"Saga" - Chapter 24, Part 2
For information on content, disclaimers, rating and A/Ns, see the chapter's Part 1.
Shortly after this Einnis and Arna set out from their farm to travel to the ættleiding. They rode at ease through pleasantly green landscapes and warm spring weather, listening to bird calls trilling from every side along the tracks, and the cuckoo’s distinct greeting from the forested hills. Little-Arna was coming with them, proudly riding in front of her mother on a sure and steady horse, and wildly excited at this big adventure. Baby Freidis had however been left at home with her wet-nurse foster-mother, where she would be more comfortable by far.
Torgeirr and Sigrid came out to greet them as the little family and their companions rode into their yard one day shortly after noon. There was only one day to go till the ceremony, and there was a steady stream of people and horses arriving. Such a gathering of clansmen had not been seen at the farm since the funeral feast for Torgeirr’s father.
“Welcome!” Torgeirr greeted them loudly, seeming more on edge than Einnis had ever seen him. “It’s good to see you, brother-in-law. But strangely enough the guest of honor hasn’t arrived yet, and he is the one I want to see most of all!”
“Your Sverri isn’t here?” Arna asked in surprise, handing little-Arna down to Sigrid who smiled kindly at the grinning and squirming little girl.
“No, he is not here yet - they were supposed to have been here yesterday, all of them, his mother and her husband the woodcarver too. That is, I think both the wood-carvers are coming, I’ve hired them on for some replacement work around the farm,” Torgeirr said absentmindedly. ”Well, hopefully they’ve just been delayed a little. I’m sure they will be arriving later today.”
He rambled on distractedly for another few moments, before hurriedly excusing himself to rush over to greet Olaf Haka and his retinue, who were just then arriving at the gate.
“Two wood-carvers? He really does mean to renew your farm and make it too impressive for words,” Arna said to Sigrid and smiled. Einnis’s sister had put little-Arna down on the ground, and was kneeling down to keep the child from toddling off on her own among the many horses and men.
“Yes indeed,” Sigrid replied slowly, raising her head and seeking out Einnis’s still form on his horse. “Truly, nothing is good enough where Torgeirr’s son is concerned, as you can imagine….” With that she gracefully rose and ushered Arna and her daughter and women into the hall, leaving Einnis to fend for himself till such a time as Torgeirr should return, though not before sending her brother a last piercing glance.
Einnis handed his horse to a waiting thrall, and saw to it that their possessions were carried to the guest-hall where he and Arna would be staying. With so many distinguished clan members arriving, the few available boxed-in benches would be in demand, and it came as no surprise that he would be sleeping with Arna and their daughter in an open bench space near the hearth. He sat down there for a moment, fiddling aimlessly with the fine gilded brooch on his cloak, and then started gripping and releasing his sword hilt nervously, over and again, lost in thought. Eventually he rose to go join his family and the gathered clan in the main hall, though he hardly managed to set one foot in front of the other, the way his eyes incessantly kept scanning the crowd in the yard.
Arna had in the meantime finished greeting everyone and had moved herself outside. The hall was already filled to the bursting point with stately clan matrons and young girls trailing their mothers, and in the warm spring sunlight Arna had instead found herself a seat on the bench running along the front wall of the hall. There she had been joined by a number of other women, all of them clad in fine dresses and with strings of beads and jewelry, keys, scissors and needles dangling from their oval brooches. Arna was clearly enjoying herself talking to the other farm mistresses, but she did not sit idle even so - she had once more started working on Einnis’s tunic. The fine embroidery work around the neck opening and along the sleeves was so taxing on the eyes that she needed the clear light of day to be able to finish it properly.
“I wondered where you’d gotten to!” she told Einnis with a smile. “They’re serving good ale inside, it’s been set out at the table in front of the high seat. Go get yourself something to drink, husband. We had a thirsty ride.”
Einnis nodded and passed her by, walking into the dim hall and looking about himself as if surprised to see so many people. He went straight up to get himself a goodly bowl of ale, and then wandered aimlessly about for a spell before sitting down on a bench in the corner. After a while of quietly drinking his ale he got up and wandered restlessly about once more, stalking the hall like a lynx in a cage. Several times he walked to the door and looked out into the courtyard, scanning the crowd there before returning to refill his ale bowl and sit back down for a spell. In this manner his afternoon passed, occasionally dotted with brief exchanges of greetings and talk with men who knew him from Torgeirr’s and Jorunn’s weddings and who now stopped by to renew acquaintances. They all soon moved on, however, for though Einnis was polite he was also distant, and they found it difficult to hold his attention for long.
