Ragnar the Just (Ragnar the Dane)

by Lily Byrne

  *

  That evening the weather was humid, the heat trapped under a grey layer of cloud. A storm threatened but the boys arrived for their fight training as usual and Kjartan threw himself into it, trying not to think. Slice, chop, cut, thrust, parry, turn. That was all he needed to think about.

  They mostly played games: Stigandi - the stepping exercise with swords and shields, stepping round each other to practise agility without actually fighting; the engaging exercise - where one had an axe and shield, the other a spear, and they fought to see who was victorious. The boys left happy and excited, pushing and shoving each other as they set off home for supper.

  Lini helped clear up as usual.

  “You’re very quiet,” he remarked.

  “I don’t have to talk all the time.”

  “No, but - what’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.”

  Lini tried another tack.

  “You’re really doing well with the boys. They fought hard today. Better than me, but I’m no fighter. More of a lover.” He laughed.

  Kjartan looked at him properly for the first time. He had avoided doing so throughout the session, but now he met his eyes, aware that the thoughts of the night before were returning. He could feel his cock hardening, a feeling that should only happen when he looked at a woman. He clenched his fist, hoping Lini had not noticed the growing bulge in his trousers.

  “You should learn to fight, then.” He grabbed his own sword, Verrdrepa, and threw his spare one to Lini. He slashed at him and Lini was forced to defend, backing away. “You should always take someone by surprise.”

  “You got that right.” Lini was out of breath already. Thunder rumbled in the distance.

  Kjartan struck again and again. Right, left, below, above. He entered the trance-like state of the warrior and forced Lini back further and further.

  The amber smith struggled, unused to this, and panted, unable to suck in enough air on such a sultry day. He stumbled backwards, eyes wide in fear as Kjartan speeded up, his strokes increasing.

  Lini tripped and fell onto dry grass that had been hardened by weeks of sunny weather, and raised his sword in a final desperate defence. But Kjartan’s fighting brain saw an opportunity and struck, cutting Lini’s arm.

  “Stop!” he shouted. “What’s the matter with you? Now my wife will have to sew and clean my tunic. She hasn’t got time to do that.”

  Kjartan stopped, panting, sweat pouring down his back. His arousal had disappeared and he told himself it hadn’t really happened.

  Tutting, Lini took off his tunic to examine the wound and Kjartan turned away, trying to ignore his lean, lightly-haired chest. He must be perverted. What would his Viking ancestors think? The thunder growled closer and he wondered if that was their way of showing their disapproval.

  *

  Lini strode off home through the first drops of rain, carrying his tunic. Halldora would not be pleased; she liked everything in order and tidy. And the rain would ruin the hay harvest. He’d be ordered to help out to get all the hay in more quickly. What else could go wrong today?

  But Kjartan’s actions preoccupied him. What had got into him? Lini’s heart hadn’t pounded so much for a long time. He’d thought his friend was going to kill him. His crystal blue eyes had looked frighteningly hard and cold when he’d come close.

  But, in another way, he’d enjoyed seeing Kjartan at his fighting peak. How an enemy must cower before him! Despite being thrown out of the Huskarls, or perhaps because of it, he was still a warrior to be reckoned with. The way his arm muscles flexed and his ashen plait swung as he turned, struck and parried, the way his …

  “Lini!” Halldora snapped, making him jump. “Why are you half-naked?”

  “I – er - caught my sleeve on a branch. It needs mending.”

  “As if I haven’t enough to do,” she sighed, ruffling his hair. “The children are in bed at last. It’s time for supper.”

  That night, the threatened storm turned out to be only a slight shower of rain but the heat remained, keeping everyone awake, except Halldora, who snored loudly.

  Lini lay there, his thoughts going back to the time he’d first seen Kjartan years ago, fighting that tree, then later to his escape from justice, to his return and apparent acceptance of domestic life. He sighed, wishing Kjartan hadn’t returned, but at that his heart missed a beat. The Kjartan-shaped gap in his life would have still been there. He couldn’t escape feeling like this anymore.

