Page 7 of The Reluctant Viking

“So Sigtrygg still hopes for a united Northumbrian-Irish kingdom?” Thork questioned.

“Yea, and more. He cannot see that the Saxons lay waste our lands while he and his cousins bicker over power among the two countries,” Selik answered.

Olaf added, “He tries to force a pagan government on Christian Danes who have lived here for generations and are no longer content with the old ways.”

“I tell you, Thork, when Viking fights Viking, the bloody Saxon will be the winner,” Selik asserted vehemently.

“I see now why Sigtrygg stews,” Thork said pensively, “and ’twould seem our fair maid here has much to fear if our king rages so.” He swatted Ruby on the behind for emphasis, calling everyone’s attention back to her.

“’Twill depend on Ivar’s mood,” Olaf stated matter-of-factly, with a shrug of unconcern. “If he be of a mean temper, as he is wont at the flip of a coin, he will likely behead her on the spot. Or mayhap flay all the skin off her body just to amuse himself.”

Behead her! Flay her! To amuse himself! Ruby’s stomach churned.

“Or spread her legs and skewer her on the spot if she appeals,” Selik drawled with a suggestive chortle, “or bugger her like the boy she appears.”

“Thor’s toenails! Too much mead under his belt and ’twill not matter a whit if she be fair or barley-faced, I warrant,” Thork added with unflattering frankness. His deep voice held a trace of laughter. “Sigtrygg can be a man of uncommon appetites, in all ways!”

“Comes of being a berserker, I say. Wild in battle, wild in bed, or so I’ve been told,” Selik interjected lewdly. “But, even so, I cannot fathom Sigtrygg being attracted to this scrawny bird.”

Thork laughed and pinched Ruby’s bottom to halt any protest she might be contemplating. “But you forget, Selik, our king relishes the odd perversion. Didst ye hear of the night Sigtrygg…”

The men laughed companionably when Thork’s risqué story ended. It involved a nun, ropes and a wide variety of feathers.

Ruby was not amused. Thork had probably invented the sexual tale to alarm her before meeting the king. She punched him in the back hoping to stop his laughter, to no avail. It was like pounding a brick wall.

Then Thork turned serious, stating softly in a hushed voice, “Actually, Sigtrygg’s mood is sure to sweeten once he hears my news.” He paused significantly to get the men’s full attention. “King Athelstan would strengthen the alliance between Wessex and Northumbria by wedding his sister to our ruler.”

At first, stunned silence prevailed. Then they all protested at once.

“Thor’s blood!”

“The gall of the Saxon!”

“The proposal smacks of trickery! Why would the king give his own blood to mix with a heathen dog? ’Tis what the Saxons call us Vikings, and worse.”

After they all vented their consternation, Selik said, “They say the Saxon king be godly handsome. Did ye find his sister pleasing…or skinny and horse-faced like the other Saxon bitches?”

Thork laughed at Selik’s one-track mind. “What difference? Our power-hungry Sigtrygg would wed a pig if ’twould bring him more lands.”

“So, think you there will be a royal wedding?”

“’Tis uncertain, Olaf, but I trust not these Saxons—even Athelstan who has been fairer than most. Some say he walks the same line as his grandfather, the so-called ‘Good Alfred.’ Still, ’twould be wise of Sigtrygg to proceed slowly…and watch his back.”

All agreed. Then Thork turned to another man, who had not spoken yet. “What think you, Cnut?”

Ruby craned her neck to see him.

The older man spoke slowly, with authority. “The Saxons teach us treachery at every turn. The greedy bastards have chopped away at the Danelaw like bloody berserkers. ’Tis little more than a score of years since I stood with Guthorm when King Alfred agreed to the Danelaw boundary between Viking and Saxon England.”

A respectful silence followed his words.

“Our territory then ran up the Thames to London, along the Lea to its source, on to Bedford, then up the River Ouse to Watling Street,” Cnut went on, “but what have we now? Little more than Northumbria, with Jorvik as our center! A piss ant in the midst of a beehive!”

Ruby heard him spit for emphasis, then add, “Even that, they begrudge us. The ‘Five Boroughs’ we Vikings founded—Lincoln, Nottingham, Derby, Leicester and Stamford—all taken. Mayhap you forget the lies and deceit, Thork, on both sides, but mark my words, blood will spill soon—wedding or no.”

Ruby interrupted then; she could wait no longer.

“Thork, put me down. I’m going to throw up.”