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escaped. Yet he hung there against the wall, unconscious, his back crisscrossed with blistering stripes that would make movement extremely painful now.
    Turgeis suddenly cast a suspicious look at Wulnoth, who hadn’t moved from where he had been hurled. “Was he even awake when you began this?”
    “I did not notice,” Wulnoth replied belligerently, beginning to resent the Viking’s interference, since nothing more had come of it.
    Turgeis grunted, a sound Erika would have recognized clearly to mean “You lie.” And in fact, he doubted the prisoner had felt any of the lashing yet. He also suspected Wulnoth had not bothered to rouse him because he had known full well his lady would recant her decision, and he did not want to lose a moment of wielding that lash while he had the opportunity. Wulnoth might prefer his victims to experience their torture fully, but in this case, he would settle for the pain that would be felt afterward.
    Turgeis proved now what a simple matter it was to yank that spike from the wall if you had the strength for it, which he certainly did. He caught the man before he fell, surprised, even though he had expected it, that he was so heavy, despite a marked leanness across his torso that made the muscles stand out even more.

    Turgeis carefully lowered him to the floor, laying him on his stomach, positioning his head on a bent arm. Holding him, he had felt the heat of fever, and now, the lump on the back of his head.
    Again the Viking’s eyes pinned Wulnoth, with enough accusation in them that the captain of the guard started backing toward the door. “You lied to her,” Turgeis said low. “He has the injury he claimed to have.”
    Wulnoth still lied, though his lack of color proclaimed it loudly. “I felt naught.”
    “What you will feel—!”
    Turgeis didn’t finish, unaccustomed to being this angry and showing it. He had learned at a tender age to control all emotion. His size demanded it. His one lapse had nearly killed his own brother, which was never forgotten, and why his brother had plotted to be rid of him.
    He turned his back on Wulnoth, adding only, “Come near him again and I will kill you.”
    A simple statement. He was a simple man of few words. In fact, he had said more this eventide than he had in the past month. And he had no idea what to do now. Illness and injuries were beyond his ken. But he couldn’t send for the healer yet. She would be busy still with Thurston. Erika knew the ways of healing also, but she would not leave the boy now either, and besides, he wasn’t going to tell her of this if he could avoid it. Which still did not tell him what to do for Selig the Blessed now.

    He thought to move him to a cleaner place, but he didn’t think the man would notice much of his surroundings when he woke—if he woke. So he went out to summon one of the guards to him.
    “Find a servant to fetch a pallet, blankets, candles, water—and food. Lots of food. Bring them to the pit, then wait outside the young lord’s chamber. The moment the healer leaves him, bring her to me.” The guard knew Turgeis well, sat near him at table each day, and was amazed to hear so much out of him. And he was not done. “Lady Erika is to know naught of this, especially that I need the healer.”
    Turgeis returned to the pit, in time to hear the prisoner’s groan and a hissed “Thor’s teeth cannot be this sharp.”
    He moved to squat beside him. The man hadn’t stirred other than to utter those words. He had spoken in Turgeis’s native Norse, and it had been sweet indeed to hear. As unlikely as it seemed, he was afraid everything the man had claimed was true. Wulnoth, that miserable slime, had accused him simply because he was a stranger to them, when they should have given him the aid he had been seeking.
    The man’s eyes were squeezed shut, his fists clenched. Another groan escaped him. Turgeis could only guess at the headache that lump was causing.
    Turgeis spoke Norwegian