  *

  The next fighting school lesson went the same way. Kjartan threw himself into the training and only spoke to Lini briefly. He finished the lesson with a game where the swords were left in the middle of the ground and the boys had to run forward to grab them while holding shields, then attack each other. Great fun and good to tire them out, especially in such stifling weather.

  “What was that about last time?” asked Lini as they cleared up at the end. “You went mad. Don’t do that again, will you?” He fiddled nervously with his hair which was damp with sweat.

  Kjartan shrugged.

  “I don’t think it’s going to work out with us both running this school.”

  “Why not?”

  “You’re too – too - argr.” He glanced at Lini, then quickly away. Accusations of effeminacy were strictly forbidden in Danish society.

  “What? You can’t call me argr! You’re joking, yes?”

  “I’m not. You can’t fight like I can. You don’t know how. That’s why I fought you last time, to prove it. I need another soldier to help me run this.”

  “It’s illegal to call me argr. I could kill you for that.” He stepped towards Kjartan, not even sure what he was going to do, feeling the sweat run down his back infuriatingly.

  “You? Kill me? As if you could! I’m just telling the truth. You should go and I’ll find someone else.”

  Lini glared at him, bottom lip trembling, which Kjartan couldn’t bear. He looked like a kicked dog.

  “You don’t deserve to be exiled, but you do deserve this!” he shouted and punched Kjartan in the face, then strode off shaking his hand out angrily. He wasn’t sure what hurt most, Kjartan’s words or his own hand from the punch.

  Kjartan had known that was coming, but instead of relief at Lini’s departure, he just felt emptiness. He sighed, cleared up the fighting gear and went home, wishing the weather would cool down.

  *

  When he reached his house, no one was there. Mildrith must be visiting her aunt again as she wanted reassurance about the impending birth.

  The flagons of ale he’d been saving for a special occasion sat invitingly on the floor, so he picked them up. Why not just drink them now? He set off to find somewhere he could be on his own.

  When he reached the bathing lake, he settled near the edge behind a bush. Drinking alone was not good but he didn’t want company. Well, the company he wanted, Lini, wouldn’t want him after his accusations. He was so confused, he might as well throw himself into the lake. Clouds hung low in the sky, hiding the stars as night drew on.

  He contemplated the depths of the lake while swigging from the flagon. The dull muddiness of the water was not inspiring. What the hell had happened to him? After all the women he’d had, now he was lusting after a man. It wasn’t right. Yet, that male slave … He shivered as he remembered him.

  A noise made him jump. Bjarni’s black-haired, dusky-skinned wife was struggling over the stones, her belly rounded with child. She had been a foreign slave before Bjarni freed her and married her.

  It would be silly to really throw himself in now. His own wife and unborn child depended on him. The thought of the baby cheered him. He hoped it would be a girl, then she wouldn’t have to worry about argr or being manly all the time.

  He hurried over to help Ifeyinwa, who was always called Ifay, as he didn’t want to be responsible for her falling and losing her baby.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked.

  He helped her across the stones without ans
wering.

  She smelled the alcohol on his breath. “Drinking alone?”

  “None of your business, woman.” He let go of her hands.

  “You are a friend of my husband, so it is my business if you are unhappy. What is wrong?”

  He sighed. “I’m just an unnatural man.”

  “Whatever do you mean?”

  He explained his thoughts about Lini, too drunk to care about her disapproval.

  “So, you say you are argr. What does this mean?”

  “Effeminate, woman-like, lusting after a man.”

  “What is wrong with that? If you like a man, it is how it is. It is part of life.”

  “Not Danish life. You can be killed for being argr, believe me. It would be a massive insult if people found out. It could ruin his reputation.”

  She shrugged. “So what of Lini? Does he like you too?”

  “I doubt it! I could never ask him. I’d be killed. Or exiled. Or both.” He gave a small laugh.

  “That is better.”

  “Anyway, what are you doing at the lake at this hour?”

  “I am collecting the evening primrose flower. It only comes out now and I need it for medicine.”

