The Caged Viking

by Sandra Hill

I’m just not sure what to do.

  Just do it, for God’s sake! It’s the only logical thing to do.

  Instead, she spun on her heels and walked in the other direction.

  To her surprise, Hauk was standing a short distance away, just watching her. She could swear there were tears in his eyes. But then he glanced downward and grinned. “Were you planning to take your chicken slop with you?”

  In the heat of the night…

  Hauk was sitting on the side of Bjorn’s pallet with a wet rag in his hand when Kirstin returned, lugging her cauldron in both hands, some of the liquid sloshing over the sides and wetting her gown. With a long sigh, she set it on the floor and, noticing what he was doing, exclaimed, “Oh, no! Does he have a fever?”

  “Nay. I’ve just been laying cool cloths on his forehead in hopes of forestalling a fever,” he told her. “I know, foolish of me.”

  “Hey, whatever works. You should have some of this soup while it’s still hot. Maybe we can get some into Bjorn, too. It really does have medicinal value. And it is chicken soup, not slop, no matter what Egil calls it.”

  He winked at her to let her know he’d been aware of Egil’s teasing and took the bowl she handed to him, watching while she ladled its contents. He was still reeling from having discovered her near the great hall a short time ago, contemplating a reversal of her time-travel. If he hadn’t found her there, would she be gone by now? For some reason, that possibility was too harsh to contemplate. Instead, he chose to lighten her obviously somber mood. “What are those white things floating on top? Please don’t tell me they are slugs?”

  “No!” She smacked him on the shoulder with her ladle. “They’re spaetzle, or dough balls. Would you eat them if they were slugs?”

  “Pff! I’ve eaten worse. Gammelost, for example. Since I haven’t put anything in my stomach since last night, I’m not about to be fussy, even spit-cells.” He shrugged and pretended to be holding his nose with trepidation. But then, as he took his first slurp, his eyes widened. “Mmmm. This is good, even if they are made with spit.”

  She thought about correcting him, that they were spaetzle, not spit-cells, but decided not to bother. “Why are you surprised? It’s not rocket science to make soup. All it takes is—”

  He put his fingertips to her lips. “Not everything has to be a lecture, Kirstin. Just say thank you.”

  She blushed prettily and said, “Thank you.”

  Egil returned, dragging a burlap-style, coarse-woven bag that clanked metallically on the stone floor in the corridor. “This is the best I could do out in the field,” he said. “Sweyn has ordered any treasures found within the castle to be brought to him and he will decide who gets what. Apparently, some miscreant was caught stealing off with the king’s gold crown. He now has only one hand.”

  Kirstin gasped at that news, and he and Egil looked at her with question. “What do you expect?” Hauk asked. “Thievery must be punished. Even in your time, I daresay.”

  “Not like that!” she protested. “That’s…that’s barbaric.”

  He pondered, then shrugged. “Barbarians…that is what the Saxons call us.”

  “You say that as if it’s a compliment.”

  “Is it not?” He blinked at her with exaggerated innocence.

  “Loot!” Bjorn said, sitting up suddenly and glancing over at Egil’s sack and the castellan’s treasure chest.

  Hauk gave Kirstin a meaningful glare at having taught his son that word, but then used the opportunity to get some of the broth into his son’s mouth. Bjorn resisted but Hauk told him that Egil would show them all the “loot” if he ate.

  Thus, Hauk sat on the edge of the pallet, holding Bjorn’s shoulders so that he was half-sitting, and Kirstin took over, using a wooden spoon to feed the broth into his mouth. Half of it ended up running down the dusting of fine hairs on his chin, not yet whiskers, onto his neck and tunic, even into his ears.

  Egil made much ado out of everything he pulled out and spread about the floor within view of Bjorn’s bed. It was a motley assortment of goods…everything from a heavy cloak embroidered on the edges with gold thread, a fancy short sword and several heavily embossed knives, a leather helmet, a half dozen shoulder brooches, two rings, a handful or two of assorted coins, and that was just from Egil’s battlefield foraging. From the castellan’s chest, he displayed some valuable spices, more coins, a heavy gold chain, two matching brooches with precious stones, a bottle of wine, and a rare book, which Kirstin told him was a gospel or writings by a saint.

