slave, living like -”
“ Alright, alright! I’ll acknowledge any children I have with anyone. Is that better?”
Ragnar nodded and slapped him on the back, making him laugh for the first time in a while.
“ You’re strange.” Bjarni pushed him.
“ Thanks.” He pushed him back.
“ Going to the Huskarls’ hall tonight?”
“ No, I’m going home. Why?”
“ I just want some ale and good company.”
“ Do you do that every night?”
“ More or less.”
Ragnar paused, stroking his beard, not wanting to pry into his friend’s marriage problems.
“ Well, don’t stay out too late. You look kind of -”
“ Kind of what?”
“ Er - pale. Ill.”
“ I’m fine!”
“ Have a good time, then. Greet the men for me, will you?”
Bjarni nodded and set off. Despite Ragnar’s warnings, he mulled over the thought of fucking the new slave, cheered by the idea. He imagined a curvaceous blonde, just what he needed to make up for Saehild’s lack of interest.
Two women loitered outside the hall, hair loose about their shoulders despite the chilly air.
“ Good evening, Bjarni,” they chorused, one twirling a strand of hair in her fingers, the other fiddling with the neck of her tunic.
“ Ladies.” He bowed his head a little towards them and ushered them into the hall in front of him.
* * *
“ So, we must talk about babies,” said Ragnar at supper.
Aelfwyn bit her lip.
“ The midwife told me you shouldn’t have any more,” he continued.
“ I went to see her and she gave me a list of things to stop babies coming.” She sobbed. “It’s not fair! I so wanted to have a big family.”
He squeezed her hand. “But at least you’ve had Alvi. I just don’t want you to die because of me.” Tears pricked his eyes.
“ It must be the will of God,” she mumbled.
He knew immortals decided life for people, whether they still believed in the old gods as he did, or turned to the new Christianity, like Aelfwyn. But even so ...
“ I don’t think it’s the will of God for you to die, though, or the midwife wouldn’t have told us how to prevent it.”
“ She said we have to mix up things to make a paste.”
“ What?”
“ We need dates, acacia bark and honey.”
“ Sounds more like cooking.” He suppressed a smile.
“ Well, it isn’t.”
“ As long as I don’t have to put them on my cock.”
She slapped his arm. “No, they go inside me, fool. We’ll have to go to Gippeswick to buy such things.”
“ Or I could go on my own." He liked the idea of a journey; life in Hallby had been a struggle lately. "It would be easier than all three of us going.”
“ Yes. You’re right. Very well, you can go alone.”
She wondered what the paste would feel like inside her. Would it feel slimy? Or cold? But surely it couldn’t be worse than giving birth, or having her monthlies. She smiled to herself, thinking how particular she’d been when still a virgin. Now she was used to mess everywhere: blood, semen, milk from her breasts, Alvi’s vomit. Far less of a fussy girl.
And what about fiddling around making up the mixture before sex? They hadn’t made love since before Alvi was born. Would they be able to wait long enough to prepare it? Would they have time before the baby needed attention again?
She bit her lip. They would just have to try.
* * *
Later that night, the blond man and his accomplice slunk through the forest of newly budding trees, heading for their target, weapons ready. Not all the villagers lived within the walls. Many lived outside, due to temperament or occupation.
The men approached without being seen as the lack of light or noise from the cottage showed the inhabitants slept. One of the prowlers kicked down the door.
“ Who’s that? How dare you break into our home?” shouted Baegstan, the charcoal burner, hair tousled from his bed, beard uncombed, axe in one hand, candle in the other. His wife and two daughters on the verge of
“ Alright, alright! I’ll acknowledge any children I have with anyone. Is that better?”
Ragnar nodded and slapped him on the back, making him laugh for the first time in a while.
“ You’re strange.” Bjarni pushed him.
“ Thanks.” He pushed him back.
“ Going to the Huskarls’ hall tonight?”
“ No, I’m going home. Why?”
“ I just want some ale and good company.”
“ Do you do that every night?”
“ More or less.”
Ragnar paused, stroking his beard, not wanting to pry into his friend’s marriage problems.
“ Well, don’t stay out too late. You look kind of -”
“ Kind of what?”
“ Er - pale. Ill.”
“ I’m fine!”
“ Have a good time, then. Greet the men for me, will you?”
Bjarni nodded and set off. Despite Ragnar’s warnings, he mulled over the thought of fucking the new slave, cheered by the idea. He imagined a curvaceous blonde, just what he needed to make up for Saehild’s lack of interest.
Two women loitered outside the hall, hair loose about their shoulders despite the chilly air.
“ Good evening, Bjarni,” they chorused, one twirling a strand of hair in her fingers, the other fiddling with the neck of her tunic.
“ Ladies.” He bowed his head a little towards them and ushered them into the hall in front of him.
* * *
“ So, we must talk about babies,” said Ragnar at supper.
Aelfwyn bit her lip.
“ The midwife told me you shouldn’t have any more,” he continued.
“ I went to see her and she gave me a list of things to stop babies coming.” She sobbed. “It’s not fair! I so wanted to have a big family.”
He squeezed her hand. “But at least you’ve had Alvi. I just don’t want you to die because of me.” Tears pricked his eyes.
“ It must be the will of God,” she mumbled.
He knew immortals decided life for people, whether they still believed in the old gods as he did, or turned to the new Christianity, like Aelfwyn. But even so ...
“ I don’t think it’s the will of God for you to die, though, or the midwife wouldn’t have told us how to prevent it.”
“ She said we have to mix up things to make a paste.”
“ What?”
“ We need dates, acacia bark and honey.”
“ Sounds more like cooking.” He suppressed a smile.
“ Well, it isn’t.”
“ As long as I don’t have to put them on my cock.”
She slapped his arm. “No, they go inside me, fool. We’ll have to go to Gippeswick to buy such things.”
“ Or I could go on my own." He liked the idea of a journey; life in Hallby had been a struggle lately. "It would be easier than all three of us going.”
“ Yes. You’re right. Very well, you can go alone.”
She wondered what the paste would feel like inside her. Would it feel slimy? Or cold? But surely it couldn’t be worse than giving birth, or having her monthlies. She smiled to herself, thinking how particular she’d been when still a virgin. Now she was used to mess everywhere: blood, semen, milk from her breasts, Alvi’s vomit. Far less of a fussy girl.
And what about fiddling around making up the mixture before sex? They hadn’t made love since before Alvi was born. Would they be able to wait long enough to prepare it? Would they have time before the baby needed attention again?
She bit her lip. They would just have to try.
* * *
Later that night, the blond man and his accomplice slunk through the forest of newly budding trees, heading for their target, weapons ready. Not all the villagers lived within the walls. Many lived outside, due to temperament or occupation.
The men approached without being seen as the lack of light or noise from the cottage showed the inhabitants slept. One of the prowlers kicked down the door.
“ Who’s that? How dare you break into our home?” shouted Baegstan, the charcoal burner, hair tousled from his bed, beard uncombed, axe in one hand, candle in the other. His wife and two daughters on the verge of
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