Reaching the back of the crowd, she pushed her way between the men until she faced Rolf. The young warrior’s face was red and streaming sweat. He was shocked to see her.
“Enough of this,” she said. She stepped by him and untied the rope binding the girl’s wrists together.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Rolf said, breathing heavily from the fight with Buri and Eudo.
“Exactly what it looks like I’m doing.” She untied the rope around the girl’s neck and let it drop into the dust at his feet.
“She’s mine!”
“I know she’s yours, Rolf, but would you have her trampled?”
A muscle jerked in Rolf’s face as Rizpah took the weeping girl by the hand and walked back through the crowd of men. Not one of them said a word or tried to stop her.
“I want her back!”
She took the Hermunduri girl inside the longhouse, Caleb trailing behind them. Speaking softly to the girl, she tried to calm her fears, wondering what she was going to do if Rolf came, determined to drag her away. She held the girl and stroked her back. The Hermunduri smelled strongly of dirt and nervous sweat. Vermin were crawling in her matted hair.
Freyja returned, her basket full of herbs. “Anomia told me what you did. You had no right to interfere.” She looked at the Hermunduri and wondered how many Chatti would die so Rolf could keep her. The young fool!
Rizpah sensed no rebuke. “I know I didn’t, but I couldn’t stand by and watch the way they were tormenting her.”
Freyja had been amazed when she heard. Not a single Chatti woman she knew would have dared interfere as Rizpah had done. Even Anomia knew to stay out of such matters. Marta said the men were shouting and fighting when Rizpah marched down the street and into the midst of them. “She parted them like reeds in the swamp, Mama. She just walked right through them and took the girl away from Rolf. No one’s ever taken anything from him before.”
Anomia had been livid. Freyja couldn’t remember ever seeing the young woman so angry.
“The girl belongs to Rolf by right of conquest, Rizpah. You must understand.”
“By conquest. You say that so easily.”
“It’s not easy. It’s life.”
“The way it was when Atretes was taken and put in chains?”
Freyja paled. “What good do you think you do reminding me of that?”
“This girl is someone’s daughter, just as Atretes was your son.”
“Rolf built a house for her.”
“And so all he needs do now is drag her into it and rape her, and she’ll be his wife?”
Freyja turned her back on her, not wanting Rizpah to see how distressed she was. She didn’t approve of what some of the men did, but she understood reality. She took the herbs from her basket and laid them upon the counter. She could still hear the girl’s weeping, and it pierced her heart. “You don’t understand our ways.”
“I understand well enough. Your ways are no different from those of Rome.”
Furious, Freyja turned. “Over the past ten years, we’ve lost many of our people. To Rome. To the Hermunduri. Some of the men take this way to find wives. Lana is Cherusci, and Helda from the Suebi.”
“I wonder if you’d feel the same if Marta had been taken when she was this girl’s age.”
Freyja turned her back again. Hermun would never have let it happen. She tied the herbs carefully though her hands trembled.
“Where does it stop, Lady Freyja?”
Rizpah’s words filled her with discomfort. She hung the herbs upside down to dry.
“Her family will want her back, and that will mean more Chatti will die.”
Freyja looked at Rizpah and realized she was concerned with far more than the girl’s situation. Rizpah was troubled by the ramifications of Rolf’s act just as she herself was. “There’s nothing you can do. Rolf wants her. He has no intention of taking her back. If he let her go and she returned, no man among her own people would want her now. She’s defiled.”
“Rolf didn’t force himself upon her.”
“How do you know that?”
“Helana told me.”
“Helana?”
“That’s her name.”
Freyja was amazed she had gained the girl’s trust so quickly. “It wouldn’t matter. She’s been with him for several days.”
Rizpah rocked the girl back and forth, murmuring words of comfort. Her eyes filled with tears as she looked at Freyja. “At least allow me to bathe her and give her something decent to wear before I give her back to that young wolf.”