  He nodded, not knowing what she was talking about.

  “I shall ask Lini if he likes you.”

  “What? No! Weren’t you listening? He’d be insulted and …”

  “I can be subtle.” She smiled obstinately. “I will find out. Do not worry.”

  “Just remember both Lini and I could be killed if people know about this.”

  What was he thinking, trusting this dark, foreign woman?

  Why had he poured out his heart to her?

  *

  A few days later, Ifay went round to Lini’s house. Their slave was at the front, looking after the baby and toddler as they played in the dirt with wooden toys made by their father.

  “Hallo, Ndulu.” Ifay knew the girl from their slave passage together a year ag, and spoke in their native language. “Is Halldora at home? I want to speak to her about my baby.” She pointed to her belly.

  “You are so lucky, Ifay. You have found a gentle, kind man to marry you and give you babies. I wish I could find one.”

  “Stay here and work hard, and you will find one, too. I must speak to Halldora. Please.”

  Ndulu motioned with her hand to enter the house, so Ifay went to the door and peered in. To her dismay, the distinctive sounds of a man and woman having sex reached her ears, but she crept in to make sure. The lean figure of Lini moved on top, thrusting, so she hurried out.

  Now what would her plan be? He obviously liked his wife, but did he like Kjartan? She felt sorry for Bjarni’s white-blond friend and wanted to help him, so for a few days she thought about what to do. The days dragged until her baby would be born, so she welcomed the distraction of matchmaking.

  *

  Ifay bumped into Lini by the stream a week later. He was just sitting there, staring at the water, shoulders hunched, fiddling with a twig. He turned at her approach, then slumped back.

  “I have a message for you, from Kjartan.”

  His face lit up, then returned to unhappiness.

  “What?”

  “He wants to meet you tonight by the broken tree at the source of the stream.”

  “Oh. Did he say anything else?”

  “No, I just pass on the message.”

  He smiled and she hurried away to her tasks. It was normal in her homeland for men to have loving relationships, but in this cold, rainy country people behaved in peculiar ways.

  She went to Kjartan, who was sitting outside his house, drinking ale. Bleats and snorts of the sheep that were being sheared carried over from the fields on the clear summer day. The heavy clouds and mugginess of a week ago had now passed and the air felt much fresher.

  “I have spoken to Lini. He wants to meet you.”

  “Why?”

  “I do not have much time.”

  She briefly explained the details of the meeting and hurried off again. Kjartan smiled after her. At the least he could genuinely apologise to Lini and they could be on good terms, even though he’d keep out of his way after that. He still dreamed about him, but that was as far as it would go.

  *

  Kjartan set off jauntily for the moonlit meeting. It would all be well. It was just a passing fancy of his; he was always having those. He owed Lini an apology but he didn’t have to explain himself.

  There he was, waiting, his short cloak wrapped round him for warmth.

  “I’m sorry I fought you. I was being too violent. I’m used to fighting other soldiers, not civilians, and I just got carried away. I’m sorry.” Kjartan reeled off his prepared speech, watching Lini’s handsome, expressive face which was strangely pale and drawn.

  “Well, I’m sorry I punched you.” His voice was not much louder than a whisper.

  “I still think I - I’d better get someone else to help me with the f-fight training.” Kjartan’s voice shook however hard he tried to control it.

  “Alright.”

  Kjartan bowed slightly to him and turned to leave.

  “Thanks, anyway.” Lini’s quiet voice stopped him and he turned back.

  “Thanks?”

  “At least I know better how to defend myself.”

  “Yes. You did pretty well, considering how hard I was attacking you.” He gazed at Lini. They both had the beginnings of a smile.

  “I’ll see you around, yes?”

  “I expect so, when we aren’t busy.”

  They still stood gazing at each other.

  Lini held out his hand. “To seal our forgiveness.”

  Kjartan took it and found it was shaking. Normally he despised weak handshakes but this time he wanted to be reassuring, so he squeezed the hand to steady it. Lini gasped and stroked his fingers, gazing into his eyes. No one had ever looked at him like that before.

