The Viking's Captive by Sandra Hill
“Why do you eat the overripe cheese if it tastes so bad?” Adam had asked him more than once.
Alrek had replied, “‘Cause I need to eat so I kin grow big and strong.”
Both sets of legs were extended outward. Alrek’s were half as long as Adam’s … and so skinny, it was pitiful. Even more pitiful were the bleeding blisters that marred the palms of his hands—testament to his dogged determination to become a sailor and a fighting man.
Alrek had a habit of hanging around Adam when he wasn’t busy elsewhere. He liked to spout off endlessly about all his failings. In truth, he liked to spout off on any subject. It didn’t matter if Adam contributed to the conversation at all; Alrek just wanted someone on whom he could unload his problems.
Adam’s eyes kept coming back to the open blisters on the boy’s hands. Finally he advised, “You should dip your hands in salt water every chance you get. It will burn like Hades, but the salt helps to keep the wounds from festering, and the blisters will heal faster.”
Alrek nodded. “Eyvind, my rowing partner, says horse piss will serve as well.”
“Eyvind is teasing you.”
“Really? Ah, well, good thing I could not get Rafn’s stallion to stand still whilst I held a bucket under him. That’s how I got this knock on my knees.” He motioned with his bread toward a knobby knee that was bluish-black and turning yellow on the edge. “Kicked me good, the bloody horse did. Tyra, our chieftain, said it would have served me good fer being such a lackwit. She is a fine leader … I will give her that … but, whew, she can be hard fer a woman. What do you think of her?”
Adam didn’t know what to think. The way Alrek’s mind moved from one subject to another, he could scarce keep up.
“Huh? Huh? What do you think of her?”
“I try not to think of her,” Adam said, choosing his words carefully.
“Some say she is still a verge-on, which is no doubt true, her being so big and tall and fiercesome. Puts the men off, you know.”
“Alrek, do you even know what a virgin is?”
“ ‘Course I do,” he said with affront. “‘Tis a woman what has had no man’s longship up her fjord, so to speak.”
“Well, that is one way of describing it.” Adam should have warned the boy of the inadvisability of speaking so intimately of one’s superiors, but all he could do was grin.
“And a man is a verge-on when his longship has never set sail, so to speak.”
Longship? That certainly is a new name for a man’s best friend. Adam started to cough and couldn’t stop.
“I’m a verge-on,” Alrek admitted in an undertone, as if disclosing some big secret.
Adam coughed some more, then choked out, “Of course you are. Ten years old! I would hope so.”
“How old were you when yer longship first went … uhm, a-Viking?”
If this little whelp thought Adam was going to discuss his sex life, he could think again. ‘Twas long past time to change the subject. “Why is it so important that you become a Viking warrior?” The boy was going to kill himself trying, if what Adam had observed the past two days was any indication.
“A fierce Viking warrior,” Alrek corrected him. “‘Cause it be a noble profession. ‘Cause ‘tis the only way fer a homeless boy like me to gain lands and riches. ‘Cause I would rather drink goat piss than stay behind at Stoneheim with King Thorvald’s daughters. Tyra is not so bad, but wait till you meet her four sisters! Many a man in King Thorvald’s court has gone a-Viking just to escape their doings.” He rolled his eyes dramatically.
“You’re too little to go a-Viking. You should be home playing youthling games.”
“I’m ten years old. I am not little,” he asserted, puffing out his little chest. “Besides, I have no home. This ship is me home. When I am back at Stoneheim, I sleep on the floor of the great hall.”
“Where are your parents?”
“Me father left when I was five. Some say he is a fighting man in the Rus lands; some say he is dead.” He shrugged with indifference. “Me mother died last year of the childbed fever. She were a kitchen helper. Two sisters and a brother I have back at Stoneheim. I am the oldest, so I mus’ support them with the silver coin King Thorvald pays me each year.”