Freyja was moved by pity. The Hermunduri was young. “Use larkspur. Save some sprigs for her hair. It’ll kill the lice and mites on her. As you’ve been holding her, I suggest you put sprigs in your hair as well.”
While Rizpah took care of the girl, Freyja prepared a salve of arnica and thyme. “Rub this into the raw skin around her wrists and neck. I’ll tell Rolf you’re going to bring her to him before nightfall.” She went to the door. Pausing there, she looked back at Rizpah. “Lana and Helda accepted their situation. She will, too.”
Rizpah learned all she could about the girl during the little time allowed her.
Freyja returned later. “Rolf said to bring her to his grubenhaus.” Rizpah nodded, continuing to brush the girl’s waist-length red hair and then braiding it loosely.
Atretes came banging in through the back. He slammed the gate between the animal shelter and the family’s living quarters. Ignoring the girl, he glowered at his wife. “What did you think you were doing?”
“I don’t like watching someone in bondage misused.” She had had all morning and part of the afternoon to wonder what purpose she had served. The poor girl’s situation wouldn’t change, and she might have worsened it by angering Rolf. Would he take it out on the girl once he had her in his possession again?
Seeing his wife’s distress, and remembering his own captivity, the anger went out of Atretes. He stood thinking for a long moment, and then took his dagger from his belt and offered it to the girl. “For Rolf.”
Freyja’s hand fluttered to her breast, her throat aching with tears. She had never seen her son perform an act of kindness. It was clear Rizpah didn’t understand the significance of what he had done, but the girl did. She took the dagger and clutched it to her breast, weeping again.
Atretes put his hand on Rizpah’s shoulder and squeezed gently as he stood up. “Take her to him before there’s trouble.”
Rizpah did as he commanded. When she left with the girl, Atretes headed back through the longhouse. He took two oxen and a horse from the stalls. “Tell Varus I’ll settle with him later,” he said and went out the back way.
Villagers came out of their houses to watch Rizpah walk down the street with the Hermunduri captive. Washed, hair braided, and attired in a fresh linen tunic, the girl was lovely to behold, but it was Rizpah who held their attention.
Rolf was waiting outside his grubenhaus. He looked fierce, but as she came close, Rizpah saw he was more captive than the trembling girl beside her.
“Her name is Helana,” she told him, the girl hugging her side, her head down. “Her father was killed eleven years ago, fighting alongside the Chatti against Rome. Her mother died of fever this past winter.” She wondered if Rolf heard a word she said. He had eyes only for Helana. Rizpah was at a loss as to what more she could do. Clearly, she would be unable to talk the young warrior out of having the girl. But she need not have worried.
Helana let go of her hand and stepped forward shyly. Her gaze flickered to Rolf and color mounted in her cheeks. Trembling, she lifted the dagger in both palms.
A pained expression came into Rolf’s face as he looked at the dagger Helana offered him. He seemed suddenly agitated and unsure of himself. Glaring at Rizpah, he made no move to accept the weapon.
Rizpah didn’t understand anything other than he was ashamed and embarrassed.
“Rolf!” Atretes called as he came toward him from the woods behind th
e grubenhaus. He slid from the back of a mare and presented the younger man with the reins. “The two oxen are grazing back in the woods.”
Looking confused, but vastly relieved, Rolf accepted the proffered gift. Turning to Helana, he seized the dagger and looped the reins quickly over her hands.
Watching Rolf, Atretes was reminded of himself long ago. Rizpah didn’t know what was going on and looked up at him in confusion. He winked at her and smiled.
Helana stepped up to the mare and began stroking the animal’s neck in unhurried fashion. Rizpah wondered if the girl was considering mounting the mare and riding away as fast as she could. Apparently, the idea had occurred to Rolf as well, for he moved a step closer, his eyes fixed upon her. Rizpah knew if the girl did try to escape, she wouldn’t get far.
