The Temperate Warrior

by Renee Vincent

  When she’d heard Gustaf’s voice, after believing for so long that he was dead, she nearly died of shock. The gods had heard her prayers and delivered him to her a second time. How could she be so fortunate now when all her life she’d been countlessly forsaken by them?

  Her wandering thoughts ceased the moment Halldora entered like a gusty storm. Her face held much concern as she laid eyes on the two shivering bodies in the boxbed. She stoked the fire and began rummaging around the shelves, looking through her assorted vials and jars of stones.

  “Do not rush me, Gustaf,” Halldora scolded as she heard his thoughts. “I am doing what I can to help Æsa.”

  “Forget me,” Æsa said, her lower lip quivering. “How is the babe?”

  “You need to eat, child. A brew of wormwood, golden rod, and hop will ease your nausea.”

  She felt Gustaf sigh in frustration. “Halldora.”

  “Hold your tongue, warrior. I cannot think when you are badgering me with your complaints and worries. Trust in me, for once.” She took the herbs she had in store and measured them carefully before putting them into a mortar made of wood. Using a pestle, she crushed the ingredients then tapped them out on a thin sheet of cheesecloth. She tied it up and placed the filtered bag into a pot of steaming water at the fire.

  Gustaf seemed to have lost his patience. “Halldora, please—the babe. How does my son fair?”

  Halldora turned from the fire in agitation. “The babe’s heart is weak.”

  “Then do something!” Gustaf snapped.

  “I am, you overgrown stubborn ox.” She retrieved a smooth reddish stone from one of her jars and tied a string around it. She lifted the fur at Æsa’s stomach and placed her hands upon her belly. Halldora cringed and made haste to fasten the rock to Æsa’s thigh.

  “What is that?” Gustaf asked suspiciously, blocking Halldora with his hand across her leg.

  “’Tis a jasper stone.”

  “My Æsa is not in need of pretty jewelry.”

  “You want your son to be born before ’tis time?” Halldora barked. “Your Æsa’s womb contracts as we speak. The stone will ease her labor. Now remove your hand.”

  “Gustaf, please,” Æsa encouraged. “Let her do what she must.”

  Reluctantly, Gustaf allowed the old woman access, but continued to stare at her. Æsa couldn’t see the look he was giving the seið-kona, but knew he watched her every move with a keen eye.

  “You blame me for this, witch, do you not?”

  Halldora rolled her eyes. “You did all you could. Now let me do what I do best.” She reached up and felt Æsa’s neck, face, and chest. “Your body heat is not aiding her enough. Get dressed and fetch me a cauldron of hot water.”

  “I am not leaving her.”

  “You will do as I say, Gustaf.”

  The look Halldora flashed him was not one that any intelligent man would ignore. No one really knew what the frail old woman was capable of when it came to her talents, but then again, no one in their right mind would dare provoke her. Gustaf was no different.

  With a huff, he sat up and waited for Halldora to turn away. “Would it be too much to ask for a little privacy?”

  Halldora waved him off. “You forget I have seen all there is to see when I began preparing your body for the Otherworld. I am certain your precious manhood still resembles a flaccid eel. Now, be off with you.”

  Æsa hid her smile as the two battled with contemptible looks and irksome groans. Gustaf tore himself from the boxbed and drove his limbs back into his clothes, slamming the door behind him.

  Halldora gave Æsa a grin of satisfaction. “My, he is but a stubborn one.”

  Æsa couldn’t argue, but stood up for him nonetheless. “That stubborn man just saved my life.”

  “And we must save this child.” She dipped a ladle into the brewing potion and held it before Æsa’s lips. The potent smell accosted her nose.

  “Drink, lass. For the babe.”

  Æsa sipped the bitter liquid. The acrid taste lingered on her tongue as it flowed down her throat, making her want to vomit anew. After a few more swallows, the nausea seemed to subside.

  She looked at Halldora gratefully. Not just for taking care of her, but for nursing her dying Gustaf back to life.

  “Thank me not, Æsa. Instead, you should thank Gustaf for his strength and courage. A weaker man would have died after what I put him through. You mean everything to him and for that, he will be a suitable husband and father—an overly protective husband and father, I might add.”

