A Tale of Two Vikings

by Sandra Hill

  The men in the courtyard winced.

  But the ladies gave little cheers of encouragement. The women of the family ever did encourage independence of spirit in their females.

  "Welcome to Ravenshire," Eadyth said, stepping forth.

  "Thank you," Sister Esme said, jumping down off the cart after brushing off Toste's offer of help. "I am Lady Esme of Evergreen. Please get me away from this oaf afore I kill him."

  "Hey, I am your champion. I am the one who saved you from your father. I am the brave knight who wore this ignominious disguise for you" Toste yelled to her back.

  Lady Esme said a very vulgar thing then—not at all the kind of thing a nun should be saying. But of course the ladies clapped and the men grinned, including Toste.

  Eirik decided then and there that this was going to be a very interesting yule season at Ravenshire.

  Everything's turning up roses. Thank God!…

  Esme half reclined in a large brass tub afore a roaring fire in her small guest bedchamber at Ravenshire. The air was sweet-scented, as would be her body, from the dried rose petals which covered the surface of the hot water. The perfect cure for her aching bones and cramped muscles.

  Why then was Esme bawling her eyes out, with loud, hiccoughing sobs? For twenty and four years—almost twenty-five—she had learned to control her emotions. Even when beaten by her father… even when threatened with death… even when faced with the prospect of a dotty old husband… Esme had held her tears in check. Now she could not stem the flood.

  It was relief, pure and simple. For the first time in many, many years, she felt safe. Oh, the danger still existed. Her father could petition the king, who would undoubtedly hand her over, if he could find her. But for now, for this short period, she basked in the luxury of tranquillity.

  A short rap on the closed door interrupted her tears.

  "Come in," she called out to Eadyth, who was no doubt returning with the maid and more pails of hot water. What a gracious hostess Eadyth had been so far, treating her as a welcome guest and not the intruder she was.

  The door closed softly.

  Still half reclining with her neck resting on the curled edge of the tub, she said, "Just put the pails next to the tub. I'll ladle the water in myself as needed. And thank you once again, Eadyth."

  She heard a stool being pulled close to the tub and a male voice say, "I may wear a gown on occasion, but I'm not Eadyth."

  It was Toste, of course. The arrogant, crude, presumptuous Viking rogue.

  "Go away, you odious oaf," she said, her eyes flying open as she sank lower in the tub.

  "You've been crying." The tone of his voice was so doleful you would think her tears hurt him.

  "I got soap in my eyes," she lied.

  "I have to talk to you," he said, bracing both elbows on his knees and his chin in his two hands.

  "You can talk to me later. And stop looking like that."

  "How?"

  "Like you are trying to see through the water."

  "Well, I am. What kind of Viking would I be if I did not enjoy the sight of a naked woman?"

  "Aaarrgh!"

  "You are not to worry, Esme. I can't see anything… yet. Mayhap in a while, when the petals start to droop, your hidden assets will no longer be hidden."

  She closed her eyes and counted to ten silently. When she opened them, he continued to stare at her. "Are you still here?"

  "I am."

  "Speak your mind and begone," she said through gritted teeth.

  "I have been speaking with Eirik and Tykir about your situation. They agree with our plan, as far as it goes, but there is one happenstance we had not counted on."

  Esme immediately grew alert and sat up as straight as she could without uncovering any "hidden assets."

  "The Witan is meeting next week. The king's council of close advisers, of which Eirik is a member, is holding a regular session in Winchester."

  All the fine hairs on her body, wet as they were, stood at attention. "My father is a member of the Witan, too."

  "I know," Toste said, his usually teasing expression somber now… somber in a way that frightened her. "It is my belief and that of Eirik and Tykir, as well, that your father will bring up your situation at that time. Whether he knows of your whereabouts by then or not, he will petition the king for either your guardianship or your marriage to Lord Rotting-Cock." Esme had made the mistake of telling Toste of her father's latest marriage plans for her.

  She should have cringed at his vulgarity, but she was becoming accustomed to his earthy language. "Either way spells doom for me and any future I might have at Evergreen," she mused dolefully.

