Page 109 of The Bewitched Viking

Egbert paused, saw the wisdom of Hebert’s words and kicked her in the shin. It was a sharp, brutal blow that caused her to stumble backward and almost fall. She was saved by the burly chest of her captor, who still stood behind her.

“What is this all about?” she asked, trying to hide the pain in her wobbly voice. “Surely a mere woman like me is not worth all this trouble.”

“Actually, you are,” Egbert informed her icily. “’Twould seem that news of your witchcraft has spread throughout Britain. And, surprisingly, there are some men who see value in that. Do you really have a tail, Alinor?”

“Mayhap these smitten men think you can perform some magic in the bed linens,” Hebert added with a lascivious snicker.

“In essence, your bride-price has gone up substantially, tail or no tail,” Egbert announced. “Methinks that your being leman to a Viking jarl—yea, news of that disgrace traveled, too—will add even more coins to the marriage purse.” He shook his head with wonder, studying her. “I cannot see the attraction myself, but apparently you must have some talent that would hold the interest of a fierce Viking. There are a few Saxon noblemen who consider that a challenge…to taste what has been thawed by a heathen barbarian.” He shivered with distaste at the thought.

Demented! My brothers have gone from bumbling idiots to full-blown demented bumbling idiots. “Tykir will never allow you to do this to me,” she asserted, though she was not so sure he wouldn’t consider himself well rid of her. Nay, that was not true. Tykir was a man who set high standards for the treatment of women…even one who was a mere leman…or former leman.

“Yea, he will,” Egbert declared, puffing out his chest and smirking with some secret satisfaction. “He will when you convince him that you come with us of your own choice.”

She snorted with disbelief. “And why would I do that?”

“Because of this,” both brothers said at the same time, and stepped aside to reveal the pile of clothing that lay on the bare ground behind them. Nay, it was not a pile of clothing, Alinor realized. It was…

“Oh, my God! What have you done?” Alinor rushed forward and dropped to her knees before the tortured, mutilated body of a young boy. At first she did not recognize him, so swollen was his face with bruises and his eye half out of the socket. One leg lay askew, having been broken midcalf and left unset. The chest area of his tunic was sliced and bloody. Then, horror filled Alinor as she realized that it was Karl, the young boy who had been serving customers at Tykir’s stall in Hedeby.

She looked up at her brothers through teary eyes. “Why?”

“The lackwit wouldn’t tell us, at first, how to find your Viking lover,” Egbert complained sulkily.

“You fools! He probably didn’t know. He’s not a Viking.”

“And he was insolent, the whelp was. Called us the devil’s get, he did,” Hebert added defensively. “How were we to know how much information he withheld without the torture?”

Tears streamed down Alinor’s face as she studied the boy, not sure where to start, and whether she would do more harm handling him. “Hurry. Get a healer to come at once. Tell Father Caedmon inside the castle that his presence is required.”

“There is no need of a healer. The boy died this morn.” There was disgust in Egbert’s voice, not remorse.

Hebert motioned the six mercenaries to the doorway and whispered some orders to them. They left with haste, and Hebert came back to her.

“I always thought you two were fools, and I sometimes thought you cruel, but I never thought you evil. This is an utterly evil act.” She motioned to the lifeless body before her.

“We didn’t do it,” they exclaimed at once.

“Dost think the mercenaries you paid are at fault? Nay, you are the ones who will suffer eternal damnation for this ruthless act.”

“Be that as it may,” Egbert said. “We do not have much time. Will you come with us voluntarily, or will we order the same treatment for Thorksson?”

“Tykir? Are you threatening to do the same to Tykir?” She laughed mirthlessly. “You two dimwits are in the middle of Norse lands, a hairsbreadth from a castle housing hundreds of soldiers, and you threaten a high-placed Norseman? You truly are mad.”

Hebert grabbed Alinor by the upper arm and pinched hard. “Watch your tongue, sister, or you may follow the same fate, eventually.”

“Nay, we would not attack your lover in his own lands. We have given orders to the six mercenaries Hebert just dispatched,” Egbert informed her with relish. “If either of us disappears, or is captured, or has any harm done to him, there are five hundred marks of silver awaiting the delivery of Tykir’s tortured body, or his head, to my chamberlain in Wessex.”

“And what makes you think Tykir couldn’t defend himself?”

“Oh, I daresay he could defend himself in a fair fight, even if the odds were against him…as they were when he attacked us outside the Norse palace in Jorvik last fall,” Hebert said.

Apparently, Hebert had forgotten who had attacked whom, but that was not the important issue. He was right: Tykir was not immune to a devious, backstabbing attack. Still…

“I could scream now, and you two would be dead within minutes.”

“Ah, ’tis true, ’tis true,” Egbert agreed, smiling maliciously. He had one front tooth missing, whether from the rot or some misbegotten escapade, she did not know…probably the latter. “But where are the six mercenaries, my dear? Already they have blended with the hundreds of men hereabouts. They may have even left on one of the departing ships. Could you identify them, for certain?”

Alinor’s shoulders slumped. She hadn’t paid them heed once she’d seen her brothers, and then the poor boy.