there won’t be anything my girl, now do as I say”

Emma put her hand on the latch then turned “We’ll need music, shall I get Alfhold and his sons in for the shawm and the dancing?”

Godgyth’s mouth straightened into a prim line “Hmm, I’m not sure about going that far” then on seeing Emma’s face fall, she shrugged “very well, what’s the harm just this once?”

Grinning delightedly, Emma tripped past her mother and out onto the gallery which looked down into the hall.  “Thank you Luke, whoever you are” she muttered and almost danced down the stairs, very nearly colliding with two of the servants who were helping someone up them, a girl who had her head down. Emma saw a glimpse of a blonde plait but did not stop to examine the girl any further.  On reaching the bottom, she heard Oswy’s voice in the yard and turning to go out of the door she looked up as he came in with a stranger.  As she glanced at him she stopped dead in her tracks and felt her mouth go dry and her tongue swell.  Before her was the embodiment of all her dreams - the most wonderful man she had ever seen.  Everything about him was perfect, from his long blond wavy hair to his strong cleft chin, green, no hazel, eyes and broad shoulders.  He smiled, and she was lost.

Oswy bustled in. “Come in Luke, do, I am sure Alodie will be alright, she was coming round when the servants took her in - ah Emma.  Luke, this is Emma, my stepdaughter.   Emma, this is Luke, my nephew” Oswy waved his pudgy hand expansively round the room “now lad, how do you like Bredond Hall?”

Luke smiled, took Emma’s hand and drew it to his lips then bowed to her.  “I like it very much Uncle, both the hall and its contents are - very pleasing”

Emma felt the blood rush to her head, she knew she must curtsey, knew she must say something but she was rooted to the spot, fully aware of how stupid she must appear. “Charmed, my lady” he continued

“Godgyth!!” bellowed Oswy, catching sight of his wife at the top of the stairs “are those beds ready?”

“The Good Lord bless us, Oswy.  Can you not see Asher and Blake carrying Aldred’s bed into Emma’s room this very minute and can you not also see me with clean linen and wolfpelts?  Emma, what are you doing, you should be at the thatcher’s - Emma - EMMA!” This last shrill rendering of her name snapped the stupefied young woman out of her reverie and, bobbing a curtsey to her stepfather and Luke, she rushed out of the door.

Almost floating, she ran through the village to the thatcher’s house and, knocking on the door, gave Margaret, his daughter, instructions that she and her sister Anstice would be required to help at the hall for a feast tonight, then walking over to the cottage of Alfhold, informed him that he and his sons would be needed to play music for dancing.  Knuckling his forehead obligingly the old man expressed his delight at the news that there would be merriment at the hall again.

As she walked back, Emma gave a little skip.  For the first time in her life she was glad she was not a blood relation of Oswy.  Before, she had felt left out as a stepchild, especially as he had doted on her two brothers,  she had yearned  to be Oswy’s true child, but not anymore, if she
had
been his child it
might
have made it difficult for her to marry her cousin Luke.

********************

Edwin had been lucky.  It was wild boar for supper with beans, peas and mushrooms, washed down with plenty of ale and mead.  Emma had been kept busy helping her mother oversee the meal and had not had a chance to see Luke again.  She had, however, caught a glimpse of his female companion as she went into her room to change for the evening.  She was mostly covered by the bedclothes and had her face to the wall.  Herluva the cook, who was also skilled with herbs and their uses, had been fussing over her too but Emma could see she had hair the same colour, if not lighter, than Luke.  She was his sister, she had to be.  A man like Luke would not be married to a mewling simpleton who fainted away and embarrassed him in front of his long lost uncle.  When they were wed she would have to be married off to some old thegn who would not mind if his wife swooned now and then so long as he had a wife in his bed.