The Caged Viking

by Sandra Hill

  “Hey, sis! I thought you were going to stop by my booth.”

  Kirstin turned to see her brother Storvald approaching. In many ways, he resembled their father when he was younger, especially in the belted Viking tunic over slim braies and with his light brown hair pulled off his face low on his nape in a long ponytail. The rimless glasses, which he wore for close work because of a longtime vision problem, didn’t detract at all from his attractiveness. He was only a year younger than Kirstin and had never been married.

  “Sorry. I didn’t have time.” She made a little moue of apology. “How’s business?”

  “Wonderful! That’s why I wanted to talk to you. The idea you gave me last spring turned out great. I must have sold a couple thousand dollars’ worth of arm rings and brooches and belt buckles with that design, just today.”

  “Really? You mean the chasing hawks?”

  “Uh-huh. I have a special gift for you, a belated birthday present, to thank you.”

  She arched her brows in surprise and took the box from him which was imprinted with the Rosestead logo. In it were two arm rings in sterling silver with the intertwined hawk motif etched around all the sides. “Oh, Storvald! The design is beautiful. Exactly the way I pictured it in my dreams, although his arm rings were all tarnished and drab.”

  “So, still dreaming about your Viking, huh?”

  “Actually, no.” But then, she put on the bracelets, which seemly oddly warm, pushing them up until they fit snugly on her upper arms. She jerked when she felt sparks, almost like electricity where the metal touched her skin. And the room seemed to spin. But maybe it was her imagination.

  “Kirstie! Are you okay?”

  “Yeah. I got dizzy for a moment. Haven’t eaten since this morning, and it’s really getting hot in here.” Summer temperatures in Maine weren’t all that high, not like Southern California, but with all the people crowding inside, the air was getting thick, and someone’s perfume was rather cloying. Hopefully, the air conditioning would kick on soon.

  “Come on outside. I’ll buy you a hot dog…a boar hot dog.”

  She laughed and said, “No thanks. I can wait till dinner. You go ahead. And Storvald…” She gave him a quick hug. “…thank you so much for the gift. The bracelets are exquisite.”

  “Arm rings,” he corrected her.

  She smiled and said, “I’ll treasure them always.”

  “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “I’m sure,” she told him, and he went back outside to his booth which he’d left in the hands of one of their cousins.

  But she wasn’t all right. Something strange was happening to her, and whatever it was seemed to emanate from the arm rings.

  She tried to take them off, but they wouldn’t budge. She could understand her feet swelling from all the walking she’d done today around the village, but upper arms? That was a new one. They just wouldn’t move, and they were growing warmer and sending some kind of electrical impulses through her body. She felt lightheaded once again and leaned back against the log wall, closing her eyes.

  When she opened her eyes, it was a good thing she had the wall against her back for support because she might have fallen over with shock. The hall was the same, but different. Larger. More elaborate, even with the rushes on the floor, unlike Rosestead’s oak planks. And there were antique weapons and tapestries on the walls. Only one high table, not the four that were at Rosestead. All of the people who milled about talking and laughing and drinking wore period clothing. Even the serving guys and girls, who were clearing away remnants of the evening meal, wore homespun garments, while there were exquisite silks and brocades and brushed leather on the upper classes, of which there were many.

  Kirstin blinked several times to clear her head.

  Now I’m dreaming in the daytime. Standing up. She tried to laugh, but it came out as a choke, especially when she pinched her arm to wake up and touched the hot metal of an arm ring.

  Her eyes widened with sudden understanding. In her mind, she was picturing that popular Netflix series, The Last Kingdom, and how its creators had depicted a royal residence. What she was seeing before her looked very much the same. Not exactly. But similar.

  She frowned as she studied the furnishings, the people, the clothing, the language.

  Oh, no! Oh, no, no, no! Kirstin knew in that instant where she was. The great hall of Winchester Castle in the year 1015, give or take. Just before the Viking invasion.

