Page 43 of My Fair Viking

He nodded.

Rashid managed to get a small solar off the great hall assigned to them. It had a long table in it and several chairs, which served their purposes just fine. By noon, Adam had seen several dozen patients before he announced firmly, "No more today!"

None of the ailments had been critical. A festering ax wound. A recurrent boil on the neck. A poison weed rash on the hands. A debilitating case of morning sickness. A fractured arm that needed splinting.

And Adam found great immediate satisfaction in being able to quiet an old man's cough by prescribing hore-hound boiled in water and sweetened with honey. Or soothe a screaming baby's irritated bottom with his special ointment. Or stitch a knife gash. Or advise Arnora, a twenty-five-year-old mother of eight, how to avoid any more pregnancies, thanks to some information from his stepmother, Rain, who claimed to know of methods used by women far in the future.

He told Rashid they would have to gather many more puffballs after a warm rain next summer, to replenish their stock. The edible fungus was wonderful to help bloody wounds clot because of the millions of tiny spores it contained. Lichen was also good for stanching wounds, but they had plenty of that.

Quite a few people who came to him that morning suffered from severe louse bites… always a problem when bathing and cleanliness were ignored. He advised them to apply a salve of cammoc, crowfoot, radish, and wormwood pounded into a dust, then kneaded with oil. Fleas posed a similar problem. To prevent infestations, he told a group of women to take gorse seeds, wet them down, then sprinkle them about their longhouses to kill the fleas. This was something Ingrith already practiced about her castle, which was so clean no flea or louse would dare intrude.

There were many ailments of the eye since Norse homes were so smoky. Adam suggested that the eyes be anointed with the juice from a roasted buck liver, and that afterwards the liver be eaten. Apparently, there was some ingredient in the meat that was beneficial to the eyes.

He prescribed pennyroyal for Torgeir's flatulence and suggested he cut ale out of his diet for a while. Torgeir said he would rather have wind in his bowels.

On a more serious note, one man, a sheepherder named Kolbein, came to him because of pains in his chest. Adam told him that he could not cure his heart disease, but he suggested he keep dogbane or milkweed about. A mild dose of the dried root mixed with water could act as a stimulant when heart failure threatened. And he cautioned the man to avoid heavy exertion or stress.

Rashid had been at his side the entire time, with his medical tools and herbs and ointments at the ready. He was an invaluable assistant, and Adam told him so now.

"Does that mean you are no longer angry with me over the harem?"

"That depends. If you are even remotely thinking of establishing a harem for me, then, yea, I am still angry. If you are doing it for yourself, then, nay, I do not care. Except to say, may Allah be watching over your demented soul."

They both laughed together as they walked arm in arm toward an outer door. It was a beautiful sunny day for October, and they intended to take advantage of the uncommon warmth to take a walk about the grounds. Tykir and Alinor joined them along the way.

"Would you look at this place?" Adam said. "I have never seen so many flowers and decorative bushes in all my life. I just never expected anything like this."

"You should see it in the springtime," Alinor remarked. "Flowers blooming everywhere. All the colors of the rainbow. Why, it is downright pretty here then."

"Precisely," Rafn commented with a grunt of disgust. He was carrying an armload of spears toward the exercise fields in the distance. "Have you ever heard of a Viking fortress being pretty? 'Tis humiliating. We are a laughingstock to many of our fellow Norsemen."

Alinor went off to consult with Drifa about some of her plants, and the rest of them followed Rafn.

"Why are those men running around in a circle?" Adam asked. There were groups of men throughout the field, working on various exercises: spear throwing, swordplay, archery, knife throwing. But around the periphery of the oval field, several dozen men were merely running at a slow trot.

"I know the answer to that one," Rashid announced before Tykir had a chance to answer. " 'Twould seem that Ingrith's rich foods do not sit well on the Viking stomach. Tyra claims some of her men are getting fat. She apparently noticed a pot belly on Bolli today. He had six currant custards yestereve. Tyra was very upset and said if they want to eat like hogs, they are going to have to run like horses."

Adam and Tykir exchanged quick glances of amusement.

"Well, she does have a point," Tykir said. "I must admit to having seen very few obese Vikings in my time. And those that were, most often were not fighting men."

"Leave it to Tyra, though, to come up with this solution," Adam said with dry humor. "Mayhap she will set a new custom."

The three of them laughed, shaking their heads at the spectacle of burly, muscle-bound Norsemen huffing and puffing as they completed another round of the field, sweat pouring off their faces and beards like… well, hogs.

That was when Adam noticed Tyra in the thick of the action. She was engaged in swordplay with a man half a head taller than she and carrying slightly more body bulk. The Viking broadsword was not intended for thrusting and parrying; it was too heavy for that. Instead, opponents wielded it in a hacking fashion, the intent being to slice the skin deeply or actually lop off a body part if there was enough force behind the swing.

Tyra was performing admirably. Oh, she staggered at times. Even fell on her arse one time, but so did her fighting partner another time. Sweat poured off her face in rivulets, causing her hair, which hung in a single braid down her back, to cling wetly to her scalp with tendrils about her face. She appeared exhausted from the hard physical labor, but that did not stop her.

"What a soldier!" Tykir remarked, staring at Tyra.

"What a woman!" Adam added without thinking.

Tykir just grinned at him.

It was a reasonable observation, to Adam's mind. Today she wore a sleeveless, knee-length leather tunic, with a wide belt at the waist. Her legs were bare except for cross-gartered half-boots, as were her arms except for etched silver upper-arm rings. All that bare skin exposed on arms and legs, which, incidentally, were exceedingly long and well shaped, spelled woman to Adam, not soldier. But he decided not to explain to Tyktr, who was watching him too closely and grinning.

Just then, Alrek ran by, chased by Tykir's son Thork. Their squeals of laughter were a joyous childish sound. It had to be the first time in years that Alrek had behaved like the youthling he was.