by Barry Sadler
Glam, on the other hand, was having problems of his own. His latest paramour was trying her best to get him married and he wasn't having any of it, so she had cut him off. Sulking over his lack of ability to change the lady's mind, he did his usual number and got blind staggering drunk and wrecked the tavern. It took seven of Casca's largest warriors to haul him off when they responded to the call for help from the terrified innkeeper.
Glam was properly remorseful the next day for the outrages he had performed on the hapless innkeeper, and his three serving wenches who were so sore that they wouldn't be able to serve anyone else for at least two days. However, no one could say that Glam wasn't a fair man and he made proper restitution by presenting the innkeeper with two kegs of wine and one of beer, which of course he borrowed from the hold's cellars. He helped his throbbing head by draining off at least a quarter of another keg. Burping, he made a mental note to tell Casca to put the stuff on his bill. But, as he knew, he was dread fully absentminded and would probably forget before nightfall. But then, it was the thought that counted, wasn't it?
Glam stumbled his way upstairs to the main hall from the cellars to see if he could get anything to eat when he met Sifrit and conned him into going back into the village with him for another round. He complained all the way about his latest ladylove's lack of understanding and compassion for a high-spirited eagle such as himself.
Sifrit liked the hulk, but personally thought that Glam was carrying things a little too far and thought at his age that he should start to settle down and leave the hell-raising to the younger men. Glam snorted so hard when Sifrit suggested this that he almost sucked his mustache up his own nostrils when he inhaled his next breath.
"Sifrit, I am wounded that you would even think of making such an observation. Leave it to the younger men indeed! Why, the mewling things barely can figure out how to mount a dead horse, much less a lively wench. No! It is my duty to set an example for the young to follow and emulate. Not that any of them could ever come close to matching my abilities with wenches or the bottle. But still, the darling little boys have to have some goals in life, don't they?"
Sifrit sighed deeply. There was no way to get through that bony mass that served Glam for a head and reach his brain with any kind of logic. Sifrit decided that he would just have to play dirty. After all, it was for Glam's own good. The bear was bound to kill himself one day if he wasn't taken in by a firm hand. Sifrit smiled to himself as he helped Glam down a gallon of mead in record time. And he knew just the person to do it. Poor Glam.
Chapter Sixteen
All this time, Glam had been happy for Casca and Lida, but still, he missed not having the free life and the togetherness that they had given up with Casca's marriage, although, he felt he personally had not forfeited as much as Casca. He still haunted the taverns and countryside, hopping into the sack, a pile of hay, or a grassy field with every willing - and some not so willing - maiden. No! By Thor's great hammer Mjolnir, the married life was not for him! It would be a crime to deprive the women of the world of their greatest experience, and selfish beyond reason to restrict himself to just one female when he could satisfy the dreams of dozens.
No! By the holy Aesir, it was his duty to spread his seed among the tribes and improve the bloodlines of the race. And Glam was not a selfish man.
Farmers took to locking up their daughters, wives, and maiden aunts when word got out that Glam was in the region.
It was commonly believed that if Glam's head were ever split open to expose his innards, there would be no brain there - only one giant, female sexual organ. For surely that was all he ever seemed to have on his mind.
While on the prowl, Glam had caught sight of a sweet young thing with hair long enough to drown in and thighs that looked strong enough to crack the ribs of a horse. Whenever he came close or tried to talk to her, she refused to listen to his promises of unequaled pleasure that would fill her nights forever with fond remembrances.
Asking around, he found out that she had come from a neighboring village and was spending the summer with friends of her family. She appeared to be about twenty, well over the age for marriage and, Glam figured, no wonder! For if she had refused his advances, the girl had to be a little weak-minded. But no matter - he wasn't really interested in how smart she was. He just wanted one night in those strong, well-fleshed arms.