  “I would not want him any other way.” Æsa smiled, giving thought to Gustaf holding their newborn son in his arms. It was a pleasant image as her eyelids drooped and, before she could stop the fluttering, she drifted off to sleep.

  ****

  “Æsa,” Gustaf said sweetly, stroking her hair from her face. “Æsa, wake up.”

  Her eyelids lifted heavily, but insisted on closing. He could tell she was utterly exhausted, but he feared her arms and legs were still too cool to the touch.

  Determined to warm her thoroughly, he slipped his arms beneath her and picked her up. Her naked body, bejeweled with a single stone around her thigh, lay draped across his arms and he couldn’t help but think the worst.

  “Please, Æsa, open your eyes.”

  Again her eyes fluttered. Her hand touched his bare chest and a tiny smile inched up in one corner of her mouth. “Your skin is warm.”

  “And yours is not.”

  He carried her over to a large caldron of steaming water and stepped inside. Glorious heat surrounded his aching calves, then his thighs as he lowered himself. Æsa stirred as they receded into the bath together, the sudden warmth taking her breath away. She clung to him at first, as if it were painful to endure, but slowly relaxed upon his lap. Her head fell against his chest and her arms snuggled around his lower back.

  Totally submerged, Gustaf held her tired, weakened body in a tight embrace. He didn’t care that his stomach growled with hunger or that his body craved sleep. All that concerned him was his dearest Æsa and the son she carried in her womb. She couldn’t lose this baby. She just couldn’t.

  “Where is Halldora?” Æsa asked in a delicate whisper.

  “I sent her away.”

  Æsa’s breath brushed passed his wet skin as if she attempted to laugh. “And she allowed it?”

  “I threatened to warm you the way a man knows best.”

  “Surely, Halldora saw your true thoughts on the matter.”

  “Who said ‘twas not in my thoughts? When it comes to you, love, ‘tis not difficult to imagine my body joined with yours at any given moment.”

  He felt her hand shove him playfully. “Your difficulty would be to convince my body of such an act. I lack the strength to even think of it.”

  “Nor the strength to fight me off, I would imagine.”

  Her cute little giggle lifted his spirits. Truth be told, he lacked the energy to do much more than hold her in his arms, but it was his overactive imagination that kept the old woman away, and that suited him just fine.

  “How do you feel?” he finally asked. “Can you eat?”

  “I can try.”

  “’Twould give me hope if you would.” He reached across the caldron and took the ladle that rested in a pot of boiled shallots, cabbage, and leftover bear meat. He held the savory stew to her lips. “Eat, Æsa. Come on.”

  In small sips, she took in the broth. He knew she was doing all she could to tolerate the assault of food in her system. It pleased him when she slowly consumed about three spoonfuls. In between helping her, he devoured some of the warm, meaty soup until they each had their fill. If Halldora was anything, she was a good cook.

  With his hunger finally satiated, he tossed the wooden utensil back into the pot and let his head rest against the rim of the caldron. Lost in his thoughts, he absently cupped handfuls of oil-scented water over her shoulder.

  “What worries you, m’lord?”

  “Many
things,” he admitted.

  She sighed and snuggled closer. “Talk to me, Gustaf.”

  He closed his eyes and adjusted his arms around her. “I worry that too much strain has been placed on our son. Halldora says he fights to live.”

  “And that he will,” Æsa reassured. “He is a strong warrior like his father. I can feel it. But the baby is not all that afflicts your thoughts, is it?”

  Gustaf grumbled. He didn’t like that Æsa, even in her tired state, could sense his innermost worries. He would rather have kept them to himself. “Winter has come, which means we must wait out the season before sailing to Inis Mór.”

  “And?”

  “And I know I said I want to marry you amongst my family, but I refuse to let my son be born a bastard. If necessary, I will marry you here.”

  Æsa’s hand came out of the water and caressed his face. Her brilliant eyes regarded him with sympathy and compassion. “You needn’t worry, Gustaf. The babe is not due until late spring. We shall sail for Inis Mór at the first sign of winter breaking, pending no complications, of course.”