  "Not necessarily. Eirik will be our ears and when the moment is right, mayhap our advocate. For now, you must bide your time, and know that you are safe here at Ravenshire."

  "For now," she said.

  "For now," he agreed. "One more thing. Alinor has chided me up one side and down the other for my treatment of you. She says I embarrassed a lady of good breeding and that I must humble myself afore you with contrition."

  Esme had to smile. "Was that an apology?"

  "Yea, 'twas. Do you accept it?"

  "I do accept, and despite your crude treatment of me, I must offer my thanks for rescuing me. If you had not removed me from the abbey, I would be in my father's hands by now."

  He nodded his acceptance of her thanks, then added, seemingly as an afterthought, "Just how thankful are you?" He was gazing pointedly at the cluster of rose petals surrounding her hidden breasts.

  "Not that thankful," she said with a laugh as he got up and prepared to leave the chamber.

  She thought she heard him say, just before the door closed after him, "Being a champion is not all it used to be." He was probably talking to his dead brother, Vagn, which was his practice of late.

  If Toste only knew how much she appreciated her champion, he would not give up so easily. Lucky for her he was a dimwitted Viking.

  You want her to do WHAT?…

  After dinner that evening, Toste sat in a cozy semicircle in the upper solar of Ravenshire before the hearth, chatting softly with those around him. In the corner was a foul-mouthed squawking bird, which somehow contributed to the homeyness of the scene. His latest favorite expression, taught to him by Tykir, no doubt, was, "Ye gotta love a Viking!"

  No one wanted to retire yet. There was still so much catching up to do, and a lingering relief that at least two Viking soldiers had survived the Battle of Stone Valley. Tykir kept grinning and Alinor kept touching Toste and Bolthor, as if to make sure they really were alive.

  With Toste were Eirik, Eadyth, Tykir, Alinor, Bolthor, Eirik's two oldest daughters, Emma, who was twenty-four, and Larise, the widow of a Jorvik merchant at twenty-six. And, of course, Esme, who sat beside Toste, giving him a totally new view of who she really was.

  I lusted after her as a nun. Now I lust after her as a lady. What next? If Vagn were here, he would say 'tis past time I got my ashes hauled.

  Attired in a sapphire-blue gown edged with silver braid borrowed from Eadyth, she looked like the lady of high station she was.

  Esme was apparently larger in the chest area than Eadyth. Every time she moves my eyeballs practically bounce out of my head. If past experience proves true, I would guess that her breasts would fit perfectly in my big hands. Aaarrgh! Stop gaping, Toste, lest you embarrass yourself. Toste wasn't sure if it was himself or Vagn talking in his head.

  Her long hair, black as a raven's wing, was held back off her face with a twisted silver circlet and hung down to her waist.

  Of course, that just made Toste think of other times and places where her hair might lie loose. Like on my bed furs.

  Her thick-fringed eyes matched her gown, snapping with blue fire whenever she glanced his way. She might claim to have forgiven him, but her eyes and stiff demeanor told a different story.

  I ever did like a battle, m'lady. Do not challenge me with your haughty looks, or you might just find out
what a Viking soldier can do with his… weapons.

  Well, that was certainly mature, Vagn said in his head.

  When did I ever aim for maturity? he answered his brother. You are supposed to be having a rousing good time up in Valhalla. Swive a few Valkyries for me, brother. And go away. People are starting to think I am demented. I am starting to think I am demented.

  "Who are you talking to, Toste?" Eirik asked.

  "Barmy as a bat," Abdul opined.

  That is for sure. "No one," he replied.

  The men sat with legs outstretched and ankles crossed, sipping at cups of Margaret's and Eadyth's mead; Sister Margaret had gone to her bed long ago since she planned to rise early and return to the convent under armed guard. The ladies propped their feet on little wooden footstools known as Widow Makers.

  "I still cannot believe that Vagn is gone," Eadyth said, bringing up the subject he had hoped to avoid. But he should have known these good friends would want to discuss his dead brother.

