Page 99 of The Last Viking

He’d prepared methodically for his time travel tomorrow night. His small longship had already been transported by truck to a docking site a few miles down the coast.

He’d mapped out a route whereby he would be able to maneuver his small ship with a single mast, wooden rudder, yardarm, and square sail. He needed no modern compass, knowing from years of experience how to map his journey by following landmarks, stars, the presence of certain seabirds and their lines of flight. He wished he had the traditional two ravens to carry aboard, both to appease the gods and to give notice of nearby land, but, to his amazement, there were no ravens available for sale in Maine. If he hit a storm, he’d never manage on his own. But, from the start, this mission had been in the hands of the gods. So be it now.

Assuming the time travel worked, he’d be back in his own time twenty-four hours from now. Would it be the same night then as when he’d passed forward, or would it be a month later? Would he find some of his men drifting at sea? Or would he make a solitary trip to Greenland, or even Iceland, where he’d hire on men to sail with him to Britain and then his homeland?

He’d already lost one month’s time chasing after Storr Grimmsson. If he’d lost another month with his time travel, and it took another month to return to Britain, that would be three months since he’d left his father’s side. How many of his countrymen would have lost their lives in the famine during that time? Would an earlier end to his mission have made any difference?

So many questions! It was all such a risky venture. Impossible, really. But his coming here in the first place had been impossible, too.

All Mike and the students knew was that they were taking the ship out for a trial run tomorrow afternoon, that it would be anchored, and that he wanted to stay aboard overnight by himself to test its watertightness. Mike and the students would return to shore on motorboats he’d leased. Presumably, they would find the wreckage of his ship the next day and conclude he’d drowned.

Not a completely believable explanation, but it would do. He hated the distress this deception would cause Thea, Mike, and the students, but he saw no other alternative.

Like a man preparing for his death, he’d made arrangements this past week for when he would be gone.

Thea—who slept even now in the keep bedchamber whilst they were in the longhouse—would live with Merry-Death; so, his wife would not be alone. He’d checked and double-checked the Trondheim ship and pecked out numerous notes to Mike on the come-pewter keyboard so that it could be finished without his supervision. And he’d helped interview the man who would captain the vessel on its journey to Norway this summer.

All of the modern purchases he’d made, especially the power tools, he’d instructed Merry-Death to give to Mike. He still thought Merry-Death should accept the Home Improvement show’s offer to participate in her project, but the stubborn wench dug in her heels when it came to his idol, Tim Allen.

There was one contingency he’d been unable to control. Even though Merry-Death claimed to be barren, he’d hoped—in fact, he’d prayed—that his seed would take, even knowing he’d never see his own babe. He would have given her that gift, gladly. Especially after they’d watched the Starman video about a man from another planet who’d given an earth woman his child in parting. And if travel through time was possible, why not the miracle of birth? But, alas, Merry-Death had told him earlier today that she suffered stomach cramps, the beginning of something called pea-amiss. In one day or two, her monthly flux would arrive, she’d explained.

So, all was set in motion.

Except for Merry-Death.

Had he been selfish to take her for his wife, knowing he would have to leave? Never had he expected their parting to be easy, but how could he have anticipated the magnitude of the love that had grown between them in such a short time?

Without words, he’d perceived Merry-Death’s internal agony these past weeks as the minutes and days flew by. And because she loved him, she’d kept her torment to herself…as he had. Even her outward appearance had altered as she’d lost flesh, unable to eat. He feared she would fall apart emotionally when he left. She was strong, but even the strongest sometimes couldn’t withstand the forces of pain. For now, he had his father’s mission to keep him going forward, day to day. But when that was complete, he wasn’t certain he’d want to exist without her at his side.

“Please, God,” he prayed to her Christian deity, “help my wife through her grief, now and after I am gone.” He thought a moment, and then added, “And please help me endure her loss.”

“Did you say something?” Merry-Death asked as she awakened sleepily and saw him leaning over her. She reached up to pull him close. In that brief moment, between sleep and consciousness, she forgot the horror that awaited her.

Strands of Rolf’s long hair formed a golden brown canopy about her shoulders and face as he stared dolefully down at her, reminding her—as if she needed a reminder—that there was so little time left. The candles burning on a table near the bedstead cast flickering shadows, making Rolf appear ethereal…a dream. Perhaps that was all he’d ever been, a dream she’d conjured up to fill her lonely life.

He kissed her tenderly as he moved on top of her and then, without any preliminaries, inside. His shoulder muscles bunched as he braced himself on extended arms.

No, he wasn’t a dream.

She moaned softly as he pulsed, then expanded inside her, and, foolishly, she wanted to clench her inner muscles and lock him in place, to keep him with her forever. The molten heat of him seared her delicate folds, and she melted around him. It was love, not chemical energy, though, that flowed back and forth like an electrical current between them where they were joined.

She put her hands on either side of his face and whispered, “I love you, Geirolf Ericsson. Never forget me.”

Lowering his head, he murmured against her lips, “Ah, Merry-Death…heart of my heart—” He paused as his grainy voice shook with emotion. “I will love you forever. I will never forget you.”

Their lovemaking took on a dreamy intimacy then as each tried to show the other with touch and soft, disjointed endearments how very much they loved each other. For an hour and more, they caressed and kissed and tried to soothe their unspoken pain. In prolonging their mutual satisfaction, they made memories that would prevail through the centuries.

Tears filled both their eyes in the end as husband and wife made love for the last time with their bodies. They would love each other eternally with their souls.

They lay unsleeping, weeping silent tears, as dawn broke with a brilliant splash of color into their longhouse. Rolf instructed her to destroy the dwelling where they’d been so happy when he was gone.

Geirolf stood, legs widespread for balance, steering Fierce Dragon by means of a side rudder fastened to the starboard quarter. It was a primitive though effective instrument that could be manned by a single member of the crew in any weather with just a small line to aid him.

Sixteen of the students, boys and girls alike, were stationed at the oarlocks. They would continue to row rhythmically to the count called out by Mike, the crew leader, till they reached the open seas where the sails would be unfurled. Females never manned Viking ships in his day, but Merry-Death and Mike had argued that the college would never accept less than equal opportunity on this project.

Equal opportunity amongst the sexes! Bloody hell, ’tis a concept to boggle the mind.

They were moving slowly away from the wharf, still crowded with dozens of spectators and news scribes who had surprisingly shown up to see them off, even though this was only intended to be a trial run on the smaller longship.