She rounded the corner to the main hall, her mouth gaping open in surprise. A serving maid danced on top of a table, surrounded by several of the soldiers. Her young body flung around in undisciplined movements and she kicked food and drink onto the floor. The rowdy men pounded the wood in time with the music, cheering the woman on, screaming louder when she took off her apron and tossed it aside. Della gasped and ducked to avoid the flying garment. The maid continued to take off her clothes, much to the delight of all. Della couldn’t watch.
The hall was a mess. Ale and mead flowed freely and, by the look of the drunken faces, the gaiety had been going on for quite some time. Traveling musicians played loudly near the center fireplace as couples danced around, kicking the rushes into messy piles on the floor. From where she stood in the crowd, the musicians were the only strangers to the hall she could see.
Another maid screamed frantically, running past Della in her haste to get away from a lustful suitor. She didn’t try too hard, for he caught her easily and they both went tumbling to the floor in a fit of laughter. Della felt the blood draining from her face. Her limbs were weak and her stomach tight. Never has she laid witness to such debauchery at Strathfeld.
Cedric arm-wrestled with a burly-looking knight. Food littered the once tidy floor. A piece of roasted mutton flew past her head, hitting the clean tapestry behind her. It soiled the thick cloth with a greasy stain. Della watched in stunned silence. This refuse-hall cannot be my home. I’m having a dream. Nay, a nightmare!
As another playful scream drifted through the air, Della moved into action. She skirted past the revelry and made her way to better see the high table. Surely Brant would not allow such indulgence in his presence—not in her orderly keep. The people defiled the main hall, they spoiled the carefully scented rushes and after she so recently had them replaced.
Finding no guests at the main table, she stiffened. The only occupants at the table were her husband, Gunther, and the two women sitting across their laps. On Gunther was Gayla. Della knew that out of all the women, that particular maid spent the most time there. Della didn’t care about Gunther. Her gaze turned slowly to Brant. She didn’t want to see it, but how could she avoid looking at him? At them?
There, on her husband’s lap, sat Serilda. Brant had a goblet of mead in one hand and Serilda in the other. Della couldn’t move. Sound faded as she stared at them, replaced by an intense pain. In anguish, she watched Brant lean over the woman with a mouth full of ale. He let the liquid fall from his lips so it ran over the woman’s dark skin in trails of red. The midwife leaned her head back in lusty laughter, grabbing Brant by his hair. Della’s insides burned.
No one seemed to notice her as she stood motionless in the middle of the hall. The loud shouts punctured her dull senses, but she ignored the obnoxious yells, ignored the loose-moraled maids. But she couldn’t ignore the pain that wrapped her tight, squeezing at her heart.
That lascivious son of a whore! Della made her way to the table, letting anger settle over her body, unable to deal with the hurt Brant’s actions caused. How dare he disrespect me?
Della stalked to the high table to where Serilda wantonly nuzzled Brant’s throat. The woman’s hands were on the ealdorman’s thigh, very close to massaging his member. Unmindful of her actions, Della ferociously grabbed the woman by her hair and yanked her from Brant’s body, throwing Serilda to the floor.
Brant’s drunken eyes shot up in dismay. Seeing Della, his frowned deepened and he had the audacity not to look guilty at being caught.
The imbecile is drunk! Della stood before him, hands placed firmly on her hips. Her heart beat heavily in her chest and, though she tried to breathe, the air could not find her lungs. She wanted to yell, but her voice was lost. How could he? Here? With Serilda? Why Serilda? She stared at him, not wanting to believe what she’d seen with her own eyes.
Serilda screeched behind Della in outrage. Della turned to the midwife and growled. “Begone from my sight, whore! Before I have you kicked into the moat with the rest of the excrement.”
“How dare you!” Serilda yelled back. The usually controlled woman looked fit to kill. Her eyes wildly dashed about in her head and she raised her fingers like pointed claws as if she were about to attack.
“You dare to raise your voice to a lady?” Della scolded. Never before had she used the power of her station to make her point. Usually she was above such paltry things, but now, in front of the midwife, she would say anything she could to get the better of the woman. For in light of her husband’s attraction to Serilda, she needed all the assistance she could get. “Must I remind you that the penalty for such an act is death?”