Buch lesen: «The Saxon»

Chapter One

Wessex—902 A.D.

“Leave me in peace,” Adelar muttered drowsily, one arm draped over the naked woman beside him. The serving wench sighed and burrowed deeper under the warm blankets laid upon the fleeces in the storage hut.

“My lord Bayard summons you,” Godwin repeated, a wry grin on his round, perpetually pleasant face.

“Bayard sends his gleeman to give his orders?” Adelar growled skeptically, barely opening one eye to squint at the minstrel. “I expect you to sing them, then.”

“Alas, oh my bold lover, your game must now be o’er. My lord calls you to the hall and you must away ere break of day,” Godwin warbled, his fine voice filling the hut as he took hold of the Saxon warrior’s exposed bare leg and tugged.

Realizing Godwin had no intention of leaving him alone, Adelar rose from the makeshift bed. “You do not rhyme well and the noon repast finished long ago,” he noted sarcastically while he drew on his breeches.

The wench sat up, displaying a pair of enormous breasts and a pretty, pouting countenance. “You must go, my lord?” She twisted a strand of her tangled dark hair around her finger.

Gleda was her name, Adelar recalled. She was relatively clean, had breasts like small mountains and a most enthusiastic manner, but her high-pitched voice was enough to drive him mad. Not that he had to listen to her much, of course.

“Indeed he must,” Godwin said mischievously. “But not I, my dear, my own!” He threw himself down beside her and wiggled his eyebrows comically.

“You had best be telling me no falsehood, Godwin,” Adelar muttered.

The minstrel clasped his hands over his heart in mock dismay. “I, my lord? I, who am but a humble gleeman in the hall of the burhware of Oakenbrook? Of course I speak the truth, for I am honored to act as messenger to Bayard. Indeed, I am honored to breathe the same air, eat the same food—”

“—Talk too much and rouse men from their well-deserved rest,” Adelar finished.

“Aye, you need the rest, after what you’ve been doin’...and doin’ and doin’,” Gleda said with a giggle and a lustful look in her eye as she gazed at Adelar’s muscular body.

Adelar bent down to pick up his tunic. “What is so important that Bayard summons me?”

“He wants you to help him bargain with the Danes.”

“I have no desire to be among Vikings, or Danes, or whatever you wish to call them,” Adelar replied harshly. He was happy to be of use to Bayard, but the only time he wanted to be close to the Danes was in battle. He reached for his scramasax and tucked the short sword into his belt.

“Then you never should have let anyone know that you speak their language,” Godwin retorted, his hand straying toward Gleda’s naked breasts.

Gleda studied Adelar warily while neatly intercepting Godwin’s caress. “You can talk to those animals?”

“I understand them.”

“A most fascinating tale, my buttercup,” Godwin began. “He was kidnapped by a vicious band of Vikings when he was a child and—” He stopped when he saw the warning look in Adelar’s eyes. “I shall tell you some other time.”

“What kind of bargain does Bayard seek to make with those thieves?” Adelar demanded.

“I am not in Bayard’s council,” Godwin answered lightly. “Nor am I his cousin. I only do what I am told to do and since Bayard was in no mood for my amusements, I think his request must be somewhat urgent.”

“You should have said that before,” Adelar snapped. He slung his sword belt over his right shoulder and across his chest, his broad sword brushing his left thigh.

“Will you be coming back soon?” Gleda asked.

“Perhaps I will,” Adelar said when he saw that she was waiting for an answer. “It will depend upon what my lord decides. Or how long the bargaining takes.” He tugged on his boots. “Dagfinn probably wants to increase the Danegeld. We already pay those dogs enough money to keep them from our land.”

“And Alfred never should have allowed the Vikings to have the Danelaw,” Godwin added somewhat wearily, as if he had heard these words many times before. “It was that, or fight forever.”

“Then we should have fought forever. There is no honor in buying off our enemies.”

“I am no warrior, but it strikes that me that there is no honor being dead, either,” Godwin replied.

Adelar marched from the shed, not bothering to wait for Godwin, who might very well decide to stay with Gleda, which troubled Adelar not at all.

As he hurried to the hall, Adelar surveyed the newly completed walls of the burh, which had been built on a rise at the junction of two rivers. Nearby, a forest of oak, beech and hazel trees was beginning to show the first signs of early spring.