  As much as he wanted to see everything, Bjorn was weak and soon succumbed to sleep again. Hauk helped Egil put everything away while Kirstin used a damp cloth to clean up Bjorn’s face and neck to make him more comfortable. “He looks just like you,” she observed.

  “He does?” Hauk stared at his son, but could not see the resemblance, except mayhap for the hair color and shape of his nose.

  She nodded. “He’ll be a chick magnet, just like you.”

  He wasn’t sure what that meant, but he was fairly certain she meant that he was comely in appearance, and so he winked at her.

  She made that tsking sound she was wont to make around him and said, “Don’t waste your charms on me, Viking.”

  “Why? Dost deem yourself untemptable?”

  “Hah! You know very well that I can be tempted.”

  He smiled then, inordinately pleased. Why, he wasn’t sure. He’d never had trouble attracting females, and it was too late for him to claim modesty. But his wife’s admission that he tempted her…ah, it made his heart swell with pride.

  Egil had been following their exchange with interest, his head swiveling from one to the other as he spoke. “Dost want me to leave for a while so you can tup?”

  “What?” Kirstin squealed.

  Hauk just grinned.

  “Can you all stop talking? You’re making my head ache,” Bjorn said, then, remarkably, fell right back to sleep, snoring softly.

  They all laughed then.

  “’Tis good to hear you laugh, wife,” Hauk said. “You know, you are always talking about the future in somber tones. Does nothing funny happen there?”

  “Oh, lots of things would be funny to you. Let me think…okay, physical exercise is very important in modern times. Lots of people, men and women, jog every day. Jogging means running, not running from something or toward something, just running. In fact, dedicated athletes often jog for several miles at a time.”

  “Why?” Egil asked.

  “To get in better shape, or for some because they get a high from it, a rush of pleasure.”

  “Barmy,” Egil concluded.

  “What else?” Hauk asked.

  “Did I mention that children go to school for at least twelve years? Some, sixteen or twenty years if they choose some particular career path.”

  “Whaaat?” Bjorn quaked out. Apparently he’d awakened. “I had a priest teacher for three years and he nigh made my head burst with megrims.”

  Kirstin smiled kindly at Bjorn, then went on, “Vikings have skalds to entertain you in your great halls. We have lots of kinds of entertainment, but one of them comes from comedians, whose sole job is to make people laugh. They tell jokes.”

  “Like a jester?” Egil inquired.

  “Not quite. A jester plays a fool in colorful clothing with a donkey-ears cap. They sing bawdy or mocking songs. Perform magic. Play instruments. Juggle. Whereas, the modern comedian just tells jokes, for the most part. Some of them are extremely wealthy.”

  “From making jests?” Egil scoffed.

  Kirstin nodded.

  “Such as?” Hauk was peeling a rather wilted apple he’d brought up with the noon meal and was cutting it into slices, some of which he offered to Bjorn.

  “I thought you’d never ask,” Kirstin said, smirking at him. “What do you call a pony with a cough?” She paused and answered, “A little horse.”

  Hauk just raised his eyebrows.

  “Okay, how about this one? Why
did the skeleton go to the feast alone? Don’t know? Because he had no body to go with him.”

  She giggled, enjoying her own jokes.

  “Oooh, this one is a favorite of my nephews and nieces. What did one egg say to the other? Well, eggs-cuse me!”

  When no one laughed, she tried to explain, “Eggs/ex…get it?”

  “We got it, but it’s just not funny.”

  “How about…why doesn’t anyone want to shear a crazy…um, demented sheep? Because it’s a baaaaaa-d idea.”

  “What’s bad is your idea of humor,” Egil said, but he was grinning.

  “How about some knock-knock jokes, then?”

  “How about I knock you over your fool head?”

  “You wouldn’t!”

  “You are correct. I wouldn’t. But that does not mean I am not tempted.”

