Warmed by his words, Gwendolyn felt her spirits rise as they stepped into the hall. Aye, she could forget . . . for now, she thought, her eyes widening at the merry scene that greeted them.
The long main room was ablaze with light. At least a hundred torches burned brightly from polished wall sconces, casting everything in a golden glow. Green pine boughs were festooned around the thick, carved pillars, their fresh, spicy fragrance melding with the mouthwatering aromas of roasted meat turning on the spits above the central fireplaces.
The Vikings' love of fine clothes and elaborate jewelry was much in evidence this night, as warriors and their wives milled about dressed in their very best. Servants carrying brimming vessels of foaming mead moved among the crowd of guests, hurrying to fill and refill the goblets so quickly emptied. The merry conversation and uproarious bursts of laughter seemed to echo from every corner of the hall, punctuated every so often by a wild Viking cry to Odin.
A great roar of greeting went up as Hakon and Gwendolyn stepped from the dark entranceway into the main room. The crowd of guests moved aside quickly, making a path for them. Gwendolyn tried to ignore the appraising, curious glances cast her way as they walked together to the high seat, but she could not help but overhear several loudly whispered comments.
"Is that the foreign wench? Thor, I have never before seen such beauty! 'Tis as if she was fashioned by the hands of Odin himself to tempt us all!"
"Yea, her eyes alone could bewitch the strongest man . . . and from the looks of it, she already has!"
"'Tis a pity she is but a slave . . ."
Gwendolyn blushed heatedly at this last remark. Obviously her position as their chieftain's concubine seemed to be common knowledge, and most likely the favored topic of conversation. She was surprised when Hakon squeezed her arm reassuringly. So, he had heard them, too. With her slender back straight and her head held high, she took her place in the carved chair to the left of the high seat.
Hakon stood before the crowd, looking truly magnificent in his dark blue tunic embroidered with gold-braided edging, and his matching cloak trimmed in fine fur. "I bid you welcome!" he shouted warmly, gesturing for everyone to be seated. Ordinarily men and women took their meals apart. But on this festive night they sat together, the women occupying the inner end of the hall, while the men were seated at the outer end, toward the main entrance. Benches creaked as all took their places. Then the hall fell silent.
Hakon picked up the ceremonial silver drinking horn set before him, then strode over to the sacred banquet table in the middle of the room. With one motion he dipped the horn into the huge caldron filled with mead, then held it up high, the amber liquid spilling out over the rim and onto the rush-strewn floor. Though his expression was solemn, his eyes sparkled with laughter. "I salute you all, in the name of Odin!" he stated loudly. Bringing the horn to his lips, he drained it with one draft, then wiped his hand across his mouth. A great smile lit his handsome face. "Drink and be merry, for 'tis Yule!"
The guests roared their approval, pounding their fists, spoons, goblets, and whatever else was handy upon the tables. As Hakon returned to the high seat, servants rushed in with steaming bowls of water and towels, so that everyone could wash their hands before the meal.
Gwendolyn furtively glanced up at Hakon as he took his seat, but then hastily looked down again, blushing. She had not missed the desirous intensity burning in his eyes. She busied herself with washing her hands, then took a hasty sip from her goblet, hoping the frothy mead would cool the warming sensation his gaze had fanned within her.
Suddenly a chorus of loud screams soared above the din of the crowd, seeming to come from the entrance of the hall. Startled, Gwendolyn gasped as the great doors swung open. A large group of men, masked as horses and rams and wearing furred clothing, rushed into the room, banging their spears upon their wooden shields. Yelling fiercely, they ran among the tables of delighted guests, stopping every so often to drink from an offered cup of mead.
Berta had not told her about this, Gwendolyn thought fleetingly, as a tall, broad-shouldered man, larger than the others and masked fearsomely as a grinning ram, broke away from the screaming hoard and approached their table. He did not go near Hakon, but came directly to her. She could see his eyes, hard and glittering, through holes in the mask, and the fringes of a thick red beard flowing from beneath it.
Her breath caught in her throat as he took the silver goblet from her hand and lifted the mask only high enough to drain its contents, though never uncovering his face. "Good Yule, my lady," he murmured, his voice low and menacing as he set the empty goblet on the table. Gwendolyn felt a cold, inexplicable chill course through her body, though she could not understand why. Then, in a flash he was gone, melding into the crowd of masked revelers that was converging upon the sacred banquet table.