Although it was not the Saxon way to live in villages, the invasions of the Vikings and Danes had forced the Saxons to construct fortresses, an idea the recently deceased king, Alfred, had championed. Cynath, Bayard’s overlord, had been one of the first to see the wisdom and the necessity of such structures, for his lands bordered the Danelaw, a large portion of land Alfred had given the Vikings as a way to ensure peace. Cynath, in turn, had ordered Bayard to oversee the building of this burh and named him the commander, or burhware.

Bayard had more than obeyed his overlord’s orders. The fortress’s walls were of thick timbers, with a gate at the main road. Inside, the other buildings were all nearly finished. The hall, where Bayard’s people ate, slept and spent their time when not working or, in the case of the warriors, practicing for the warfare that would inevitably come, was the finest Adelar had ever seen.

Around the hall the more important and richer thanes had built bowers, smaller buildings that doubled as personal halls and sleeping quarters. Bayard, too, had a bower, the largest, of course, and his was closest to the hall.

Adelar hoped he would never see this burh aflame, destroyed by marauding Vikings. Indeed, he would fight to death to prevent it.

When he had arrived here months ago, he had made no claim of kinship on his cousin, yet Bayard had accepted him into his household at once. Bayard’s nephew Ranulf had protested, citing the tales of Adelar’s father’s traitorous and criminal acts. Bayard had discarded them all, although Adelar had revealed to him privately that everything Ranulf had said was true. His father, Kendric, had led the Viking raiders to their village. He had paid them to kill his wife, and when that plot failed, Adelar had no doubt that his mother’s death had been no accident, as Kendric had claimed. Because of all this, Adelar had disowned his father, and his father had disowned his son.

Bayard had listened to everything, then he rose and said simply, “Welcome to my hall, cousin.” For that, and the trust that Bayard had demonstrated thereafter, Adelar would be forever in Bayard’s debt.

Adelar entered the hall and divested himself of his weapons. Low, guttural voices and an outburst of raucous laughter told him where the Danes stood.

Filled with the anger that always rose in him when he saw Vikings, Adelar strode down the hall beside the long central hearth.

Bayard, high-born, well-respected, handsome and proud, sat in a chair at the far end of the hall. To the right of him, seated on benches and stools, were the Danes, including Dagfinn, the leader of the band that lived closest to Bayard’s land. Ranulf and several of the Saxon warriors sat to Bayard’s left. Father Derrick, Bayard’s priest, stood behind him in the shadows.

The Saxons’ faces were carefully blank and their sword belts obviously empty. Nor were their visitors armed, for no weapons were to be worn in the hall. Nonetheless, several Saxon swords, bows, axes and spears were hung about the hall, a silent reminder that the Danes had best think again before provoking a fight.

Bayard did not immediately acknowledge Adelar’s presence, despite the Danes’ glances in his direction, and Adelar knew his cousin was not pleased with his tardiness.

“Ale, Dagfinn?” Bayard offered.

“Ya.” The huge, fair-haired fellow held out his goblet for a young female slave to fill. He gave her a long, lustful look, making the girl flush deep red as she moved quickly away.

As he watched them, Adelar realized that Bayard could be held somewhat accountable for these maggots waiting to have a part of his flesh. Even now he wore his finest brooch on his shoulder, with the Danes sitting close enough to count the jewels in it. His tunic was of wool dyed with the most costly of blue dyes, his sword’s hilt was of silver, the belt of soft worked leather. If he were the burhware, Adelar thought, he would take care not to be so ostentatious...but that would never happen. The only burh he stood a chance of commanding would be that of his father, and he would take nothing from him.

“Adelar, here at last,” Bayard finally said with a slight smile on his lips and displeasure in his eyes.

“Aye, my lord.” Adelar stepped forward, aware of the Danes’ scrutiny.

“Ah, you bring this fellow to our counsels again,” Dagfinn said, his Saxon words slow and halting. Although his tone was jovial, Adelar knew the Dane was not happy to see him, either.

“Since this meeting must be important to bring you onto my land, I wish to ensure that I understand correctly,” Bayard said smoothly. While Bayard did not like the provision for the Danes that Alfred had made, he thought it was too late to make them leave the country entirely. Bayard favored allowing the Danes to remain in England as long as they agreed to abide by Saxon law and to acknowledge Edward as the rightful king. He wanted peace above all things.

