Viking

by Fabio

  When Canute finished with his female, he shoved her aside and grinned at Viktor. 'Take her now, jarl."

  "No, thank you," Viktor snapped back.

  "Did you leave your prick with your memory in Valhalla, man?" roared Canute.

  As several other drunken warriors guffawed, Rollo taunted, "Perhaps Loki cut off our jarl's manroot with his beard."

  Viktor made no comment, glowering silently at his obnoxious, inebriated companions. He was thanking the gods that the appalling display of fornication had ceased when the young servant, Iva, ventured in with a small lamb.

  Canute jumped up, his hand on his sword hilt. " Tis time for the sacrifice, jarl, and to drink our toast to Odin."

  As an appalled Viktor lurched to his feet, the other warriors rose solemnly. Iva placed the pitifully bleating lamb into Canute's arms.

  Watching Canute carry the lamb to the table, set it down, then unsheathe and raise his sword, Viktor felt the color drain from his face. "You are not going to kill that lamb!" he protested.

  While Canute hesitated, scowling, Svein explained. "Jarl, we must make a sacrifice to Odin for returning you to our fold, else the All-Father will be displeased."

  "You are not going to please Odin by slaughtering a helpless, innocent lamb," Viktor retorted. "Furthermore, I will not allow it."

  As the other warriors glanced at one another in bemusement, Canute snorted his own contempt. "Our jarl has returned from the dead with the spirit of a woman."

  At this blatant insult, the other warriors grew tense and hushed, and an enraged Svein hauled out his sword and pointed it toward Canute. "Insult our jarl again, son of Loki," he yelled, "and I will dispatch you to Hel."

  With a disgusted curse, Canute sheathed his sword and grabbed the lamb. He swept around the table and shoved the bleating animal into Viktor's arms. " 'Tis true," he said with biting cynicism. "We are all well aware that King Viktor is valiant no more. Our jarl prefers the company of a lamb to the company of a woman."

  Canute retreated to the laughter of all the other warriors save for a white-faced Svein and an openly anxious Ottar. Viktor realized that what little respect he had earned from his men was rapidly crumbling, yet he would not see a helpless animal butchered just to increase his own esteem with his warriors. Holding the lamb—which still quivered and bleated, as if it sensed its pending, terrible fate—he regarded ^the entire company sternly and unflinchingly. Maybe he could use the superstitions of these men to turn the tables, he mused.

  "I learned much while I was in Valhalla," he told the others while petting the lamb to calm it. "I learned to respect all of God's creatures."

  "What is this 'God?' demanded a fiercely scowling Rollo. "Do not tell us our jarl has returned from Valhalla a Christian?"

  The men shouted jeers.

  Viktor did not waver. Once the taunts had subsided, he continued to speak slowly and vehemently. "Even Christians must be respected, as well as all things created by the All-Father. In Valhalla, I learned that Odin is no longer pleased with animal or human sacrifices."

  The others grumbled among themselves and glanced around in uncertainty.

  "Then what does Odin desire from us, jarl, if not a sacrifice?" Rollo asked.

  "A poem," Viktor quickly improvised. "And a solemn toast to mark my return."

  The warriors considered this in frowning silence; then Svein grabbed Quigley by his tunic and said gruffly, "Compose a poem, skald, or know the displeasure of your master."

  The dark-eyed, bushy-browed little Irishman smiled nervously and came forward to stand near Viktor. He began spilling out several stanzas of verse as the warriors listened in reverent silence:

  Our great King Viktor

  In glory slain.

  Plucked from the World Tree

  Defending his peoples,

  Along Bifrost is sent

  To dwell with the Valkyries

  To feast by Odin's side.

  And now the All-Father in his wisdom

  Is pleased to grant

  life anew

  To our courageous jarl

  We welcome King Viktor

  Back from the halls of the dead

  To lead his kinsmen to triumph anew

  At Midgard's gates.

  May all give thanks to Odin.

