Uppsalir - Chapter 7
Title: Uppsalir
Author: gwyllion
Genre: Canon era
Pairing: Athelstan/Ragnar
Rating: R
Words: 66,794
A/N: Uppsalir was written for NaNoWriMo 2018. Please see Chapter 1 for additional notes.
Disclaimer: I did not create these characters. No disrespect intended. No profit desired, only muses.
Comments: Comments are welcome anytime, thanks so much for reading!
“That went well,” Ragnar muttered to himself, laying a final stone upon the hastily-dug grave. Despite the pain in his hand where the spear had sliced through the flesh, he did his best to help Athelstan bury his friend.
After Ragnar asked for forgiveness, Athelstan calmed down enough that he could finally speak again. He helped Ragnar bury Brother Benedict’s body in the woods by the bluff. Ragnar asked Athelstan to say a few words about what Brother Benedict’s passing meant to him.
With bowed heads, Ragnar listened to Athelstan as he described Benedict’s virtues. Ragnar had been wary about Benedict when he chided him for calling Athelstan a priest, but Athelstan made him sound like he was a responsible person and a devout Christian. Surely a place in heaven had been reserved for Benedict by Jesus Christ himself.
Ragnar almost suggested that they use the longship for Benedict’s little ceremony. The ship was still tethered with a rope to its anchor below the rocky caves. They could have given Benedict quite the send-off using one of the Northmen’s discarded bows and an arrow soaked in pitch.
He decided against it. Athelstan had been through enough of Ragnar’s escapades for one day already.
Ragnar had to accept that he had done the best he could in asking for Athelstan’s shaky forgiveness. If Athelstan had been less sincere, he could have pushed Ragnar off a cliff. But for now, Ragnar believed that he had been forgiven-at least a little bit.
With Benedict buried, and dead Northmen littering the bluff, it was decidedly an uninviting place to retire for the night. And so, they pushed on for a mile or more, until they reached a pine forest with soft needles scattered on the fragrant earth.
Ragnar found as many downed pine boughs as he could gather and set them against a giant tree that had fallen in a previous storm. The boughs served as a roof that covered a soft dry place to sleep.
“Did you know them?” Athelstan asked quietly, when they had finally settled down for the night.
The fire had produced the first coals, but the flames licked the green branches into a smoky haze. Ragnar could feel that Athelstan still was cold. Their hips pressed together as they sat in the entrance of the makeshift lean-to. The chill seeped through Athelstan’s habit and onto Ragnar’s Lindisfarne garb and into his bones.
“The Northmen?” Ragnar asked. But as soon as he spoke, he wished he had not, because who else could Athelstan be asking about? “They did not look like anyone I knew.”
Athelstan’s eyes opened wide.
The fire crackled and a puff of smoke rose into the night air.
“I just thought….”
“You thought that since they were Northmen, I would know them,” Ragnar said. He stretched out his injured leg. “I do not know all Northmen, any more than you could know all Englishmen.”
“It was a foolish question,” Athelstan said, shaking his head. “I just figured, with the ship and their clothing, you might know them.”
“I remember the ship that took me across the sea to you,” Ragnar said, running a hand through his hair.
“Was it the same ship that we saw anchored in the surf?”
“No, not the same, but very similar. Perhaps it shared the same shipbuilder.”
Athelstan poked at the fire with a stick.
“These are troubling times for Englishmen, I fear, and for myself,” Ragnar said.
“Why should they be troubling for you?” Athelstan asked.
“Because I am your guardian now,” Ragnar said. “If my ship was able to sail here to raid, and now this other ship was also able to sail here to raid against the king’s men, your people may be in great danger.”
“You are not responsible for guarding me,” Athelstan said with a clenched jaw. “The Lord is my guardian.”
Ragnar tried to hold his tongue, but he could not.
“I saw the fear in your eyes when we were under attack,” Ragnar said. “You need all the guardians that you can get.”