  “That is what concerns me most, Æsa. From the time we first met, we have been allotted naught but complications.” Gustaf turned his face away, unable to endure the look of optimism in her eyes. “I almost lost you. I know not what I would have done had something happened to you.”

  Æsa cupped his face. “I thought I lost you as well. But we are here—together. Safe in each other’s arms, because of your bravery. You saved us, Gustaf. Remember that.”

  He tried to hold fast to that thought, but whenever he recalled how he’d saved Æsa, Ásmundr’s ugly face tainted his otherwise rewarding vision. He hated that this man had been able to outwit and outfight him. In the past, not many men lived to brag about it. Of those, it bothered him most that Ásmundr, the son of the man who killed his own father, could rightly boast that he once conquered the eldest warrior son of Rælik.

  His head hurt from the regrets he retained, despite his victory. He closed his eyes and let his head fall back again. “Enough talk. I just want to hold you.” He drew in a long breath and released it. “Oh, Æsa, you are all I need in this world. Just you.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Five months later

  Early spring, 924 A.D.

  An unseasonably warm wind blew off the Atlantic, melting the snow and ice on the lowlands. Budding vegetation blossomed under the morning sun. Shimmering dew clung to the fresh green foliage. It was a beautiful day to start a journey, and a promising life of peace and tranquility awaited Gustaf and Æsa as they made their way south to Oslofjord through the petty kingdom of Viken.

  All of Gustaf’s men, Halldora, Helga, Jorgen’s two sons and several loyal servants accompanied them to the bay. The small longship that had been built for Gustaf’s journey into the Otherworld, was now going to be utilized to sail him and Æsa to Inis Mór. Constructed of heavy oak, the vessel was dragged across the land beneath rolling timbers manned by the thralls.

  Sleds pulled by horses carried extravagant marriage gifts, newly weaved clothing, chests of oils, spices, and jewelry, and food reserves. The generosity among the villagers was incomprehensible as they offered masses of wares upon their departing friends.

  It was difficult for Gustaf to accept their overabundance of charity, but he didn’t put up much of a fight for it was considered rude and offensive to deny the openhandedness of others. He could only look back at the caravan of cargo trailing behind him and feel blessed to have known such hospitable people. If not for his family that awaited his return on Inis Mór, he would be content to stay and raise his children among them.

  Ignoring the tug on his heart, Gustaf continued to lead his horse down the grassy slope. He would have preferred to be mounted behind Æsa, but with the size of her belly swollen with child, there was no room in the saddle to accommodate them both.

  Once they reached the bottom, the longship was placed in the water and loaded. Extra care had been taken to balance the cargo within the hull to ensure the vessel wouldn’t capsize once the crew boarded. Chests, doubling as benches, lined each side of the boat where an equal division of Gustaf’s men would man the oars. A solid pine mast lay at their feet until conditions were right for raising the sail on the open sea. Confirming the buoyancy of the ship, six slender oars were slotted into the oarholes and the rigging secured. Their longship, adorned with intricate carvings along the gunwales and prow, sat proudly equipped and adrift on the shoreline as the water lapped against its underbelly.

  Gustaf gazed at his well-crafted ship, his seven loyal men ready to cast away with him as they’d done so many times before. A sense of nostalgia and pride overtook him. They were brothers by oath and warriors by blood. He could think of no better friends than those who aimed to see him start his newfound life as a future husband and father.

  He turned to Æsa and lifted her from the horse’s back. Setting her on her feet, he held her close and unconsciously cradled her protruding belly with his hand. “Are you certain you are ready for this?”

  “If you are asking me if I am ready to meet your family at last and take you as my husband, then aye.” She stretched her aching back as she braced herself with his forearm. “Besides, the sooner we marry, the sooner I can birth this temperamental boy. I swear he will kick and scream his way out.”

  Gustaf laughed and slid his hand down her thigh until he found the jasper stone Halldora had fastened to her leg many months ago. “You keep him in there for a little while longer, you hear?”

  “As best I can,” Æsa groaned.

  He picked her up and carried her to the side of the longship, where Jørgen and his sons were gathered together, exchanging words and hearty embraces. Gustaf handed her to Snorri and waited until he set her safely on the chest near the steerboard before he turned to say his own farewells.

