Chapter 23

Kattergat

The room was dark. He saw on the floor chained to a wall. The door opened. First Magnis and then Soren stepped inside, and then Ida and Freya. Ida’s steps stopped. She eyed him with disgust, “What do they call you?”

His eyes met hers, “Armod.”

“What can you tell us about these men who have attacked my brother’s land and the ones here now?”

“I need a cup of water or some ale ... ale would be better.”

Ida turned, “Would you get a cup of water, Soren.”

“Yes, Lady Ida. Right away,” he replied before hurrying out of the room.

Freya stood next to Ida, “What will we do with him?”

“We could kill him,” she suggested.

“Please. Please. I beg of you, Lady Ida. I can be of service to you.”

She scoffed, “Service to me. I do not trust you.”

Soren returned with a pitcher and a cup. He poured and then handed it to Armod as he sat with one arm free. “Please young Soren, help me. It seems that someone has broken my hand,” he said as he side-eyed Magnis.

“It would not have been broken had you just stopped when I instructed you to do so.”

Soren bent down and placed the cup by his mouth, within seconds, Armod swallowed the contents, “Um, much obliged.”

Soren stepped back and placed the pitcher and cup on a block of wood.

“Now tell us what you know,” demanded Ida in a firm tone.

He grinned. His face was covered in dirt and specks of blood, “If you spare my life, I’ll tell you everything.”

“And why should we let you live?” she asked angrily, “you helped those men attack our lands. You are not in a position to bargain.”

“I know I do not deserve your trust but on my honor ... I wanted nothing to do with any of this.”

She stooped down and looked into his eyes, “You will keep your life.”

He smiled.

“For the time being, but if you so much as falter in any way, I will chop off your sack and feed it to the hounds.”

He gulped, “You have my word.”

She stood, “Now speak.”

East Anglia

The breeze was lovely. She stood by the window. Her mind was on what Prince Liam did to her the night before. She smiled. A voice spoke to her, “You must speak to Samba.”

“About what great-grandmother?”

“You know. That woman.”

Yande sighed, “Samba is a man; he will do as he wishes.”

“Please, Yande.”

“I’ll speak with him.”

Yande took a deep breath. She shook her head. Samba was her little brother but he was now a man and she was a woman. She nodded and proceeded to dress herself.

The Prince was up. He walked the halls with his friend Lord Edgar. They saw her approaching. Edgar’s eyes popped, “That is some dress,” he whispered to the Prince who was equally impressed but concealed his expression.

It was crimson with gold on the lapel. Her hair was braided on top with the back in loose curls. Her face was adorned with her traditional markings. She bowed, “Prince Joseph and Lord Edgar.”

Edgar reached for her hand, “Lady Yande, you look radiant.”

She smiled, “I appreciate your kind words.”

“I only speak the truth. You will make a fine bride. And I hear congratulations are in order?”

Her head tilted.

“I saw Prince Liam with your father early this morning. He has asked for your hand.”

Her cheeks blushed. He smiled, “I can tell that news is welcoming. I hope to be in attendance at your wedding.”

“I am sure you shall be invited.”

After extending her final courtesy, she saw her brother walking down the hall. She made quick steps and called his name when he was in reach, “Samba.”

He turned to her. He looked different. She knew it in her spirit. “Yande. Sister. Hello.”

She reached for his hand and she saw it. He pulled away, “Yande, no,” he spoke firmly, “you must not speak of it to anyone.”

“I do not wish to see you lose your head and though she is no lady, I will not disparage her name,” she replied, “so, tell me, what are your plans? Are you taking her to Portugal? Because that is where your destiny lies.”

“Why can’t we just live? And just see what happens. That is what everyone else gets to do. I did not ask for this. I do not wish to be this thing.”

She took a deep breath, “I understand—”

“No. You don’t. You enjoy seeing things and knowing things. I want to live. That’s all. And I would appreciate it if you did not read me,” he said before storming off.

She stood there trying not to explode. She heard her name, “Lady Yande.”

She turned and saw the Princess, “Princess Winfred, how are you and the little one?”

She touched her belly, “he or she is growing. I am well. We will be leaving shortly. I heard that you are traveling with us.”

“I am. I want to have a word with my father before I leave.”

“I am excited to have you travel with us. And when you and the prince are wed, we can spend more time talking.”

“I will enjoy that as well,” she said before excusing herself.