Athelstan huffed out a breath.
Ragnar took it as acceptance.
“I think it would be a good idea for you to learn to defend yourself, instead of running away,” Ragnar said.
Athelstan turned his head and looked at Ragnar with a knitted brow.
The firelight shined in Athelstan’s eyes. How had Ragnar never noticed before how blue they were-not the same icy blue as his own, but deep blue like a fjord in autumn before the water froze into the white ice of winter.
“I’m relieved you have no weapon. I can’t decide whether you want to kill me or whether you want to teach me,” Athelstan said.
If only he knew that Ragnar had the same question on his mind, even though he had already been forgiven for so much.
“I could teach you to wield a staff as I did against the Northmen today,” Ragnar said. “At least it would give you a chance to defeat an enemy if your God and I were not around to protect you.”
That earned Ragnar a grin.
“You know,” Ragnar said, struggling for the words. It was not the right place or the right time, but he had to make Athelstan know how he felt. “When my men and I raided Lindisfarne, I was angry at you.”
“Angry at me?” Athelstan asked, leaning away from Ragnar. “How could you be angry at me? I did nothing to incite your anger.”
Ragnar felt the coolness slide between them and he was not willing to accept that Athelstan had moved away, leaving him without any contact.
“Hear me,” Ragnar said. He stretched back to remove one arm out of his cloak that he had donned in the evening chill.
“What?” Athelstan asked, looking at the cloak.
“You are cold,” Ragnar said. He removed his cloak completely and shook it out in front of the fire. He then swung it behind them, so it covered both his and Athelstan’s shoulders. “This will keep you warm.”
Athelstan relaxed beside him again. It was a small victory for Ragnar.
“I was angry because it was so easy to take what we wanted from Lindisfarne,” Ragnar said. “Your gold, your treasures, your lives, you did not put up a fight. It was like taking things from a baby.”
“We are not trained to fight.” Athelstan said. “We could only hide and pray that God would protect us.”
“And that’s what made me angry-that your God left you with no defences against us. What kind of God, what kind of leaders, would leave their men without the skill to protect their lives?”
“I hadn’t really thought of it that way before,” Athelstan said. “There was never a reason to believe that someone would dare attack a monastery.”
“And you will not think in such a way again, believing that your God would protect you against axes and spears. I will not hear of it.”
“But-”
“No,” Ragnar said, laying a finger across Athelstan’s lips. “Say no more, priest.”
Athelstan smiled against Ragnar’s finger. Ragnar trailed his thumb over Athelstan’s bottom lip. It was softer and plumper than Lagertha’s when she was a young maiden.
Ragnar tore his eyes away from Athelstan and returned his hands to himself. He was relieved that it was a windless night, or the smoke from the fire would have blown into their little shelter, forcing them further apart.
“Were you really a farmer?” Athelstan asked, leaning forward to lay another punky log onto the fire. “It’s hard to tell when I’ve seen you covered in the blood of the men you’ve slain.”
“Yes, I was a farmer,” Ragnar said, coughing from the new smoke. “I had a garden that grew more vegetables than I could eat in a year. I once lived with a woman and two beautiful children who helped with the farming.”
“I… I did not realise that,” Athelstan said. “This woman, does she know that you are here? That you sailed to England?”
“She is a self-sufficient woman. I am sure that she will be fine without me.”
“But she must miss you,” Athelstan said. “She must wonder what became of you.”
“She will be relieved that I am gone. We fought constantly. She gave me most of the scars you see on me. Look here,” Ragnar said, pointing to a small scar that he knew to be on his nose.
Athelstan turned to look where Ragnar pointed.
Ragnar’s breath caught in his throat when he found himself under Athelstan’s scrutiny. He watched Athelstan’s eyes rove over his face.
“Did she break your nose?” Athelstan asked.
“I could not breathe for a month,” Ragnar said, wrapping his arms around his knees.
“You probably deserved it,” Athelstan said with a laugh.