The evening meal was a boisterous and crowded affair, and afterwards people continued drinking and talking for a while as evening turned towards night. Many however left off early to seek their beds, knowing full well that the real feast was set for the next day. Long after Arna had said her good-nights, her husband remained sitting a little way off from Torgeirr, who was surrounded by his uncle, brother and cousins. Einnis did not join in the men’s talk, and by now looked quite exhausted, his head drooping tiredly over the half-empty ale bowl.
A servant came into the hall and spoke to Torgeirr in low tones, and Torgeirr in his turn shot up from his seat and hurried to the door. Einnis looked after him blearily, then rose to follow in his brother-in-law’s wake. He stopped right outside the door to study the courtyard, which now was dark with night shadows, though there were blazing torches on either side of the main hall’s wall.
There was a small commotion in the yard as Torgeirr hurried over to greet a woman who was in the process of lifting the form of a sleeping child down from her horse. Einnis’s glance slid right past them and onwards, searching the night. He found his goal.
Eoin was standing in the background, holding a horse. Across the crowded courtyard the sight of him hit Einnis like a bolt of lightning straight from Tor’s hammer. Eoin’s dark hair was long now, but his face was not much changed. In the flickering light from the torches along the far wall he looked well, healthy, and strong, and he was well-clad; a sword hilt glinted on his hip and a brooch on his right shoulder. Einnis regarded him much as a drowning man desperately watches a hand that unlooked-for reaches out to save him from the overpowering might of the waves.
As if sensing Einnis’s stare on him, Eoin looked towards the hall searchingly. His eyes met Einnis’s. He froze for a moment, perfectly still like one of his own wooden statues. Then he smiled widely with sudden joy. The radiant and beautiful smile illuminated his entire face and made his eyes blaze, and it worked on Einnis just like a beacon in the night.
Never for a moment letting go of Eoin’s gaze, Einnis walked down the steps to the yard and through the shadows and lights of its expanse, weaving in and out among people and horses on pure instinct, walking right past Torgeirr, who was now returning to the hall with Sverri in his arms. Einnis moved on right up to Eoin, placed his hands firmly on the other’s shoulders, and without hesitation quickly pushed him backwards step by step into the narrow dark passage between the stables and a storage house, where the light from the torches did not reach. The two of them entered the deep shadows beyond the courtyard and disappeared from view.
Doing a half-turn in the darkness, Einnis forcefully shoved Eoin back against the wall, held on, whispered his name once and dove for his lips, frantic with desperation and desire, panting with urgency. Their mouths met and mashed together wildly. Einnis’s tongue demanded entry and pushed against Eoin’s - fierce, impatient, needy. Eoin met him with equal frenzy, so hard they tasted blood. Both had ceased to breathe, though their hearts were beating double time. Their world had diminished to nothing more than this place, this time, this man, right here, now.
“Eoin,” Einnis breathed at last, gasping for air, his hands sliding up to frame the other man’s face and his thumbs gently stroking the raven-wing eyebrows even as Eoin’s strong arms embraced him and held on. “Eoin,” Einnis whispered and leaned forward, nudging him with his forehead. Then once more he covered Eoin’s mouth with his own, tenderly now, opening up to the other, making him open in turn. Their bodies molded together chest to toes, pushing against each other, reveling in the solid reality of flesh and bones and singing blood and shuddering breaths.
“It’s you, it’s you, you’re here, at last”…
Eventually Einnis tore himself free, seeing nothing but the slight shimmer in Eoin’s eyes, his hands still caressing Eoin’s face in the darkness. Once more he walked Eoin backwards till they rounded the corner of the stable, moving on to where the courtyard lights would never reach and the solid wall cast a heavy shadow across the empty field beyond, already shrouded in the spring night’s darkness.
“Eoin,” Einnis whispered again, pushing the man in his arms up against the wall and sinking down in front of him as if kneeling in supplication. Einnis reached to embrace Eoin’s strong thighs, pulling him close. He leaned forward, resting his head against Eoin’s abdomen, letting go of worry and tension like a lonely and weary traveler who has reached his beloved home after many dangers and travails, and can lie down in comfort and safety at last. “Oh, Eoin, the gods know I have longed for this….”
