Page 57 of A Tale of Two Vikings

must see the departed

in the warm sunshine overhead,

watching a bird flying straight ahead,

a birthing of a horse well-bred,

the welcome of one’s own homestead.

But with that I disagree,

in the case of these twins so carefree.

Toste, my friend, I ask you this:

What would Vagn most likely miss?

This is where you will find his spirit

if through this world he does still flit:

the wink of a winsome maid,

a good jest ofttimes played,

the sway of a shapely female bottom,

a good battle fairly won,

the adventure of a-Viking,

then coming home,

the male pride in a rock-hard staff,

the ecstasy of sexual coupling,

the love of man for woman,

the birth of one’s own babe.

At these times, I believe, Vagn will be

there, and you will know:

Even in death, you are still one.”

A stunned silence followed, and not the usual stunned silence that followed Bolthor’s sagas. For once, Bolthor had composed a truly touching poem.

“Thank you,” Toste said finally. “Mayhap you could help me memorize that one so I can pull it to mind when my spirits are low.”

You would have thought he’d handed Bolthor a chest of gold, so much did he beam with pleasure.

“Would you mind if I change the subject?” Alinor asked.

“Do horses piss?” Toste muttered under his breath.

Esme elbowed him and muttered, “Coarse lout!”