The Viking (4 page)

Just as slowly, Kannak nudged the horse
’s flanks and turned them toward home. She was relieved. He promised not to harm her and so far his word was good. Perhaps not all Vikings were vicious, murdering dogs after all. All she had to do now was convince her mother of that. She waited until they were well away before she spoke. “What be yer name?”

The hurt in Stefan
’s heart was so overwhelming all he wanted to do was bellow his rage and keep bellowing until his sorrow subsided. But he did not. He kept quiet, not trusting himself to speak for fear he would cry out – or worse, weep like a child.

“Never mind yer name, then. How good are ye at lying?” Kannak covered her mouth to stifle a giggle. “What am I saying? Everyone knows a word from the mouth o
’ a Viking be bound to be a lie.” Then she got somber again. “Taking ye home will not be easy, not without a lie, that is. Let me think. We will say ye have come from my uncle in the North to help us work the land. Aye, I think she will believe it; we truly do have family in the north. We can offer ye a warm bed and whatever food we manage to have, which be very little at the moment.”

She paused just to see if he cared to contribute to the conversation, but he did not. “There be the tithe, ye see. The priest has promised eternal damnation o
’ our very souls if we dinnae pay. Never have I heard o’ anyone refusing, although sorely I am tempted to be the first. On the other hand, if we dinnae have food soon, it will be we who must go to the priests and beg for a meal or two. The priests will not deny us, not if they deem us truly hungry.”

Again she waited. Again he said nothing. At last they reached the bottom of the hill and turned down the path that led away from the village. “The muddle o
’ it be, we have no weapons to hunt with. It be spring, we have eaten our winter store and we need a man to help us. First, we must do something about yer hair.”

“What be wrong with my hair?”

Kannak smiled. “Ye look like a Viking. Scotsmen dinnae wear their hair that long.” She patted the side of the horse’s neck to halt him and swung her leg over so she could sit sideways. Kannak folded her hands in her lap and took a long look at Stefan’s face. “Ye are but a laddie. Oh well, ye will have to do. I say we make our bargain now. I have saved yer life. In return, ye will save ours.”

It was not an unreasonable request, he thought. What she said was true, she did save his life and where else could he go? But he could not believe the Vikings would not come back for him. He imagined them sailing only to t
he horizon and then coming back…perhaps tomorrow. “I will think on it.”

“And
that be the best I can hope for…ye will think on it?”

“Aye.”

“I see.” Kannak glared at him. “At least I will not have to marry ye.”

“I dinnae want a wife.”

“Well bletherskite, I dinnae want a husband either.” She tilted her head and suspiciously eyed him. “How be it ye speak my language?”

“My mother was a Scot.”

“Fancy that, bletherskite, so be mine.”

The last thing in the world he felt like doing was smiling, but this little slip of a girl with a face overrun by freckles and dimples calling
him
a silly talker, was making him do just that. “I am Stefan.”

“Stefan
…it be a Viking name, but I have heard it afore. My father named me Kannak.”

“A Viking name?”

Both her eyebrows shot up, “Ye know this name? Be it truly a Viking name?” She watched his eyes and nearly forgot to draw breath until his mouth began to curve into a smile. “Ye are lying.”

“All Vikings lie, ye said so yerself.”

“That I did.” She grabbed hold of his arm and slid down off the horse. “Come with me to the river and I will cut yer hair. Ye have a blade, do ye not?”

CHAPTER IV

When they arrived at the small plot of land with one cow, two chickens and a garden that needed tending, Stefan had shoulder length hair, no braids and no belt around the outside of his tunic. Scots, particularly Scots who worked the land could not afford leather belts and Kannak
’s mother was sure to be suspicious. He helped her down, dismounted and then watched her go into the small cottage and close the door.

Finally, Stefan had a moment to himself and he stroked the side of the horse
’s neck as if to draw comfort from the animal. His mind was spinning and when he leaned his forehead against the horse and closed his eyes, he could still see the image of his father’s lifeless face. It was all he could do to keep from crying, but he held back his tears just as he knew his father would expect him to.

He should go back, he thought, for who was there to bury the Viking commander? Would the Scots give him a Christian burial, would they defile him somehow in their rage or would they leave his body to rot where it lay? Not knowing was more than he could abide and he had to go back. With one swift movement, Stefan swung back up on the horse and rode away. He only slightly heard Kannak screaming his name behind him.

*

It was almost dark when he slid down off the horse, crept back down the hill toward the village and looked for his father
’s body. Blood yet stained the ground, but his body was gone. There were marks in the dirt, a sure sign that the body had been dragged and cautiously Stefan followed the marks, mindful to stay out of sight of the village.

But then he felt a foreboding and went back. He didn
’t expect it, but the horse was right where he left him and when he mounted not knowing where to go, he let the stallion take him back to the same spot where he watched his Vikings row away. On the shore were men holding torches and the bodies of several Vikings lay side by side in his father’s abandoned ship. The remains had been carefully laid out on the deck, each surrounded by dry straw. Their arms were crossed over their chests, and a measure of cloth lay over their faces just as their own families would have done.

A priest appeared to be giving last rights as the Scots shoved the ship away from the shore. Then three Scotsmen tossed in their torches and set it on fire.

It was a fitting burial for his father and because of it, the anger he felt for the Scots who had taken his father’s life began to subside. He wondered, if only for a moment, if the Norsemen would have been so considerate of men who came to murder and plunder in their land. He wondered too if the Vikings would carve a stone in his father’s memory when they got home. Surely they would and someday he hoped to see it.

