Page 36 of The Caged Viking

“Bjorn, you are to stay here tomorrow and protect your stepmother.”

Kirstin and Bjorn looked at each other with surprise. She hadn’t thought of herself in that way, and neither had he, obviously.

But then Bjorn erupted, “Nay! You will not keep me from the fight.”

“You are a youthling,” his father pointed out.

“I’m old enough. How old were you when you were first blooded?”

The sudden color in Hauk’s cheek said it all. “This is not up for debate. There is no shame in guard duty. And, besides, I need someone responsible to take my wife to safety if the battle goes against us. I will leave you with coin enough to get yourselves to Jorvik and from there take ship to Haukshire.”

“How do you know I want to go to your estate?” Kirstin asked. “If you’re gone, I’m going home to America. Speaking of which, you need to give me back my arm rings. In case you don’t return.”

He gave her a long look. “I’ll give the arm rings to Bjorn for safekeeping. He will return the arm rings if I am in Valhalla.”

Bjorn was still grumbling over being left behind but he nodded at his father’s order.

Hauk looked to Egil and suggested, “Get our battle gear set out tonight…chain mail, helmets, shields, weapons. Try to get a few hours sleep.”

“As you say, master,” Egil said.

Hauk stood then and told Bjorn, “Come with me while I meet with my men…those who stayed with my longship in Jorvik these many months whilst I’ve been imprisoned.”

Bjorn, for once, didn’t balk but rose to his feet to follow his father. There was a similarity between the two of them, although Bjorn, at twelve, was of course a foot shorter and slender in an adolescent way with little muscle definition, unlike his father who was slim from near starvation but still retaining muscle. Despite his already voiced animosity toward his father, the way the boy stared up at him bespoke admiration, too. Their relationship was getting off to a good start in healing, Kirstin could see. Now, if only their bond had a chance to grow, as in the battle leaving Hauk unharmed. Please God, she found herself praying.

“Egil, do we have soap anywhere?” she asked.

“Nay,” he replied but then added, “Wait.” He went inside the tent and came back with a hunk of a hard gray substance that she assumed was soap, probably made from ashes and suet and lye.

Yuck! But she couldn’t be choosy and said, “Thank you. Why don’t I go clean up these dishes and you can take care of Hauk’s battle stuff?”

Egil appeared hesitant at first.

“I’ll be careful to stay away from the men,” she assured him. “Most of them are off in their various camps preparing for tomorrow anyhow.” Although some of those preps involved drinking, she noted to herself.

Since all of the rabbit stew had been eaten, the small cauldron was empty. She put the ladle inside the pot, along with the four bowls, topped with the cake of soap and a scrap of linen she’d used to lift the hot handle. And off she went to the stream which was mostly deserted, except for a few women…camp followers…who’d had the same idea. After she’d cleaned the dinner paraphernalia as best she could, she moved a little farther away around a bend in the stream for privacy, and worked quickly with the rag and soap to wash her face and neck and arms, even undoing her gown to her waist to take care of underarms and breasts. There wasn’t much lather, and no lovely floral scent like her favorite Dove beauty bar, but the hard soap did its job. She hesitated for a moment, then lifted her gown, and gave a quick wash between her legs.

Feeling refreshed, she went back to the campsite. By then it was dusk and everywhere folks seemed to be settling down. There were still the sounds of conversation, occasional laughter, and such, but mostly it was subdued, as she imagined most places, whether they be a Viking camp site or a modern military outpost, would be on the night before a battle. She knew for a fact that at the SEAL base, last wills and financial arrangements would be made, along with praying for those so inclined, which was almost all of them when possible death was on the horizon…that famous foxhole religion.

She found Egil inside the tent where he’d placed all of his and Hauk’s fighting gear down the middle of the space. The long pile was almost three feet high, comprising the swords, knives, lances, battle-axes, shields, chain mail, and helmets, not to mention harnesses, saddles, and saddle bags for two of the horses they would be taking. A fat, burning candle sat on a level area atop a flat shield, providing a dim light in the tent. On either side of the dividing line, Egil had laid out all the bed furs.

Egil was lying on one side. He’d left enough room beside him for another body…Hauk…when he returned. As she stood on her side, Egil raised his head, bracing himself on his elbows, and told her, “I’m jist restin’ me head a bit. ’Twas a long day, and I ’spect ’twill be much longer on the morrow.”

“Hauk and Bjorn haven’t returned yet?”

“Nay. The master will be introducin’ his son to his old comrades, ensuring their loyalty to his son, whether Hauk returns or not.”

“Do you think they’ve reconciled…I mean, that Bjorn will have accepted his father?”

“No doubt. If not now, then soon. A son will forgive a father for much, and vicey versa.”

That was true. “Have you been with Hauk for a long time?”

“Since he was a boyling. I served his father before that, and talk about forgiveness! There was a man who deserved no forgiveness! Meaner than a snake, he was, even with his own family. Methinks the master Hauk stayed away from his boy Bjorn for so long ’cause he was afeared he had no fathering skills, like his own heartless father.”

“Where was his mother?”

“Died in his birthin’, she did.”