  As the skald finished, the warriors lifted their oxhorns for the solemn toast, several of them calling out, "Hear, hear!" Shifting the lamb to one arm as he took a sip of mead, Viktor was beginning to feel as if the crisis had been averted when suddenly he saw Canute grab Iva and carry the slave to a bench. The thrall did not resist as Canute settled her on his lap, but her eyes were bright with terror as she turned her young, stricken face to silently beseech her master.

  Pausing only to dump the lamb into the arms of the astonished skald, Viktor rushed over to confront Canute. "Release the female at once."

  Canute, who was preparing to bury his face in the slave's bosom, scowled up at Viktor. His features were florid with drink, his voice ugly with belligerence. "What say you, jarl?"

  "I say let the slave go."

  Canute toyed with a copper brooch on Iva's shoulder and spoke with contempt. "Not until I take my ease with her."

  "You have already satisfied your lust with a willing woman," Viktor argued. "Why force yourself on Iva? Can you not see that she is terrified?"

  Canute only grinned. "Yea, she trembles like a fearful little sheep, but I will have her docile as a lamb in no time."

  Behind them, several warriors laughed ribaldly, the lamb bleated, and Viktor's wolves growled as they, too, picked up on the tension. Still Canute held the wench captive.

  'This is wrong," Viktor protested. "Iva is barely grown."

  This time Rollo spoke up behind them. "You speak in error, jarl. The female is sixteen, well past the age when any Viking woman may be taken as wife, and any slave as concubine."

  Viktor turned to face down the others. "Then there will have to be some changes around here."

  The men grumbled to themselves and eyed their jarl with resentment.

  "Yea," mocked Canute from behind Viktor, "we can all use a new king, one with the courage of a lion and not the cowardice of a lamb."

  This diatribe brought murmurs of alarm from the men. Svein rose, again wielding his sword, and yelled at Canute, "I warned you not to insult our jarl, son of Hel!"

  New sounds of distress filtered through the ranks. But even as Svein rushed over to defend his jarl, Viktor held up a hand to stay him. "I will handle this, my blood brother." He turned back to Canute and spoke with barely repressed violence. "I said, let the wench go."

  Canute snorted in disdain. "Is our jarl too much of a coward to watch me bed her?" He reached for the female's skirts.

  Viktor's hands restrained Canute's before the latter could budge the hem of the slave's skirts even an inch. His eyes guttered with rage. "You will release her now, you pigheaded bastard!"

  As the wolves again growled menacingly in the background, an enraged Canute shoved the girl aside. Iva threw Viktor a grateful glance and hurried off.

  With an enraged roar, Canute staggered up to confront his jarl. "You would deny me the hospitality of your house?"

  "I will deny you the right to rape a frightened sixteen-year-old."

  From the table young Ottar spoke up. "King Viktor is right. If the female is not willing, she should not be forced."

  Still furious, Canute yanked his sword from its scabbard and pointed it at Viktor, while the other warriors watched with mingled horror and fascination. His single eye glittered with fury as he sneered, "And I say I shall have her, or you will eat my broadsword, Viktor the Valiant."

  The two men stood tensely confronting each other, Canute with his sword raised, Viktor with his hand on the hilt of his own weapon. Then, even as the drunken giant would have charged, inspiration, however feeble and illogical, struck Viktor.

  'Tell me how you lost your eye," he said.

  For a moment Canute merely stared at h
is jarl, appearing both disarmed and confused. From behind them, the other men began to laugh, rendering Canute more befuddled than ever.

  From the ranks Orm called out, "Yea, Canute—tell us the tale."

  " 'Tis the saga we all love best!" Rollo added.

  As the excruciating seconds trickled by, several other warriors encouraged Canute with, comments of their own.

  Viktor glanced back at Canute and realized his request had proved a brilliant diversion, for suddenly even the volatile giant threw back his head and laughed. A moment later, Canute replaced his sword in its scabbard and faced his jarl with a broad grin, as if the life-and-death confrontation of the previous seconds had never occurred.

  "Why, I battled a polar bear on an ice floe that drifted down from the North Country," he related proudly.

  "Yea, Canute, tell us, pray!" yelled Ottar.