  I can't believe I'm dead, either, Vagn said/thought. Or was it himself thinking that thought? Aaarrgh! He nodded, unable to speak.

  "I cannot imagine how hard this must be for you, Toste. You two were inseparable," Eirik said.

  Not just a brother. My best friend. A feeling of tightness crushed his chest like a vise. His heart pounded madly.

  "Ivan, King Haakon's third cousin, passed by here two sennights ago," Eadyth told him. "He saw Vagn fall with a most grievous sword wound to the chest."

  The abdomen, actually. Toste put a hand to said spot reflexively. He still felt sharp pains there on occasion. And itching betimes, too, like a scar healing.

  Phew, tell me about it. Vagn made a loud exhaling sigh inside his brain. There was so much blood, it turned my stomach. I would have been scared witless if I hadn't been dying.

  "Why are you grimacing like that?" Eadyth inquired with concern.

  He waved a hand dismissively, overcome by the picture Vagn painted of himself. Toste thought he really was going barmy, and it was getting worse by the hour.

  Alinor got up and walked around the semicircle, then gave him a hug from behind. "You loved him dearly, Toste, and my heart goes out to you for your pain." She kissed his cheek, then went back to her seat, tears swimming in her green eyes.

  Tears welled in Toste's eyes, too. Holy Thor! Would he ever get past this pathetic yearning for a brother who'd gone to a better life.

  Who says it's a better life? After swiving your first fifty or so virgins, Valhalla gets old fast. And all that ale drinking and shield pounding!

  "I remember the time you two kept changing places to court that young lady in Miklegard… you know, the one with the veils. Finally her father came after you both with a longsword." Leave it to Tykir to lighten the mood.

  Esme made a tsk-ing sound of disapproval at his side. At the same time, she squeezed his forearm in understanding. He could forgive her much for that small gesture.

  "He still talks to his brother on occasion," Esme disclosed.

  Is she reading my mind now? May the gods forbid! Mayhap I should think something particularly lascivious and see if she blushes. Or mayhap I should just go take a nap for ten or twenty hours and try to get my mind in order. In any case, forget about the forgiving Esme business. Why did women always have to blather everything?

  "Really?" Tykir asked. "And does he talk back?"

  You bet.

  "Sometimes," Esme answered for him with a twinkle in her blue eyes. Obviously, she was getting back at him for past misdeeds, like making her kiss his manpart for hours on end… well, practically kiss it.

  Now, there is a fantasy to play out in my mind. Forget about Vagn and Valkyries. Forget about blood-gushing wounds. How about Esme kissing my manpart? But not in a cart. Nay, this should be on a bed with me naked, arms stacked behind my neck and her… well, she could be naked, or… wait, wait, wait… she could be wearing her nun habit, and—

  "Why are you smiling?" Esme wanted to know.

  You do not want to know, my lady. To the others, he said, "It's freakish, I know, this talking with Vagn, but I still see him in my head and hear him talking, like I used to do when he was alive. And I share his physical pains, too."

  "And his thickenings," Esme offered impudently, to everyone's shock and delight… though not his—delight, that is.

  You are getting as bold as a Viking, my Saxon lady. Too much bad company. I could think of a better use for that tongue of yours.

  "Thickening is their word—Toste's and Vagn's—for—"

  "Esme!" he exclaimed. "They know what a thickening is."

  "Oh," she said and blushed prettily.

  "Mayhap you would like to elaborate on this," Eirik advised.

  "Huh?"

  "The mental thickening business," Eirik reminded him.

  "Huh?" I am beginning to sound like a blithering idiot. "Dost really want me to explain that?"

  "Mayhap later," Eadyth suggested, "when young daughters are not about."

  "Oh, Mother!" Larise and Emma said at the same time.

  Much laughter followed. Then Bolthor asked him, "Wouldst mind if I tell a saga about you and Vagn?" Bolthor never asked for permission, and everyone knew that. It was a telling moment that he asked now, and Toste did not know what to say. He truly wanted to put discussion of his brother behind him, but he did not want to hurt his good friend, either. Finally he nodded with a deep sigh.