* * *
Helana leaned her head against the mare’s neck. Her heart was pounding. She looked back at the woman who had taken her from the men and felt reassured. No one had ever cared what happened to her. She stole a glance at the young warrior who had kidnapped her. Worrying her lip, she studied him. He was tall and powerfully built. He was blushing! She could see his throat work down a swallow.
Amazed, Helana studied him more. She had been terrified of him. And why shouldn’t she have been? He had grabbed her near the stream, gagging and binding her and then carrying her over his shoulder through the woods.
He had dragged her along behind him for a hundred miles, tying her to a tree each night to make sure she didn’t run away. And now, having exchanged the gifts of marriage, he looked oddly vulnerable, uncertain and embarrassed.
Her fear dissolved. A muscle worked in his jaw, but he was silent, as silent as he had been all during the time he had brought her here. She hadn’t known he could even speak until he was shouting at the men manhandling her. Tilting her head, she searched his eyes. After a long moment, she let the reins drop to the ground.
* * *
Rizpah uttered a surprised sigh as the girl walked into Rolf’s grubenhaus without a word of encouragement.
Rolf stared after her. Saying something under his breath, he took a step to follow and remembered Atretes. “I’ll . . .”
“You owe no debt. The oxen and horse are gifts.” His mouth tipped. “Treat the girl gently, lest my wife take her from you again.”
Rolf glanced at Rizpah, his eyes glowing. Tucking the dagger into his belt, he went inside the house he had built for his captive bride.
Atretes took Rizpah’s hand and turned her firmly toward the village. “She’s his wife now. Considering the way he looked at her, I don’t think you need worry he’ll abuse her.”
“Will the Hermunduri come?”
Atretes considered the possibility and shook his head. “I don’t think so. If they’d cared about the girl at all, they would’ve hunted Rolf down long before he reached us.”
His mother came to meet them. “Is everything settled?”
Atretes grinned. “Well settled.”
They walked back toward the longhouse together. Freyja saw Anomia and thought to relieve her with the good news. “I’ll follow along shortly.” Smiling, she approached the young priestess. “Rizpah returned the girl to Rolf. He’s married her.”
“Married her? How can he with nothing to his name?”
“Atretes gave them what they needed. It’s done.”
“The Hermunduri will come.”
“Atretes doesn’t think so. Helana’s father and mother are both dead.”
Anomia’s plan to rouse the warriors from their winter lethargy disintegrated with her words. Freyja touched her shoulder in a gesture of assurance. “I’ll tell the others we need not worry.”
Anomia fumed silently, hiding her feelings as best she could. The plan had developed in her mind when the young warrior had come to her lovesick and wanting a spell cast to make the girl of his passionate reverie reciprocate his yearning. She had been well pleased with herself when she fired Rolf’s lust enough for him to throw caution to the winds and go after the girl he wanted. From his description, she had been sure the girl had to be the daughter of a chief. Instead, Rolf brought back a common village maid, pretty, but not important enough to cause a war.
Her bitter anger grew when Holt and several others passed by, paying her no attention and talking of the Ionian. “I’m beginning to see what Atretes finds so intriguing about the Ionian.” It was a bad sign that it was Holt speaking.
Varus wasn’t bothered by the loss of the oxen and horse and even declined Atretes’ offer of another section of land to compensate. And though Freyja said no more about the incident, it was clear to Anomia as well as others that the high priestess was looking upon her son’s foreign wife with growing warmth and curiosity.
Anomia watched Rizpah do her usual chores. The woman seemed unaware of the effect her kindness to the Hermunduri had had upon the villagers, but Anomia knew and writhed inwardly with jealousy. Out of Anomia’s heart flowed evil thoughts. A raging river of them raced through her blood. She coveted Atretes, desiring him with an intensity that shook her with burning envy and sensuality. She despised Rizpah, relishing thoughts of harming her, devising schemes to destroy her. For now, she could do nothing.
But a time would come.
46
Several days passed during which Rizpah felt the subtle change in the villagers’ attitude toward her. Some greeted her, though they didn’t linger to talk. She even found Varus studying her at odd times during the evening.
