Page 45 of The Caged Viking

“Yes. For now. Though I wouldn’t mention it around him. It’s rather a sore point.”

“Do ye have children?” Estrid asked hesitantly. She had to know that Kirstin had just married Hauk, but that would be all she knew about her history.

“No children,” Kirstin told her, “and never been married…before.”

“Really? How old are ye?”

“Thirty-five.”

“What’s wrong with the men where you come from? Yer passable comely and still have yer teeth and a few good breeding years yet.”

Kirstin choked on her mead, then wiped her mouth on the back of her hand. Now that is what my brothers would call an ass-backward, fucked-up compliment. She noticed that Estrid assumed that Kirstin would want to be married, the goal of all females, and that no man had wanted her. Estrid would not be able to fathom a society where many women chose the single life. “And you…how old are you, Estrid?”

“Thirty-five.”

Oh, my goodness! She’s the same age as me! Kirstin hadn’t expected that, and tried her best not to show her shock. Estrid looked to be in her midforties or more. Well, what did I expect? Eight plus children and a hard life on a farm in the north!

“How old were you when you got married?”

“Fourteen.”

That was pretty much what Kirstin had expected from her study of the time period, and not just for the Vikings. “Um…do you mind if I ask? Does your husband have more than one wife?”

Kirstin knew that many Vikings practiced the more danico, or multiple wives. It wasn’t as rude a question as it might seem.

“Hah! If Hulgar dared take another wife, I’d cut off his staff and feed it ta the pigs. Told him that when we were first wed, and he hasn’t strayed yet…that I know of.”

“So, do you always travel with your husband and sons when they go to war?”

“In recent years, yea, I do. ’Twasn’t as easy when I had bratlings at home tugging on my teats from one side and on my apron from another.”

“You know what to expect then. Do you have any idea when we’ll know how the battle is going?”

“Should be some men straggling back about midday, methinks. Leastways, there will be wounded by then.”

Kirstin glanced at her wrist watch and saw that it was almost noon. “So, if you’re anticipating wounded men, you must not be optimistic about the results of the battle.”

Estrid shook her head. “Nay, that’s not what I meant. There are wounded on both sides in any battle. Always. The question will be which side has the bigger pile of bones, so ta speak.”

Nice image! “You seem so calm. Aren’t you afraid for your family?”

“’Course I am. That’s why I’m here and not home dryin’ lutefisk or knittin’ socks. Holy Thor! The amount of socks my boys go through each winter! Comes from not changin’ the smelly things often enough, is what I keep tellin’ them. How are they gonna attract good wives if they smell like the back side of a boar, is another thing I keep tellin’ the fools. Luckily, we keep sheep on our stead! Lots of wool!”

Kirstin smiled at the obvious fondness in Estrid’s voice as she spoke of her family. And her “boys” were no doubt adult men if they were off fighting a war. They continued to converse about everyday things, and Kirstin kept checking her watch. It was one-thirty, well past the time Estrid had predicted that they would have news.

Just then, as if she’d conjured them up, the rumble of horse-drawn wagons could be heard on the road, coming from the direction of Winchester. Everyone in the camp rushed to get news. The three wagons passed through a gauntlet of people, peering forward to see if they recognized anyone among the wounded, some of them so severely they were unconscious. Luckily, neither Estrid or Kirstin saw any of their “family.”

They soon learned that the battle had been won already, many of the Saxons having flown the coop beforehand and others surrendering once they realized there was no hope of winning. The men in the wagons were the first of the injured coming back to the hospitium. Others too injured for transport were being set up in the great hall and in rooms at the castle where Saxon healers were being forced to undertake their care. The Viking dead would be prepared for funeral rites on site; the Saxon dead would be burned in huge pyres.

All this she learned from Estrid who gave her a nervous running commentary. It was only then that Kirstin realized that while there was relief that none of their men were among the wounded, now there was the possibility that one or all of them were dead.

Another nerve-wracking hour went by with Kirstin imagining all kinds of dire circumstances. But then, she saw a number of horsemen approaching. One of them was Egil. But not Hauk or Bjorn.

Oh, God! Oh, God! Please, God! Her heart hammered against her chest walls, and she felt light-headed as she approached the little man who was dismounting from his horse. The expression on his face was not promising.

“What…who…?” she choked out.

“’Tis Bjorn. He’s hurt bad. A gut wound.”