Adelar translated Bayard’s words into the Danes’ tongue. He did not agree that peace was acceptable by any means, but he had no right to interfere if Bayard wished otherwise. He was simply one of Bayard’s warriors, although kin. “I gather you wish to propose some kind of alliance?”

“Ya. A marriage alliance.”

Adelar stared at Dagfinn in stunned silence.

“What did he say?” Bayard asked. When Adelar spoke, Ranulf and some of the others shifted and began to mumble. Even Father Derrick moved a little as Adelar repeated the words. Bayard’s expression betrayed only slight surprise. “Tell him that I have no wish to take a wife again,” he remarked calmly.

“Why not?” Dagfinn demanded rudely. “You do not have a wife, or any sons. I have the perfect woman for you. And—” he paused a moment “—I might be persuaded to lower the Danegeld if our families were united in marriage.”

“I do agree that the Danegeld is much too high and welcome the possibility of altering it,” Bayard replied, “but I am not convinced a marriage alliance would be a wise solution.”

Adelar looked quickly at his cousin. Not only had he not scoffed outright at the Dane’s suggestion, he sounded as if he was actually considering the proposal. Yet such a thing was truly impossible. What would Cynath think of this marriage, let alone the king?

Dagfinn belched and shrugged. “If you do not agree, the Danegeld will remain as it is. Of course, you do not have to pay it. Then my men will attack your village, kill your warriors, burn the buildings to the ground and take your people as slaves.”

“Or perhaps my warriors will kill your warriors and you will get nothing. Then King Edward will make such war on you that your people will be driven back across the seas.”

“Or maybe Aethelwold will be acknowledged king.”

“The Witan has chosen Edward,” Bayard responded. “He is a proven leader in battle and Alfred’s eldest son. Although Aethelwold might believe he has some legal claim to the throne, no member of the Witan wants him for a king. He is a traitor and completely without honor.”

“In his will, Alfred did not say who was to succeed him,” Dagfinn countered.

Adelar masked his surprise as best he could, but how did this foreigner come to have such a clear understanding of the problem of succession?

“The Danes have acknowledged Aethelwold,” Dagfinn insisted stubbornly, as if what they did should influence the Saxons. “He already commands Essex.”

“So why do you wish to make an alliance?” Bayard asked.

Why indeed, Adelar thought, unless Dagfinn had little confidence in Aethelwold’s ability to rule or the Danes to control him. Adelar ran his gaze over Dagfinn’s men. Dagfinn was old and fat, and his men were not in good fighting trim. Only one of them, a red-haired fellow who watched Adelar constantly, looked to be capable of beating any of the Saxon warriors.

Was it battle Dagfinn feared? Did the Danes have as little wish to fight as Bayard? It didn’t seem likely, until one considered how long this band had been settled in the Danelaw. Years, with few true armed conflicts. And perhaps Bayard was not the only leader in the hall who sensed that Edward was going to be a more aggressive commander than his father.

“This squabbling need not touch us,” Dagfinn said in a slightly wheedling voice. “We are neighbors. And no one can profit during such times.”

That made sense, for the Vikings Adelar had known were more concerned with gain than the business of state and the succession of kings.

Unexpectedly, Bayard smiled and said, “Tell me of this woman you wish me to wed.”

Adelar wondered what kind of tactic this was. A marriage alliance with the Danes was completely unacceptable, given the situation between Edward and Aethelwold, and suspicious for the Danes to suggest.

“The woman is young and beautiful,” Dagfinn said with a leer, and not a little relief.

“I want to know if she is healthy,” Bayard asked.

“Very. And she knows much of healing. My people will be sorry to lose her, but the alliance is more important.”

“Is she strong-willed?”

“She is no simpering girl,” Dagfinn replied carefully.

Adelar fought to keep a satisfied expression from his face. Bayard had never liked strong-willed women. He liked his women placid, or at least filled with awe at his looks, his status or his wealth. And most women were. Even if Bayard was considering this marriage alliance, Dagfinn’s answer would put an end to it.

“Nor is Endredi a scold,” Dagfinn continued.

