Viking Passion by Flora Speer Read Free Book Online Page B

good at it, her nimble fingers pulling out the
tufts of wool, sending the whorl toward the ground as she twisted
the fibers into a smooth, even thread. She could spin and think of
other things. She could spin and watch what was going on around
her, learn new words of the Norse language, ask questions of the
other women, and discover the relationships among various members
of Thorkell’s household.
    It was weaving she disliked. She was too
impatient, too eager to move about. She hated staying in one place
at the upright loom that leaned against the wall. The stones
weighing the warp threads were like weights on her own feet. She
constantly got the threads tangled as she wove. Her cloth was
uneven, too loosely woven in some places, too tight in others. She
sat in the weaving room that opened off Thorkell’s great hall and
fought the loom.
    Freydis was angry, her thin lips pressed into
a sour expression. “This is not good,” she told Lenora.
    “I know. I have never been able to
weave.”
    “Then who will make Erik’s clothes?”
    “I’ll try again.” And she did, but with no
more success than before. Freydis watched for a while, then shook
her head and turned away. “Freydis, don’t go. Please tell me, where
is my friend, Edwina? It has been four days now since I have seen
her.”
    Freydis frowned, concentrating on Lenora’s
strange mixture of English and Norse words. Lenora tried to speak
the Danes’ language, she worked hard, and she did not weep or
complain as some of the other slaves did. But she constantly asked
about the thin, pale girl who had been given to Freydis’
father.
    “She is with Thorkell,” Freydis replied.
    “For four days and nights?”
    “I think she pleases him.” Freydis went away
and left Lenora to her weaving.
    That night, as every night, there was a
boisterous banquet in the great hall. Most of Snorri’s crew had
returned to their homes, but some of them were still there,
reveling in Thorkell’s generous hospitality. Bjarni and Hrolf were
present, each with an arm about a serving girl, each with a huge
horn of mead.
    Also present were Thorkell’s hird, his
personal retainers, who were pledged to fight for him unto death,
and to guard Thorkellshavn. These men lived with Thorkell, existing
on his bounty, sleeping in the great hall, desporting themselves
with the serving women. Altogether, there were close to fifty men
at each night’s meal, and nearly as many women.
    There was hare for tonight’s feast, dozens of
them, cooked on spits and dripping juices. There was mutton boiled
with leeks, boiled cabbages and turnips, wild mushrooms, wooden
bowls of fresh porridge or thick buttermilk, and baskets of fresh
berries, gathered from the nearby forest. Ale and mead flowed
freely for men and women accustomed to heavy drinking.
    Songs and tales performed by Thorkell’s
skald, wrestling contests, and an occasional drunken brawl provided
the entertainment. Those who preferred quieter pursuits could play
at chess or other board games, using pieces made of walrus
ivory.
    Lenora, having finished her serving chores,
sat in her usual place next to Erik. Thorkell and Freydis sat
opposite them. There was no sign of Edwina.
    “Erik, do you know where my friend is? Please
tell me.” Lenora looked at him with anxious gray eyes.
    “I have not seen your friend,” he replied.
“But do not worry. Thorkell will not hurt her.”
    He slid their shared silver cup along the
table toward her so she could drink. The ring he wore on the little
finger of his left hand glittered in the torchlight. When Lenora
touched it, trying to see the design better, Erik snatched his hand
away.
    “Don’t touch that,” he hissed, glaring at
her. “It was my mother’s ring. It was all she had to leave me.”
    “I wasn’t going to steal it,” she said.
    She knew it wasn’t the ring. It was because
of Snorri. Erik managed to avoid touching her at any time and did
not want her to touch him. Never, when she was