Читать книгу Lady Of The Lake - Elizabeth Mayne - Страница 11

Tala’s answer came as a resounding slap on the jarl’s face. Refusing to stay and be insulted further, she bolted from his table.

Halfway to the bottom of the steps, Edon caught up with her, jerked her off her feet and flung her over his shoulder.

“You bastard, put me down! How dare you touch me! Selwyn! Stafford! I need you!” Tala screamed. She pounded her fists into the jarl’s massive back, aiming for the soft flesh at his kidneys.

“Bar the gates!” Edon commanded the astonished soldiers standing in the keep’s lower chamber. “Arrest any man who draws a weapon in her defense. Detain him for questioning.”

Without further words, Edon spun around and marched back up the stairs and through the hall, bearing the screaming, struggling woman on his shoulder. She was not easy to contain, fighting him with all her might. What she lacked in muscle and weight she made up for in sheer determination.

The moment Edon entered his chamber and dropped her on his box bed, he caught hold of her hands and flattened her to the feather mattress. In spite of the great difference between their weights, she continued to whip about, as slippery as eels in a bowl of oil, twisting and bucking beneath him, screaming her throat raw, piercing his eardrums with her shrieks.

Her terror increased tenfold as her struggles caused her simple gown to tear from the brooches at her shoulders.

Still angered by her effrontery, by the insult she’d delivered him in slapping him publicly, Edon let her wear herself out. His grip upon her hands remained firm, keeping her spread beneath him.

Sarina bounded into the chamber and jumped on the bed. The wolfhound stuck her wet nose in the howling princess’s face, whining and wiggling, distressed by the woman’s ear-piercing shrieks.

“You are only making it worse for yourself,” Edon said at last. He felt no sympathy whatsoever for the headstrong woman. Did she think he had no pride? Had she not given a single thought to the fact that he, too, was an atheling, the son of a king? Striking him in the face was an unforgivable insult. “Get down, Sarina!”

The wolfhound whined and nuzzled his cheek. Then, concluding that Edon would not play, she bounded off the bed and sat, thumping her tail on the floor.

Tala commanded, “Release me at once, Viking!”

“Lady,” Edon warned her, his patience dwindling fast, “speak to me again in that tone of voice and I will have no choice but to teach you to respect the man you see before you.”

“Strike me and I will kill you with my bare hands, Viking!” Tala gulped, struggling for her breath.

“And how will you do that, hmm?” Edon taunted. “With what weapon will you slay me, woman? Your viper’s tongue? These hands that you cannot remove from my grip?”

Edon nodded to her bared breasts, exposed in the beam of moonlight that spilled into the chamber from the open window. “The only success you have had thus far is in baring your bosom. Continue the show. I shall enjoy seeing what other charms your struggles reveal.”

“Barbarian!” Tala screamed. “You tricked me. I will not be mocked.”

“You do not dictate terms to me, woman,” he responded with terrifying severity.

“Selwyn!” Tala gave her all to one last scream, knowing full well it did her no good. In her arrogance, she had come alone. There was no valiant warrior lurking in the shadows to take down this Viking. Alone, she would defeat him or surrender to him.

She bucked in a futile attempt to unman him, thinking she would leap out the window if she got the chance. Raising her right knee only increased the intimacy of their position, centering his hips more firmly on hers.

“You are crushing me, Viking. I will be bruised from head to foot.”

“The damage is of your own doing. Cease your struggling and it will go better for you.”

“I would rather die now and be done with you, cur.”

Edon shifted her wrists, forcing her hands into the bedding beside her head. “I think you will not die tonight, Tala ap Griffin. That would add injury to insult. I have a much different plan for you. You are to be used to heal the breach between Wessex and the Danelaw.”

She clawed at his forearms, scratching at the golden bands he wore for protection. “You will not use me!” she declared vehemently, revealing the pride inherent in her soul. She needed to be taught a lesson, that much Edon saw quite clearly.