  How can I be so sure, down almost to the precise year?

  Well, duh! Isn’t this what I’ve been studying for the past ten or so years? Isn’t this what I actually lived a long time ago?

  Could I have landed on some television production set?

  No, that isn’t it. There isn’t a camera in sight. Or behind-the-scenes workers in regular contemporary clothing.

  Somehow, some way, I have time-traveled, in reverse, she concluded.

  She had joked with her father and other family members several months ago about traveling back in time to save the Viking of her dreams. But she hadn’t really been serious. After all, she wasn’t a soldier or special ops person equipped in any way to rescue a captive. Besides, her dreams had stopped.

  End of story.

  Or so she’d thought.

  Looking around her, once she was convinced she wasn’t dreaming, or hallucinating, or anything like that, she berated herself for not being prepared. Even Claire, in that famous Outlander series, had planned for her adventure by packing a bag of photographs, modern medicines, ancient coins, and other necessities. All Kirstin had was what she wore.

  But I have my brain, Kirstin told herself. Time to use it to figure out why I’m here, and how to get back home. She breathed in and out, determined not to panic. At heart, she knew why she was here…or rather who was responsible for her time-travel.

  The question is…she began to study the crowd in more detail, to no avail…where is My Viking?

  Chapter 5

  The best-laid plans of mice and Viking men…

  Tonight was the night, and not a moment too soon. If all went according to plan, Hauk would be out of his cage and riding off with Egil to join the Viking hirdsmen for the attack on Winchester Castle and its Saxon surroundings. He already had a knife, hidden in his loincloth, and horses and other weapons should be a’ready in a nearby woodland.

  There was a worry, though. The Saxon nobles and their fighting men who remained in Aethelred’s great hall following the evening meal were imbibing more ale than usual in their attempt to put on brave fronts. The more they drank, the louder their boasts of past victories and of ones to come in the days ahead. Also, the more they drank, glances kept darting his way, with angry remarks, as if he were a symbol for all heathen Vikings who dared to invade their country. If one of them got any more drukkin, the mead-brave lackwit might just attempt something foolish, like dragging Hauk out for the amusement of his comrades-in-ale.

  Hauk breathed in deeply, then exhaled slowly, repeating the process several times in an attempt to slow his racing heartbeat. Energy abounded in his body, like it always did before a battle.

  Just then, Egil sidled up and whispered, “Who is she?”

  “Who? What?” Hauk was more than annoyed with the man. He’d warned Egil not to approach his cage anymore today, lest he raise suspicions about their relationship at this late date.

  “The woman who is asking for you?”

  “Huh?”

  Egil pointed to the far end of the hall where a woman in a blue gown was talking to some nobles who appeared to be amused by what she was saying. He didn’t recognize her, but then, it was hard to tell what she looked like from this distance and from the dark, smoky atmosphere of the cavernous hall.

  Hauk waved a hand dismissively and asked, “Everything is arranged?”

  Egil nodded. “Bergliot is taking the horses to the forest, as we speak.”

  That bedmate of Egil’s! Hauk bit his lip to prevent telling Egil once again how half
brained it was to drag a female with them. “Clothing for me?”

  “Yea, and weapons. All is set. Just waiting for these Saxon whoresons to make for their beds.”

  Hauk would like to kill a few of these Saxon nobles before he left the castle, especially those involved in the St. Brice’s Day Massacre, especially King Aethelred, but good sense curbed his appetite for revenge. For now. They would pay, though. That, Hauk vowed.

  There was a sudden stir in the center of the hall as the woman in blue approached the high table, where King Aethelred still sat with his wife and several of his thanes. Was she demented? A person didn’t address the royal family unless invited, and it appeared as if she’d just marched up, big as you please, and demanded an audience.

  Oh, good gods! Hauk recognized the woman now. It was the female who’d appeared before his cage some sennights ago, the one who’d worn the symbol of a dog on her shert. He’d assumed it had just been a dream. That she was a fantasy of his tortured brain.

