[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
though normally there were only two; the others went on down the line of cells. The door creaked open
and candlelight filtered into the cell.
Val raised his head. Tangled hair covered his eyes, but he saw Osrick. The bishop had come with his
men today, no doubt to watch the beating. Osrick looked around at the foul cell: the rotted rushes, the
pot full of sloshing night soil that had not been emptied in several days, the molded crust of uneaten bread
in the wooden bowl. "You certainly don't take care of the quarters you have been given," he said. Then
he turned to one of the others. "Raedwald, look, we must be giving him too much to eat. He left some for
the rats."
Val did not tell him that he'd left some for the rats to prevent them nibbling upon his flesh and to draw
them to a place where he knew their location in the dark. He had killed three thus far and eaten them in
place of the bread. Their gnawed remains were concealed in the chamber pot each day. The raw meat
made his gut knot. The one other Dane who had tried this method couldn't stomach it. He'd ended saying
that starving was a less painful way to go. But Val didn't throw up the second rat, as he had the first. He
had learned to eat them slowly. He had vowed he would not let Osrick starve him to an ignoble death
with no Valkyrie for a glorious welcome into Valhalla. Much as he had once despised the prospect of
feasting and fighting eternally in Valhalla, still it was better than a visit to the icy realm of Hel until the day
of Ragnorok.
"Look how he hates us, Raedwald," Osrick observed. "It is there in his eyes."
Val had not seen Raedwald in some time, almost since they'd first arrived. How long ago was that? He
glanced with hooded eyes to the wall and saw six groups of scratches marking each day's bowl of rancid
food. He had been in this cell for six weeks.
"I must say I feel the same for him. These Vikings are stubborn." Osrick crossed his arms and leaned
against the wall, looking all the while at Val. "Guthrum, for instance, refuses to break the peace. Or
perhaps he hasn't noticed our raids on his fat friends who hold Cent."
Val held himself motionless. Inside he rejoiced. Guthrum refused to break the peace. He would have bet
what, his life? that Guthrum would take the first excuse to start up the war again. But perhaps the
Konnunger waited for reinforcements from the Northmen who had settled on the Frankish coast.
Guthrum would be more careful of Alfred now, but he would also show forbearance under provocation
only if there was a stratagem in it.
Osrick was about to speak again when one of the two soldiers who had passed on to other cells stuck
his head back in. "The one in the end cell is dead," he said.
Val's stomach knotted. Skedir. He was too old to survive being treated thus.
Osrick shrugged. "Take him out and burn the body." He turned back in speculation to Val. "Down to
three. So sad." He straightened and appeared to make a decision. "I must have pity on the rest of you."
Then he stopped. "All?" He shook his head. "No, not all. Just on you, Viking." He straightened. Val did
not move. "You are free to go." Then, without another word, Osrick turned on his heel. The surprised
Raedwald and the others trailed after him as he left.
In the corridor, Raedwald moved to slam the door, but Osrick stayed his arm. "Did you not hear me? He
is free to go. Leave the cell door open."
"But Osrick," Raedwald protested, "we can't let him go. He'll straight to Guthrum "
"Who will break the truce, fool." Osrick turned back to Val. "You have your freedom. But if you take it,
Alfred will bring an army against the Danes for your treason he will crush them and all they love. I
doubt they will be prepared. Think of the slaughter." Osrick laughed and made his way up the stone
stairs. "What a pity."
"And the others?" Val heard drifting down.
"They stay."
Val stared at the open doorway. A little light leaked down the stairs, no doubt from the crack under the
door at the top. He had not heard the bar for that door snick shut.
He squeezed his eyes shut against that faint shadow, less black than its surroundings. Osrick could have
thought of nothing more cruel than opening his cell and setting him free. He could not leave, not without
leaving all honor behind, all loyalty to his pledge to his king. It did not matter how he was treated. It did
not matter that the others had died. He was pledged as hostage, and his loyalty was all he had left. He
could not flee through that door and still be a Dane. He could not break the truce and bring down death
on his people. One of his remaining fellows called out weakly. Val could hear him now that the door was
open. "Valgar," the man said. His name was Turgi. "Can you hear?"
"Ja," Val said, his voice hoarse with disuse. It had been weeks since he had spoken. "I hear."
"They, they said you could go& "
He must have learned Saxon from Pony. Curse her. He did not want the others to know what had been
offered him.
"Go quickly," Turgi said. "Get help. Tell Guthrum."
Val took a breath through tattered lips. "I cannot leave without breaking the truce."
"But two are dead. The Saxons have already broken the truce." The desperation in Turgi's voice raked
Val's heart. The third man's cell was quiet. That was Rotan. It must mean he would shortly be leaving feet
first.
"Terms are terms," Val muttered. "I will hold up the honor of the Danes."
