Page 122 of The Reluctant Viking

Thork closed his eyes painfully as Selik stepped forward. A few women in the crowd sighed loudly at his beauty. Apparently, Selik was right. The scar did not mar his handsomeness, after all.

“I have had a good life,” Selik boasted, playing the crowd expertly, throwing his magnificent hair back over his shoulders. “I do not wish to live any longer than those brave comrades who have fallen afore me, but please give me the dignity of being led to my death by a warrior, not a mere thrall.” He contemptuously scrutinized the executioner, who looked as if he might like to decapitate Selik with his bare hands. “Also, spare me that vile stick in my fine hair.” He raked his fingers through the silver strands, and Thork saw several women in the crowd stare at him open-mouthed. “Instead, hold my hair away from my head and pull the head sharply so my hair does not become blood-stained. I wouldst enter Valhalla in all my beauty.”

The crowd sighed in admiration at his beauty and bravado. The foolish lackwit! He joked even on the way to death. Thork blinked away the tears in his eyes.

Selik’s daring words and godly appearance pleased the crowd so much that they cheered loudly and banged their shields, urging Ivar to grant the wish. He agreed reluctantly, calling a nearby hesir to assist. In a kneeling position, Selik bent his neck so his forehead touched the block. The soldier grabbed the thick strands of hair and twisted them into a queue, pulling painfully up and over his head. The executioner raised his blade, but at the last moment, Selik deliberately jerked and the hesir’s arm was lopped off at the elbow.

The wounded man screamed as he clutched his bleeding stump. Enraged, Ivar grabbed the executioner’s sword and was about to behead Selik himself. But the crowd loved Selik’s audacity and moved forward in a wave of support.

“What is your name?” Ivar asked through gritted teeth, cautiously keeping an eye on the mutinous mob.

“Selik.”

“How old are you?”

“Eighteen.”

“Wouldst you join the ranks of my troops?” Ivar’s eyes shifted uneasily to the mob which was quickly turning against him.

“Nay, I could not, but…,” Selik hesitated, seeming to assess the crowd’s mood before continuing more boldly, “but if you would release me and my Jomsviking comrades, along with the boy, Eirik, I would swear an oath that we will leave your lands and never return.”

Ivar judiciously turned to the angry people, asking, “Should the Jomsviking Selik be spared?” With shouted cheers and clanging shields, they voted to stay his execution.

Thork blinked disbelievingly. Selik would not die. In truth, they were all spared who lay here still on the ground awaiting execution. He started to smile, but then saw Ivar approaching. The hate on his face contorted his features into an ugly, monstrous mass of puffy flesh. He walked directly up to Thork and snarled, “Give this message to Sigtrygg: I will see him dead yet.” For emphasis, he kicked Thork in the chest with his heavy boot.

Thork’s wound opened again, and he fell into blessed unconsciousness.

For weeks, Ruby and Aud only went through the motions with their lingerie business. Orders continued to come in, and they filled them, thanks to Ella’s amazing transformation into a businesswoman.

The next time Ruby was paid with a bag of coins for her lingerie sales, she asked Dar if she could buy Ella’s freedom. He shooed away her offers of money and told her Ella was a gift to do with as she willed.

“I cannot belief you wud do this fer me,” Ella blubbered when Ruby told her she was no longer a thrall. “There be naught in the whole wurld I wud not do fer you.”

“There is something, Ella. If something should happen to Thork…,” Ruby choked out, “and if I should disappear suddenly, promise you’ll always be here to help Tykir…and Eirik. Dar and Aud are old. They may need your help.”

In fact, it was Ruby who needed Aud’s help in assisting her to her room two days later when the message came:

Thork received grievous chest wound. Eirik and I make haste to bring him home. Have healing potions ready. Does not look good. Olaf is dead.

Selik

They traveled the next day to Jorvik to be with Gyda and her family in their mourning and to await Thork’s ship. A red-eyed Gyda told Ruby that night after they’d tucked the frightened girls into bed, “Twould seem that conversation we had long ago is about to come true for me.”

“What do you mean?”

“Remember when you asked if I craved equality, to be partners with Olaf in heading our family? I said that I am more than capable of running all our affairs when forced to do so, but I preferred to defer to my husband.”

“Yes, I remember now. We were talking about a woman’s identity.”

“Yea, that was it.” Gyda raked her fingers distractedly through her unkempt hair which had come loose from its usual braid. “No choice do I have now in defining myself. I am Gyda. I am no longer Olaf’s wife.”

Gyda wept, letting loose all the pent-up sorrow she’d been unable to release in front of the children. As much as she tried to comfort Gyda, Ruby wondered if she wouldn’t be in the same position on Thork’s return. Until that happened, Ruby tried to help Tykir as much as she could.

“I wish I wuz older,” the fierce, frightened little boy exclaimed, trying hard not to cry. “I wud be a Jomsviking and go to save my father. I wud chop off Ivar’s head just like that.” He made a slash with his arm to demonstrate.

Aud came in then, and they both comforted the boy.

“Whatever happens, Tykir and Ruby, you will have a home with us in Northumbria. We are family, and we must stay together. Family. That is everything.”