  'The fearsome beast clawed out my eye before I slew her. I recovered my eye and would have replaced it when we glided ashore."

  "Yea—now tell the best part!" shouted Orm.

  "But Loki was about making his mischief, disguised as a raven. He stoke my eye and flew off, hiding it in the well of wisdom with the All-Father's eye."

  As all the warriors cheered, Viktor clapped a hand on Canute's shoulder. "A splendid tale, my friend."

  Svein joined in with, "Yea, Canute has the heart of a dragon."

  "And the courage of Thor!" added Orm.

  "Let us all toast to his bravery," said Viktor.

  In the end, Canute's pride and arrogance were his undoing, for he was pleased to gloat, strut about, and accept the accolades of the other warriors as they saluted his feat. Once everyone was again settled down, swilling mead, Viktor heaved a huge sigh of relief. Never underestimate the power of a good story, he thought wryly, and filed that bit of wisdom away to use another day.

  Afterward, a jovial climate prevailed as the men followed up on Canute's triumph with tall tales of their own. Several of the warriors related sagas of bravery in battle, embellishing the tales, as Canute had, with bits of mythology. When Viktor's turn came, he spun his own fantasy about his brief hours in Valhalla, telling of how he had kissed all the Valkyries and melted their warrior-woman hearts, and how he had outdone the mighty glutton Thor by single-handedly eating three whole oxen while at Odin's table, and how, while traveling back down the Rainbow Bridge, he had battled three trolls and an ogress with more than a hundred heads. His men listened with expressions of awe and reverence, occasionally making fascinated comments.

  By the time the gathering was starting to break up in the wee hours, the warriors were glassy-eyed from many rounds of mead and smiling with fond memories of the storytelling. It was then that a distraught-looking Helga abruptly burst into the dining hall. Viktor noted that she appeared quite disheveled, her clothing rumpled and bits of straw protruding from her hair.

  "Master!" she cried. "There is a spy in your midst!"

  While the drunken warriors stared dumbly at Helga, Viktor managed to ask, "What do you mean, a spy?"

  "Earlier this eve, as I journeyed toward the dairy, Reyna the Ravisher waylaid me, tied me up, then hid me in the stable. I only now managed to get free."

  Several warriors gasped, "The Ravisher is here!" and looked around in horror.

  Viktor surged to his feet. "Reyna is here? Where?"

  Helga, too, glanced around in confusion. Then rage twisted her leathery features as she spotted the old crone. "There!" she cried, jabbing a forefinger toward the woman.

  Viktor's men shook their befuddled heads and stared at the bent thrall. "But you can't mean—" Viktor protested.

  He was never allowed to finish his sentence. Indeed, he observed what next happened with his mouth hanging open. The supposedly feeble old crone suddenly reared back to her full, menacing height and uttered a roar of rage. Like an ogress rising from Hel, she tossed back her hood to reveal the triumphant features and long blond hair of Reyna the Ravisher!

  " Tis the Ravisher!" yelled one of the warriors.

  "Slay her!" shouted another.

  "Reyna!" cried Viktor.

  Chaos erupted. At first, Viktor could only watch in amazement. All of his drunken warriors struggled up at once to pursue the intruder—but they succeeded mostly in staggering around and bumping into one another. Meanwhile, Reyna did not miss a beat. Observing the warriors advance, she yelled a blood-chilling battle cry and exploded, spinning out of the hall like a whirling dervish, fists flying and feet kicking. At least half a dozen warriors crashed to the floor in the wake of her savage blows. Several stumbled after her, only to grunt, groan, curse, and crash into one another again.

  It was all over in a heartbeat—indeed, Viktor was shocked that Reyna did not leave behind a vapor trail while bursting out of the chamber. At last he sprang into action and chased after her, his wolves at his heels. He did not catch sight of her again until he was outside the longhouse. She was riding off on her pony, a lit torch in her hand.

  "Reyna! Reyna, stop!" he yelled.

  Near a haystack, she reined in her horse, grinned at him— then hurled the torch into the hay!

  "No!" he screamed.