He wanted to kiss her fury from her mouth, taste her lips and slip his tongue inside. Astutely, he knew conquering her by force would not satisfy him. There was no pleasure in having his tongue or his lips bitten. So he tipped his head to the vulnerable column of her throat and tasted her heated flesh. His teeth nipped at her ear. The sharp sound of her breath whistling against her dry lips pleased him.

“Please get off me.” Tala swallowed enough of her pride to make a request out of necessity. He had her pinned to the edge of his crude bed. “The wood of your bed is cutting me in two. I do not lie.”

“Open your legs and the pain will cease,” Edon drawled, preoccupied with the soft exposed flesh of her pebbled breasts. A shiver skittered down her spine as he deliberately stroked his chin across her nipple. Then his hot, wet mouth closed upon her breast.

“No!” Tala jerked her head back violently. She tried to twist out from between the wood and his hips.

The intimacy of the cradle she made for him was not lost upon her. Nor did her altered position give her anywhere near enough relief. It made matters worse.

“Viking, you come dangerously close to violating me,” Tala hissed, her words strained. “All of Mercia will rise in revolt to avenge the dishonor you do me.”

Edon took his own time answering. He enjoyed toying with her breast, which was as responsive and sweet as any he’d ever fondled. He left it a wet and quivering pebbled peak when he raised his head at last and gazed into her narrowed, angry eyes.

“All of what once was Mercia has sued for peace, Tala ap Griffin. You are the talisman King Alfred offers to pacify the Danes. There will be no man standing forward, challenging my rights over you. The pacts have been sealed and accepted by two kings. You will surrender to their will…and to mine.”

“I will kill you with my bare hands if need be, Viking,” she promised.

Edon dropped his head to her breast again. She was powerless, but her pride was such that she would not admit it. As he nibbled a sensitive trail across her chest and began to lave and kiss her other breast, she called down a rain of insults upon his head, imploring her gods to avenge her and strike him dead. But no thunderbolt fell. No keening spirit took shape and form and stirred the wind.

In due time his ministrations began to have their effect. She squirmed deliciously against him, moaning involuntarily against the pleasure of his intimate touch. Through the thin linen of his tunic, Edon felt her belly tighten exquisitely and her loins begin to dampen, readying itself for the conquest that was still to come.

That she could not control her desire satisfied Edon for the moment. It was important to him to know that the woman he must marry was not immune to him physically. She would be the mother of his heirs…the sons who would inherit Warwick in the years to come. He could not bed her without pleasure there for the both of them.

“Tell me when you exhaust your font of threats.”

His caustic words made Tala look sharply at his face, seeking his eyes in the shadows. Moonlight allowed her to see his tempting mouth and straight nose and the wickedly superior arch of his black eyebrows. He took liberties no man had ever dared to from her and preened like a peacock because of it.

Her heart pounded inside her chest like a drum. She could barely moisten her mouth enough to speak above her fear. “You are not going to ravish me?”

“Is that what you want? Proof that I am a barbarian?” Edon asked plainly.

“You take pleasure in mocking me.”

“As I am taking my pleasure in ravishing you this very moment. What next, Princess? Shall I carry you to the cliff and chain you to the rocks above my quarry? Sue your king for a ransom? Await the brave knights of Wessex, come to slay the dragons in the caves and free you?”

“This is preposterous. We have nothing to discuss. Let me go, I implore you.”

“Not until you give me assurances that you will behave as a lady, contain yourself and sit at peace within my manse.”

“I will mouth no empty promises to a Viking.” She spat out the words with a full measure of scorn.

Edon straightened his arms and raised his shoulders. His movement increased the pressure of his hands upon her wrists. “Rig!”

In an instant his man appeared in the gap of the open door. “Lord, how may I serve you?”

“Bring me two strips of braided leather and a cloth suitable for gagging this woman. I tire of her vapid conversation.”

“You oaf! We are not conversing.” Tala jerked her right hand off the bedding, trying to slap him again.

“Your powers of deduction astonish me,” Edon growled, and he slammed her arm back onto the feather bed. He gave her wrist a punishing twist to teach her the futility of her struggles. Then he grew serious, ending the game between them. “Why did the boy not come with you?” he demanded.