Adelar could not breathe. He couldn’t think. Surely his heart had stopped beating, the sun no longer moved across the sky, the fire had died. He saw nothing except sea green eyes regarding him steadily, containing neither condemnation nor pity, but understanding and complete acceptance, because Adelar had not meant to bring harm to Betha, only to get back home to his village. As they fled, his sister had fallen ill, and when they were taken back to the Viking settlement, she had died. Endredi had said little, but her eyes...her eyes had said everything. How much her silent comfort had meant to his lonely heart!

And then his father had come with his warriors. He had destroyed the Viking village when the men were away trading, taken the women and children captive and slaughtered the rest. His father had even dragged Endredi to his hall, intending to rape the girl barely on the brink of womanhood.

The remembered sights and feelings rose in Adelar’s mind, strong and terrible, for Adelar had followed them there, prepared to do what he must to save Endredi. She had escaped his father on her own, but he had killed a guard who would have sounded the alarm.

His father was worse than a traitor. Vicious, cruel, lustful...and ever since that night, Adelar had been tortured by the notion that he might someday grow to be like his sire. So he had left his home and traveled here to Bayard’s burh.

He pushed away the memory and told himself that this woman could not be the Endredi he had known. It was merely a coincidence. Two women with the same name.

“Ask him if the woman is a virgin,” Bayard said.

Adelar managed to get the words out.

“No. She is my brother’s widow.”

Endredi lived in the northern land of the Vikings across the sea, not in the Danelaw. Adelar took another deep breath as some of the tension fled from his body.

“Does she have children?”

“No.”

Bayard’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Is she barren?”

“She was married for less than a month before Fenris died. In bed.”

No wonder Dagfinn wanted to be rid of this widow, Adelar thought. Viking men wanted to die in battle, with a sword in their hands. Otherwise they could not enter Valhalla to spend eternity feasting with Odin. The widow was probably regarded as a woman who would bring misfortune.

Bayard rose and drew Adelar away from the others.

“Tell me honestly,” he said quietly. “Do you trust Dagfinn? Will he abide by this agreement?”

At once an almost overpowering temptation to urge Bayard to refuse filled Adelar. He didn’t trust any Danes. He didn’t want his cousin to have a Viking wife.

But more importantly, he didn’t want to find out that this woman was the Endredi of his youth, the Endredi he had been too ashamed to seek again. The Endredi he was constantly trying to forget.

He regarded Bayard steadily, looking into his cousin’s eyes. He did not doubt that Bayard had already made his decision, for it was not Bayard’s way to rely on any man’s advice. This was likely a delaying tactic, or meant to annoy Ranulf, something Bayard seemed to delight in. Nonetheless, Adelar answered Bayard with his true opinion. “Dagfinn wants this marriage, or he would never agree to reduce the Danegeld.” He hesitated for a brief moment, then went on firmly. “I do not trust any of them, as you know, so of course I would refuse. However, it would be wise to delay your decision. If Dagfinn speaks sincerely, he will wait. And what of Cynath? He has great faith and trust in you. I would not want him to question your loyalty.”

“I know you say what is truly in your heart, Adelar,” his cousin replied. “So I will tell you what is in mine. I think this is a sign from God. I am going to take the woman for my wife.”

Adelar nodded. Bayard was wise and respected. If he saw nothing wrong with this marriage and he honestly believed it was a sign to make peace, then Adelar could not question it. And yet...and yet Adelar had seen that love could change a man or a woman. Had not his nursemaid married the Viking who had taken her captive and remained there when Adelar had gone home? Perhaps this woman would be able to sway Bayard and weaken his resolve to regard the Danes with suspicion.

It was already too late. Bayard had decided. As he returned to his place, Adelar silently vowed that he would watch this woman and protect his cousin to the best of his ability.

Bayard sat in his chair. “Adelar, tell Dagfinn of my decision, provided the woman is truly comely. I will not let him give me an old hag, even if it means peace.”

The Saxons looked at each other with undisguised surprise as Adelar did as he was told. Ranulf tried to appear both distressed and certain that Bayard was acting wisely. That way, Adelar knew, he could later say he agreed with both those who welcomed the alliance and those who were against it. As for Father Derrick, he was like a marble effigy, expressionless except for his disapproving eyes.

“She is as lovely as Freya, as wise as Baldur, and Endredi speaks the Saxon tongue,” Dagfinn said eagerly.

Again Adelar had to struggle to keep his face expressionless. Surely, surely there were other Viking women who had learned the Saxon tongue and who were wise in healing arts.

