Page 14 of Viking Warriors: Vol. 1-3

“All day long, they fight one another and, every evening, their wounds are healed, and they feast, served the finest food and drink, by beautiful Valkyrjur maidens.”

“Of course,” I interjected, rubbing at the grime upon his back. “There must be beautiful maidens.”

He narrowed his eyes at me, before deciding to accept my banter.

“And are these maidens dark in looks or fair?”

I couldn’t help but ask, although I wasn’t sure I was ready to hear his answer.

“Both, of course,” he replied, giving a lascivious grin. “For do not men wish variety in all things? You wouldn’t have me choose between boar and deer? My mouth desires all flavours of meat.”

I refused to comment. It was not a jest in which I felt able to encourage him.

Instead, I turned the course of our conversation back to what was serious.

“You don’t wish to die?” I asked.

“We all die,” he said. “Even children know this.”

I nodded.

“Friends die, you shall die, and I too. Only our reputation remains,” Eirik continued. “I will have men sing of me after my death.”

His jaw seemed to set harder at that thought.

“We have a poem we callHávamál.”

“Tell me,” I said. “I want to hear it.” And I did.

Like Helka, Eirik was telling me of things I’d never heard. There was a strange thrill in knowing that there was still so much to learn about the world. I knew a lot — about hunting, and fishing, about plants, and medicines — but there was more.

“It says:Wealth will pass,men will pass,you too, will pass. One thing alonewill never pass: the fame of one who has earned it.”

“And what of this one,” I asked, indicating three horns interlinked on his arm.

“Those are Odin’s, who makes men helpless, or gives his fierceness in battle.”

I put my hand to the centre of his chest, where there was a strange circle of pointed arrows.

He raised his hand to meet mine, held it there, against his skin. I could feel the beat of his blood beneath, and the warmth of him. A familiar breathlessness began to grow in me.

“This is Aegishjalmur, which brings fear to our enemies.”

His skin was a living cloak of his beliefs, giving him power. He related these things that meant so much and, as he looked into my eyes, I could see that he had power over me. His body radiated power. There was nothing I would not do for him.

“These pictures show us who we are, and where we come from,” said Eirik, “Our roots, present and past.”

I hesitated, scooping water into his hair. I was ashamed but I needed to ask.

“What about the future?”

At that, he let out a true laugh, and shook his finger at me.

“Only the gods know that.”

I permitted myself a returning smile, dabbing the remaining blood from his face. I worked tenderly, pressing the cloth into the creases, rinsing through his beard.

I touched the old scar, which ran through his cheek, from his ear full to his chin.