The shriek that answered this declaration rose and fell, on and on. Turgi was exhausting himself. Val held [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
zanotowane.pl doc.pisz.pl pdf.pisz.pl exclamation.htw.pl
though normally there were only two; the others went on down the line of cells. The door creaked open
and candlelight filtered into the cell.
Val raised his head. Tangled hair covered his eyes, but he saw Osrick. The bishop had come with his
men today, no doubt to watch the beating. Osrick looked around at the foul cell: the rotted rushes, the
pot full of sloshing night soil that had not been emptied in several days, the molded crust of uneaten bread
in the wooden bowl. "You certainly don't take care of the quarters you have been given," he said. Then
he turned to one of the others. "Raedwald, look, we must be giving him too much to eat. He left some for
the rats."
Val did not tell him that he'd left some for the rats to prevent them nibbling upon his flesh and to draw
them to a place where he knew their location in the dark. He had killed three thus far and eaten them in
place of the bread. Their gnawed remains were concealed in the chamber pot each day. The raw meat
made his gut knot. The one other Dane who had tried this method couldn't stomach it. He'd ended saying
that starving was a less painful way to go. But Val didn't throw up the second rat, as he had the first. He
had learned to eat them slowly. He had vowed he would not let Osrick starve him to an ignoble death
with no Valkyrie for a glorious welcome into Valhalla. Much as he had once despised the prospect of
feasting and fighting eternally in Valhalla, still it was better than a visit to the icy realm of Hel until the day
of Ragnorok.
"Look how he hates us, Raedwald," Osrick observed. "It is there in his eyes."
Val had not seen Raedwald in some time, almost since they'd first arrived. How long ago was that? He
glanced with hooded eyes to the wall and saw six groups of scratches marking each day's bowl of rancid
food. He had been in this cell for six weeks.
"I must say I feel the same for him. These Vikings are stubborn." Osrick crossed his arms and leaned
against the wall, looking all the while at Val. "Guthrum, for instance, refuses to break the peace. Or
perhaps he hasn't noticed our raids on his fat friends who hold Cent."
Val held himself motionless. Inside he rejoiced. Guthrum refused to break the peace. He would have bet
what, his life? that Guthrum would take the first excuse to start up the war again. But perhaps the
Konnunger waited for reinforcements from the Northmen who had settled on the Frankish coast.
Guthrum would be more careful of Alfred now, but he would also show forbearance under provocation
only if there was a stratagem in it.
Osrick was about to speak again when one of the two soldiers who had passed on to other cells stuck
his head back in. "The one in the end cell is dead," he said.
Val's stomach knotted. Skedir. He was too old to survive being treated thus.
Osrick shrugged. "Take him out and burn the body." He turned back in speculation to Val. "Down to
three. So sad." He straightened and appeared to make a decision. "I must have pity on the rest of you."
Then he stopped. "All?" He shook his head. "No, not all. Just on you, Viking." He straightened. Val did
not move. "You are free to go." Then, without another word, Osrick turned on his heel. The surprised
Raedwald and the others trailed after him as he left.
In the corridor, Raedwald moved to slam the door, but Osrick stayed his arm. "Did you not hear me? He
is free to go. Leave the cell door open."
"But Osrick," Raedwald protested, "we can't let him go. He'll straight to Guthrum "
"Who will break the truce, fool." Osrick turned back to Val. "You have your freedom. But if you take it,
Alfred will bring an army against the Danes for your treason he will crush them and all they love. I
doubt they will be prepared. Think of the slaughter." Osrick laughed and made his way up the stone
stairs. "What a pity."
"And the others?" Val heard drifting down.
"They stay."
Val stared at the open doorway. A little light leaked down the stairs, no doubt from the crack under the
door at the top. He had not heard the bar for that door snick shut.
He squeezed his eyes shut against that faint shadow, less black than its surroundings. Osrick could have
thought of nothing more cruel than opening his cell and setting him free. He could not leave, not without
leaving all honor behind, all loyalty to his pledge to his king. It did not matter how he was treated. It did
not matter that the others had died. He was pledged as hostage, and his loyalty was all he had left. He
could not flee through that door and still be a Dane. He could not break the truce and bring down death
on his people. One of his remaining fellows called out weakly. Val could hear him now that the door was
open. "Valgar," the man said. His name was Turgi. "Can you hear?"
"Ja," Val said, his voice hoarse with disuse. It had been weeks since he had spoken. "I hear."
"They, they said you could go& "
He must have learned Saxon from Pony. Curse her. He did not want the others to know what had been
offered him.
"Go quickly," Turgi said. "Get help. Tell Guthrum."
Val took a breath through tattered lips. "I cannot leave without breaking the truce."
"But two are dead. The Saxons have already broken the truce." The desperation in Turgi's voice raked
Val's heart. The third man's cell was quiet. That was Rotan. It must mean he would shortly be leaving feet
first.
"Terms are terms," Val muttered. "I will hold up the honor of the Danes."
The shriek that answered this declaration rose and fell, on and on. Turgi was exhausting himself. Val held [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]