London - Edward Rutherfurd [81]
Until the sermon, he had refused to think about it. Even now, he could not quite say why he had changed his mind. Had it been a sense that they should take a risk for this woman to whom they owed their lives? Or had it been something more general, a feeling he had taken from the preacher that somehow, thanks to this wonderful new god, everything would be all right? Only believe in His name, the preacher had said. He believed. He was sure he did. The Frey would protect them.
But now he was beginning to wonder again. He tried to put such thoughts away. Gradually, as the warmth from the venison and the thick, spicy ale spread pleasantly inside him, he began to feel that, after all, Ricola was right. There would be a fleeting incident. If it worked, well and good; if not, no harm would be done. He reached for the wooden beaker before him and drank some more ale.
The master, too, was eating and drinking well. He seemed content, if watchful. Elfgiva, wearing a fine gold band around her neck and looking, it seemed to Offa, as beautiful as any of the younger women, was graciously serving her guests with mead and ale. Everyone thanked her and raised their beakers to their host, swearing oaths of friendship and loyalty. Everything appeared as it should.
More than once, Offa noticed, Cerdic, flushed with warm mead, looked across at Elfgiva. Just let her look back at him, Offa silently prayed. One little look of surrender was all that was needed. If she would just give in that night, Ricola’s charade would be unnecessary and they could all go to their beds happy.
But though Elfgiva played her part she gave Cerdic no sign, and his face darkened. Other men would be with their wives that night, but not, it seemed, the merchant. Offa sighed. The plan would go ahead. As the feast wore on, he thought about it numbly.
It was almost the end of the feast when Ricola made her move.
People were drifting in and out. Men who had drunk a quantity of ale would step briefly outside. Already one or two couples, red-faced and well fed, had staggered off, not to return. When Cerdic went outside, and Ricola and Offa slipped out after him, nobody even noticed.
A short time later, Cerdic, returning, noticed the slave girl standing alone by the door of her hut. A faint light from the lamp inside showed her outline in the darkness; it also caught her short, fair hair, giving it a strange glow. She’s a pretty little thing, the merchant thought. The woollen shawl she was wearing round her shoulders had slipped, revealing the top of her breasts, which were small but well formed. If she was cold, she did not seem to notice it. Cerdic paused.
“Where’s your husband?”
She gave him a smile and nodded towards the hut.
“Sleeping. He’ll sober up tomorrow.”
He grinned. “All alone tonight then?”
She glanced up at him, pausing for just a fraction of a second before answering, “Looks like it.”
He began to turn away, but then did not. He looked at her thoughtfully. He felt a warmth stirring inside him. Other men were sleeping with their women that night, yet the master of the house would sleep alone.
Why should he?
The plan was simple enough. Crude, even. But not entirely stupid.
“All we need to do is let her see him coming after me. Nothing more.”
“Then she’ll blame you,” Offa had protested.
“No.” Ricola had shaken her head. “Not if we do it right. He’ll be wanting a woman. She’ll know that. I’ll be looking frightened because he’s the master and I don’t know what to do. You go and get her. Say I sent you, like I’m asking for help.”
“She’ll be angry with him.”
“Maybe. But he’s still her man. She isn’t going to have him sleeping with her own slave right in front of her. She’ll put a stop to that quickly, and there’s only one way a woman can do that.”
“So she’ll just take him off to bed herself?”
“She knows she can have him. This time she has to decide: take him or he grabs another woman. Move or not. On the spot. She’s his wife. If she’s half a woman, she’s got to make a move. After all,” Ricola wisely