Her continued denial of him began to drive Glam insane. He even went off his feed and lost his appetite. He only picked at his food and never ate more than a leg of lamb at any one sitting, washing it down with a gallon of beer. Casca was worried about him, but Sifrit, who'd become Glam's boon drinking companion and wenching friend, told him not to worry. Everything would be all right; he'd personally see to it.
Glam took to following her about, determined to sample the joys he knew she held if only she wouldn't be so stubborn. He even started bathing more frequently after one of the few times that she'd spoken to him she'd referred to him as having the odor of a goat. It took Sifrit to clue him in that he'd been insulted. Glam personally had always liked the smell of goats.
Sifrit tried to tell him to leave the girl alone and pursue easier game, that she was too much for him. Glam paid no heed. It took him the better part of a week to find out her name: Hemming Danesdotter. He liked the sound of it. To Glam, the more she denied him, the greater was his desire for her. In his mind, she was the perfect representation of Nordic womanhood - almost six feet tall with a single blond braid that reached almost to her buttocks, lovely swaying mounds of pleasure that rolled and twitched at the same time when she walked. She had icy lake-blue eyes that he knew he could melt if she would just let him get near enough.
Sifrit's efforts to dissuade him from following her did nothing but increase his determination. Others paid their attentions to Hemming also, but not for long. Whenever they called on her, Glam was always nearby, practicing swings with his two-handed sword. He severed trees with a single blow or tossed his twenty-pound axe in the air, catching and twirling it with one hand as a child would a twig. From the glint in his eye they chose the better part of valor; it seldom took more than that to discourage any callers. Once, when trying to be reasonable with a young warrior caller of Hemming's, he did squeeze the boy's arm a little too hard and broke the bone in his wrist. But he thought anyone that delicate would have been no good for her anyway.
Glam asked Lida to put in a good word for him when he found out that Hemming would be among the guests at the next feast coming up in a week's time. She was to be seated next to him.
For the rest of the time prior to the feast, he was as nervous as a virgin in a whorehouse, especially after he'd gotten a good look at her coming out of the hut of stones where the villagers went for the steam. When she came out, it was early morning with a light mist hanging over the ground. Her hair was undone and hanging loose in a gold, rippling wave. Her thin, flaxen shift was clinging to her damp body, outlining and emphasizing the shape and size of her breasts, which Glam swore rode like two magnificent ramming prows, jutting out straight and firm. It nearly drove him crazy.
When the night of the feast came, Glam nearly outdid himself. He scrubbed his entire body raw, combed his beard and picked the lice from his hair and, following Lida's advice, even cleaned his fingernails. Hemming was a clean woman and, Lida had informed him, she would probably like a clean man. Glam sighed in frustration at the indignities he had to endure in his preparation; but, he thought, maybe it would be worth it.
All were seated at the feast enjoying the food and drink when Hemming made her entrance. Glam almost swallowed his tongue. Her hair was braided about her forehead and intertwined with wild flowers, and her cheeks had a rosy glow of health. Her dress was finer than any he had ever seen, other than the Lady Lida's. It shimmered and flowed on her body when she walked. Cut simply, the dress was of royal blue, hanging almost to the floor, and a girdle of woven silver thread cinched it at her waist. Glam figured that he could almost reach around her waist with
just one of his mutton-sized hands.
Lida whispered to him that she'd heard that the material Hemming was wearing was of pure silk and had come all the way from Rome. Glam whistled between his teeth. He'd heard of the material before and knew that it was worth its weight in gold. Glam's desire knew no bounds. This girl was not only beautiful and desirable; she was also rich.
Sifrit watched with scarcely concealed good humor at his friend's efforts to amuse the girl. Glam had barely touched his food and drank no more than nine or ten horns of wine and a few beers.
Casca was really concerned about him. The night wore on. Bards sang and the minstrels plucked their instruments and blew on reed flutes. Hemming sang a song of love from her homelands; during that, Glam thought he would be unable to restrain himself. As she sang, she stood in the flickering lights of the fireplace and torches. Her body swayed with the words of her song. They were of love and frustration and dealt with how a young man, rejected by the object of his adoration, had finally forced the issue and gone to his ladylove in the night, claiming her against all her protests and, by doing so, had made her love him.
