FROM HIS VANTAGE point on the dais, Zerco immediately spotted Geic entering the hall. Even at a distance Zerco could see the concerned look on the bodyguard’s face.
Geic stood for a moment looking around the hall, checking the faces of the revellers. Then clearly not finding who he was looking for, he approached the top table. His expression of disappointment and concern increased when he saw only Zerco.
Zerco set his goblet down and leaned forward.
‘Is something wrong?’ he said.
The bodyguard pursed his lips and glanced around again.
‘It’s alright,’ Zerco prompted him. ‘You can tell me. I am the right-hand man of the Hunt Master and leader of the Dagelungs, after all.’
‘No,’ Geic said. His expression suggested he was both surprised and alarmed that someone who looked like Zerco could speak at all, never mind use the Burgundar tongue. ‘I need someone from the king’s inner council. Have they all gone?’
‘All except Sigurd,’ Zerco said, gesturing down the hall to where the big man was in deep conversation with a particularly pretty member of the Valkyrjur. She was smiling at Sigurd and he at her in a way that Zerco guessed Gunhild would far from approve of.
Geic nodded and went off in their direction.
Now here is something I should perhaps pay attention to, Zerco thought to himself. The bodyguard was worried and if it involved him it most probably involved the king. Perhaps there was something he could learn that would be to his advantage in the future.
Zerco slid off his seat and followed Geic from a discreet distance. As he was little more than half the height of everyone else, he did not have to do much to stay out of sight as he weaved his way around the legs of the drunken revellers.
When Geic reached Sigurd he stopped.
‘Come with me, will you?’ Zerco heard him say. ‘There’s a problem. Gunderic needs our help.’
‘What with?’ Sigurd said. ‘It’s his wedding night. We can’t help him with that.’
The woman warrior laughed.
‘It’s… sensitive, Lord Sigurd,’ Geic said, looking around to see if anyone might overhear him. He did not spot Zerco lurking a few paces away. ‘I think we need to keep this among the king’s council if possible.’
He tugged Sigurd’s sleeve to move him away from the woman.
‘Get your hands off me,’ Sigurd said, scowling as he snatched his arm away. ‘Don’t you see I have something going here?’
‘Please, lord,’ Geic said. ‘It’s terrible. The king is in trouble. I need your help.’
Sigurd turned down the corners of his mouth. He turned back to the woman and shrugged.
‘I have to go,’ he said.
‘Don’t you have a right to enjoy yourself like everyone else?’ the woman said, in mock sympathy.
‘What can I say? My king needs me to help him out. Again,’ Sigurd said with a wink. ‘When you’re as important as I am, there’s no time off. I’ll be back when this is sorted out. Stay right here.’
Sigurd then followed Geic out of the hall. Zerco waited until they had left then trotted after them to the door. Going out, he saw they were already halfway across the square, heading for the former Roman palace that now served as the personal residence of the king. They went up the marble steps, passed the columns that flanked the entrance and into the atrium of the building.
Apart from a few patrolling warriors the square was empty and lit by torches and braziers. If either Sigurd or Geic turned around they could not fail to see him, so Zerco let them go inside. Then he sped across after them.
They had not closed the door behind them properly and it now stood ajar. Zerco could hear raised voices from inside. For a moment he lurked outside, his ear cocked to the gap.
‘Upstairs,’ he heard the bodyguard say.
A loud crash came from the next storey of the building. Then came the sound of shouting. A man and a woman were arguing. Then there was a smash of shattering pottery. This was followed by the sound of feet pounding on steps.
Guessing this meant Sigurd and Geic had gone upstairs, Zerco pushed the door open a little further then slipped into the gap. The atrium had a cracked marble floor. It had once been very grand but without the skills of Roman masons to maintain it the room, like the rest of the stone buildings in the town, was starting to fall into disrepair.
