Page 5 of Truly, Madly Viking

Jorund said a foul word and began to remove his clothing—mantle, tunic, skin boots, braies— knowing he was going to have to dive below and try to loosen the tangled anchor. He could have sworn he heard a high-pitched peal of laughter, but when he glanced about the longship, he saw naught but his sailors staring back at him with worry.

"Becalm yourselves, men," he told them. "We will soon be on our way. I am an excellent swimmer and have great fame for holding my breath underwater. Leather-lunged, my father used to say of me." He was not boasting, merely stating a fact to put them at ease.

Once he was naked, except for his sheathed sword, which was attached to a wide belt at his waist and secured to his thigh with a leather thong, he dove into the water. It was surprisingly warm near the surface. Though the sea became colder the deeper he went, it should have been frigid near Iceland. He would have to ponder that puzzle later. Even so, 'tis icy enough to shrivel even the grandest cock into a nub, he thought with a shiver.

And what makes you think yours is so grand? he heard the whale remark with a laugh.

Oh, God! You again? Jorund commented dryly to himself as he sawed with his sword at the seaweed wrapped around the rope and anchor. He soon discovered that there was no way he could disentangle the metal anchor from the grassy tentacles. The more he tossed aside, the more seemed to appear in their place. He would have to cut the rope.

Stealthily, the whale had swum underwater and was watching his endeavors with interest.

For some reason he felt no fear... just disgust that this animal was causing him so much trouble.

Putting his sword back in the scabbard, he swam to the surface and took several deep gulps of air.

Magnus and all the seamen were staring over the side rail at him. Seabirds were whirling overhead in anticipation of some tasty morsel. He hoped it was not him.

"Is it free?" Magnus asked.

Jorund shook his head, still breathless. When he was able to speak, he informed his brother, "It's that special seal rope that Rolf insists on using. It will take me a little longer." Many ship owners bought the prized seal rope in the markets of Birka and Hedeby. Known for its sturdiness, it was cut in one single strip, like a spiral, from the hide of a seal or walrus. Unfortunately, it was difficult to slice through with a sword.

With one last deep inhalation of air, Jorund dove under the briny depths again.

As expected, the whale was waiting for him. This time, as he sawed away with haste, the whale began a new game— butting Jorund's bare arse with its big nose. That was all he needed... a randy she-whale!

Finally the rope broke free. He sheathed his sword and was about to swim back to the surface when the whale shot forward and took him in her mouth, his head sticking out one side of her mouth and his flailing legs out the other side. He could feel the whale's massive teeth pressing against his stomach and buttocks, but Thora must be holding him with extra gentleness, for the teeth did not pierce his skin.

"Unteeth me, you lackbrain whale."

The only response was a chirping laugh.

He should have been mortally afraid. He was not. At first he laughed silently at the great trick. The skalds would be telling this saga forevermore. No doubt there would even be a praise poem honoring Jorund, the warrior who rode in the cradle of a killer whale's mouth and lived to tell the tale. Soon his mirth disappeared, however, when he realized that he could not hold his breath much longer and that the whale was swimming at great speed... away from the longship.

Once, when the whale came to the surface briefly, Jorund noted with distress that the longship was already far away... much too far for him to swim back.

Unless the whale returned him.

But no. Thora had other plans.

With a squeal and a chirping noise of glee, the whale submerged again, and all of Jorund's silent screams and flailing limbs could not dissuade her.

Soon water rushed into his nostrils and all the orifices of his body. He could no longer hold his breath and took in great swallows of seawater. As his long hair came loose from its queue and swirled about his face, blinding him, a light-headedness overtook him, which was not altogether unpleasant. And he thought, So I will break the raven's fast thus—by sea, rather than battlefield?

So this is how it ends?

Not quite, the whale answered. The Fates have other plans for you, Viking.

2000 A.D. Galveston, Texas

"Star light, star bright,

First star I see tonight,

I wish I may, I wish I might,

Have my wish come true tonight."

Maggie McBride was about to enter the bedroom of her daughters, Suzy and Beth, when she heard them reciting, in unison, the childish rhyme. She'd already tucked them in and given them their customary good-night kisses, accompanied by the usual tickle. It wasn't surprising that the minute she'd departed, they'd jumped out of their beds, up to some harmless mischief... and it was no big deal, really. Maggie had learned to pick her battles when it came to her kids.