She finished her song and walked with long strides back to sit by Glam, whom she studiously ignored.
By Mjolnir, he thought, she's fit to be a queen herself. She'd even put Freya, the wife of Odin All Father, to shame. He'd almost chewed his beard in half and did lose one part of his mustache, but still she'd refused to speak to him directly.
He was starting to get a little peeved by the time the party ended, and it wasn't until he'd found out that she was staying the night in the hold in one of the guest rooms that he brightened up a little.
So, she liked to sing songs about men who took what they wanted, did she? Sifrit again addressed his old friend. "Glam, old horse, believe me. It would be best if you left her alone. I'm telling you this as a friend and companion. That girl's not for the likes of you. Why don't you just have a keg or two of wine and forget her? There are plenty of willing wenches about."
Glam glared back. "Other wenches? Since she's come here I haven't been able to get turned on even once. She's driving me crazy, but," and he slyly winked, "I'11 teach her a thing or two before this night's over."
Sifrit merely sighed. "I wouldn't try anything if I were you. You don't know what you're letting yourself in for."
Glam snorted. "I'd risk wrestling a snow giant with one hand for just one hour to teach her what a real man is like."
Sifrit patted him on the shoulder. "Well, you can't say I didn't try. Do what you have to, but remember, I warned you. Whatever happens now is all of your own doing."
When the last of the guests had left or had found places to sleep in the hold, Glam stayed by the hearth and waited, letting the last sounds of life fade from the Hall. When he had tried to talk to Hemming before she'd left for her room, she had only looked at him coldly. In the next moment, she flashed him one quick smile, turned her back, and walked away. It drove him mad. What the hell was she trying to do to him? Once the Hall was asleep, Glam made his way silently through the corridors and climbed the steps leading to the guest rooms. He tripped once and cursed softly. A man had evidently passed out on the steps, unable to make it to his room. He moved on, as much like a cat as he was capable of, making no more noise than a herd of cattle on the move.
Looking over his shoulder as he reached her door, he made sure there was no one about. He took out a thin, slender-bladed knife and used it to slide between the planks of the door, raising the inner latch until he could open the door wide enough to slide through. It squeaked once when he closed it behind him, causing his heart to skip a beat or two.
The light coming through the open window bathed the form of Hemming lying beneath the coverlets of her bed. Her hair was again undone and lay as a golden wave about her head and shoulders. She moved in her sleep and one bare globular breast winked at him. By Thor's bouncing balls, she's naked! That's a stroke of luck.
Swiftly, he removed his clothing, cursing under his breath when the thongs, holding his leggings about his calves, refused to come undone. Finally he gave up and decided to just leave them on. Creeping forward on his toes, he resembled a not quite-natural ape. He neared her bed and knelt down, looking at the face of the sleeping woman. There was just a hint of a smile on her face. Was she dreaming of him?
Glam covered her mouth with his hand. "Shhhhhh! I won't hurt you," only to receive a crack across his ear that set his head to ringing. Then teeth bit into his hand and the fight was on.
By the gods, she was strong! They struggled and fought, with her biting and kicking, pulling great gouts of hair from his beard and head, her fingernails digging grooves in the fur hide he called his back.
She fought silently; not a word was spoken as they struggled. His weight atop her, he finally forced her back onto the bed and took another five minutes to maneuver himself between her legs, pinning her so that she couldn't get away.
As gently as he could, he penetrated her. She gave one small gasp of pain as her hymen broke. Glam smiled to himself. Aha! A virgin. Anyone knows a virgin isn't quite right in the head until she gets a proper laying.