She found her father outside. He was in the court speaking with Liam and his parents. Queen Margaret smiled, “There you are. We were just speaking about you. We wanted to tell you the news before it got around.”

She looked into Liam’s eyes. They shined with joy. He seemed as if he was going to burst into the air like confetti. “News, your majesty?” she asked as if she didn’t know.

“Liam has asked for your hand. Is this something you wish? To have my son as your husband.”

“I would be delighted, Your Majesty,” she replied.

“This is marvelous,” the Queen said smiling as she reached for Yande’s hands.

Yande smiled. She hugged her father, “Thank you, father. You have given me the best gift.”

He touched her face, “You deserve the best.”

King Oswald touched Yande’s shoulder and in that moment, a sharp vision flashed in her mind. She was frozen for a second and then smiled, “King.”

“Are you all right, child?”

“I am. Just overwhelmed.”

“We will be leaving shortly. I’ll leave you to speak with your future husband.”

They left. Yande stood in front of Liam. He reached for her hands, “I am happy,” he said smiling so big it made her blush. “How did you sleep?” he asked.

“Wonderfully. I could not stop thinking about you and how you made my body quiver.”

“I can do that again if you like.”

“I would love it more than anything.”

“Than anything?”

She chuckled.

Kent

There was a small village where one man governed. Lord Bartholomew. He was of medium build and height. His dark hair was groomed neatly. He sat at his desk looking at the books which showed he was low on resources.

His wife and sons died when a terrible plague struck the area. Even though his farm was doing okay, he was in debt. He ran his hand over his head and grumbled, “We need the people to work harder and faster.”

His assistant nodded, “The workers are doing as much as they can. If we ask of more, I’m afraid they may become angry and disturb things.”

Bartholomew stood, “They’ve never complained before. Why now?”

It’s the one you found in the woods. The man with no name. Lately, he has been stirring up a fuss about the conditions here on the farm and throughout the town.”

“Him,” he said disgustingly, “he was hardly worth saving. I wish my wife would not have insisted that I help him. Take me to this man.”

They strolled casually to find this tall man speaking to the crowd, “Workers should be paid a fair wage. Should be allowed rest, and decent work conditions.”

The people cheered.

“Hey, you there!” Bartholomew belted out.

The crowd hushed.

“There he is. Our slave driver. We work our fingers to the bone. We starve. And he sits in his nice home getting richer and fatter.”

Bartholomew marched up to him, punched him in the mouth, “There. That ought to shut you up.”

The man touched his bleeding mouth.

“Now the rest of you get back to work,” he fussed.

The man swung and punched Bartholomew in the belly. He folded over and cried for help. His men rushed to his aid and took the tall man away.

After a proper beating, he was on his knees with his wrists chained on the left and the right. Lord Bartholomew eyed him with contempt, “You have been nothing but trouble since the day you got here. And what is your name?”

“I do not know. But everyone here. The people call me, David.”

“David. They should call you an old fool,” he hissed, “I should have you burned for trying to cause an uprising.”

“I have done nothing wrong. Only telling the people to stand up for themselves.”

Lord Bartholomew reached for a gold cup and threw it, it hit David in the head. His eyes closed and his body hung.

The men in the room stared. “Is he?”

David groaned.

“He can’t even die in peace,” Lord Batholemew fussed.

Take the bastard away. Just as the men were about to undo his chains, David had a memory of his past life. He saw his former wife’s face, his daughter, and the last time he spoke to the King, his brother. He even saw Lord Bartolomew’s former wife and remembered her kindness.

“You must release me. I must return to Mercia immediately to see my brother, King Charles.”

Lord Bartholomew erupted into laughter and everyone followed suit. He pointed, “You really are an old fool. You expect me to believe that you’re a King’s brother.”

“Why yes.”

“Then why were you left in the woods like an old dog ready to die?”

“I was traveling back to Merica when I encountered some bad people who took everything I had. I was struck in the head and lay sleeping for days. When I awoke, I remember being here and being put to service like some slave. But I do remember the kindness of your sweet beautiful wife.”

Bartholomew eyed him suspiciously, “Do not speak of my wife. You did not know her.”

He nodded. But he was more acquainted with his former wife than Bartholomew realized. “My name is Lord James. I am the brother of King Charles in Merica. I assure you if you were to assist me in getting to Merica, my brother would pay a handsome price to have me returned ... safely.”