Page 46 of The Caged Viking

Tears immediately filled her eyes. It was heartbreaking to think how Hauk must feel, having just found his son was alive, and now to lose him. “Where is he?”

“In a room inside the castle.”

“What can I do?”

Egil nodded at her ready offer to help. “Hauk sent me to get whatever medical supplies I can, and you, if ye have any talent in caring for the wounded.”

“I don’t have any nursing experience, but I can help. Don’t bother with any of those potions or salves in the hospitium, but grab as many of the strips of clean linen for bandages. When we get there, I’ll need hot water and maybe something to stitch the wound.”

“I must needs rent a wagon for the master, in case Bjorn recovers enough that we are able to take him to Jorvik for better care at the minster hospitium there and, please gods, eventually the longship, Sea Wolf, to Haukshire. There should be coin enough in the pouch he left behind.”

While Egil went to the campsite hospitium to get those supplies, she entered the tent to get Hauk’s travel chest containing spare clothing and she picked up the bed furs, assuming they would not be coming back here. To Egil’s chagrin, she insisted on taking her cauldron of chicken soup which she arranged carefully in the back of the wagon.

“Ye’re barmy ta be takin’ such with us. There’s plenty of food in the castle.”

“But not chicken soup.”

“Chicken slop?” He rolled his eyes.

“Soup is what I said, not slop. And, just so you know, chicken soup could very well be better medicine than any other stuff you have around here.”

“Holy Thor!” he muttered under his breath. “The demented lady ’spects ta cure the master’s son with chicken slop.”

Shortly after, they were on their way to Winchester, with her seated beside Egil, bare-assed except for her gown under her butt, she noted. She hoped she didn’t get any splinters. But she couldn’t think about that now.

Her attention was drawn, with horror, to their surroundings as they traveled the five miles back to the castle, so different than when they’d passed this way the previous day. Here and there, more and more the closer they got to Winchester, lay dead men, both Vikings and Saxons, but mostly Saxons. She even saw a few headless bodies and turned away quickly as bile rose in her throat.

Overhead, black vultures were already circling.

Was it a sign?

Is this how her time in the past would end?

Chapter 11

Sometimes prayer is the best medicine, even for a Viking…

Bjorn awakened from unconsciousness, finally.

For that, Hauk was happy.

But Bjorn awakened from unconsciousness behaving like a spoiled bratling.

For that, Hauk was not happy.

“I need to get up,” Bjorn insisted, trying to rise from the pallet in the servant’s quarter of Winchester Castle where he’d been taken from the bailey after he’d fallen, a Saxon sword pinning his body to the bloody ground…not all of the wound dew being Bjorn’s, thank the gods. The room, as sparse as it was, must belong to a higher-level servant because most underlings slept in the great hall on broad, low benches built into the long walls or enclosed bed nooks, or sleep bowers, if they were fortunate. Even nobles rarely had their own private bedchambers. “All the loot will be picked over if I don’t get out there.”

“Loot? What is loot?”

“Spoils of war. Rewards for service. Treasures, like gold, silver, jewels, even slaves. Lady Kirstin told me…back at campsite…that loot is another name for battle treasures.” All this he gasped out, then added with a whine, “I…want…my…loot.” With that effort, he fell back on his bed.

Kirstin! He should have known. She who was an expert on everything, and blathered about them at the least prompting, or lack of prompting. He couldn’t imagine the context of that subject coming up, but his wife didn’t seem to have a reason for many of her actions. “Forget the damn loot. And forget about slaves. I do not deal in slaves, ever. Look at you. Just sitting up and talking has caused the blood to start surging again.” A pile of red-soaked rags rested on the rush-covered floor in the corner, a testament to how much blade flow his son had already lost. “Your life is more important than some gold goblet or silver-embossed sword hilt.”

“You…go…get us some…loot…while I…rest.” Bjorn coughed and, with a groan, succumbed to unconscious again.

As if I would leave you, son, for even a moment in this condition!

Two more times, Bjorn awakened for a short period, jabbered on about the loot, lost more blood, than sank back into oblivion. One thing Hauk grew to suspect in the course of these events was that it wasn’t the wound that was causing these lapses in consciousness, it was the bump the size of a plum on the back of his head. Apparently he’d hit a rock when he fell in the battle.