  “So, you don’t appreciate my attempt at basic jokes and you don’t want knock-knocks…bet you wouldn’t go for slapstick, either. No, I don’t mean slapping two sticks together. Jeesh! I give up! Okay, forget about modern jokes then. You asked what things are amusing in the future. Well, some of our music would seem funny to you. In fact, the most popular is called rock and roll music. But especially funny is country music, which my brother Torolf and his buddies love.” She hummed, then sang the words to a song called “Achy Breaky Heart” and another about badonkadonks, which was apparently a modern name for women’s arses.

  Even Bjorn rose slightly from his bed to laugh at that one, although, unlike him and Egil, Bjorn hadn’t yet heard her tales of time travel. He just thought she was speaking of some far-off country she came from.

  Then there’s one called “Who Let the Dogs Out?”

  When she made dog barking sounds, he and Egil and Bjorn just stared at her.

  “Okay, speaking of dogs…here’s something that you might find comical. People keep dogs as pets in their homes in the future, but they take them outside on leashes for walks to do their business. Then they pick up their poop in plastic sacks and carry it home for disposal.”

  “You are making this all up,” Hauk said. “No man…no Viking man…would ever do that.”

  “Wanna bet?” she countered. But then, she seemed to come to some conclusion. “Listen, it’s six o’clock already,” she said, glancing at the gold band on her wrist which she claimed told all the hours and minutes and seconds of the day. “Why don’t you two go to the hall and celebrate the victory with your friends, enjoy a few yucks with the boys. I can stay with Bjorn. Suffice it to say, if there’s a problem, I can come for you.”

  “Yucks? Is that the same as fucks?” Egil asked, and then, at Kirstin’s gasp of affront, he whispered to Hauk, loud enough for all to hear, “She is barmy.”

  “I like her, probably because I like dogs,” Bjorn said, making a barking noise, but then clutching at his gut for the pain that small movement caused.

  “At least someone appreciates me,” she said with an exaggerated woeful expression on her face.

  Hauk smiled. “Are you sure you don’t want to come to the hall, to share a cup of mead? Egil can keep watch over Bjorn.”

  “Not on your life! Me in a hall full of drinking men? I don’t think so!”

  She was probably right. Besides, Hauk wasn’t sure he wanted her so close to the spot where her “time travel” or whatever the hell it was, had begun. There were too many questions to be answered before she disappeared. At least, he told himself that’s why he didn’t want to risk losing her.

  “You could always tell the crowd one of your jokes,” Hauk teased. “Otherwise, we will be forced to listen to the skald compose praise-poems to Sweyn’s heroics.”

  “Thanks, but no thanks.”

  Hauk left with Egil a short time later. They spent several hours in the hall, imbibing the Saxon royal ale, and sharing good cheer with the ten men of his shiphird who had taken part in the battle and still remained. More than once he’d glared at comrades-in-arms who tried to make jests about his time living in a cage. Hauk liked to laugh like any Viking, who enjoyed humor, even when at their expense, but enough was enough on the cage jests.

  After a while and much imbibing of ale, the men in the hall, including him and Hauk, accepted their share of the spoils, which were not overly generous in their case since they were not part of Sweyn’s regular army and had only joined the fight late in the day. Hauk got two gold plates, several ells of rich samite cloth, a sable-lined cape, and a handful of loose gems. To Sweyn’s amusement, Hauk also grabbed several gowns for Kirstin and a pair of lady’s half boots. Egil got a small pouch of gold coins. Each of the twenty Haukshire shiphird got a silver arm ring each. The meagerness of their reward wasn’t worth an argument, Hauk decided. Besides, they’d taken the castellan’s chest without Sweyn’s knowledge. And both Egil and Hauk’s seamen, along with many other Vikings, had done some scavenging on the battlefield afore Sweyn put a halt to that activity.

  Normally, Hauk would have enjoyed this fellowship with his comrades-in-arms, but tonight, everything seemed too loud, the food too greasy, and the boasting too embellished. And way too much farting and belching, even for his less than refined tastes. He directed all but two of his men to return to Jorvik on the morrow and prepare the ship for eventual voyage back to the Norselands.

  Sweyn stopped him when he was about to leave the hall. “You are going so early to your bed furs? What is amiss? Are you displeased?” Sweyn’s breath was heavy with drink and his tone combative. Like many Vikings when drukkinn, he was looking for a good fight.