Glam thrust deep and Hemming's eyes went wide, the whites showing in the dark as he entered her completely. Gradually, the struggle turned to mutual efforts of pleasure, and she moaned, softly at first, then louder. Soon her legs were wrapped about him and they rode the "Beast with Two Backs" until they both dropped off into a deep sleep of satisfied exhaustion. They slept, her head on his arm and one of his huge hands holding her breast.
Glam twitched in his sleep. Something had pricked his neck. He moved in his slumber, trying to get away from the annoying feeling, only to feel the pricking sensation again. One eye opened, then the other, both focusing at the same time.
He looked up at the long length of shiny, sharpened steel to see the face of Sifrit standing over him holding the sword to his neck. He tried to move away from the sharp tip of it, but Sifrit shook his head, looking sad, and pressed the point into his neck a bit deeper.
Glam choked out in confusion, "What the crap is wrong with you, Sifrit? What are you doing here? And take that damned ugly toothpick away from my throat."
Sifrit again shook his head, as if in regret. "Sorry about this, old boy, but I tried to warn you. You just wouldn't listen." Hemming woke, stretched her arms, and sighed deeply. Seeing Sifrit, she said nothing. She just rolled over and went back to sleep.
Repeating himself, Glam hissed, "What the Hades is wrong with you, Sifrit?"
Sifrit twitched his blade a bit, drawing a drop of blood. "We got a problem, Glam. The girl is my first cousin and she's here under my vowed protection. You know the laws concerning the taking of a woman against her wishes, especially a virgin. We have a blood feud here."
"Blood feud," Glam sputtered. "What do you mean? That I took her against her will? Just ask her."
Sifrit called out Hemming's name and she opened her eyes and smiled. "Good morning, cousin," she yawned.
Sifrit asked her, "Did this animal rape you?"
Hemming touched her hair, putting a stray strand back into place and out of her eyes. Her voice was sweet as honey. "Yes, he did, cousin, and not just once but seven or eight times.
Sifrit whistled between his teeth in admiration. "Well, then," he turned his attention back to Glam. "That about does it, old friend. I am sorry about this, but I don't have any choice in the matter. Honor demands that I run this long piece of cold steel through your neck in order to satisfy my family's honor."
Glam bellowed out, "You wouldn't do that. Now, come on, Sifrit, we've been friends too long for you to act this way. Besides, the girl isn't really hurt. She's been gently used."
Sifrit shook his head in the negative. "Gently used, you say - after seven or eight times? No way. It isn't anything personal, you understand. It's just the law. I'm going to have to kill you now or my family will be dishonored and I can't have that happen."
Glam began to protest loudly, his m
ind confused. Hemming had rolled over on her side and closed her eyes again, apparently oblivious to anything unusual happening around her.
Casca came in through the open door, followed by Lida. He took one look at the situation and. could barely restrain a grin. “What's going on here and what's all the noise about?"
Sifrit informed him of Glam's actions and how his virgin cousin had been repeatedly abused. Hemming smiled her agreement to the tale and took on a wounded expression. She lowered her eyes demurely and wiped away a nonexistent tear.
Glam appealed to Casca and Lida. "Isn't there anything you can do about this, Casca? At least make him take that sword away from my throat and give me a fighting chance."
Casca mused a moment, then asked Lida what the customs and laws of the land had to say about matters like this. They whispered together a moment, and Casca said to Glam, his voice full of regret, "I'm sorry, Glam, but Lida says that Sifrit has every right to kill you and that we can't interfere. You know, I've always made it a policy not to interfere with the local customs. I guess you'll just have to have your throat slit. See you later Sifrit, Hemming," and he turned to leave.
Glam wailed out, "My lady, surely you can help me." Lida hesitated. "There is one way." Glam wailed again, "Anything." Lida was quiet for a second.
"The only way that honor could be satisfied would be for you to marry the girl and become a kinsman to Sifrit." Hemming smiled shyly and under the cover, stroked Glam's thigh.
A light lit up in Glam's mind as the pieces came together. "So that's the way it is. You've trapped me. Some damn fine friends you are."