“That is very interesting. Well, it has been nice talking with you. Farewell.” How is that for a not-so-subtle hint? The boy always overstays his welcome, not that he is ever really welcome. I would rather be alone. ‘Tis best to keep my distance from each and every one of these vicious Vikings. He turned to look at Alrek and almost laughed aloud, then immediately made a correction in his mind. Each and every one of these vicious Vikings, including the want-to-be vicious Vikings.
“I heard you were an orphan one time, too.”
Adam groaned. I knew there was a reason why I wanted him to go away. “Who told you that?”
“Rashid.”
“Rashid talks too much.”
“He does? It took me ever so long to get any useful information from him.”
“Are you a spy sent by your leader to pry secrets from us?”
Adam had been jesting, but Alrek’s eyes went wide with amazement that anyone would credit him with such responsibility.
“Nay, I am not a spy, but I will mention yer idea to Tyra. Dost think yer recommendation will have influence with her?”
“About as much as your talking has on me.”
Alrek beamed as if Adam had paid him a high compliment.
“As to what I was sayin’ afore … do not be so hard on Rashid. Mostly, he sez nothin’ of import. Jist things like ‘Allah save me from pestsome gnats,’ or ‘You chatter more than a harem houri.’ What is a whore-he? Is that a whore what is a man?”
Adam would have put his face in his hands if his hands were free. “Don’t you have to go back and row some more?”
“Nay! I am done with that job fer the day. I am going to mend nets this afternoon.”
Jesus, Mary and Joseph! “With a needle?” He is going to turn those blistered palms into a war field.
Alrek nodded and stood.
Bless the saints! He is going to leave me alone.
“There is something I wanted to ask you.”
I should have known. The boy is not leaving after all. Now he gets to the reason for his visit … what he has been leading up to all along. On the other hand, mayhap this is some form of Norse torture I have never heard of in all my living amongst Viking families. Torture-by-boy-with-blathering-tongue.
“How long were you an orphan? Rashid said you and yer sister were adopted by a Viking man and his wife. Do children ever get adopted when they are no longer … um, ah, children exactly?” The whole time Alrek sputtered and stammered to get his question out, he stood as tall as his spindly frame would stretch, with chin held high and face flaming with color … all this to demonstrate that he was not a child exactly.
After he killed Tyra, he was going to kill Rashid for getting him into this predicament.
“Alrek, do not waste your time dreaming impossible dreams. We were fortunate, Adela and I,” he said, then had to pause after speaking his sister’s name. Had he ever spoken her name aloud these past two years? When he was more calm, he continued, “It was just a chance circumstance that brought Selik and Rain to that place in Jorvik at the same time my sister and I were there. Most often, orphans are left to fend for themselves, as you do. And, really, ‘tis not—”
“A miracle? It was like the miracles yer One-God promises in his Bible.” Alrek was staring at him as if he’d just spoken some magic words. “So what I need is a miracle?”
“Nay, nay, nay! It was not a miracle.”
“The only gods I know of are Odin and Thor and Frey and Loki. Perchance you could pray to yer One-God that he would send us a father and a mother … a family … you know, a miracle.”
“Alrek! I am not praying. I do not believe in miracles. And I think I see Gorr the Netmaker motioning for you.”
Alrek turned to look at Gorr, w
Adam didn’t even want to know what he was being thanked for. And what was this lord business? First he had to contend with Rashid referring to him as master, and now Alrek called him a bloody lord. Next he would be proclaimed king … when what he felt like at the moment was the lowest of animals for having inadvertently offered hope to the boy when the chances of his ever having a family were hopeless.
Adam didn’t think his life could get any worse.
He was wrong.
Alrek offered him these departing words: “Methinks yer One-God sent you to me as a miracle.”
The loathsome lout a miracle? …
Miracle of miracles, Alrek finally seemed to have mastered the rudiments of archery.
Oh, Tyra wasn’t deluding herself. The boy could scarce lift the heavy bow, and everyone ducked when he did, but at least he’d hit the target. Off center, of course, but after two dozen tries, having hit it at all was a real accomplishment.