  Viktor's plea came too late as Reyna galloped off, laughing exuberantly. He could have cheerfully throttled her—if he did not so admire her courage and ingenuity.

  He heard Svein's distraught voice behind him. "Jarl! Jarl, the haystack is burning!"

  "No shit," he muttered under his breath. "She's like a mischievous vixen loose in a chicken coop—and we're the chickens."

  More confusion followed as the rest of the inebriated warriors staggered outside and tried to douse the flames, once again stumbling into one another. Tempers flared and curses spewed forth as everything and everyone seemed to get drenched, except the fire itself. Ultimately, the haystack was lost, but luckily, no other structures caught fire.

  When the last ember died, when Viktor at last trudged into his chamber with his wolves, he found Iva sitting on a chair.

  She rushed up to him. "Master, what has happened?"

  He waved her off wearily. "Oh, only ah unholy terror on the loose and a lost haystack. No big deal." He glowered. "From now on, no females will be admitted to the feast without a thorough background check. No exceptions."

  Iva frowned in utter confusion.

  Remembering Canute's earlier aggressive behavior toward the girl, Viktor flashed her a concerned smile. "Are you all right?"

  She thrust herself into his arms. "Yea. Thank you for saving me, master."

  Viktor gave the slave a fond hug before stepping back to gaze into her eyes. "You are certain you are unharmed?"

  She nodded. "I was frightened, but you were so brave to battle Canute for me, even though our customs dictate that slaves have no such rights to be defended."

  "Such unjust rules must be changed," said Viktor.

  She regarded him wistfully. "I have decided that you are right, master. I am too young to be with a man."

  He smiled. "Smart girl. In fact, after tonight, I have concluded that I may be too young to be with a woman."

  She wrinkled her brow in new puzzlement.

  He chuckled and tugged on one of her pigtails. "Never mind my ramblings. As for you, perhaps when you are older, I can help you make a good marriage." He scratched his jaw. "By the way, what do you think of young Ottar? You know, after you left the room, he rose to defend you."

  "Did he?" Wide-eyed, Iva smiled. "I find him quite comely, jarl. But a slave cannot marry a freeman—and certainly not one of your kinsmen."

  Viktor scowled. "Well, we shall see about that. You are not going to remain a slave for long."

  "You would free me?" she asked in an awed whisper.

  "In due course. But for now, let's keep this our secret. Agreed?"

  She nodded happily.

  "Now, get to bed."

  She curtsied and left him.

  Viktor crawled into bed among his wolves. What a night! To think that Reyna had actually infiltrated
the feast, that she had been there all the time, brazenly spying on him! She seemed to be playing a teasing cat-and-mouse game with him.

  Why did she continue to venture onto his side of the fjord? Had she come to learn how better to defeat him? Or was she truly as intrigued with him as he was with her?

  He prayed the latter was true, since he definitely had a tiger by the tail with this woman. Following the episode tonight, he felt even more impatient to be with Reyna again, to catch her next time before she got away, to begin his life with the woman of his dream—although taming this fierce, ingenious Valkyrie would doubtless require even more effort than reforming his own people!

  All in all, he definitely had his work cut out for him here on Vanaheim. These people lived in a society bound by barbaric traditions they considered perfectly normal. He was disturbed by their belligerent, feudal attitudes, and particularly by the way they treated their slaves—as property they could ravish, abuse, or destroy at will. Could he win the trust of these people and change their attitudes before real harm was done? He would have to, he vowed, or he would die trying. As long as he was jarl and had breath left in his body, he would not see a woman raped, a slave slaughtered, or an animal sacrificed.

  As Reyna rode toward the fjord crossing, she found her triumphant smile fading to a look of sober contemplation. She had learned much about Viktor the Valiant tonight—mayhap more than she had wanted to know. She had discovered that he would not allow his men to abuse women or animals— most peculiar behavior for a supposedly ruthless Viking. She had watched him behave with kindness, wisdom, even fair-mindedness. And when she had ridden away, she had glimpsed him staring at her again with an unsettling combination of irritation, amazement, and admiration. He had called her name with an intensity that had tempted her to return to him.