“Because I sent him home,” Tala snapped.

“Where is your home?”

“You built a damned fortress on top of it!”

Edon dropped his elbows onto the bed beside her. Her swollen breasts were very fetching now, displayed so prettily by her uneven breathing and the dishabille of her gaping gown. Rig returned and tossed long strips of cloth and two rawhide laces onto the bed at Edon’s right hand.

Tala looked to her left as the objects landed. She quickly looked back at the Viking, too aware that her heart had begun a new cadence inside her chest. His mood had changed. A moment ago his threat had contained a playful edge to it. Now the air between them throbbed with true danger.

“You wouldn’t dare tie me up.”

“Lady, I dare anything.”

“Release me and we will begin anew.”

“Nay.” His eyes fixed firmly upon hers, granting no quarter. She had foolishly walked into his trap.

“You can’t be allowed to wander in and out at will. My niece wants to cut you into seven pieces and store your soul in a jar. My king wants you baptized and made into a Christian. Your king wants you married with unseemly haste. And I, lady, wish to relieve my bladder. This position is becoming more untenable by the moment.”

“By Anu’s shrouds, you are an ass. Go and piss into the wind and leave me be, Viking.”

“Shortly.” Edon released her hands all at once and took up the bindings.

Tala didn’t bother to resist being gagged and bound. The Viking had already won the struggle. Her hands were too numb to do any harm to him. He stuffed the cloth in her mouth and bound the gag around her face, flipped her onto her belly and tied her hands securely at the small of her back.

Smugly satisfied with his work, he slapped her bottom soundly as he removed his weight. Edon of Warwick gave the wolf a command to guard her, and departed. Tala choked on her own fury.

As uncomfortable and miserable as she was, Tala still dozed as the night lengthened. Where the Viking had taken himself to, she couldn’t guess. The manse quieted quickly. Voices in the hall became muffled, their owners respecting the mewling cries of the newborn infant. The wolf fretted between spells of whining and turning round and round in a circle, her claws clicking on the floor.

Tala felt just as anxious as the beast. She had to get home. Venn would be worried sick. Stafford would be ready to call out the guard and storm the hill if Venn dared to admit where Tala had gone.

An eon later, Edon of Warwick returned. He unfastened his breeks, stripped them from his lean hips and dropped onto the bed beside her. Tala flipped her head to the other side, glaring at him in mute entreaty.

He slid his hands behind his head and stared at the ceiling, pretending he couldn’t hear her muffled groveling.

“Lady, ‘tis late. Do not start your bellyaching. I do not intend to listen.”

To prove that he closed his eyes and ignored her for a good long while. Tala lay absolutely still, impotently raging against the urge to kick him into the otherworld. After a long, long while he opened one eye, peeking at her. She blinked. She heard larks singing and was certain the sun would rise any moment.

The mattress shifted as he turned to his side, facing her. He lifted her diadem from the back of her head. With surprisingly gentle hands, he removed the sheer net that had held back her hair.

Edon let his fingers spread through the tangle of fiery curls gathered at the back of her head. He marveled at the soft texture of the strands and the vibrant color that moonlight could not diminish. The knot of the gag tangled in the curls.

He dismissed the churlish feeling that hounded him for having left her bound so long. Gruffly, he said, “Are you going to cooperate with me now, woman?”

Tala nodded mute agreement. Her downcast eyes did not impress him. Rebellion clearly simmered under the surface of her submission.

Edon grasped her shoulders and sat her up. Her gown fell to her waist. His breath caught in his throat at her shocking beauty and he made a vain effort to hide the effect the sight had upon him. The gods had not known what they were doing when they made women so beautiful that strong men fell weak in the knee before them. Steeling his resolve to ignore her abundantly pleasing attributes, Edon took his knife from the table next to the bed and unsheathed the blade.

“Do not move!” he commanded in a surly voice. He cut the bonds from her wrists, then slid the blade inside the knot at the back of her head. The binding fell apart. He tossed the blade onto the bedding beside his right knee and pulled her back against his naked chest. He removed the wad of cloth from between her teeth, tossing it to the floor.

