The king, still standing above Bellamus on the dais, gently brought the tip of his sword down to rest on the crown of the upstart’s head. “Go back, Bellamus. With the Eoten-Draefend. If he doesn’t come back, you die. Finish this war, or you shall not leave this hall. That is my royal command.”
19The Stump
Roper and Helmec walked together to Tekoa’s household. When he saw the faces of the Lothbrok legionaries that they passed, Roper was glad of his grizzled companion. All fell silent and stared at him, evidently certain that he had been behind the disgrace of Unndor and Urthr. Roper ignored them, though he could not help but feel this war was beginning to slip out into the open.
He hammered at the door to Tekoa’s household and it was opened by the familiar face of Harald, who ushered them inside. Within the room in which Roper and Keturah had agreed their engagement just a few months before, Roper found his wife sitting up in a chair by the fire, covered in a blanket. The sight of her heartened him: she had been improving steadily under the physician’s care and now glanced up at him with something close to her old energy. Her eyes were still bloodshot, her face still sunken and the skin dry, but colour was returning to her lips. Roper thought he could even detect a faint fuzz of new hair growing on her bare scalp. She raised an ironic eyebrow at him. “Husband. Hello, Helmec.”
“Good morning, Miss Keturah,” said Helmec, offering a bow before he and Harald retreated into a neighbouring room.
Roper dragged a seat close to Keturah and sat. “How do you feel?”
“Tired. And I still can’t feel with my hands and feet. No more weaving for me, Uvoren’s done me a favour.”
Roper smiled. “You look better. What does the physician say?”
“He says that the feeling may never come back. He thinks my hair might, though.”
“It looks that way,” agreed Roper, surveying her scalp. She looked hopeful and raised her hand to her head but, unable to feel anything, she tutted and dropped the hand again, frustrated.
She and Roper talked, Roper telling her about Vigtyr; about the trials of Unndor and Urthr. He was describing the surly reactions of the Lothbrok legionaries they had encountered on the way, when the door to the street outside opened. Roper blinked, the flow of his story interrupted, and Keturah leaned forward in her chair to try and see who was coming in. To enter a house without first knocking and waiting to be let in could scarcely have been ruder.
The face that appeared around the side of the door was a new one to Roper. It was a pale woman, dark-haired and dressed in well-made, well-fitted clothes. He supposed she might have been beautiful if she had not looked so fraught. She was looking directly at Keturah and managed a tremulous smile. “May I come in?”
“Hafdis?” said Keturah, evidently baffled. “Yes, do.”
Hafdis scurried inside and shut the door behind her, casting a glance out onto the street before she latched the oak into place.
“Hafdis, wife of Uvoren?” said Roper, eyes unblinking. “What are you doing here?”
“Don’t be rude, Husband,” said Keturah. “Come join us, Hafdis.”
Hafdis moved closer and, once her eyes had adjusted a little to the gloom and she was able to see Keturah properly, she clapped her hands to her mouth. She stared at Keturah for a few moments, her eyes shining. Then she began to weep, her face filling with colour. She dropped to her knees and shuffled forward, clutching the arm of Keturah’s chair and drawing in a shuddering gasp every few moments to fuel her silent tears. She bowed her head and rested it on the backs of her hands that still clasped the chair, quivering with grief. Keturah took the opportunity to throw a look of astonishment and amusement at Roper, before patting the other woman’s head. “Pull yourself together, now, Hafdis,” said Keturah. “I was feeling rather good about my condition before you appeared.”
Hafdis spoke in a tiny voice, her head still bowed. “I know who put you in this condition.”
Roper and Keturah glanced at one another.
“Who?” asked Roper, leaning forward.
Hafdis looked up at Keturah. “It was Baldwin’s idea. Baldwin Dufgurson, the Legion Tribune. I heard him suggest it to my husband.”
“How did you hear?” Roper’s voice was full of suspicion.
“He came to our house,” said Hafdis. “Uvoren sent me away so they could talk. But I stayed outside the door and listened.” Keturah rolled her eyes. Even Roper knew Hafdis had a reputation as a terrible gossip and on this occasion she seemed to have heard more than she wanted to.
“And Uvoren agreed to the plan?” Keturah pressed Hafdis.
Hafdis nodded miserably. “But it was Baldwin’s men who did it. Baldwin gave them the poison. I’m so sorry, Keturah.” A fresh tear ran down her cheek. “I’m so sorry.”
“Sorry for what?” said Roper, a bite in his voice.
“For not coming to warn you, and coming—”
Keturah flapped for Hafdis to be quiet. “You’re sorry, you’re sorry, I know. Too late for that now, Hafdis. It’s done. Dry your tears and leave at once, before you’re seen by anybody. Uvoren must not know you came to me, understand?”
Hafdis nodded, hands at her throat. Keturah pulled her close and gave her a kiss. “Go on. Off you go.” Hafdis flashed a glance at Roper, then stood and scuttled from the room. The door slid gently closed behind her.
“We can’t take that to the Ephors,” said Keturah at once. “Uvoren would know she helped us and it would only be her word against both of theirs.”
“You believe her?” said Roper, staring at the door through which Hafdis had departed. “She’s probably just trying to save her husband.”
“She hates her husband,” said Keturah, staring into the fire. “I believe her.”
Roper gazed at her for a moment, then nodded. “Helmec!” The guardsman entered, eyebrows raised expectantly. “I want you to take
