The Viking's Hold (First 11 chapters)

Chapter 8: Reality check

Awoken long before dawn, Sven lost no time starting his day. Grabbing his cloak and sword, he carefully stepped around the sleeping men, eventually reaching the ladder. He climbed down to the kitchen, and picked up a piece of hard bread on his way out. He would have a proper breakfast later.

He stopped a slave in the yard, easily identified from his short hair and colorless rags, sending him to draw a bath and retrieve proper clothing for his new master. The sky had cleared, but it was still too dark for him to notice the sentinels on the rampart. He was right on time. Standing at the base of the wall, he whistled, twice. Nearly instantly, a guard was at his side, waiting for orders.

“Wake up the next shift. Make sure they are all fluent Anglisc speakers, and get them to dress as such. The villagers must not be aware of any change before the skei[i] ships arrive.”

The warrior nodded silently and left. Sven grabbed a torch and began his inspection of the fort, making mental note of the installations. Within the spacious yard were many secondary buildings, stables, pens, coops, and storage for hay, food and raw materials. He located the barracks, the armory, the servants’ quarters, the latrines, but something was missing.

He snorted. He just found the perfect occupation for two men with clumsy hands.

By the time he finished touring, the first light was showing on the horizon. He made his way back to the kitchen, finding Olaf already seated, a steaming bowl of stew in front of him. The cook was stirring more in two vast cauldrons, taking all the available space on the hearth. Olaf acknowledged his chief with a nod, too busy shoveling the juicy food in his mouth to speak.

Sven refused the bowl offered by the servant. The barley bread was still weighing his stomach. He sat beside Olaf and gave him his latest instructions, especially regarding the bathhouse that he wanted built at the base of the wall, by the very pricks that had upset his lady and her servant. A day of useful hard labor would teach them a lesson. The others would get started on extending the barracks, using the materials in stock. More sleeping space was desperately needed.

A manservant bowed respectfully before him, informing him that his bath was ready.

Sven followed him into a small back room, where a half oak barrel had been filled with lukewarm water. Linen towels, fresh clothes, and a piece of soap waited on a nearby shelf. Sven thanked the ceorl and undressed. He unhooked his toiletry pouch from his belt. Having laid his walrus ivory comb, razor blade and ornate ear spoon within easy reach, close to his sword, he lowered himself into the tub. This was bliss.

He washed his hair and body vigorously. The soap was strong and smelled of rosemary and thyme, Aelswyn’s special recipe for her father. He used it to shave the hard stubble on his jaws, and was finished soon.

His hair combed back, he dressed in the Duke’s finery, the long tunic falling right below his knees, only hiding his shirt. The knee-length braies[ii] barely connected with the stockings. He wrapped the leather bands above them, crisscrossing them in an elegant pattern. That would have to do, he thought, slipping on his mud caked shoes. Hastily, he cleaned them with a wet towel.

Once ready, he paid a short visit to the Duke, and ordered a servant to bring enough food for two to the Lady’s room.