She wagged her jaw back and forth and swallowed hard several times. Edon grasped her hands, holding them before her. They were cold and stiff, her fingers swollen. Her head fell back against his shoulder as he rubbed her fingers and palms, massaging firmly.

“The pain will end shortly,” he said.

Her response was a curt nod. He renewed his efforts at restoring the blood to her numb extremities. Her naked breasts brushed his hands and forearms. The soft, tempting cones stood out against the pale cloth of her gown pooled low over her hips.

Edon deliberately laid her useless hand on her thighs, knowing she would not move them voluntarily—not before the painful tingling of waking flesh abated. He stroked his hands up her bare arms and caressed her shoulders, gently massaging her neck and throat.

“You are very beautiful, Tala ap Griffin. No, do not try to speak. I will tell you what I think, and you will listen to my words because I am going to be your husband very soon. There is only one logical solution for the question of who is entitled to rule Warwick. That is to unify our separate claims by marriage. I am glad your breasts appeal to me. I want to put my hands on them and rub them like I am rubbing your hands, but you are angry and I won’t. Later you will be very happy to let me touch your breasts and see you naked. You won’t want to clobber me, because you will be grateful for all the pleasure I give you.”

Tala swallowed. She’d been choking with that gag in her mouth. Now she couldn’t muster a drop of saliva to spit in his eye. The monster deserved to have his throat slit with his own knife. She would do it, just as soon as the stinging pains in her arms abated.

Edon placed a chaste kiss upon her temple. He did not dare kiss her quivering mouth. It would be over if he did, for he could not control his desire for her much longer. He got up, reaching for his breeks and drew them on, minding the discomfort of his arousal.

King Alfred insisted she was a virgin, revered by her people and untouched even at the advanced age of twenty. She had the freedom to roam the forest of Arden—nay, all of ancient Mercia—protected by the golden torque encircling her throat. None who saw her dared molest her, for a princess of Leam was as sacred to the Celts as their Lady of the Lake herself.

Whether she was virgin or not, Edon didn’t care to strain his control further by lighting a lamp and seeing her naked before him when he was fully aroused. He’d had enough sweet temptation to last him a good long while. When next he toyed with her, he would take her.

But that delight was for another day. Fastening his belt at his hips, he reached for flint and iron. He coaxed a flame onto the wick of the tin lantern, then hung the oil lamp on the hook beside his bed.

The princess of Leam’s slanted amber eyes gazed at him. He stared at her breasts and the faint cinnamon freckles that glazed their plump curves and her shoulders. Cinnamon freckles were very nice.

He reached for her, saying, “Come. Stand before me and I will do what I can to fix your gown. You look a fright. My people will think I have already bedded you.”

“Ass,” Tala croaked as he brought her to her feet.

“Ah, ah, ah!” Edon wagged a finger under her nose. “Provoke me and I will push you onto your back and have my way with you now. I am a man. I am as weak as any other man. Your king wants this nonsense in Warwick ended, and I know exactly the way to end the squabbling between two women. I do what kings command. You have no say in the matter whatsoever, so we will not argue about such silly things again.”

Edon turned her slightly, to grasp the top of her gown and bring the halves together at her left shoulder. He unpinned the brooch and folded the cloth securing the pin. He frowned, judging his work satisfactory, then turned to her other side, repeating the process.

“There. That will work. You are much more desirable with your clothes gathered at your hips. I will not mind having a Brit with such beautiful breasts for a wife, so long as you can keep your tongue behind your teeth.”

Tala tilted her head as she glared at him. The Viking sod hadn’t the good sense the gods granted the sparrows. How dare he so abuse her—a princess of Leam. She would kill him before she consented to marry him! She turned aside and reached toward the bed, grasping his knife. But when she straightened to stick it in his throat, the handle slipped out of her numb, tingling hand. The blade fell and thrummed as its point stuck in the wooden floor.