  Queen Emma leaned forward over the high table, not an easy feat with her big belly, as she listened to the lady in blue speaking to her, gesticulating with her hands as she spoke. Others at the high table appeared interested, too, in whatever the lady was saying. Even those below the salt, sodden with drink, were listening, no doubt bored and open to new entertainment.

  “She appears to be a Norsewoman,” Egil observed.

  ’Twas true. She had pale blonde hair like many of his culture and the sculpted cheekbones that marked people of the North.

  “A Viking woman in a Saxon hall?” Hauk remarked. “I smell trouble.”

  But that was the least of Hauk’s troubles. Just then, the woman, the queen, and all those eavesdroppers turned to look in his direction.

  And the woman smiled.

  At him!

  Trouble, for a certainty.

  Phi Beta Warrioress…

  Time to get this show on the road.

  Kirstin inhaled deeply, then exhaled. With chin up and shoulders back, she stepped forward. She was never one to avoid problems. Even seemingly insurmountable ones, like, oh, let’s say, time travel and all the complications it would surely involve. The best way, she’d learned, was to meet a dilemma head-on.

  And use my head, for goodness sake! In a war of brainpower versus brawn power, of which she had almost none, intelligence would win out every time.

  She hoped.

  For that reason, she approached the person closest to her, a housecarl by the looks of him, dressed in a belted tunic over slim pants and seated several tables below the salt. She tapped him on the shoulder to get his attention.

  A housecarl was a permanent member of a noble’s household guard. In medieval times, salt was a valued commodity which was placed in the center of one of the tables closest to the dais. The upper classes were seated above the salt, the common folks, below. Thus, she concluded, this was a guardsman of lower status. She knew these things because of personal experience, as well as her medieval studies, which hopefully would be handy in this time period.

  See, my history, as well as my academic background, is already proving an asset in this situation. Who needs weapons and big macho men, like my brothers proclaim? If I was sent here to rescue a Viking idiot dumb enough to be captured by the Saxons, that’s what I’ll do, dammit! I am woman, hear me roar. Or something like that.

  Bolstered with that confidence, she felt better about her prospects and asked the startled housecarl, “Can you direct me to the Viking being held in a cage?”

  The man stood and gawked at her for a moment before saying, “Huh?” Obviously three sheets to the wind, he belched and almost knocked her over with his boozy breath.

  His pal, another housecarl, stood as well and leered at her. “Did ye not hear, Osric? She wants the Viking beast. Looks like she has a bit of the Norse blood in her, too.”

  “Ye could be right, Elfrid. Mayhap we should take her to our bed furs and show her the Saxon way. Ha, ha, ha!”

  The two elbowed each other.

  “No, thank you,” Kirstin said and moved away quickly before they got aggressive.

  She made her way directly toward the high table and heard murmurs following after her.

  “A Norse woman. What’s she doing here?”

  “Where did she come from?”

  “Appears to be seeking the Viking in the cage.”

  “Uh-oh!”

  “Mayhap she is a spy for the heathen invaders.”

  “Best we inform the king of this.”

  “Put her to the rack, he will.”

  “Or worse. Some say Viking women are more vicious than their men.”

  “All women are. Ouch! Why did ye pinch me arm, Dorrie?”

  “I’ll pinch more than your arm if ye don’t shut your yapper.”

  Kirstin ignored the comments until she stood below the dais and called up to the young woman in the center, a teenager, really, but wearing the garb and crown of royalty. If this was the time period she’d calculated when her father had first mentioned Hauk Thorsson to her, she knew exactly who this must be. “Queen Emma!”

  When the queen failed to respond and instead kept chatting with an older woman on her left, Kirstin yelled, “Queen Emma, could I have a word with you?”

  Now, Kirstin had the attention of not just the queen, but everyone around the queen, including the man on her right who must be her husband, King Aethelred.