“What did he say?” Bayard demanded.

“He says the woman is wise, beautiful and speaks our language.”

Suddenly Father Derrick stepped forward. “Is she Christian?” he asked sternly.

“She has had the ceremony of the water,” Dagfinn answered.

His Endredi was not a Christian, and she had never been baptised. But years had passed and everything could have changed.

Father Derrick, apparently satisfied, returned to his place in the shadows.

The men haggled for a short time over the bride price, and again over the gifts to Endredi, but all knew it was only because it was expected. The true goal had already been achieved when Bayard had agreed to the marriage.

“We are finished, then,” Dagfinn said, heaving himself to his feet when they decided on the sums. “We will bring her in a fortnight when the roads are clear.”

Bayard rose, too. “I will have the wedding feast prepared.”

The Dane nodded as Adelar finished speaking. Then he turned and strode to the entrance of the hall, followed by his men. The Saxons watched silently while the Danes collected their weapons and left.

“You are making a mistake, Uncle,” Ranulf declared immediately. “Cynath will not be pleased.”

Not for the first time, Adelar was disgusted by Ranulf’s lack of discernment. He had been one of Bayard’s men for longer than Adelar, yet he could not seem to comprehend that there was no point to question one of Bayard’s decisions after it had already been made.

Bayard faced his nephew. “Unless I have lost my wits,” he said with deceptive calm, “it was you who first suggested making an alliance, Ranulf. There is no cause for second thoughts now. Cynath knows that he has my complete loyalty, and so does the king.”

“By king you mean Edward?”

Bayard’s expression was hard as flint. “He is the Britwalda, King of the Britons, and anyone who says otherwise has no place in my hall.”

“Of course, my lord,” Ranulf replied hastily. “I meant nothing else. But what of the woman’s loyalty?”

Adelar darted a condemning look at Ranulf’s lean, anxious face. “Are you saying you doubt that Bayard can control his own wife? That he will be influenced by a bright eye or soft cheek?” he asked, inwardly hoping it would not be so, and that perhaps Bayard would hear his words as a warning.

“Not at all,” Ranulf answered, reddening under the scrutiny of the two men whose haughty, stern eyes were so alike. “Naturally I wish that this marriage may be a happy one.”

“Women are evil creatures, full of sin and temptation,” Father Derrick said, his stern, deep voice commanding silence. “Men should beware their traps and snares.”

“Yes, Father,” Bayard replied peaceably. “I regret that I cannot be as strong as you in denying the desires of the flesh, but I shall be very careful. And this is merely a marriage of necessity.”

“That is good, my son.”

“Now you must all join me in a pledge of loyalty to any future children this marriage will bring.”

Ranulf struggled to look pleased. “Yes, my lord. To your children.”

Bayard lifted his goblet. “To my heir.” For only a moment, Adelar thought he saw a look of pain in Bayard’s eyes, but it passed before he could be sure it was pain and not mere annoyance with Ranulf. “This alliance should ensure that my land will be safe for someone to inherit when I am dead. The woman’s dowry will also enrich my estate.”

“My lord, surely you know I hope you will live a long and happy life and leave many sons to follow you,” Ranulf said.

“I know precisely what you hope, Ranulf,” Bayard replied.

“Beware the yearning for earthly wealth,” Father Derrick intoned. “A camel can pass through the eye of a needle sooner than a rich man enter the Kingdom of Heaven.”

“Thank you, Father, for your timely reminder,” Bayard responded with his usual good humor. “Someone find Godwin. We need music—oh, there you are, Godwin. No time for hanging about in the shadows, gleeman. Sing something suitable for the occasion. Adelar, where is your ale? Are you not going to drink to my impending marriage and my future bride? What was her name?”

“Endredi,” Adelar replied, looking about for that timid female slave. “Ale!” he shouted impatiently. He wanted to get very drunk very quickly.

But not for celebration. He wanted to forget.

* * *

Ranulf’s wife shoved his wandering hand away. “I’m talking to you about serious matters, dolt!” Ordella said sharply, her pale blue eyes seeming to glow in the dim building.

Ranulf, lying beside her in bed, gave her a peevish look. “And I’m acting like a husband.”

“Speak quietly, you lustful beast. A husband would have his family’s interest in mind, and that is what I am trying to discuss.”