Startled by her quick move to the offense, Edon bent and retrieved his weapon. Resolving not to be so careless in the future, he put it back in its sheath, secure on the belt at his waist.

Ignoring him and angry at her own ineptness, Tala stalked out into the darkened hall. The trestle had been taken down, but a sideboard held a pitcher and cups and a wooden bowl of fruit. She filled a cup and drank it dry. By then Edon of Warwick had donned his leggings and shoes and covered his wide chest with a tunic.

“Come, you may show me the way to your home now, Tala ap Griffin. Your servants will be worried sick.”

“I’m never speaking to you again,” Tala croaked in the best voice she could muster.

The Wolf of Warwick cocked his head to the side, staring at her quizzically. “Frankly, lady, I count that a relief. Women have a great tendency to chatter overly much, so I shall appreciate having one in my household who is silent. Come, my men have the horses ready. I have a great deal of work to do on the morrow.”

Ignoring him completely, Tala headed down the stairs. She prayed for him to trip and fall and break his neck. When he reached the bottom floor in one piece, she realized prayers weren’t the answer. She should have cast a spell.

Wise enough to outsmart most Vikings in the Danelaw, Tala gave Jarl Edon instructions to the village of Wootton instead of to the forest. Mother Wren was beside herself, pacing the parched, brown grass outside her cottage, fearing the fate that had befallen her charge in Warwick. She gave a shout of joy when she spied Tala on the jarl’s mount as he rode into her yard.

Then, because the crone was matriarch to all and sundry that remained of the dwindling folk of Leam, she lit into the Viking.

“You had no right keeping my lady out to the wee hours of the morn!” the old harridan complained. She gathered the princess against her bosom, cooing over Tala as if she were Wren’s very own chick.

Edon gave the cottage a good look, fixing it in his mind. He intended to return very soon and visit his bride-to-be. The more time he spent with her, the less she would resist their approaching nuptials.

“Where are the princess’s guards, Selwyn and Stafford, and her brother, Venn?” he asked the old woman.

“Out!” Mother Wren snapped testily. “Searching the fens for her. Where else would they be, lord? In the loft asleep like lazy, uncaring curs? Not our brave Selwyn and Stafford. As for Venn, he may be a boy but he knows his duty to his sister.”

Edon grumbled under his breath. He wanted the boy in his custody, now more than ever. If he took Venn ap Griffin back to Warwick, there’d be no argument whatsoever from Tala when the king’s confessor recited the vows. “When the atheling returns, tell him I will send my man Rig to fetch him midafternoon. He may accompany me hawking.”

“Oh! Venn will like that, he will.” Mother Wren cackled, pretending to agree, when she knew better. Venn would spit in the Viking’s eye. “Now be off with you. My lady’s near to fainting as she stands.”

Wren hurried Tala inside the cottage, slamming shut the half door. They both hugged each other for support, lest they collapse as they listened for the Vikings to ride away.

“My lady—” old Wren exhaled deeply, her hand pressing hard upon her heart “—this night my hair went from gray to white in the span of a moonrise. Do this to me again and I’ll be laid out from stone to stone.”

“Wren, you are a more splendid mummer than the stagmen of Arden Wood.” Tala hugged the old woman tightly and kissed her wrinkled cheek in deepest gratitude. “Thank you, thank you. I feared you would give the game away when he demanded to know Venn’s whereabouts.”

Wren cackled and patted her arm. “It takes little guile to fool a Dane, child.”

It wasn’t long before Tala paced the cottage in high dudgeon, raising small clouds of dust on the hard-packed earth floor with her feet. She’d exchanged her royal mantle and sadly mangled gown for her hunting dress and had put her gold armbands and diadem in the casket where they remained safe between uses.

“Have you heard a single word I’ve said, Mother Wren?”

“Yes, yes, I heard every word.” the old woman sat on her stool, yanking at her distaff. She jabbed a favorite bone on the bottom and gave it a twirl, making the stick spin. Bent fingers fed the spinning wood a hank of wool, and a thread formed in the blink of Tala’s eye. “All of Leam is to become Christians and you’re to marry a Viking. I heard you say it all only moments ago. What of it? Being a Christian isn’t so bad.”