---
Arna had slept lightly for a little while, but all the coming and going in the crowded guest-hall woke her up, only to realize that little-Arna next to her was whimpering about her tummy hurting. Hoping that nothing more than over-excitement and unaccustomed meal times were at work, Arna hurriedly rose to don her kirtle dress and throw a loose coif over her hair, before taking her daughter outside and around the guest hall to the women’s trenches.
Once little-Arna’s business was done, the child abruptly fell asleep, her body going heavy in Arna’s arms and the curly head lolling on her mother’s comforting shoulder. Arna walked slowly back towards the front of the hall and its door, careful to not wake her daughter. She breathed the night air deeply, preparing herself for the stuffiness that awaited the two of them past the door. There were still other people up and about on the farm. She met a few women out on the same errand as herself, and then by mere chance her glance was caught by hurried movement at the verge of the yard, beyond the groups of people and horses still standing about. In surprise she recognized her husband, speeding towards another man, grabbing hold of him and walking him backwards around the corner. Worried that Einnis was getting himself into some nonsensical drunken fight she walked around the yard’s perimeter, staying close to the house walls till she reached the opening into darkness where her husband had disappeared. Tip-toeing along the wall, little-Arna’s sleeping weight still heavy in her arms, she peeked around the corner into the narrow and shadowy passage.
It took some time for her eyes to adjust sufficiently for her to see anything at all in the night’s darkness, but when they did she froze, like one of the fairy people of the mountains who turn to stone when caught unaware by morning sunlight. She stood completely unable to move, but when the one gasping, frantic shadow undulating against the wall split and became two, and those two moved on around the next corner, she followed once more. Unable to stop herself, as if ensorcelled, she was pulled forward without any will of her own in the matter. Again she peeked around the dark corner, and once more her eyes needed time to adjust. But even so she watched the two shapes, mere dark forms in the night but far too solid to be shadows, heard the whispered names, saw one kneeling in front of the other, saw all that followed next.
With a face stiffened in a silent scream, and with staggering steps as if mortally wounded by a thrust to the heart, Arna Mjodsdottir returned to the dark hall and her bench. She laid herself down, clutching her daughter in her cold arms and weeping noiselessly, the silent and secret tears rolling down her cheeks to disappear in her sleeping little girl’s hair.
---
Einnis leaned back with a contented sigh, and after a beat started fumbling with the laces at Eoin’s waist.
“Einnis,” Eoin breathed, reaching down to touch the shadowed face below him, feeling his way across Einnis’s expression of incredulous wonder and growing delight. “Einnis,” he murmured once more, repeating the name as if casting a spell over the both of them.
Though his hands were trembling slightly, Einnis managed the task he had set himself, and pulled Eoin’s trousers down and out of the way. Casting a glance upwards between the fingers caressing his face, he felt rather than saw the faint shimmer of Eoin’s eyes. He pushed Eoin’s tunic up, baring more of him to the air and to his own touch. Einnis drew a deep steadying breath and let his hands move to explore the soft skin of Eoin’s hips and belly, the firm expanses of his chest. His palms and long fingers felt their way with slow strokes, relearning the texture of Eoin’s skin, reacquainting themselves with the tone of muscle and the bones underneath, reconnecting with the softness and the hardness and the hard pounding heartbeat making up the man in front of him.
Unlocking memories and desires with his every caress, Einnis’s whole body shook as all his long suppressed emotions rose to the surface. The fiery embers had never died, their glow hidden and protected far beneath Einnis’s skin, safeguarded deep in the secret places of his heart. His every touch along Eoin’s body now fed the fire and fanned the flames to send them roaring forth and breaking through with ravenous intensity. Words of endearment from an ancient lay appeared in Einnis’s mind and left his lips, barely audible, almost like a sensual little prayer. “My dearest dear…”
Einnis bent forward, his nose bumping against Eoin’s joyfully stiffening cock, and burrowed into the juncture between thigh and groin, drawing the sharp and distinct smell there deep into his lungs. He moved his head slightly from side to side, his whole face buried in Eoin’s most secret place, rubbing cheek and chin against the wrinkly loose skin of the balls, breathing them in, reveling in the heady scent, overpowering, pungent, irresistible and long-remembered.
Eoin flung his arms wide, grabbing for the timber wall and hanging on, barely managing to stay on his feet. He widened his stance and looked up blindly to the dark skies, yielding himself body and soul to Einnis’s passionate ministrations, patiently letting the other take all the time that he needed.