  Kjartan’s body took the decision for him - it didn’t care about social convention - so he pulled Lini towards him and kissed him, their tongues and teeth clashing in urgency. Ah, that gap in his teeth at last.

  Holding each other tightly, they kissed for a long time, trembling with lust. The full moon shone down, lighting everything in silver, and even the warrior’s white-blond hair appeared paler than usual.

  Pausing for breath, Lini put his head on Kjartan’s shoulder with relief. Kjartan opened his mouth to speak but no words came out, so he stroked his companion’s soft, tawny hair and nuzzled his ear, wrapping his long cloak around them both.

  “What do we do now?” Lini muttered into his neck.

  “Well …” He chuckled, imagining what he wanted to do to his new lover.

  “I meant, we can’t let anyone know about this or we’ll get beaten to death every day.”

  “Every day? How many lives have you got?” Lightheaded, Kjartan laughed.

  “You know what I mean.”

  “We’ll just have to keep it a secret.” Kjartan set his jaw. “You’re not just pretending to like me, are you?”

  “Of course not! Are you?”

  “No. I just risked everything kissing you, for Odin’s sake.”

  “I thought you despised me.” Lini looked up. “I thought you knew I wanted you and that’s why you attacked me that time.”

  “I thought you realised I wanted you. I’ve been dreaming about you. I thought you somehow knew.”

  They laughed, Lini’s breath tickling Kjartan’s cheek.

  “So why did you want to meet me here?”

  “I didn’t. I thought you wanted to meet me.”

  “Who told you I did?”

  “Ifay.”

  They paused, beginning to smile.

  “Looks like we owe her.”

  “We can thank her later.” Kjartan kissed him again for a long time, then they crawled into the bushes in case someone saw them.

  *

  Waking up with a start, Kjartan hastily felt for his sword and spear. Why weren’t
they close by? Where was he? A bird’s liquid warble made him jump and he realised he was cuddled up to Lini under the blanket-like undergrowth near the stream. Tiny shafts of sunlight made their way through the branches, lighting the craftsman’s face.

  Kjartan smiled at his beauty. His hair was honey-blond, normally worn in a plain tail at the back, but after last night, most had come loose from its binding and tangled round his face and neck. Although his eyelids were shut, he knew his eyes were the hot blue of the sky at midsummer. At nineteen, his facial hair was still fuzzy and sparse, his smooth and unblemished skin a darker tan than Kjartan’s. There were only two years between them but he felt much older, jaded and cynical. His life had been full of fighting and drinking, getting into trouble, and Lini’s was full of - what? Peace, amber work, family? He looked forward to finding out.

  They’d spent hours the night before kissing a lot and talking a little, so it was no wonder they’d fallen asleep in the small private den. It was as if the bushes had grown into a hideaway out of sympathy.

  He continued gazing at Lini. His left arm ached with pins and needles but he didn’t want to move it from under Lini’s shoulders and wake him. It was too late though, as his cobalt eyes opened and he smiled.

  “You’re so handsome,” he whispered, blushing.

  Kjartan chuckled. “I was just thinking the same about you. But I’m not handsome. I’ve been in too many fights. Look.” He indicated the deep scar on his cheek, partly covered by white-blond beard.

  “Where did you get that?”

  “Ragnar gave it to me when I framed him for murdering Eadbald.”

  “Suppose you deserved it, then. But you won’t do that anymore, no?” He smiled trustingly.

  Kjartan paused, his pale eyebrows knitted together. “S’pose not.”

  Seeing the sunlight, Lini gasped and sat up. “We’ve been out all night. What will our wives think?”

  Kjartan shook his arm out to rid it of the tingling. “We’ll have to make something up to tell them.”

  *

  Lini and Kjartan walked separately back to their homes.

  “Where have you been?” asked a red-eyed Mildrith when her husband walked in. “I was worried sick. The baby was kicking me all night too and I didn’t get a wink of sleep. Now I have to get up and do all the work.”