Read Online Viking Passion by Flora Speer - Free Book Online

see? It’s not so different from our loom
at home. Now watch as I do this. You use the weaving-comb this
way.”
    Lenora tried many times in the following days
to change Edwina’s passive attitude toward their slavery. She had
never realized how stubborn her friend could be. Edwina would not
budge. She would hear no word of any scheme for attaining revenge,
and at last Lenora gave up, realizing there was nothing a lone
woman could accomplish against the Norse. She would have to swallow
her pride and be content with survival, as Maud had once advised
her.
    Freydis was pleased with Edwina’s skill and
speed at weaving and soon allowed her to take over Lenora’s work at
the loom while Lenora did the spinning. Lenora was relieved to be
free of the weaving room, and guiltily relieved to be free of
Edwina’s mournful presence.
    One sunny afternoon Lenora was returning to
Erik’s house with a pile of freshly done laundry. She had shortened
an old linen shift that Freydis had given her and then washed it,
along with two of Erik’s short-sleeved linen undershirts. He wore
them when at weapons practice, discarding his woolen jerkin in the
summer heat, and one or two were always sweaty and dirty. After
washing the garments and partially drying them in the sun, Lenora
had had the unpleasantly warm job of pressing them on a whalebone
board, using heavy, heated glass globules to smooth away the
wrinkles. She had burned a finger and she was tired and
irritable.
    She stopped on her way home from the laundry
house to watch the men of Thorkell’s hird at weapons practice. It
was important to keep their skills finely honed so they could
fulfill their duty of protecting Thorkell, his home, and his
family. The practice yard was busy all day long, no matter what the
weather.
    Today, Asmund, a tall, red-haired man, was
working with a twisting spear, which was thrown with a cord looped
about the shaft so it spun as it flew through the air and hit the
target with fearful power and accuracy. Two other men practiced
with swords, attacking each other with heavy, sweeping strokes,
parrying each other’s blows with their painted wooden shields. The
Norse were proud of their ability to use their swords with either
hand, and as Lenora watched, one of the pair switched shield and
sword from hand to hand without missing a blow. Halfdan had once
let her heft his sword, so Lenora knew how heavy such a weapon was.
She watched the swordsmen appreciatively until her attention was
drawn to a fourth man in the far corner of the yard, who repeatedly
threw his battle-ax at a target, moving farther away from it each
time.
    When she had first come to Thorkellshavn
Lenora had turned her head aside each time she passed this part of
Thorkell’s domain. The sight of those weapons had stirred unhappy
memories of their deadly use on her dear ones. One day she had seen
Erik and Halfdan at practice with their broadswords and had stayed
to watch them as they dodged and ducked one another’s blows,
leaping sideways or backwards easily, laughing and joking as they
worked. Erik’s lameness seemed a minor inconvenience, so skillful
was he at the acrobatic style of fighting that the Norse loved.
Only later did she begin to realize how much effort it took to
overcome his handicap each time he took up his weapons. It was by
dogged determination and constant practice that Erik had recovered
and now maintained the agility, balance, and speed necessary to
survive in battle.
    Seeing Erik and Halfdan were not in the
practice yard, Lenora walked on. As she approached the door of
Erik’s house, Snorri’s closest companions, Hrolf and Bjarni,
appeared before her.
    “Lenora,” Hrolf said, blocking her way. He
had a high-pitched, nasal voice that contrasted unpleasantly with
his heavy, bulky body. It was he who, on that day she could never
forget, had assaulted Father Egbert and knocked Lenora unconscious.
Lenora hated him only slightly less than she hated Snorri
himself.
    “Let