  "Hear one and all, this is the death-poem, 'Ode to Twin Brothers, May Their Ties Last Through Eternity.' "

  "Very good title," Alinor said. Alinor always did have a big mouth and little sense where Bolthor was concerned.

  "Methinks the gods were smiling

  the day they sent two babes squalling

  from one womb, one mother, one birthing.

  Some said they were really one person,

  two sides of the same coin.

  So how does one survive

  when oneself is no longer alive?

  Some say the one left behind

  must see the departed

  in the warm sunshine overhead,

  watching a bird flying straight ahead,

  a birthing of a horse well-bred,

  the welcome of one's own homestead.

  But with that I disagree,

  in the case of these twins so carefree.

  Toste, my friend, I ask you this:

  What would Vagn most likely miss?

  This is where you will find his spirit

  if through this world he does still flit:

  the wink of a winsome maid,

  a good jest ofttimes played,

  the sway of a shapely female bottom,

  a good battle fairly won,

  the adventure of a-Viking,

  then coming home,

  the male pride in a rock-hard staff,

  the ecstasy of sexual coupling,

  the love of man for woman,

  the birth of one's own babe.

  At these times, I believe, Vagn will be

  there, and you will know:

  Even in death, you are still one."

  A stunned silence followed, and not the usual stunned silence that followed Bolthor's sagas. For once, Bolthor had composed a truly touching poem.

  "Thank you," Toste said finally. "Mayhap you could help me memorize that one so I can pull it to mind when my spirits are low."

  You would have thought he'd handed Bolthor a chest of gold, so much did he beam with pleasure.

  "Would you mind if I change the subject?" Alinor asked.

  "Do horses piss?" Toste muttered under his breath.

  Esme elbowed him and muttered, "Coarse lout!"

  "We must needs talk about Esme," Alinor said.

  "Hah! Your turn," he whispered in an undertone.

  She shot him another of her blue fire glares before sitting up straighter, the creamy complexion of her face pinkening with a blush.

  I would like to say some other things that would bring a b
lush to your fair face, Esme. Wicked things. Tempting things.

  "I'm sure you are already aware of the plans being made for you regarding the Witan and a troop of retainers that Toste is putting together," Alinor began.

  Esme cast him a questioning look at the mention of retainers.

  Oops, I forgot to mention that. I forgot to tell you lots of things, faced with your naked body and bobbing breasts in a tub of rose petals. Bolthor ought to create a saga about that! I can just imagine what it would be. "Ode to Bobbing Breasts" or something equally outrageous.

  I am still waiting for the "Ode to Eat-Me," Vagn said in Toste's head, which caused him to choke on his mead. He had to give his brother credit; he had a quick wit for a dead man.

  "What Alinor is trying to say," Eadyth said, "is that we have been talking about this situation, and—"

  "Uh-oh!" Tykir said, rolling his eyes. "The women have been talking."

  "Now, Tykir, do not be so quick to judge. I, for one, value the female viewpoint," Eirik said, batting his eyes in a cowlike fashion at his wife.

  "You traitor!" Tykir laughed.

  Toste missed this kind of brotherly teasing. He missed so much about Vagn, but especially the teasing, he realized now.

  Bloody hell! I tease you enough in your head. You want more than that?

  "What I started to say, Esme, was that, yea, you should try the Witan, and you should amass a troop for Evergreen, and do everything in your power through diplomatic means, but there may be one thing extra you should keep in mind as a back-up plan," Alinor said.

  Blah, blah, blah. Women loved to blah, blah, blah. Why did they not leave man's work to men?

  "And that would be?" Esme asked hesitantly.

  "Marriage," Alinor and Eadyth announced at the same time.

  Whoo-ee, you weren't expecting that, were you, big brother?

  Esme rose indignantly. "I have not spent eleven years in a convent, avoiding marriage, just to give in now."

  "Nay, nay, nay!" Toste stood, as well. "Are you two demented? What would marriage solve for Esme?" For some odd reason, the prospect of Esme being married filled him with horror.

  A bit of dog in the manger, don't you think?