  Well, Hauk wasn’t in the mood to give it to him. “The company is fine. The disbursement of treasure satisfies me. I am just overtired. And I need to check on my son who is wounded.”

  “Ah, I forgot,” Sweyn said. “I will give him my personal thanks first chance I get.”

  Hauk added, “Keep in mind, I have been living in a cage for nigh on six months. Spending more time in this hall provides bad memories.”

  “Ah, I forgot that too,” Sweyn said with a big grin. “I know, let us go burn the thing down.”

  “You might very well catch the whole castle afire.”

  “Well, then, perchance one of our Saxon prisoners would like to reside within the cage. What think you, Hauk?”

  “If King Aethaelred or one of his nobles were about, I would agree, but a housecarl of lower rank…? Nay. Not worth the bother.”

  On those words he began to walk away and noticed that Sweyn’s attention was already diverted to a Saxon serving maid who’d caught his eye. Best Sweyn be careful, or another part of his body would catch something. Hauk had noticed from his cage that this particular wench bedded many men, several in one night.

  When he got back to his bedchamber, he found Kirstin, fully dressed except for her shoes, curled up on the castellan’s fine wool cloak which she’d spread out on the rushes. A quick check of Bjorn found him soundly asleep, drool dribbling from the side of his open mouth, due to the poppy juice, no doubt, which they were weaning him from, but not yet totally.

  Hauk toed off his half boots, undid his belt, and pulled his tunic up and over his head, leaving him bare-chested but with his braies still on. He considered taking those off, too, then decided to leave them on. With a wide yawn, he sank down to the cloak and pulled his wife into his side, with her head resting on his shoulder and his arm around her back. With his free hand, he pulled the edges of the cloak over them both.

  He sighed then, feeling at utter peace for the first time since he couldn’t recall when. Perhaps since before he’d heard of Bjorn’s presumed death. Mayhap it was a sign of his getting older. Under normal circumstances, he would be enjoying himself with heavy drinking and boisterous bedplay after a battle. He kissed the top of his wife’s head…and sighed again.

  He could not lose her.

  Holy Thor! When had he turned into such a weakling? He would not lose her. All he needed was a plan.

  An idea came unbidden to him then, and he grinned.

  Dare I do such
?

  Dare I not?

  She will be so peeved with me.

  When is she not peeved with me?

  Having made a fateful decision, he allowed himself to succumb to sleep.

  The voice in his head chuckled and pronounced, Man plans. God laughs.

  Huh? he said, but got no answer; so, once again he relaxed his body into sleep. The next moment he was aware of Egil was shaking him and shouting, “Master, wake up! Oooh, this is bad! Hurry! Wake up!”

  He shot to a sitting position, knocking Kirstin to the side. Apparently she’d been wrapped around him in their joint slumber.

  “What? What is it?” Hauk jumped to his feet, grabbing for a weapon, looking behind Egil to see if he’d been followed by some villains looking for trouble.

  Egil had a wall torch in his hand, which he must have used to light his way back to the bedchamber. He was waving it about as he explained hysterically, “I jist got back and I suspected there was something wrong when the boy was rolling about on his bed. So, I decided to check on him afore I lay meself down. That’s when I—”

  Hauk put up a halting hand. He had no idea what Egil was blathering about, except that his distress seemed to be related to Bjorn, not some troublemakers. He immediately moved over to the pallet, and he didn’t need the light from Egil’s torch to see what the problem was.

  His son was burning up with fever.

  Chapter 12

  Beware lusty men with plans…

  For the next two days, all their efforts…hers, Hauk’s, and Egil’s…were concentrated on Bjorn and reducing his fever. Finally, they succeeded, but Bjorn was so weak he could only sit up for moments at a time, and he slept on and off through the day and night, even though they’d reduced the amount they gave him of the so-called poppy juice. Very potent! Now would be the time when her hearty chicken soup would come in handy to strengthen the boy. Unfortunately, Kirstin hadn’t been able to find the ingredients in her explorations of the castle, and, frankly, she couldn’t imagine cooking in the chaos that reigned in the castle kitchen, where Saxon servants had been turned into Viking thralls. She would have been more comfortable cooking over an open fire out by the moat.