If Gunther had been mindful of my sensibilities upon leaving, he took no such niceties upon his victorious return, and I had had the wit to caution Joscelin not to intervene. Thanks to Elua, he did not, for I think Gunter in a drunken state might have set upon him. When the celebration had reached its apex and besotten warriors sprawled about the hall, Gunter hoisted me over his shoulder amid roars of approval, carrying me away.
It was not a night for lessons.
When he was done, I left him snoring and crept from his bed, into the great hall, where his thanes slept off their mead, rumbling and murmuring. Someone had remembered to secure Joscelin’s leg-irons. I thought he too slept, there by the hearth-bench, but his eyes opened at my near-soundless approach.
"I couldn’t stay there," I whispered.
"I know." He moved over, cautious not to clank his irons, and made room for me on the rushes. It was one of his duties, to see that they were replaced when the hall was swept. I sank down to the floor and curled up next to him. His arm came around me, and I laid my head on his chest and stared into the dying embers of the fire.
"Joscelin, you have to leave," I murmured.
"I
"Damn your Cassiel to hell, then!" I hissed, eyes stinging.
His chest rose and fell beneath my cheek. "He believed he was, you know," Joscelin said in a low voice. He touched my hair lightly with one hand, stroking it. "I learned it all my life, but I never truly understood it until now."
A shudder ran through me. "I know," I whispered, thinking of Naamah, who had lain with strangers, who had lain with the King of Persis, thinking of Waldemar Selig, the Skaldi warleader. "I know."
We did not speak then, for a long time. I had nearly fallen asleep when I heard Joscelin ask softly, "How can d’Aiglemort bear it? He is sending D’Angelines to die against the Skaldi."
"Ten may die, and a hundred more rally to his banner," I said, staring into the embers. "And he can blame the King for Camlach’s losses, for not sending him further troops. That was his plan, with the Glory-Seekers. He is building an empire. How he can do it, I don’t understand, but I can see the why of it. What I would like to know is, why does Gunter have no fear of him?"
"Because d’Aiglemort pays him," Joscelin said bitterly.
"No." I shook my head against his chest. "It’s more than that. Gunter knows something that d’Aiglemort doesn’t; he laughed, when I told him there were things Kilberhaar didn’t know. Gonzago de Escabares said it, a year ago. The Skaldi have found a leader who thinks."
"Elua help us all," Joscelin whispered.
After that, neither of us spoke, and then I did sleep, and wakened only to a light tug on my sleeve. Opening my eyes, I met the worried features of Thurid, the shy one, who had risen early to her chores. Dim light filtered into the great hall from the oiled skins over the windows, and slumbering thanes still snored around us, stinking of stale mead.
"You must go," she whispered to me. "They will wake soon."
It was the first moment, I think, that I realized how things had begun to change between Joscelin and me. In the shock and horror of the night, it had only seemed natural that we held to each other for comfort. The faint awe on Thurid’s face made something different of it. I sat up, brushing away bits of rush tangled in my hair and caught in my skirts. Joscelin’s eyes were open, watching me. What he thought, I could not say. Neither of us dared speak now, for fear of rousing the thanes. I squeezed his hand once and rose, stealing after Thurid, who picked her way carefully among the snoring warriors, to slip back into Gunter’s room and between the warm furs of his bed.
He made a rumbling noise in his sleep and turned over, drawing me into his embrace. I lay wide-eyed in the curve of his massive arm, despising him.
After the raid, matters settled back into familiar routine, though neither Joscelin nor I were likely to succumb to its comforts any time soon. The raid had served its purpose as a bitter reminder of the reality of our situation.
Winter in the City of Elua is not a pleasant time; it grows chill, and betimes a sweeping wind blows that drives everyone indoors, and halts trade and leisure alike. But it is nothing to life on a Skaldi steading. Here, we were truly snowbound, for at times the weather grew so fierce, not even the Skaldi would venture out for any length of time. And even when it was fair, there was nowhere to go, and precious little to do. In some ways, I think, the tedium was easier on the women and carls, for even in winter there was work to be done. But when they could not hunt, Gunter and his thanes were oft condemned to idleness. If the Skaldi are overly fond of wagering, bickering and drinking among themselves, I learned why: When the men are winter-bound in the confines of the great hall, there is naught else to be done.
