Page 63 of The Outlaw Viking

“Well, better you attach yourself to them than to me,” Selik said gruffly. “Like a blasted shadow you have become to me. You and that damn Ubbi.”

Rain’s heart ached at Selik’s words. Did this man she was beginning to love really consider her nothing more than a pesky nuisance? She hoped not.

“Today? Will you take me today?”

He shook his head, laughing at her pushiness. “I must discharge all these captives today and rid myself of Ubbi and the soldiers.”

Discharge? Did that mean sell? Rain wanted to ask. And me? But she was afraid of his answer. “Where will you go?”

He shrugged. “Mayhap south, into Wessex.”

Rain was about to berate him once again for his continuing quest for vengeance when the most horrendous odor assailed her senses. “Oh, my God, what is that smell?”

“’Tis Pavement—a street one does not soon forget. You are, no doubt, getting a whiff of the butchers and the tanneries. See, over there.” Selik pointed to some buildings where all types of dead animals hung from giant hooks—the offal and blood being thrown into the gutters or carried as effluent to the slow-moving river behind them.

Industrious workers stripped the skin from the carcasses with bones implements, then covered the skins with what appeared to be a profusion of chicken dung. Still other workers were curing the skins, which had already rotted for some time in the earlier piles of chicken droppings, dousing them with what looked like fermented berry juice. Finally, she saw the finished products being stretched on wooden frames and worked into shoes and jerkins and belts.

From the women and children she could see in the backyards, the buildings must combine homes and workplaces. The smell didn’t seem to bother them a bit. Geese and chickens wandered at will in the fenced-in properties, while pigs grunted noisily in small enclosures. Several children sat about playing wooden pan pipes.

In all, the artisans and merchants and families combined to form a picture of peaceable folks. Not at all the image modern people had of Vikings or Dark Age Saxons.

It was not the impression she had carried either, since her exposure to the Battle of Brunanburh, and Selik. Her mind began to work overtime, trying to fit her outlaw Viking into this tranquil domestic scene.

“Selik, what would you do if you weren’t a fighter?”

“Huh?”

“I mean, when my mother met you, you weren’t set on a lifetime of bloodletting, were you?”

He smiled at her choice of words. “I was a Jomsviking even then.”

“Yes, yes, I know, but that wasn’t something you intended to do for the rest of your life. In fact, you told me once that you had already quit before…well, you said you quit.”

“A trader.”

“A trader? You mean, like these people who sell their wares along the streets?”

He shook his head. “Nay. I had five trading vessels. I traveled several times each year to Hedeby and even Micklegaard, buying and selling.”

An awful thought occurred to Rain. Oh, please God, not that. “What kind of products did you carry?”

He shrugged. “Everything.” He studied her closely and seemed to understand her concern. “Nay, my untrusting wench, I was not a slave trader.”

Rain exhaled on a sigh of relief. “Yes, I could see you on a Viking ship, traveling from one trading center to another.”

“So happy you approve,” he said with a mocking bow of his head. “But actually I was an artisan of sorts at one time. I made…” He stopped short, his face reddening as he suddenly seemed to realize that he’d revealed too much.

“What? Don’t you dare stop now. What did you make?”

“Animals,” he admitted sheepishly. “I carved animals out of wood, but I rarely sold them. Mostly, I just gave them to chil—to family or friends who admired them.”

Children. He gave his handiwork to children. Hmmm. Another clue. “I would love to see them sometime. Do you have any with you?”

His face hardened then. “Nay. I have none. I destroyed them all. And I do not bother with frivolous pastimes anymore.” He looked her directly in the eye. “My hands are too bloody.”

They moved out of the most congested part of the city now and toward the outskirts, where the homes were larger and farther apart, more prosperous. Ubbi drew his horse up next to hers, and Selik pulled back to talk to Gorm. Rain could tell by the strained manner in which Ubbi held his shoulders that the long trip from Ravenshire had taken a painful toll on the little man’s arthritis.

“Ubbi, I noticed when we traveled along Pavement that the butchers were slaughtering cattle. Do you think you could take me there tomorrow to talk to them?”