Page 13 of A Tale of Two Vikings

“Coarse, ignorant lackwits, both of you!” she pronounced. Despite her irritation, she dared to lay her hand on the Viking’s right thigh and yank it none too gently apart from the other thigh so she could finish her cleansing, but her action caused the manpart to grow even more. Despite his abated fever, his flesh still raged hot to the touch. Was it renewed fever or her touch that caused the heat? Alarming thoughts, both.

Helga jumped back then with horror…not because of his outrageous manpart, or his hot skin, or her belated delicacy, but because she’d just realized something. Her eyes bulged with disbelief as she gazed down on his reclining body. “Where’s your birthmark?” she asked in a sudden panic.

“How do you know about the birthmark?”

“Hah! You know very well how you talked me into going to the stables at King Haakon’s court to show me ‘a secret’ which turned out to be your nude body and the birthmark. Vile boy!”

“Was that before or after I called you Helga the Homely?”

“Before.”

If looks could kill, he would be one dead Viking. With renewed horror, she declared, “You are not Toste.”

“He is not Toste,” her father concurred.

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell everyone.”

And then his sap began to rise…

Vagn was up and about in Gorm’s keep…but just barely.

Apparently, he had not recovered as much as he’d thought. Two days ago, after Helga had washed his nude body—and wasn’t that an experience to savor!—and rebound his wounds, Vagn had attempted to leave the pallet, but his knees had given out and pain had shot through his chest, radiating out to all his extremities. It had probably been due to the stress of her endless questioning as to what had happened to Toste, now that she accepted he was not his brother. To his vast indignity, Helga had caught him as he’d begun to crumble in a heap at her feet. He’d learned later that it had taken Helga, her father and the guard outside the door to get him back onto the pallet, where his wounds had reopened and begun bleeding profusely again.

But he was downstairs now, making his way gingerly toward the solar where he heard voices. Gorm was off patrolling his estates, and a housecarl had brought him a morning meal of honey cakes and ale a short time ago. He could not lie on that mattress one moment longer for fear he would have more horrific nightmares, either reliving the battle at Stone Valley or suffering a harsh blow to the head, which had caused his brother’s death. Even when he was awake, his head ached and he sometimes saw visions of human crows in black garb gathering about him with squawking voices, about to peck out his entrails. Most of all, he was bored and restless. And, truth to tell, he was randy as a bull whose male-sap had risen.

Besides, he wanted to find Helga and tease her some more. She rose so easily to his taunts about their upcoming wedding. Not that he really planned to wed her. Leastways, he probably didn’t. Undoubtedly didn’t. Well, all right, he was still considering the possibility, but in the meantime, he would test the waters and see if he could goad Helga into revealing her true feelings.

Thus far, her voiced feelings amounted to “Dolt!” or “Lackwit dolt!”

Vagn chose to interpret that as I think she likes me.

He approached the open doorway of the solar and leaned against the doorjamb, not wanting to interrupt what seemed to be a business meeting between Helga and Saleem, an Arab merchant whose trading vessel docked periodically at Jorvik. Saleem was also known as Sly-Boots for his ability to pull off many a shrewd trading deal…often to the detriment of his customers. At this moment, though, he didn’t appear to be faring so well.

“Five mancuses for these simple fabrics? ’Tis thievery!” Saleem said, fingering one of the ells of finely woven wool spread across a large table. An embroidered diamond design highlighted the jade-green cloth in shades of yellow and red and black.

“This wool is the best in all Britain, and you know it,” Helga said, brushing his fingertips away. “Besides that, the exquisite embroidery makes it nigh priceless. But that is neither here nor there. I have changed my mind. I think five mancuses for these three ells is way too cheap. I would need at least six to part with it.”

“The fabric is indeed exquisite,” Saleem conceded.

“You know, I can always sell this at my own stall in Coppergate.” Coppergate was the trading section of the port city.

“It is a deal,” Saleem said, “but only if you sell me the white silk over there.” There was a bolt of cream white silk set aside on another table. Along its edge was an embroidered pattern of gold thread which enclosed a border of red hearts. Vagn had never seen anything like it afore, and he had been in all the important trading towns of the world, including Birka and Hedeby.

“Nay!” Vagn said, stepping into the room.

Helga’s eyes widened with surprise…and concern for his health, he could tell.

I am just as surprised as you, m’lady, and just as concerned. What am I thinking? Am I thinking? “I wish to purchase that fabric myself,” Vagn shocked himself by saying. Has some other being taken over my tongue? Why would I want a piece of white cloth?

“You?” Helga and Saleem said at the same time.

“Yea, I wish it for a bride gift,” he announced blithely. “I mean, a possible bride gift.” I mean, what in bloody hell is going on inside my brain?

“Not that again!” Helga groaned with dismay. “Where would you find so much coin?”

“I had a hide pouch tied round my waist, under my tunic and armor. The battlefield scavengers never got to it. Besides, I have access to other money, if need be.”

She did not seem pleased that he was not a pauper.