“She left me for my brother,” Ragnar said.
Athelstan’s mouth fell open.
Ragnar looked away.
“I’m sorry,” Athelstan said. “I’m so sorry that happened to you.”
“The children, Bjorn and Gyda, I would like to see them again someday.”
“Oh, you will,” Athelstan said, clasping his hands together. “I will pray that it happens.”
Ragnar wondered if Athelstan’s God would come through for him. If he never returned to Kattegat again, he could rest with the knowledge that Rollo would take care of his family.
“Are you sure that you are not just trying to get rid of me?” Ragnar asked, turning to face Athelstan. “Trying to send me back to Kattegat?”
“I know you don’t believe me, but I promise you that I will do whatever I can so that you will see your children again.”
Ragnar stretched his legs, so his feet were closer to the fire’s warmth. “I never said that they were my children.”
It took several moments for the reality to dawn on Athelstan.
“Ahh…” Athelstan said, a wave of understanding coming over him. “Your brother, then?”
“Hmmm…” Ragnar hummed.
And then, because Athelstan seemingly had no intention of convincing Ragnar to stay in Northumbria, Ragnar added, “You are a good person, Athelstan. But you are a terrible fighter.”
Perhaps there was something Ragnar could teach Athelstan, after all.
~
Athelstan rolled on the ground, his feet caught in his habit. He had landed hard on his elbow, but he wasn’t going to give up that easily. Crawling to his knees, he lifted his staff a few inches and swept the ground with it, making Ragnar leap over the stout stick. He had hoped to trip Ragnar, but he moved too slowly.
“Next time, Northman,” Athelstan muttered.
“Nice try, priest,” Ragnar said. He stood, taunting Athelstan by beating his palms against his chest.
Athelstan got to his feet and wielded his staff again. He watched for Ragnar to move against him while trying to keep a manageable distance between them. He couldn’t decide whether to concentrate on Ragnar’s feet, his hands, or his eyes. His eyes might foretell his next movement to him if Athelstan was a fearsome warrior, but for now Ragnar’s mirth-filled eyes only made Athelstan want to laugh.
Athelstan danced across the forest floor, seeing an opening. He closed his eyes as he brought the staff down on Ragnar’s head with all of his might. He knew it was a mistake as soon as he did it. The staff missed its mark and Ragnar wrenched the staff from Athelstan’s hands, holding it high above his head and out of Athelstan’s reach.
For a man with a half-healed broken leg and a fresh gash across the palm of his hand, Ragnar moved as swiftly as a deer to avoid Athelstan’s attacks.
“I’m not giving up,” Athelstan shouted. He jumped up to reach the staff.
Ragnar let go at the exact moment that Athelstan’s hands wrapped around the stick.
Athelstan crashed down to the ground, his makeshift weapon landing on top of him.
Ragnar collapsed, laughing, onto the ground next to Athelstan.
Athelstan had the wind knocked out of him, but there was still time to catch Ragnar off-guard and make a move. He rolled onto his side and held the staff in a wide grip with his hands. Pushing off the ground with his feet, Athelstan screamed wildly and crashed onto Ragnar with his full weight, the staff landing across Ragnar’s neck.
Athelstan sat astride Ragnar’s chest, his habit rucked up between his legs. He watched as Ragnar’s face turned red, his eyes bulging wide as he gasped for breath.
Ragnar’s hands slapped in vain and he tried to take the staff from Athelstan.
Athelstan kept applying pressure, not willing to lose to Ragnar again in a sparring battle.
The thought that Ragnar was being overly dramatic crossed Athelstan’s mind. It seemed just the kind of thing Ragnar would do to get the upper hand, but his gasping and struggling eventually made Athelstan take pity on him. He leaned back and took the staff from where he had held it against Ragnar’s throat.
“I’m sorry,” Athelstan said. “Are you hurt?”
Athelstan should have known better.