“Good job, Alrek,” she complimented him with a pat on the shoulder.
The boy’s face fair glowed with pride. You’d think she’d just laid a treasure chest at his feet … or granted his most fervent wish … a family, of all things … something he told everyone who chanced to cross his path.
She and her men were camped for the evening along the North Sea shore; tomorrow they would head north up through the fjords to her father’s holdings. While their evening meal was being prepared—a freshly killed red deer roasting on an open spit—they were exercising in a clearing with sword and lance and bow, as was their daily practice.
“Betcha yer thinkin’ it was a miracle … that I hit the target,” Alrek said. He and Tyra were picking up arrows that lay about in the grass.
“I wouldn’t exactly call it a miracle,” she replied with a laugh. “Hard work always pays off in the end. Haven’t I told you that afore, Alrek? You always want results immediately, but you must learn patience. Someday you are sure to be a good Viking warrior. Give it time.”
Alrek tilted his head and considered her words. “Nay,” he concluded. “It was a miracle. Jest like Lord Adam is a miracle fer me, too.”
“Lord Adam? Your personal miracle? Did he tell you that?”
“Not precisely,” he admitted, “but I jest know his prayers will shoot up in the sky to his One-God who is gonna find me and me brother and sisters a family. A miracle, to my mind.”
Alrek’s logic boggled the mind and did not bear questioning, lest he translate her inquiries into license to fantasize even more. Tyra started to walk away toward the target, where she hoped to find at least some of the arrows that had gone astray.
“By the by, are you gonna be in Lord Adam’s harem?”
Tyra halted in her tracks and peered back over her shoulder. “Are you referring to Adam the Healer? He has a harem?”
“Well, he does not have one yet, but he is putting one together. Leastways, that is what Rashid said. Rashid thinks you would make a glorious first addition.”
“Alrek! Do not dare repeat that tale anywhere! Dost hear me?”
He nodded reluctantly.
“I am not now, nor will I ever be, interested in being a member of any man’s harem. Is that clear?”
He nodded again. “I did not mean offense.”
“I know you didn’t, but you can be sure I will give Lord Adam an earful on this topic. A harem! Indeed!”
A short time later, she was bent over picking up the remainder of the arrows when she heard a whistling whirr—a sound she recognized too well. It was too late to move away. Almost at the same moment as she heard the sound, she felt a sharp pain in her right buttock.
She stood quickly and spun on her heel. Peering over her shoulder, she saw her worst fears realized. There was an arrow protruding from her behind. Then she raised her narrowed eyes to pierce the culprit on the other side of the field.
Alrek at least had the grace to turn gray and mutter, “Uh-oh!”
As she began stomping toward the inept rascal, she shouted, “Now would be the time to pray for a miracle, Alrek. Pray that I fall over dead afore I get my hands around your scrawny neck.”
Alrek, smart boy that he was at heart, ran for his life.
Some things always come back to bite you in the arse …
“I thought you would have come up with an escape plan by now,” Rashid complained to Adam.
They were sitting next to each other, tied to adjoining tent poles. Their legs were free, but their hands were bound behind their backs. There were several burly Vikings sitting before the nearby campfire, tending a deer that was being roasted for dinner. Every couple of minutes the guardsmen looked their way, just to make sure they hadn’t mysteriously disappeared.
“What? You think I’m a magician, too?”
“Nay, master, but I see the way the warrior princess looks at you. Methought you would have charmed her into releasing us by now.”
“The only way I see her looking at me is with disgust. In fact, she said I stink.”
“You do. I mean, you did,” Rashid commented bluntly, “until we bathed this evening.”
“And I have no idea where you got the notion that I have the ability to charm anything, let alone a thickheaded Viking woman who can’t decide whether she wants to be a man or a woman.”
