Page 78 of The Bewitched Viking

He laughed. “Mayhap she was overzealous in her cooking, but her intentions were pure. And Girta tells me it cured the sniffles amongst the men, and helped bring my fever down.”

“Girta is under the witch’s spell, too.” Rurik’s mulish expression reminded Tykir of a little boy’s stubborn whining. Next he would be sticking out his lower lip and pouting.

Rurik stuck out his lower lip and pouted. “’Tis true.”

Tykir grinned. Then, more sober, he lectured, “Rurik! ’Tis unlike you to accuse someone without just cause.”

“Well, mayhap Girta is not really ensorcelled, but there have been strange happenings. Inga, down in the village, gave birth to triplets. Three girls! Explain that.”

Tykir nodded, giving serious consideration to Rurik’s charge. “Dropping three babes at once is a rare occurrence, but not unheard of. And ’tis true, many a man would be disappointed in having not one girl child, but three. I suppose it could be within a witch’s power to influence the birthing, but I cannot be certain ’twas Alinor’s doing.”

“She is e’er interfering in men’s work and play.”

“Like?”

“Like this morn, we men were engaged in a mere contest. The witch raised such a to-do amongst the women, we had to disband for all the shrieking.”

“A mere contest?” Really, ’twas like pulling a plow-horse out of a bog to get a clear answer from Rurik.

“Oh, if you insist! ’Twas a pissing contest…who could spell the foulest word in the shortest time in the new fallen snow. Now, is that such a bad thing that the Lady Alinor would fly into a rage? Is that any reason for Girta to call me a crude oaf? It could have been called a learning situation…those who can read and write teaching those who cannot.”

Tykir choked on his ale and spit out a shower onto the table as he attempted to swallow and laugh at the same time. When he finally wiped his mouth and the table with a linen cloth, he gave Rurik a level look. “Methinks you need to find a life-purpose. Methinks you dwell too much on a witch who is not a witch because you are idle too much. Methinks Girta is correct…you are a crude oaf. Methinks there is no proof of witchcraft, Rurik. Face that fact and get on with it.”

“Nay, my friend. You are the one not facing facts. Those are only a few of the witch’s crimes.”

He exhaled loudly, then waved Rurik on. “Proceed.”

“Three of the maids have refused to service us men, even though they always did in the past. Those that will are barley-faced and stiff as sticks in the bed straw. ’Tis like swiving a loaf of bread.”

“Come now, Rurik. ’Tis a maid’s prerogative whether she wants to sate a man’s lust or not. Leastways, that has always been the rule at Dragonstead. You cannot blame that on a witch.”

“Yea, I can.”

“If Alinor interfered in that regard, it was no doubt as a high-born lady, not a witch. We have become accustomed to living the rough life here for overlong. My sister-by-marriage, Lady Eadyth, would have advised her female servants much the same, and you know it.”

“Why do you defend the witch, Tykir?”

“I do not defend her. I am trying to be fair.”

“Well, you cannot say that the witch is not responsible for interfering in the planned wedding of Bodil the Ripe and her intended, Rapp.”

Tykir put his face into both hands, atop elbows propped on the table. If he had not been muddle-headed when he came down to the hall, he was fast becoming so.

“Bodil is rescinding her agreement to wed with Rapp because the witch told her it is every woman’s right to change her mind. Can you imagine! As if women even have minds! And now Rapp suffers constantly from the gut rumbles. And that is not all. Jostein the Smith has been mooning about like a lovesick cow, and Bodil will not feel sorry for him.”

“Jostein? What has Jostein to do with this?” Tykir peeked out betwixt his fingers, thoroughly confused.

“Jostein is the one Bodil really favors, but Jostein spread her thighs and enjoyed her charms aplenty without the offer of matrimony. Then Bodil decided to show him what-for and agreed to marry Rapp in retaliation. Now, Jostein moons and Rapp’s stomach rumbles.”

“Rapp? Are you speaking of Rapp of the Big Wind? His stomach always rumbles. Is he not the one who farted and belched to the tune of ‘Three Maids and a Viking’ at the yule feast last year?”

Rurik ducked his head sheepishly, but only for a second. “She does not act as a captive should, Tykir.” He thought a moment, then asked, “She is a captive, isn’t she?”

Tykir cocked his head. “Well, yea. I mean, nay. ’Tis hard to classify her as captive, nor is she a guest.”

“The men ask when you intend to mete out her punishment. You have yet to discipline her for poisoning you back in Northumbria, not to mention her many crimes since.”

Tykir drew himself up with affront. “The wench will be punished, but I will be the one making the decision how and when, and no one else.”