Page 101 of The Blue Viking

“Yea, but being father to a Scots-boy does not make me a Scotsman. Oh, what’s the use! You men will believe what you want anyhow.”

“Rurik is right.” It was Bolthor coming to his defense, to Rurik’s surprise. “He did not become Rurik Campbell because of Wee-Jamie. He became a Campbell because he is their hero.”

Rurik groaned aloud. He could just predict what Bolthor would say next, and apparently so could everyone else, because they were grinning from ear to ear.

“This is the saga of Rurik the Greater,” Bolthor began.

“Hey,” Tykir protested.

“If you knew what was good for you, you would stop right there,” Rurik advised Tykir in an undertone.

But Tykir blundered on, “I thought I was supposed to be the great one. Remember, Bolthor, you always used to say, ‘This is the saga of Tykir the Great’?”

Rurik shoved his cup to the side and pressed his face to the table. He wished he could just fall asleep and waken when this whole nightmare was over.

“Ah, you are correct in that, Tykir,” Bolthor explained, “but Rurik reminded me that ‘Great’ was your title; so, we changed his title to ‘Greater.’ ”

“Except when he lost his knack,” Toste interjected with a chuckle. “Hoo-eee! He was not so much greater then.”

“His knack?” Tykir, Eirik, and Selik all inquired.

Rurik moaned against the tabletop, where his forehead still rested.

“Yea, he forgot how to or-gaz a woman in the bed furs, but not to fear,” Toste blathered on, “he got his knack back eventually.”

Tykir put his lips near Rurik’s ear and whispered, “Does or-gaz mean what I think it means?”

“It does. And I swear, Tykir, if you do not take your skald home with you to the Northlands, I am going to take away your ability to or-gaz.”

Tykir and everyone else at the table were laughing hysterically.

Bolthor was already launching into his latest saga, to Rurik’s mortification. Good thing no one could see his telling blush … for certainly then they would be teasing him about being a blushing Viking, and Bolthor would be telling a poem about it for all posterity to recall.

Once was a Viking warrior

Who loved the glory of war,

But came he to Scotland

Where folks came to understand

That here was a figure

Who was more than soldier.

He was a hero,

Through and through.

That is why he is now called

Rurik, the Scots Viking.

A stunned silence followed Bolthor’s saga, which was the usual response. Finally, Tykir cleared his throat, then remarked, “You have refined your rhyming skills, Bolthor.”

Forsaking modesty, Bolthor nodded in agreement. “I must tell you, though, Tykir, Rurik has given me much more fodder for sagas than you ever did. There is: ‘Rurik the Vain,’ ‘The Viking Who Lost His Knack,’ ‘Rurik the Blind Viking,’ ‘Rurik the Scots Viking,’ ‘Sex and the Single Viking,’ ’Vikings Who Name Their Cocks,” “The Blue-Balled Viking,” and ever so many others.”

Rurik turned his face so his cheek was resting on the table top. Then he cracked open one eye. Sure enough, everyone was staring at him, openmouthed with incredulity. It took a lot to turn a Viking warrior incredulous. But he had. And it was no great achievement.