  The queen tilted her head in question and stared at Kirstin. “Dost speak to me?”

  “I do. My name is Kirstin Magnusson, and I’m looking for the Viking being held here in a cage.” Kirstin figured she couldn’t be any more direct than that.

  There were gasps around her, and she noticed the king make a motion with a flick of the fingertips of one hand toward some guardsmen on her left… to take her into captivity, for daring to address royalty without permission, no doubt, or maybe because she was clearly of Norse descent, or, oh, yeah, because she was asking about their prisoner. Immediately, two burly men took hold of her by the upper arms and tried to drag her away.

  “Wait!” the queen said as she stood and attempted to see Kirstin better by leaning forward over the table, which wasn’t far, considering her condition. Her purple gown, trimmed in gold thread, had a sort of empire waist which could not hide her huge baby bump. “Magnusson? Do I know you?”

  Kirstin tried to shrug out of the grip of the two guardsmen, who turned out to be her two pals, Osric and Elfrid, to no avail. So, in a rush of words she tried to explain, “No, we’ve never met, but you must know my aunt, Lady Katla, who is married to Jarl Harald Gudsson of Norsemandy, or my cousins Thorfinn and Steven, Lady Katla’s sons. My father is Magnus Ericsson. I know, it’s usually the boys who take their father’s names and the girls who take their mother’s, but in my family we all use dad’s first name as our surname. Much simpler, especially in our case where we all had different mothers.” Kirstin bit her bottom lip to stop her nervous chatter.

  Emma’s eyes went wide as she picked out one part of Kirstin’s blathering. “Lady Katla is my mother’s godmother.”

  Well, yippee! Kirstin breathed a sigh of relief. When it came to Vikings, the usual six degrees of separation was knocked back to about three. She should have realized that from the start.

  “Who is she? Where did she come from?” the befuddled king asked, looking first at his wife, then at the guardsmen.

  “She asked for directions to the Viking beast,” one of her guardsmen told the king.

  The king’s bushy eyebrows shot up with suspicion and he rose to his feet next to his wife. “For what purpose?” he demanded of Kirstin.

  Kirstin knew she had to think quickly. She couldn’t say she was a traveler from the future; too much explanation would be required on her part and too much disbelief would follow on theirs. And she couldn’t say that she’d come to rescue the prisoner; she’d probably end up behind bars, too, or worse. So, she blurted out the first thing that came to mind, “He’s my fian
cée.”

  “Your what?” the king questioned.

  “Betrothed. Hauk and I were betrothed by our fathers, as children. I haven’t seen or heard from Hauk in years, and, frankly, I’m a little tired of waiting for him to drag his sorry ass to the altar. Oops! Sorry for the bad language. Anyhow, I figured I should check and see if he’s dead or alive. If he’s dead, time for me to move on.” She shrugged. “If he’s alive, well, that poses another problem, seeing as how he’s living in a cage. Hard to set up housekeeping in that small a space. Ha, ha, ha.”

  Well, that bit of flippancy went over like a lead balloon, Kirstin realized as about a dozen people, including the king and queen, gaped at her. Not one of them smiled. No sense of humor, at all.

  “How romantic!” Queen Emma said then.

  “What?” Kirstin exclaimed and that sentiment was echoed by the king who looked at his wife as if she’d just hopped on the crazy train.

  “We should have a wedding,” Emma proposed.

  “Are you gone barmy, wife?” Aethelred asked.

  “No. Think about it, husband. If they wed, this woman will get the marriage she was promised. And my father and Sweyn can hardly complain about Hauk’s confinement if they find him happily wed during his sojourn here.”

  Sojourn? Is that what they’re calling imprisonment now? Like, “Hey, Mister President, how long will those terrorists be sojourning in Guantanemo?”

  There were cheers from everyone within hearing distance. Finally, the drunken mass was to be given new entertainment. “A wedding! A wedding! A wedding!” they all chanted, banging their wooden goblets on the tables.