Lord of Raven's Peak - Catherine Coulter [30]
The men looked at her as if she’d lost her wits. She could cook. She was a woman. They stared at her.
She merely looked back at them gravely, saying nothing more.
It was Taby, sitting between Merrik’s legs, leaning back against his chest, who said, “Do tell us, Laren, your stories are wonderful.”
“Aye,” Oleg said, with no real conviction. “We’ve naught else to do. Tell us what you can.”
“I’m full with venison and care not what comes to my ears,” Old Firren said. “Go ahead, girl.”
Merrik said nothing. He held Taby. But she knew that he, like all the other men, believed that no woman could spin a tale to hold a man’s interest, for all knew women had no talent for it. The skalds were men, only men, and all knew . . .
Laren pitched her voice low and smooth and leaned slightly toward the men to gain their full attention, something she’d seen her uncle’s skald do many, many times. “When Grunlige said, ‘I cannot feel my hands,’ and all his men were saddened at the sight of the hideous shrunken claws his hands had become, it seemed that all his mighty strength, his miraculous courage, would be no more. It took not many months for him to grow shorter, for his shoulders and head were always bent, his eyes on the ground, since there was no hope in his heart to look to heaven.
“All his friends fell silent when he was near. Not long thereafter, Grunlige went off by himself and many believed that he had gone off to die, for what reason was there for him to continue? He had no more strength and, thus, no more pride, and therein lay his own knowledge of his worth and his sense of his own greatness. But after three days he returned, blank-faced and silent.
“His enemies rejoiced, but in private, for they knew that Grunlige was popular with many people, far and near, and it wasn’t wise to speak happily of what had befallen him. Some of them began to make their plans. Evil men they were, and they knew not honor. They weren’t Vikings, not valiant warriors, but rather Saxon raiders, mean-spirited and petty, and they knew only betrayal and treachery. They decided to raid his holdings.
“Thus in the months that followed, they seized his warships, stole his slaves, his silver and gold. They would kill his people and steal cattle and sheep. One even wanted to kidnap Grunlige’s beautiful wife, Selina.
“And so it began and continued. His men cried out, begging Grunlige to help them, but Grunlige said nothing, merely bowed his head and drank his ale until he was senseless and his slaves had to carry him off to his bed. Then one day, ah, it was just after dawn on a hot morning in the summer, Parma, an evil Saxon raider from Wessex, managed to steal into the main farmstead where Selina lived. He was a tall man, dark visaged, his eyebrows so thick they met over his eyes. He hated Grunlige and knew his best revenge on him wouldn’t be his own death but the loss of his beloved wife. Grunlige had killed his brother when the man had been drunk on mead and flogged to death one of Grunlige’s favorite horses. Thus the reason for Parma’s hatred. On that morning, Parma saw her and she was alone, sitting quietly beside a stream, staring at nothing really, thinking about her husband, and the ill fate that had befallen him. He snuck up on her, making not a single sound, and when he stood right behind her, he said, ‘My name is Parma and I have come to take you, Selina, wife of Grunlige. I will treat you as I would treat Grunlige were he my prisoner. I will have you on your knees begging for mercy. Then I will flog you just as Grunlige flogged my brother.’
“She showed no fright, but turned to look up at this evil man and said, ‘If you touch me, Parma, you will regret it until the moment breath leaves your lungs.’
“He laughed loudly, for she was but a woman, slight, of no account at all. Just a woman, but she was Grunlige’s woman and thus Parma wanted her. He leaned down to grab her. But when his hands touched her arms something very strange happened.