“What of it?” Tala’s hands tightened to fists. “These Vikings murdered my parents!”

“Nay, Tala. That isn’t true. Jarl Edon and his Vikings had nothing to do with your parents’ death and you know that. Just as you know you must yield to the kings’ will. Tegwin has no power. Half the old stories are jumbled in his head. Why can you not listen to those who are wiser than you? We all see the end of it.”

“Wren, not you, too?” Tala said sorrowfully. “Venn is trying to hold on to his birthright. He has the right to believe in the old gods of Leam, gods that made our land what it was. It isn’t just a tradition to him to make gold offerings to the Lady of the Lake, it’s a ritual. He believes the gods will speak to him. That their spirits show themselves in his vision dreams.”

“Venn is a boy. He knows what he is taught. Send him to an abbey and he will learn of the Christ. Foster him out as your father would have done. Let Venn learn the new ways. He will adapt. You know, Saint Ninian converted all of Wessex. Why does Leam resist? The days of the druids are over.”

“You don’t understand, Wren. Venn refuses to abandon the last living druid. I have tried to convince him to return to Chester or go study in any abbey. He will not. Not unless I allow Tegwin to go with him.”

“Then you must do something drastic.”

“Such as?”

“Marry the Viking,” Wren cackled. “Had I a man such as that plowing my belly, I’d have never gone to the convent at Lyotcoyt. I saw him ride into Warwick on that black horse of his. Ooch, I’d nay let a man such as that get away…a black Dane. His mother was Irish. He’ll give you sons aplenty.”

Tala rolled her eyes and asked the gods for patience. Wren was so old she was addled. “You are not helping. I’d kill the Viking’s sons to repay them for killing my father.”

“You speak where you know not. King Alfred gave you leave to take your sisters to summer in Chester and you come to Warwick to stir up trouble in the grove. Take the Viking. It will go better for you.”

“And then what? Do I turn my back on my brother? You know what will happen if I do. If I leave Venn here alone this summer, Tegwin will convince him to be the sacrifice on the night of Lughnasa.”

The distaff wobbled to a stop in Mother Wren’s gnarled hands. She stared balefully at the small peat fire in her hearth, which gave so little light to her rude cottage. “Truly, Tala ap Griffin, I am no help to you. Venn is of royal blood, chosen for his fate by that blood. We cannot change it. Not you or I. He will be happy in the Other World.”

Tala dropped to her knees before the old woman and gripped her gnarled fingers between her hands. “Mother Wren, I love my brother. I have cared for him since he was a very little boy. I cannot let him go to the otherworld, not even if by doing that his sacrifice will save this world of mine. My life will be empty without him…as it would be without Lacey and Audrey and Gwynnth. They are all the blood I have left. They are my life, my heart, my soul.”

“There, there,” Mother Wren said, pulling her hands free so she could console her. “Marrying the Viking need not end your world. The Dane is strong hearted. ‘Haps he can protect what you cannot.”

“Don’t tell me to do foolish things, like accepting a black Viking for a husband. Help me find a way to stem the flow of change. If the Vikings could be turned back to the Avon, then Venn could take his rightful place in this domain. Venn is Leam’s last true son. Think you of what it would mean if he lived a full measure of years and had sons of his own.”

“Aye.” Old Mother Wren nodded. “He is the last of our kings. No more and no less deserving of a long full life than the first king to pick up a club and make all obey him. I do not know what to tell you, child. You must seek your answers from souls wiser than I.”

“Aye,” Tala said. But who? she asked herself on the long walk home through the forest in the dark of night.

The old gods did not appear to Tala. Years had passed since the old temple in the clearing had appeared to her as the legendary Citadel of Glass. She saw it now as only a vitrified stone hall, emptied of its former greatness and mysticism by the changing times.

It was not yet dawn when Tala reached the lake. She walked far out onto the stone causeway until she stood with water completely surrounding her. The sky was clear, full of its fading stars. A blue, waxing moon hung low in the western sky, its pale orb reflected a thousand times in the tiny waves on the still, dark lake.