Seeing the frightened look on her face, Hakon leaned toward her. His warm hand took hers. "There is nothing to fear, Anora," he said soothingly. "'Tis good fortune to share your cup with the masked ones."
But Gwendolyn was not reassured. Her eyes searched for the tall man among the writhing figures, but he was no longer there. It was as if he had disappeared from the hall.
The masked men, joined by several Viking warriors caught up in the frenzied spirit of the moment, danced around the sacred banquet table three times shouting "Yule! Yule!" Soon everyone in the hall had joined in, until it seemed the very walls would burst from the sound. Gwendolyn covered her ears with her hands as even Hakon lent his voice to the melee. The hall resounded with the deafening cries, until at the very moment when it seemed they could yell no louder, the men ripped off their masks and tossed them high in the air.
Great peals of laughter greeted them as their identities were revealed. Gwendolyn recognized Egil and Olav among them, as well as many of Hakon's guards, but she did not see the tall, red-bearded man who had worn the ram's mask. How strange, she thought, perplexed. But she knew she had not dreamed it. Her attention was diverted at that moment by the procession of the Yule boar into the hall, set on a great platter and borne on the shoulders of six male slaves.
The unmasked revelers, laughing and roughly jostling one another, quickly took their seats among the other guests as the roasted boar was paraded around the room for all to see. One Viking warrior, apparently so hungry he could not wait for the meal to begin, drew out his sword and lopped off a great hunk, just barely missing one of the slaves. Holding the browned meat in his hand, he bit off a succulent mouthful, much to the roaring delight of the guests. The savory juices from the roasted boar dripped down his chin and into his beard, but he did not seem to mind in the least. Grinning from ear to ear, he bowed to Hakon.
"I've ne'er tasted a finer Yule boar, my lord!" he shouted, taking his seat amid uproarious laughter. Hakon raised his drinking horn in acknowledgment, smiling broadly.
After the Yule boar was loudly dedicated to Frey, the god of pleasure and fertility, the feast began in earnest. Countless steaming platters of spit-roasted meats and fowl were paraded before the ravenous guests and set upon the linen-clothed tables. Baskets of crusty, flat barley loaves, warm ground pea porridge with leeks and onions, and smoked fish accompanied the meal, along with baked apples drizzled with precious golden honey.
Gwendolyn smiled at Berta, who passed by her table with a platter of roast lamb. "'Tis a magnificent feast," she said warmly. She was rewarded with a pleased nod from the portly woman. Aye, Berta had truly outdone herself this night. She noted that the loud din in the hall had not abated, even though the guests were busily devouring the well-prepared food. Countless toasts were being offered to every Norse god imaginable; some names, like Odin and Thor, were heard over and over again.
She looked over at Hakon, who was engrossed in conversation with the Viking warriors to his right. Her eyes roamed over the bronzed profile of his face: the straight nose, his chiseled lips, the strong, square cut of his jaw, the cleft in his chin. Aye, she had to admit, she had never seen a more handsome man.
A sensation of intense longing suddenly flared within her as she recalled their last bout of lovemaking the night before. Once again, her mind seemed to have a will of its own when it came to Hakon. She sat back in her chair and closed her eyes. She could almost feel his burning caresses upon her skin, and she flushed with warmth. A curved smile played about her lips. She did not know that Hakon had turned and was watching her intently.
"I take it everything is to your liking, little one," he said softly, so low she almost did not hear him. "But I must warn you. Your secret smile is firing my blood. I believe your thoughts right now and mine are the same." He chuckled lustily. "We shall have to keep our minds upon the feast, Anora, else I will be forced to retire with you early from the hall and let the guests celebrate Yuletide without us!"
Gwendolyn's eyes flew open and she looked away, embarrassed. God's blood, his very words could send shivers of desire coursing through her body! Shakily, she took another sip of mead. The fiery liquid burned her throat, but it seemed to help her regain her sense of composure. Throwing caution to the wind, she took a long draft.
"Nay, my love," Hakon murmured, staying her hand. He gently took the goblet from her. "'Twill be a long night, and the mead is much stronger than what you are accustomed to. You must drink it slowly." He raised the goblet, touching his lips to where hers had been only a moment before.