Einnis opened his mouth, his tongue sneaking out to join in this feast of the senses. He nuzzled and nipped, tasted and explored, immersing himself completely, but at long last had to pull back to breathe. Gulping air rapturously he soon plunged forward once more, mouth wide open and wet lips avid, taking Eoin in, hungrily sinking down to accept as much as he could manage, sucking hard. His hands remained on Eoin’s hips, holding the other in place. Einnis moved slowly back up again, never letting go, lips firm and demanding. His tongue swirled; suckling, vibrating, rubbing gently at first but increasing the pressure. He growled with wild, exuberant joy.
The animalistic sound of satisfaction rising from Einnis’s throat vibrated along Eoin’s cock and set the Irishman’s whole being to thrumming, his body crackling with the heat of desire. He let go his grip on the wall, and placed his hands gently on Einnis’s head instead, as if administering a blessing.
Eoin remained standing like that against the dark solid wall under the first pale summer stars, his head tilted back and his face serene with profound delight, his fingers twining through Einnis’s golden curls and following the lead of the Norseman’s every movement on him. He gently stroked the perfect shell forms of Einnis’s ears, fingertips sliding in behind each one to touch and caress the sensitive skin there, feeling his way down to Einnis’s nape, his thumbs drawing slow circles as his hands moved.
By now Eoin’s pelvis was thrusting rhythmically, completely of its own volition. The demanding yet generous lips and tongue on him brought pleasure beyond all his hopes or dreams. He gasped out a few breathless words in his native tongue as he neared his completion, closing his eyes as intense release overtook him and he flooded Einnis’s eager mouth to overflowing.
“Thank God,” Eoin whispered into the night.
Tbc………
Notes and explanations;
Kvite - means “the white”. Maybe Ottar was excessively blond!
Danes - The Vikings were by no means a united group. Danish kings frequently raided the southern parts of Norway and laid claim to kingship there (and vice versa.) At times during the Viking era Danish or Norwegian kings also actually were acknowledged as overlords in both countries, but these periods never lasted long.
Ættleiding - literally “leading (someone) into the clan”, a legal means whereby a boy (yes, only boys) from an extramarital relationship could be accepted as his father’s legal heir and a full clan member in line with children born in lawful marriage. The legalities as always among the Norse were complex, and among other matters do clearly seem to distinguish between thrall-born children and others. The law was also specific as to the details of the required ceremony, but I won’t include those details here as we will get to see Sverri’s ættleiding in the next chapter! The Norse sagas are filled with inheritance disputes which sometimes also lead to feuding, and though I will not give examples here, Torgeirr’s worry that clan members might try to overthrow Sverri’s rights is by no means taken out of thin air!
Tings - regular gatherings of free men and women in a district, where laws were made or read, clan legalities and agreements announced, and disputes both declared, judged and (sometimes) settled. The Tings were very important social “net-working” events in the Norse communities, and people made a point of traveling to these gatherings whenever they could.
Volva - Woman who practiced shamanistic / prophetic rituals (called seid) that teetered between religion and magic. A volva was met with awe, fear and deep respect. She was only called for in the utmost need, for instance when crops failed.
Fridla - free woman who is someone’s mistress
Ambatt - thrall woman who is someone’s mistress
“If you have a friend you can fully trust, etc” - Stanza no. 119 of Havamal.
“My Dearest Dear” - this line comes from the Norse poem Skirnismal, stanza 18, as translated by W H Auden: http://eljudnir.hit.bg/skirnismol.htm
The poem deals with the fertility god Frey falling in love with and pining for the lovely Gerd, and the subsequent talk between Skirne (Frey’s servant) and the proud and independent Gerd. Skirne makes offers and then dire threats to make Gerd give herself to Frey. At first she refuses to call Frey her “dearest dear”, but in the end, frightened by Skirne’s threats of magical punishment, acquiesces to meet Frey and to make love to him. The poem is seen as a metaphor for the powers that awaken the reluctant winter fields to new and fertile life in spring (Gerd’s name indicates a field surrounded by fences). It is believed that the poem’s story in the depths of time may have been reenacted by a priest and priestess standing in for the two gods in fertility rituals. In Viking era archaeological digs, tiny gold sheets with the image of a man and a woman facing each other are fairly common finds. These are believed to represent Frey and Gerd and to have had cultish importance: http://akershus.kulturnett.no/Utstillinger/Foto/gullgubbe_ams.jpg
My point in including this long explanation is that even the most emotionally repressed Viking did have access to and would regularly be enjoying passionately worded and sexually charged poetry like Skirnismal, and hence that Einnis would know such bold endearments even if he never otherwise used them.