A white stone staircase swept up to the next floor from the atrium and Sigurd and Geic were at the top of it. Also standing there were two female slaves, but the angry voices were not coming from them. They were coming from behind a closed door the girls lurked outside. Zerco could make out that one of the voices was Gunderic’s. The words he spoke were muffled by the door but he sounded enraged. There was something else to it too: was it fear?
Gambling that everyone would be too busy to notice him, Zerco tiptoed up the stairs after them. At the top was a landing that led to the door which the others were now gathered around.
Zerco spotted a dark corner under a table to the left and slid himself into it. From there he would be able to watch everything that went on.
To Zerco’s surprise, and in contrast to the look of trepidation on the face of Geic, both the slave girls were tittering with laughter. When they saw the bodyguard glaring at them, however, their expressions changed to the fearful looks of children caught being naughty.
Then the sound of Brynhild’s laughter came from behind the door. Zerco would not have said it was gleeful, more mocking. Then came another crash of breaking pottery. Geic flinched.
‘You two can go,’ he said to the slave girls. ‘Do not say a word about this to anyone. Understand?’
The girls nodded, then hurried away down the stairs, heads down, doing their best not to laugh. When they had gone Geic turned to Sigurd, a distraught expression on his face.
‘They’ll be gossiping this all over the slave quarters,’ he said. ‘It will be the talk of Geneva by the morning.’
‘What’s going on?’ Sigurd said.
Geic cocked his head towards the closed door.
‘It started just after they came in,’ he said.
‘Is that the bedroom?’ Sigurd said.
‘Yes,’ Geic replied.
Sigurd tried the handle. It was locked.
‘Let me go!’ they heard Gunderic shout from inside.
Sigurd pounded the door with his fist.
‘Brynhild! Gunderic!’ he shouted. ‘It’s Sigurd. What’s going on? Let me in.’
The only response was another smash from inside.
The big man stepped back and launched his boot into the door. With a crack of splintering wood he smashed it open.
For a moment there was a stunned silence.
The bedroom beyond was a mess. The sheets were pulled off the bed, torn and scattered around the room. The shattered remnants of at least two wine jugs littered the floor and their contents formed pools that looked like blood.
Gunderic was hanging from a cloak hook on one wall. His wrists and ankles were bound behind him by torn sheets which were also tied together so his feet nearly touched his hands. His jerkin was pulled over the hook so he dangled from it. His nose was bloody, there was a cut on his forehead and his right eye was bruised and swelling. There was blood on his teeth. He was struggling to get free, each movement making him swing back and forth more violently.
Brynhild stood a little way away. She had a drinking horn in her left hand and an orange in the other. Judging by the other pieces of fruit lying on the floor under Gunderic she had been throwing them at him like he was a target hanging from a tree.
‘Lord, I am sorry!’ Geic said gaping, open-mouthed at the scene. ‘I was unsure what to do. I thought perhaps you were chastising your wife, not…’
‘Get me down!’ Gunderic squealed. He sounded on the verge of hysteria.
Sigurd turned to Geic.
‘I think you should go too,’ Sigurd said. ‘I will handle this from here on.’
The bodyguard, his face ashen, hesitated for a moment, then nodded and staggered off down the stairs. He looked relieved at not having to stay.
‘Help me,’ Gunderic said, seeing Sigurd at the door.
The big man went into the room.
‘He said he wanted to have some fun,’ Brynhild said in a mocking voice. Her words were slurred and she swayed back and forth, leaning to one side. ‘So I am having fun.’
‘She’s mad!’ Gunderic said. ‘I thought she was just drunk but she’s out of her mind.’
‘He tried to force himself on me!’ Brynhild shrieked. Her composure had switched in an instant from mocking humour to rage. Her eyes narrowed and her white teeth flashed as she hurled the orange at Gunderic. Unable to get out of the way, all he could do was close his eyes tight as the fruit bounced off his head.
Brynhild raised her right arm. It swayed up and down as she tried to level it at the hanging king.
‘He put his filthy, lecherous hands on my body,’ she said. ‘I said I did not want to but he wouldn’t stop.’