“I got the notion from watching you take one woman after another into your bed over the years. Isobel. Sari. Katlyn. The Princess Neferi. Ester. Magdalene. I could go on and on. That was afore we came to Britain, though. Now your male parts must have dried up from lack of use.”
“My male parts are just fine, thank you very much.”
“Then why have you not seduced the warrior woman? Alrek says she has shown more interest in you than any man before.”
“That’s because she wants me to heal her father so she can be disowned and go off somewhere and be free to lop off heads and other gruesome things, without the burden of a husband. No doubt my head will be the first one to be lopped once my healing talents are no longer needed.”
“Huh?” Rashid said to this long-winded discourse.
“Never mind. Speaking of Alrek, look over there.”
Alrek was running through the clearing where the tents were pitched, dodging tent poles and campfires, his skinny legs pumping madly as he panted like a warhorse. Adam looked at Rashid, and Rashid looked at him; then they both shrugged, indicating their confusion over why Alrek was on the run.
Soon they discovered the answer. His pursuer was about to pass them, stomping doggedly in Alrek’s path. She didn’t bother to swagger now, so angry did she appear to be. But that wasn’t the most amazing thing.
“Oh, Mistress Viking!” Adam called out.
Reluctantly, Tyra stopped and glared at him. “What?” she snapped.
“Did you know you have an arrow sticking out of your backside?”
Her hands fisted, her face went rigid, and a sound came from her throat that sounded very much like a growl. “Yea, you lunkhead, I know there is an arrow in my backside. Why did you think I was chasing after Alrek? And wipe that grin off your face, man, or I will do it for you.”
“Would you like me to remove it?” he asked sweetly.
“What? The grin?”
“The arrow.”
“Nay, I do not want you touching any part of my body, and certainly not that part. Besides, I thought you had given up medicine.”
“For this, I would be willing to make an exception.” He was still grinning, but he meant it. For a view of her naked backside, he would do just about anything.
Tyra told him to do something that he was fairly certain was physically impossible and continued on her pursuit of Alrek.
God, he was beginning to develop a taste for sharp-tongued women. That surprised him mightily
“Well, so much for your seduction skills,” Rashid opined dolefully.
A short silence ensued before Adam turned to stare at his friend. “Why are your eyes closed? Why are your lips moving without making a sound?”
“I decided the best course is to join Alrek in praying for a miracle.”
Some deals are sweeter than others…
“We have to talk.”
Oooh, lady, talk is not what I have in mind. My arms and legs ache from being in the same position so long. My buttocks feel like they have no flesh on them from sitting on this hard ground. Come closer, you irksome, infuriating daughter of the Devil, and see what kind of talk I have for you.
It was dusk, more light than dark yet, and Adam had been resting. He opened his eyes now … just a crack to look at Tyra, who was easing herself down to the ground beside him. He noticed that she lowered herself to her knees, not her backside, and that she winced at one point from stretching the skin surrounding the wound, which had apparently been stitched up an hour ago by the sometimes blacksmith, sometimes berserker, Bjorn.
“Lackbrain lad!” she murmured as she rubbed one nether cheek. Obviously, she was referring to Alrek, and not Bjorn. He wondered if Alrek was suffering a sore backside as well … sore from the whip of a birch branch which he’d seen Tyra brandishing a short time ago. Once settled on her knees, she groaned softly.
Good! I hope your arse pains you mightily, wench, because you have been more than a pain in the arse to me. He decided not to share those opinions with her now, but he surely would later.
Instead, he said, “I’m not talking to you till you release these bonds. You need a lesson in diplomacy, my lady,” amongst other things. “One should not maltreat the person from whom one seeks favors. And, believe you me, asking a physician to treat a man unconscious for sennights is a big favor, especially when he will no doubt be surrounded by a horde of bloodthirsty Vikings who would as soon lop off the physician’s head at the first sign of death pallor in the patient.” He pressed his lips together in an exaggerated fashion, indicating that his talking time was over.