Andrei watched her stride away with her maids hurrying alongside. ‘Well, there are plenty of princes who’d be happy to make her their consort. I’ve never seen a woman so lusciously put together.’
When the Icelanders had disappeared into their compound, Drogo and Fulk stood outside looking at a loss. Vallon eyed them bleakly. ‘I suppose you’d better lodge with us.’
Andrei’s final stop was at a stockade enclosing a handsome house and outbuildings that included a bathhouse, stables and caretaker’s cottage. Knotwork carvings decorated the gables. Calling out, Andrei ran up steps to a porch leading to a lobby. A raised door gave entry to a communal hall where a team of peasant women were whisking the plank floor under the supervision of the caretaker and his wife. All the domestics made servile bows at Andrei’s entrance. He appeared not to notice them. Half a dozen sleeping benches lined the walls and a domed clay stove belched smoke in a corner diagonally opposite the door. There was no chimney and the only ventilation was provided by a roof hatch and tiny slotted windows. Andrei spoke sharply to the caretaker. He in turn barked an order and one of the drudges knelt by the stove and tried to fan it into flame.
Andrei pushed open another door into a chamber furnished with a single cot, a table and a bench. An icon of the Virgin with Child hung in the right-hand corner. ‘This is for you,’ he told Vallon. ‘It’s small, but you might be grateful for the privacy.’
‘To a man who’s known only cold ground for bed and empty sky for a roof, it’s a palace.’
‘Lord Vasili reserves the property for his special guests. He requests that you do him the honour of feasting with him the day after tomorrow.’ Andrei smiled. ‘Bring the Icelandic princess and her attendants. A degree of formality is in order, but don’t worry, I’ll make sure you’re presentable.’
Anyone walking through the compound next morning would have sworn that the house was untenanted. Inside, the voyagers sprawled like dead men, Drogo and Fulk curled up together on a shelf above the stove, both of them still dressed in their foul garments. Even Wayland didn’t stir until after dark and he had to ask the caretaker what day it was before shuffling out to feed the falcons.
Next day the caretaker rounded up the male guests and shepherded them into the bania, while his wife took Syth off to Caitlin’s lodgings. He made them strip off in the lobby, and as they shed their clothes a servant gathered them up and threw them outside to be burned.
‘Hey,’ Hero called. ‘Those are the only garments we possess.’
The caretaker chivvied them into the steam room. They sat naked on low benches, sweat carving pale tracks down their filthy skin. When their bodies were passably clean, the caretaker handed out bundles of birch twigs and showed them how to scourge each other’s backs. Then he drove them out into the courtyard where servants threw buckets of cold water over them before herding them back into the bania. After three sessions of the steam- and ice-water treatment, the company ran back into the lobby to find clean clothes waiting. Servants handed each man a plain linen shirt cut square at the collar, a pair of loose-fitting trousers, and leather shoes that tied above the ankles. ‘A gift from Lord Vasili,’ said the caretaker.
‘What does he want in return?’ Hero whispered to Vallon.
Another surprise awaited them when they returned to the house. In their absence the hall had been converted to an emporium where half a dozen tailors and furriers had laid out woollen or silk caftans and pantaloons, robes and capes of marten, bear, wolf and squirrel, sable and beaver. There were jewellers, too, displaying wares of silver, enamel and cloisonne.
Vallon looked at the finery and then he looked at Hero. ‘There’s your answer. We can hardly refuse to buy and I’ll wager Vasili takes a generous commission.’
But he blenched when the outfitters told them the prices of the garments. ‘We can’t afford that sort of money.’
‘We can’t insult Vasili by turning up in his hand-outs,’ said Hero.
Richard rescued the situation. He took his treasurer’s role seriously and kept himself informed on matters relating to currency and exchange. From the Vikings he’d learned that central Asia was the traditional source of their silver. In the last fifty years the Asian silver mines had become exhausted, leading to a debasement of the currency. Most of the coinage circulating in Rus had a silver content of only one part in ten.
‘Our English pennies contain nine parts of silver,’ Richard said. ‘So the answer’s simple. Offer one-eighth the tailors’ asking price.’
It wasn’t that easy, of course, but Richard held firm and the merchants eventually slashed their prices by more than half.
While Vallon was looking through the clothes, he saw Drogo standing awkward and aloof. ‘You and Fulk had better choose something.’
‘I told you I don’t want your charity.’
‘You’ve accepted enough of it already.’
‘Then I won’t take more.’
‘Don’t be so stiff-necked. Consider it payment for services rendered.’
Drogo gave a curt nod. ‘What about Caitlin and the other women?’
Hero looked up. ‘Let her pay for her clothes out of the money she stole from the old woman.’
Drogo’s temper flared. ‘Apologise for that slander.’
‘It’s true,’ Richard said. ‘I heard her make the accusation.’
‘A malicious slur. Caitlin was keeping the money safe.’
‘Shut up,’ Vallon ordered. ‘All of you. We’ve come through hell and you’re squabbling about clothes.’ He rubbed his brow. ‘Wayland, get down to the women’s house and tell them they can choose new clothes at my expense. Richard, you go with him to negotiate a fair price. Oh, Wayland, tell the princess to show some restraint.’
They ran down the lane to Caitlin’s lodgings and found the women fresh from the bania, trying on costumes laid out by a bevy of seamstresses. One of Caitlin’s maids screamed and nudged a breast back into hiding.
Wayland blushed. ‘Oh, you’ve already started.’
Caitlin laughed. ‘Don’t worry. We’re just playing at dressing up. Even the cheapest outfit is beyond our means.’
‘Vallon said he’d pay.’
Caitlin’s face lit up. ‘Really?’
‘With me doing the bargaining,’ said Richard.
Syth put her hands around Wayland’s waist. Her breasts stirred under a sleeveless linen dress. ‘Do you mean it? Can I have a gown?’
‘You look lovely as you are.’
She nudged him with her shoulder. ‘Don’t be a goose. This is what peasants wear.’ She pulled his face down and spoke into his ear. ‘Just for once I’d like to dress like a lady. It won’t be long before I’m back in tunic and breeches.’
‘We’re making progress,’ Richard called. ‘A quarter off the prices already.’
‘Go on then,’ Wayland said.
One of the costumiers advanced on Syth displaying a misty blue gown with long sleeves edged with beaver.
‘What do you think?’ Syth asked.
‘It’s nice. It suits you.’
‘Can’t you do better than that?’
Wayland felt trapped. ‘It goes with your eyes.’
The assistant moved him aside with her hip and held up another dress in a light turquoise silk. Syth draped it against herself. ‘This one is tighter fitting. It will show my figure better.’
‘Whatever you decide.’
‘Wayland, you’re not even looking.’
One of Caitlin’s handmaids laughed.
‘A third off and we haven’t reached bottom,’ Richard announced.
Syth decided on the turquoise gown. She took from the assistant a padlock-shaped pendant enamelled with a pair of lovebirds. ‘This would set it off beautifully.’