‘I was demanding what is my right as your husband,’ Gunderic said. ‘It is our wedding night. I have a right to expect my wife to lie with me.’
‘That would be hard to do from up there, King Gunderic,’ Sigurd said. There was a noticeable smirk on his lips.
Zerco, under the table, did his best not to laugh and give himself away.
‘She put me up here!’ Gunderic said.
‘And you let her?’ Sigurd said. He folded his arms.
‘Of course not,’ Gunderic said. ‘She attacked me. A lucky punch. I was dazed. When I came around again I was tied up and hanging from this hook.’
Brynhild put her hands on her hips, threw back her head and laughed.
‘The mighty King Gunderic,’ she sneered, swaying back and forth. ‘Yet his wife knocked him out and trussed him up like a prize chicken. It wasn’t one lucky punch, Sigurd. You think his face got that way from one little slap?’
Her face fell into an expression of drunken confusion.
‘And yet he had the courage and skill to beat the challenge I set,’ she said. ‘It’s almost like he’s a different man now.’
Sigurd and Gunderic exchanged glances.
Sigurd then sighed and shook his head.
‘Look, I can’t stay here all night trying to help you two sort out your problems,’ he said, reaching up to start untying Gunderic. ‘I have better things to do back in the feasting hall.’
‘No!’ Brynhild snarled. She staggered towards Sigurd and began trying to pull the big man’s arms away from their task. ‘Leave him there. If he gets down he will only start pawing at me again.’
Sigurd, a look of annoyance on his face, shoved Brynhild away. She went stumbling backwards as he returned to his task. The torn sheets came away, freeing Gunderic’s arms and legs. There was a tearing sound as the king’s jerkin finally gave way and he fell to the floor from the cloak hook, landing on his backside on the floor.
With an inarticulate scream of rage Brynhild staggered forwards, both hands outstretched, fingers hooked like claws. Gunderic let out a little cry of fear and crouched behind the bulk of Sigurd’s body.
‘You are my champion,’ Gunderic shouted. ‘Don’t let her near me. She’ll kill me.’
‘I will kill you,’ Brynhild said, trying to push past Sigurd to get at him.
‘Do something, Sigurd,’ Gunderic said. His voice high-pitched with new panic.
‘You want me to protect you from your wife?’ Sigurd said. His voice held as much scorn as Brynhild’s and his expression had changed from drunken bemusement to irritation.
‘I want you to protect your king!’ Gunderic said.
‘Very well,’ Sigurd said.
He turned and in a swift movement smashed his large right fist into Brynhild’s jaw. The blow was a heavy one, enough to make Zerco, watching, wince. Brynhild went flying backwards through the air. She landed in a crumpled heap on the floor beside the bed. She did not move.
‘Some people should never be allowed to drink ale,’ Sigurd said, looking down at the now unconscious woman. ‘That, Lord King, is how to deal with your wife if she gets out of hand.’
‘Yes, well,’ Gunderic said, struggling to his feet. ‘I would never have hit a woman like that. That is how the mad bitch got the better of me.’
He gave Sigurd a sheepish glance.
‘You won’t… tell anyone about this, will you?’ Gunderic said.
Sigurd did not reply for a moment. Then, just as the king was starting to look worried, he spoke.
‘It will be our secret, Lord King,’ he said. ‘That is another thing you owe me. And I will expect recompense. Though there are a few others – your steward and two slave girls – who saw what happened. Right now I am going back to the hall. There is someone waiting for me there. Your wife should give you no more trouble. You can do what you want with her now.’
The big man turned and strode out of the room. Zerco pressed himself as far into the shadows beneath the table as possible as Sigurd walked past and headed down the stairs. When he judged it was safe to look out again he saw that the door to the bedroom was still open. Gunderic had dragged the unconscious Brynhild to the top of the bed. He had hauled her arms above her head and tied them to the bed frame with the same torn sheets she had used to bind him.
Now he stood above her, unlacing his britches.
‘Now I will teach you who is king,’ Gunderic said.
He kicked the door shut with his heel.