“Oh, very well.” Ranulf shifted to a sitting position in his bed. In the other part of the building, which was only half the size of Bayard’s hall, slaves and servants slumbered. His wife, however, had the amazing ability to sound as if she was almost shouting without waking anyone. “What is it?”

“I want to know what you are going to do about this marriage.”

“Do about it? Nothing. An agreement has been made.”

“Because of your stupidity.”

“Mine? I am not marrying some Viking widow. And you yourself said we should make peace with the Vikings. If the betrothal is broken now, who knows what those savages might do?”

“I didn’t mean a marriage alliance.”

“And I tell you again, I did not suggest it. Dagfinn did, and Bayard agreed.”

“Yes—and for that reason alone you should have stopped it.”

“I should have stepped into the middle of the discussion and ordered Bayard to refuse?” Ranulf asked scornfully. “He would have had me tossed from the hall.”

“If you had been witless about it, of course he would,” she snapped. “You merely needed to find a way to delay the negotiations. Then you could have dissuaded him.”

“I did protest his decision, after the Danes had gone.”

Ordella fought the urge to scream. “After was much too late. You should know that about Bayard by now. The time was already past to influence him! He will never alter his course now—never!”

“How was I to even guess he would consider a marriage?” Ranulf whined. “All I knew was that he was prepared to argue over the amount of the Danegeld. It’s taken me many days to convince him to go that far. Nor has he ever so much as hinted at a marriage.”

“Bertilde has been dead these three years,” Ordella reminded him, all the while wishing she had waited a little longer before agreeing to marry Ranulf. Then she might have had a chance for Bayard, rather than this clod.

“So I thought he had no interest in marriage.”

“That is the stupidest thing you have said yet. He is a wealthy thane with no children. You should never have dismissed a possible marriage.”

“As you have just pointed out, Ordella, it is done. I cannot undo it.”

“But now he might have children, too.”

“He hasn’t yet, and he’s had many women.”

“That is no guarantee. He so rarely stays in one place for long, it could be that he is gone before a woman knows. Or perhaps he has never acknowledged any children, if they were born out of wedlock. If you had the sense of a donkey, you would have considered these possibilities.”

Ordella was almost weeping with frustration. Her only reason for marrying Ranulf had been to become part of Bayard’s wealthy, important family. Unfortunately, she had come to realize she had chosen the least promising member of the clan. “She is young, too. She could give him many children.”

“Or maybe he will hate her and never go near her. This is a political match, Ordella. Don’t forget that.”

“I hope for your sake it is so. Or you can forget any hope of inheriting anything from him.”

“You said the same thing when Adelar arrived.”

“That was before I knew the kind of man Adelar is—and for that you should thank God. If he was more ambitious, he could have you living in some hovel at the edge of the wood. It is clear Bayard favors him, and their mothers were sisters.”

“You are forgetting the stories about his father.”

“That old tale? No one believed that Viking. Imagine trying to imply that a Saxon thane would betray his own people.”

“Yet Kendric has never tried to be in the Witan, and any other man of his stature would have.”

“The main thing to consider now is how to increase your importance to Bayard.”

“I am his nephew. What more reason should Bayard need to listen to me?”

“If that’s the only cause he has to suffer your presence, he can easily discard you, fool!”

Ranulf started to climb out of the bed. Ordella grabbed his arm and held on. “Forgive me,” she said in wheedling voice. “I am upset to think that Bayard did not take you into his confidence. After all, you deserve to be. You are his closest relative. Adelar is but a cousin.”

Ranulf relaxed a little. She crawled closer and encircled him with her thin arms. “I simply fear you may not get what is your due, Ranulf, and then I get angry. Forgive me for taking out my indignation on you.” He sighed softly as she caressed him. “You do forgive my harsh words, don’t you?”

“Yes.” He twisted and his mouth swooped feverishly over hers. His hands groped her breasts.

Ordella made all the appropriate noises. But her mind was not on Ranulf, or his clumsy attempts at lovemaking. She was wondering how to proceed when Bayard’s bride arrived.

* * *

“The hour grows late, and I think I have done enough celebrating,” Bayard proclaimed as he rose clumsily to his feet. Around him, his men raised their drinking horns in yet another salute.

Except for Adelar. He had left the hall some time ago, his arm draped over a serving wench with a high-pitched voice and a constant giggle.