Page 47 of The Caged Viking

The way he’s talking about loot, though…Holy Thor, he must have a rock for a brain, Hauk thought. Vikings liked the spoils of war, of course they did, but a good Viking fought for the love of fighting itself. If a man fought for profit alone, he might as well sign on to some rogue band as a mercenary. No future in that! Or go off and join up with the Varangians and live in foreign lands.

Egil and Kirstin arrived then, and Hauk found himself surprisingly thankful to see his wife. He wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t as if she was a healer, but perchance she had some modern ideas that could help him with Bjorn. Besides, he was tired of arguing alone with his son. Let someone else take on that tiresome task. Then, too, there had been that amazing bedplay betwixt them back in the tent.

“Thank the gods you’re here,” he said to both of them. “What took you so long?”

“Egil had to hit every pot hole in the road.”

“She complained every bit of the trip.”

“Did you know horses can fart? Well, Egil found the one in all of England that does, and I think he did it deliberately.”

Egil rolled his eyes.

“What’s in that pot?” Hauk asked, motioning toward the cauldron that Egil held in front of himself with both hands.

“Chicken slop,” Egil answered with disgust.

“Chicken soup,” Kirstin corrected, elbowing Egil, causing him to almost drop the pot. “It has medicinal value,” she added as she placed a pile of clean rags she was carrying on the bottom of the bed and went up to look over Bjorn’s inert form. “How is he?”

“He has awakened a number of times, but he’s lost a large amount of blood,” he replied, looking toward the bloody rag pile. “He has a wound in his belly but it appears that the blade missed vital organs. In my opinion. But what do I know? Methinks that the hit to his head is what might be his bigger problem. Also, my unlearned opinion.”

“A head wound? That can be serious,” Kirstin said as if she knew what she was talking about.

That encouraged Hauk. A bit.

“Well, let’s see what we have to deal with first. Egil, put down that cauldron and go to the kitchen. Get a pot of hot water. As hot as possible.” She gave orders like a Viking chieftain.

But Egil did as he was told.

Kirstin immediately got to work, first checking the bump on Bjorn’s head. “The head swelling is a concern, but it didn’t break the skin. That’s good news, but still it needs to be watched. At the very least, he probably has a concussion.”

“That’s what’s causing the lapses in consciousness?”

“Probably. Let’s see the sword wound.” She gasped when he pulled the bandages, bloody again, off his belly. “Did it go through the other side?”

He shook his head. “Nay. And I do not think it hit any organs. Otherwise, he would be sitting in Valhalla by now.”

“Okay. We’re going to clean the wound thoroughly. Yes, again. Then stitch it up. I assume you can find a needle and thread somewhere in this castle. After that, we’ll wrap it up with clean strips of linen. Any chance there’s any alcohol around…like whiskey? It would be a good substitute for an antiseptic. And get some honey, if you can.”

Hauk frowned, not understanding half her words. The one, he did. Whiskey. She referred to that potent Scottish brew called uisge beatha, breath of life. One dram of that could knock even a tall Viking to his knees. “I’ll see what I can find. Then…?”

“…hope for the best.”

“Pfff! Is that all you can offer?”

“Sorry. I’m not a doctor, and there are no antibiotics or magical medicines available at this time. Suffice it to say, it wouldn’t hurt for us to pray. Even some physicians claim that prayers perform miracles with some of their patients.”

“And which god would I pay to?”

“There is only one God.”

“So you say.”

She thought for a moment then added, “Of course, I could always try to take Bjorn back to the future with me. Treatment for his injuries would be a breeze there.”

Hauk drew himself up with affront. “Bjorn is going nowhere without me.”

She shrugged. “Then the three of us could try to go back.”