He raised his gaze to the horizon and tried to see if the ships were still there, waiting until after dark to land and look for him. But they were gone and then he remembered his father
’s words: “Yer mother made me promise not to let ye go to sea.”

Still he stayed, seated on the magnificent black horse on the crest of the hill until the last lick of flame was quenched and the ship sunk. He wanted to and thought he should cry, but now the tears would not come. Perhaps in the few short days he had with his father, he had become a man after all.

*

“Ye brought us a Viking, Kannak, and now the horse be gone.” In the darkness of the cottage, Jirvel stood in the doorway to her bedchamber, took a deep breath and tried to hold back her ire.

“He agreed to help us.”

“And ye believed him? He be a Viking, Kannak.”

She hung her head. “I am sorry, mother. I will walk to the village for what we need tomorrow.” Kannak could not stand to hear the hurt in her mother’s voice, sat down on her bed and took off her shoes. “I am too hungry to think. Is there nothing to eat?”

“Milk.”

“I am sick o’ milk and cheese. Be there nothing more?”

“Not unless we kill a chicken.”

It was useless. The chickens only laid one egg a day as it was; killing one meant fewer eggs to eat by half and that would only make things worse. She stretched out on the bed, pulled her cover up and closed her eyes. “I will think o’ a way out o’ our troubles tomorrow.”

*

By the time the horse took Stefan back to the cottage, the candle light had been distinguished and it was dark inside. He quietly dismounted and watched the horse wander off, then tried to find a place to sleep for the night. In the dim moon light, he spotted a structure that was little more than a roof, a back wall and two posts holding up the front of the roof. He moved some baskets out of the way and sat down.

Yet with no cover to keep him warm and a thousand thoughts running through his mind, sleep avoided him. He remembered the pouch filled with coins, pulled it out from under his tunic and examined the contents. He removed two coins, dug a hole near one of the front posts and buried the pouch. Then there was nothing to do but wait for dawn, which would come early this far north, just as it did in Norway. Soon he would find it difficult to go to sleep in the daylight, but for now a short night would be a blessing. And while he waited for dawn, he realized that somewhere in the middle of the ocean, he turned fifteen.

*

Sh
e was dreaming; she had to be. The glorious smell coming from the pot placed directly in the embers of the fire in the hearth was so magnificent, she dared not open her eyes for fear it would dissipate into a mist so light a breeze could carry it away.

“Kannak, wake up. He be back and we have food.”

She dared to open one eye and then slowly opened the other. The magnificent smell was not a dream and she could not help licking her lips in anticipation. Then she spotted Stefan sitting at the table watching her with a grin on his face.

“Wake up, wee bairn,” he said.

Annoyed at being called a baby, she abruptly sat up and glared. “From which o’ our neighbors did ye steal this food?”

Stefan
’s grin turned to a scowl of his own. “I neglected to ask his name.”

“Ye have brought a curse down upon us. There be a penalty in our clan for stealing and we will al
l be dead afore the noon meal.”

“If that be the case, I suggest we eat all the evidence.”

Jirvel was a striking woman at twenty nine with her daughter’s same color of hair, although her eyes were blue and the years of hard work had robbed her of her youth. As her daughter did, she wore a long, gray striped unbelted frock made of wool.

It was Jirvel
’s custom to watch and listen to people before she made up her mind to like them and so far, she believed she was going to like Stefan very much. He had, after all, come back, he looked to be a strong boy and he had weapons. Already she felt safer.

She turned the hot bread over once more in the pot, poked a hole in it to make sure it was done and reached for a bowl. The boy had a way about him that was pleasant and she was enjoying their banter. Stefan was exactly what her daughter needed. With no siblings, the girl had gotten away with
far too much for far too long.

“Ye admit ye stole it then?” Kannak asked, putting on one shoe and then the other.

Stefan rolled his eyes. He picked the two gold coins up off the table and showed them to her. The wheat for the bread be yer store for the planting and with this ye can barter for better seed and enough to feed us until the harvest
.”

“Where did ye get those?”

“If ye must know, wee bairn, I found them.”

“Bletherskite.” She did not believe a word of it. “They are English coins. Next ye will say ye favor the English. We dinna prefer them.”

“Nor do we?”

Kannak lightly bit her bottom lip and thought for a moment. “If we both hate the English, perhap
s…”

Jirvel knew her daughter well enough to know Kannak would soon be challenging the boy, for what the girl loved most was competition and a good wager. “I suggest we eat and then see to the chores. There will be time for talking later.”

The cottage was a pleasant place not so different from the home he grew up in except it was much smaller and square instead of oval shaped. It had the pleasant smell of lavender and spices. A small table and three chairs were on one side of the room and Kannak’s bed was on the other. Several pots made of metal and baskets of different shapes and sizes were lined up near the walls, some obviously still in the process of being crafted. A small pile of heather sticks lay next to the hearth to use for fire wood and a doorway led to a second small room where he guessed Jirvel slept.

There were places on the wall to hang weapons, but the places were empty save for a long bow. Soon the bread got his attention and the smell of it made him want to lick his lips too. After the tasteless meals at sea, he was ready to devour all she could make. “Where be yer father?”

He directed his question to Kannak, but it was Jirvel who answered. “Eogan has gone off to war these three weeks and we have had no word of him.” She put the bread in a bowl and set it on the table. “Kannak says ye agreed to stay and help us, is it true?”

Stefan nodded, tore off a small piece of the hot bread, blew on it and quickly devoured it. Then he turned his attentio
n back to the longbow. “In my…at home I tended my aunt and uncle’s land. I am accustomed to it.”