Dream of Me/Believe in Me

Miriam?”
    The old nurse paused in the midst of tying bundles of fragrant grasses together and cocked her head. “The people sound very excited, milady. Would you like me to find out what has happened?”
    Slender, white hands laid a final rosebud inside a small press, screwed the lid on tightly, and set the press carefully aside. “If you would. I'd still like to get the oils done today.”
    Miriam nodded, stood, and left the room. The Lady of Holyhood continued her work.
    W OLF HAKONSON TOOK A LOOK AROUND THE CELL into which he and his men had been thrust, nodded slowly, and sank down on the damp stone floor, stretching his long legs out before him. His men, ever vigilant to his mood, grinned. They sprawled out and relaxed.
    “Damn,” one-eyed Olaf muttered. He glanced at Wolf and sighed. “It's ten pelts I owe you.”
    “It is,” Wolf agreed. His good humor was increasing steadily and he was hard-pressed to conceal it. But conceal it he must, for they were all clearly visible through the crossed iron-lattice windows on the double wooden doors that secured the cell. The room was large for a dungeon and he suspected it was more commonly used for storage, as it no doubt would be again when the harvest was brought in. In the meantime, it served as a prison for the Vikings.
    Vikings caught unaware beside their apparently trapped vessel, run aground on a sandbar. Vikings too far from their weapons to offer resistance. Vikings who had surrendered with scarcely a murmur.
    The mere thought almost made him burst out laughing. Truly Odin had blessed him with the rooster-brained Saxon in charge of the patrol. Scarcely had he seen so pride-blinded a man.
    It would have been the work of minutes to disarm and kill the lax Saxons. He and his men had done the same and more enough times to be confident of the outcome. Butthat would have left Holyhood yet to be taken. Its garrison was large, if poorly led. Its walls were high. The Wolf valued the lives of those who followed him too much to risk them unnecessarily.
    Besides, his chosen method brought not merely defeat and loss but profound insult, perfect to his purpose. He was mulling that over, his thoughts grimly occupied, when a clatter outside interrupted him. His eyes narrowed as he beheld Rooster Brain, accompanied by an audience of several knights, approaching the cell.
    “Bold Vikings!” Sir Derward sneered. “The terror of the north!” He threw back his head and laughed, an oddly shrill sound more suited to a nervous girl. The men with him laughed too, perforce.
    “Never have I seen such cowards,” Derward exclaimed, his cheeks flushed, warming to his subject. “They yielded like women. Indeed, I think perhaps they are women! Viking women would be great hulking things, wouldn't they?”
    More laughter greeted this witticism. Derward put his hands on his hips and paced back and forth before the bars gloating at his captives. “God's blood, you are pathetic specimens of men, to muster no resistance at all. Was not one of you eager to sup in Valhalla this night? Or did you have the sense to know not even your craven gods would welcome the likes of you?”
    The man beside Wolf stirred. “No,” Wolf murmured, his lips scarcely moving. The man stilled.
    “You'll rot in here,” Derward continued. “You'll weep and beg for food. You'll fight over a rat's carcass. You'll watch each other sicken and die, and you'll pray for death. But it won't come quickly—oh no! The enemies of Lord Hawk die slowly. You'll curse the mothers who gave you birth before your ends come.”
    When this, too, failed to raise any reaction, Derward's flush darkened dangerously. He clamped his hands on theiron bars, his mouth twisting. Little flecks of saliva showed at the corners of his lips.
    “Mayhap I'll put you to fight each other for the amusement of my men. Whoever survives will have a little food, live a little longer. Which one of you will be the last to die?” His eyes swept over the men in the cell, coming to rest at last on Wolf.
    “You,” he said, not a question. He stared at the man who, even seated on the floor of a cell, his hands still bound, exuded deadly strength and calm. For just an instant, Derward's eyes flickered. “Why didn't you—?”
    Whatever thought he'd been about to pursue went unspoken. The door opened again at the top of the stairs leading to the cell. A shaft of golden sunlight penetrated the torch-lit gloom. And there, in that light, stood a