The water moved as it always did, with strange currents skating from bank to bank. Swells rose midlake and ran off to flood the fens. Whirlpools churned, then abruptly ceased, and the black water went as flat as a griddle. There were none alive who could divine the portends of the lake. In ages past, the princesses of Leam could interpret each omen they witnessed. But Tala couldn’t.

The only power that had come down to her generation was the ability to find water in dry earth. The chain of knowledge had been broken with the coming of the monks.

But it was an unheard-of catastrophe for no rain to fall between Beltane and Lughnasa. The three most fertile months of the growing season had so far passed without a drop of rain to replenish the rivers and streams.

And that tragedy had opened the ancestral mind of the people of Leam. They remembered the old rituals and sacrifices that had saved their land long years ago.

Like Tala, Venn and Mother Wren, every remaining soul born of Leam knew that if no rain fell between today and August 1, the only thing that would save them was the blood sacrifice of the atheling of Leam. The feast of the first fruits—Lughnasa—was Leam’s last chance to redeem the gods’ favor.

If they ignored the dire predictions of the past, in less than a generation they would all be dead.

In the fat years recently past, the ritual had dwindled to sacrificing the first grains and fruits gleaned from the fields, as a symbolic offering to guarantee the harvest. In years of dire tribulation such as this, only the sacrifice of the first blood—the son of the king or the king himself— could appease the angry gods.

Venn was the atheling of Leam. Only he could end the drought. Only his blood and body offered in sacrifice could guarantee Leam’s survival past this year. That fact may as well be written in stone. Everyone knew it as truth. Venn’s only salvation was rain. Plentiful rain falling in the days left in July was the only means to avert Venn’s early and untimely death.

Tala had no more faith in the old ways than she had trust in the new. She didn’t believe her only brother’s death would bring on the rain. She didn’t believe the old druid Tegwin had the power to work such magic. In her heart she believed that Venn’s sacrifice would change nothing. He would give his life and the drought would continue, unabated by divine intervention.

Tala knew even less about the new god, this Christ that her guardian, King Alfred, revered. But she knew he must be powerful if King Guthrum was willing to put his people to death if they did not accept the talisman of the cross.

If only there was someone wise and knowing she could talk to who could explain all of this to her. But she had no one. She had only this ancient lake of her ancestors, the silent spirits hidden in its depths and the confusion of her thoughts.

She prayed hard, pouring out her troubles to the Lady of the Lake. Tala sought insight and clarity, hope and solace. To make certain her desperate petition was heard, she removed her gold torque from her throat. Prayers without a sacrificial offering were an abomination to the gods.

“Lady, I beseech you. Give me a sign. Show me what I must do to save my brother’s life. He is just a boy, a puny man-child of no value to you. Venn cannot bring the rain, make the seeds sprout in your earth or hold the mighty Vikings behind your river Avon. His thin body will not feed your fish for more than a day. So why must he be taken from me? I need him. I love him. Take this torque and forget my little brother. You’ll be much happier with the gold.”

Tala extended her torque over the water. She held her breath, waiting for the Lady of the Lake to rise up from the water and accept her offering.

The dark water at her feet moved, then churned as if gathering power. A shadowy form broke the surface at Tala’s feet, throwing silvery drops onto her bare legs and breaking up the reflection of her golden torque. Her eyes followed the dark wake that bisected the still waters and her heart hammered in her throat. This was what she sought—a sign.

The fluid tension of the surface erupted in a blinding, foamy arc of silvery water beads. Tala threw her golden torque at the breaking wave. The ring of gold spun far, far out over the black water.

A pale limb shot up from a bank of waterweeds. It snatched the gold torque in midair and splashed below the surface.

Ripples washed quickly back to the pier where Tala stood. The lake undulated softly, then stilled once more. And Tala ap Griffin burst into tears.

The precious golden torque that had declared her a princess to all of her people—that she was willing to sacrifice for the life of her brother—had been snapped out of the air not by the Lady of the Lake, but by a fish.