  Ulfr met him halfway with a large satchel across his arms, Ketill behind him. Gustaf examined how neatly it was secured with leather bounds. “What is this?”

  “’Tis a gift from Ketill and myself,” Ulfr explained. “But you must promise not to open it until after the birth of your son.”

  Gustaf smiled. “If I must.”

  Ketill stepped forward and dropped a heavy hand upon Gustaf’s shoulder. “It has been an honor, m’lord—to hunt and to take up arms with you. Know that you will always be welcome amongst us, son of Rælik.”

  “That means a great deal to me.” Gustaf glanced at Halldora and Helga waiting in the distance. “Watch over them as you have always done. That is all I ask.”

  “Of course.”

  He noticed the tinge of sadness in the pair of sons’ faces, knowing their father was leaving them again. “Your father will return before the summer solstice. I give you my word.” He gave each strapping lad a vigorous embrace and made his way toward the two women who insisted on seeing them off.

  He took Helga’s hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “Øyven will be back before you know it. This I swear.” He could sense, as she kept glancing over his shoulder, that she was most eager to say a personal goodbye to the handsome warrior. “Go on. Say your farewells.”

  Helga, in a fit of excitement, sprinted down the hill toward the ship. He watched as Øyven leapt from the gunwale and ran to meet her, throwing his arms around her dainty body.

  When Gustaf looked back at Halldora, he was surprised to see the old woman smiling instead of grimacing. “‘Tis a good match,” he asserted.

  Halldora gave him a sideways glance. “You need not convince me, Gustaf. I know well the happiness Øyven has brought my granddaughter.”

  “‘Tis nigh killing you, is it not?”

  “What?”

  “That you cannot hear what they are thinking or saying to each other right now.”

  “Taunt me not, warrior.”

  Gustaf tugged the old woman into his arms and hugged her. “It does you good to step into a world blind and deaf to other’s emotions from time to time. Cherish the
silence whilst you have it.”

  “I assure you ‘tis nice to have reprieve from your lustful thoughts.”

  “Serves you right, Halldora. I told you many times to stay out of my head, lest you know what an aroused man suffers on a daily basis when he has a temptress within reach.”

  Halldora shook her head and rolled her eyes. “Be off with you.”

  “You are going to miss me,” Gustaf interjected playfully as he strolled toward the ship. He knew the witch wanted to disagree, but the forced grin on her thin lips proved she missed him already.

  Like a lively lad whose enthusiasm got the better of him, Gustaf jogged passed Øyven and slapped him on the back, interrupting his private conversation with Helga. “With or without you.”

  “I am coming,” Øyven said. He gazed one last time into Helga’s beautiful eyes. “I will return.”

  Helga smiled shyly. “I will wait for you. And worry not. I will take proper care of your falcon.”

  He cupped her hands in his. “I have no doubts.”

  Helga wiped away a falling tear and took out a scabbard and sword from within her cloak. She traced her fingers along the leather sheath, eyeing the shiny silver hilt decorated with amber stones extending beyond the casing. “I want you to have this. ‘Twas my father’s.”

  Øyven’s eyes dropped to the beautiful weapon. “I cannot accept such a gift.”

  “You will. I insist.” She looked down at her feet nervously. “I must know you are safe. Please, take it.”

  Øyven grasped the weapon reverently in both hands and slid the blade halfway out, inspecting the craftsmanship. He sheathed it in haste and secured it at his hip. “I am not worthy to possess your father’s sword, but I am honored nonetheless.”

  Before he could say more, Helga reached up on tiptoes and planted a quick kiss on his lips. She gathered her skirts and ran back toward her grandmother.

  Øyven stood there in shock. He touched his mouth and smiled, the feel of her kiss lingering as he watched her climb the hill.

  Snorri cleared his throat purposefully loud from the nearby ship, gaining the young man’s attention. Upon seeing the longship floating out to sea, Øyven rushed to catch up. Tramping through ankle-high waters, he hoisted himself over the side and fell awkwardly to his knees. He ignored the assault of jests thrown about the hull and stared at the only woman who’d enchanted his heart.