Page 100 of The Caged Viking

Everything went smoothly after that. More than one person, especially the old ones, told Hauk it was the best fellowship Haukshire had offered in many a year, possibly not since his grandsire’s day. They thanked him profusely for his leadership.

After the meal, some of them exchanged seats and Hauk found himself sitting between Ingolf and his wife, while Bjorn was entertaining the two daughters. Egil snuck off to drink with some companions and no doubt share exaggerated battle stories.

Hauk didn’t trust Ingolf completely, but he appeared to be offering a neighborly hand of peace. For the time being, leastways. They talked of shared interests…hunting, fishing, a-Viking exploits and future plans, gossip of King Olaf’s court and Sweyn’s reportedly having been named king of all the Saxon lands. Which of course made him think of Kirstin once again, for she had predicted just such a fate for Sweyn. He had to wonder if Sweyn’s untimely death would follow also, as she’d foretold. Of course, he did not mention that to Ingolf, who, thankfully, didn’t inquire about his absent wife at all, probably having been warned by others that it was a sore subject.

Soon, Ingolf’s wife began to whine to her husband about being overtired, and the two of them made for their assigned bedchamber, along with their daughters. It must be close to midnight. Thorkel and Signe had departed hours ago. Which left just him and Bjorn. Hauk let loose with a jaw-cracking yawn. It had been an especially long day. But neither he nor Bjorn could leave until everyone else had departed, since the tables would have to be moved to open the bed closets.

“So, you have taken a liking for Ingolf’s daughters?” he inquired.

“What? I was just talking to them,” a red-faced Bjorn replied, as if Hauk had accused him of some more forward activity.

“I would hope so! That all you did was talk,” Hauk teased. “I would not like it to be said that you were playing lewd fingers under the table with girls of noble birth.”

“Lewd…lewd fingers!” Bjorn sputtered. “I do not even know what that means.

“It is a talent most Vikings develop,” Hauk said, waggling his fingers, telling him it was best to practice, perchance on himself. Then he laughed, which left Bjorn to wonder if he was serious or not.

But Bjorn got the last “word” in later, after having realized that his father had made mock of him, when they crawled into a bed closet together. Apparently Bjorn had overindulged in boiled eggs resulting in his breaking wind, repeatedly, with the most foul fumes, even as he slept…and snored loudly! It got so bad—the smell and the noise—that Hauk had to find another place to sleep, and the only space available was atop some fabric and furs in his treasure room. Which turned out to be just fine, more comfortable than a bed closet, for a certainty, with or without Bjorn.

Of course, as often happened, once he lay his head down, exhausted as he was, he was no longer tired. Instead, his mind wandered in the quiet, and Hauk could not keep his thoughts from returning to Kirstin.

Tomorrow was the first of the Jul days, comparable to the Christmas Day that the papists celebrated to mark the birth of their Jesus Christ. Tonight was their Christmas Eve.

Would Kirstin be attending Midnight Mass with her family, as she’d once described the traditions in her time?

Would they all…the numerous members of her extended family, be converging on the vineyard family estate tomorrow…well, this morning, considering the late hour?

Would they be feasting in their own way? What foods would they serve in that new land? Wine, of course, but would there be mead, as well, and roast boar for the day itself? Had they abandoned all Norse Jul traditions?

There would undoubtedly be laughter and teasing and exchanging of gifts. Children screeching. Music. The raucous noises of a happy family.

Would she think of me, even once?

Or am I as forgotten as the ease with which she left?

Tsk, tsk, tsk! said that voice in his head, which had been absent of late. Oh, you of little faith!

What? What do you mean?

Some Vikings are thick as mud, the voice said, as if it was speaking to some other celestial being, then laughed.

Hauk decided he must be half asleep and this must be some kind of half dream, or else, more likely, it was the result of his imbibing too much ale and mead and wine this night.

As long as he was already acting demented, Hauk decided to go one step further and whispered, “Good night, Kirstin, wherever you are.” Tomorrow he might wish her bad dreams or nightmares when his resentments against her returned, but for tonight, he sighed and repeated, “Good night, wife.”

He thought he heard a sigh in his head, too. Was it a sign…a celestial sign?

Chapter 23

Even the longest trips start with one step…

“Good night, Kirstin, wherever you are.”

Kirstin heard Hauk’s voice clear as if he lay beside her, and she jackknifed into a sitting position in her bed at Blue Dragon. Although she’d been asleep, she hadn’t been dreaming of him; so, where had the voice come from?

She lay back down and closed her eyes, wishing to call up his image, either in her memory, or in a dream, but there was nothing, except she thought she detected a repeat, in a hushed whisper, “Good night, wife.”

Is it a sign?