The men went out hunting, and Rizpah set herself to the task of cleaning out several stalls and taking the manure out to the garden behind the longhouse. Caleb followed her, playing on a patch of grass while she hoed the manure into the soil around the bean plants. She said a psalm of praise and worship that Theophilus had helped her memorize. The joy of the Lord filled her as she repeated the words again and again, the richness of the promises making her heart sing.
“Lady Rizpah?”
Startled, Rizpah turned, brushing a few damp tendrils of dark hair back from her forehead. Helda stood a few feet away at the edge of the garden. None of the women had ever sought her out before. Rizpah smiled and gave her a simple greeting.
Helda approached her shyly. “I made this for you,” she said and held out a pile of folded cloth in both hands.
Laying the hoe aside, Rizpah brushed off her hands before accepting the gift. “Thank you,” she said, mystified.
“It’s a tunic to replace the one you gave the Hermunduri girl,” Helda said. “It would’ve made things easier had someone been so kind to me.” She gave a dip of respect and left quickly. Rizpah loosened the folds carefully and gave a soft exclamation of pleasure. The handwoven linen outer garment was ornamented with a lovely pattern of purple. She had never possessed anything so lovely.
Laying it carefully aside, she finished the work in the garden and then put the hoe away. She toted water and heated it for washing. Setting out a few wooden toys Atretes had carved for Caleb, she left him to play while she went into one of the clean stalls to wash. When she finished, she donned the long under tunic. Leaving her own worn outer tunic draped over the wall, she drew on the one Helda had made for her. Tying her belt, she gathered the soiled work tunic to wash.
Varus returned before Atretes or Freyja. He put the horses in their stalls and then herded the cattle into the area at the back. One of his Tencteri slaves remained to fill the mangers with feed while he limped down the corridor and opened the gate to the living quarters.
Rizpah greeted him warmly. Her serenity never failed to irritate him. She continued stirring the thick porridge of beans, corn, lentils, and chunks of salted venison. The rich aroma made his mouth water and his resentment rose even higher. Crossing the room, he sat down on his chair, stifling a groan as he stretched out his bad leg. Atretes was off hunting again, he supposed. He rubbed his leg and winced as pain licked up his thigh into his hip. Hunting was one of many pleasures he could no longer enjoy.
Rizpah poured mead and b
rought it to him, knowing the strong drink would ease his pain. Varus’ eyes flickered to her face and then down over her as he took the horn and drained it. She returned to the cook fire.
Wiping the froth from his mouth with the back of his hand, Varus studied her with a frown. “Where’d you get that garment?”
She was surprised he had addressed her, but before she could answer, Freyja opened the front door and entered.
“She said she’s been having the dreams for two days,” Anomia said, entering just behind her.
“Did you give her an amber amulet to wear?” Freyja said with a quick smile of greeting to Varus and Rizpah. Caleb forgot his toys and came to her, having long since lost his shyness where his grandmother was concerned.
“I gave my last piece of amber to Reka,” Anomia lied, not wanting Freyja to know she had traded for mandrake and belladonna. Freyja bent to pick up her grandson and kissed him.
Annoyed that a child usurped her attention, Anomia glanced balefully at Rizpah. She froze, fury rising in her like a hot geyser. “Where did you get that tunic?”
Rizpah looked between Varus and Anomia. Neither of them ever spoke to her and the fact that they had meant something was wrong.
When Freyja turned and looked at her, her eyes widened as they swept over her.
Straightening, Rizpah touched the neckline of the outer garment. “One of the women gave it to me,” she said, wary at revealing Helda’s identity.
Anomia stepped forward, fingers curling into fists at her side. “What woman would dare give you such a garment?”
Rizpah lowered her hands to her sides. “It was a gift.”
Anomia’s eyes flashed. “From whom?”
Rizpah said nothing. Freyja set Caleb down and straightened. Anomia took a step forward. “Answer me!”