Ragnar’s face broke into a wide grin, his eyes laughing at Athelstan above him.
In an instant, Ragnar threw Athelstan off and sprang to his feet.
“No!” Athelstan cried, knowing he had been tricked. He landed flat on his back. His feet scrambled for purchase in the fallen leaves as he reached for the staff and came up short.
Ragnar grabbed the staff from where it landed and threw it aside while Athelstan rolled and got onto his knees. Without any weapon, besides his strength, Ragnar took Athelstan’s arm and dragged him back onto the ground. Ragnar landed in a heap on top of him.
“Mercy,” Athelstan cried, panting as Ragnar climbed atop him to sit on his chest, raising his hands in victory. Athelstan jabbed at Ragnar’s thighs with his elbows, but it was no use.
“I’ll show you mercy,” Ragnar said slyly.
“I can’t breathe,” Athelstan laughed. “I was merciful to you.”
Ragnar reached for one of Athelstan’s wrists, and then the other. He next took both Athelstan’s wrists in one large hand and forced them over his head.
Athelstan howled as his arms were wrenched back, his fingers digging into Ragnar’s skin and only finding the damp dirt where his hands landed on the ground above his head.
“Let me go,” Athelstan shouted. He hoped there were no more Northmen coming to raid, because his yelling surely would have given their position away.
Ragnar lay heavily on top of him, the weight of him pressing Athelstan down into the leaves and detritus of the forest floor.
Athelstan couldn’t catch his breath to shout again. He felt like his ribs were being crushed. He thought he’d try to kick himself free, but kicking his legs did no good, since his filthy habit trapped him further beneath Ragnar.
“Never trust your opponent to show you mercy,” Ragnar said, shaking his head, his blue eyes gleaming with delight. “It will not end well for you.”
For all that Athelstan had endured over the past month, he could very well have feared for his life. But here he was, fighting against his Northman friend, who had both slain his brothers and sworn to protect him from harm. Athelstan could not imagine a stranger turn of events had he read it in the Gospel of Saint John.
“Get off me, you heathen,” Athelstan shouted.
Ragnar held on tight to Athelstan’s wrists. With his other hand, he cupped Athelstan’s chin.
Athelstan knew that Ragnar would have no respect for him if he could not work his way free, so Athelstan squirmed and kicked and tried to manage enough fury to free his hands.
“Your God will not save you now,” Ragnar said, his mouth only an inch from Athelstan’s.
Athelstan stopped resisting and gathered his wits. He tried a different strategy, but bucking his hips with his arms trapped above his head had a different effect on Athelstan.
As he canted his hips upward, everything in the forest went silent. Athelstan felt like he had been immersed in a pool of warm water. He felt a glowing spark of warmth rush down his spine. Athelstan did not know whether it was his sensitive hands, trapped in Ragnar’s calloused grasp with Ragnar’s other hand cupping his chin, or the weight of Ragnar’s body pinning him immobile, that brought the feeling on. He lifted his hips from the ground again and decided it wasn’t his imagination the first time he felt the spark of forbidden arousal.
Athelstan had felt such a spark in his dreams sometimes. He would wake up with a slick patch of moisture darkening his sheets and the need to fall to his knees and beg for God to purge his sin from his thoughts, his mind, his body. But this spark, in the presence of another person, was new and terrifying to him.
Athelstan felt his face flush with heat.
Ragnar didn’t know. He couldn’t know.
Athelstan remained still, not daring to move again, lest his cock harden further and Ragnar and all the world know of his sin.
Athelstan worried that his face had turned red with embarrassment. He could make the excuse that the exertion of their sparring might have the same effect.
Couldn’t he?
Before he could decide whether to lie, Ragnar gave up his position and fell beside Athelstan.
“You’ve exhausted me, priest,” Ragnar said. His breath was ragged in Athelstan’s ear, but at least Athelstan could breathe again.
Athelstan could still feel Ragnar against him, as they lay shoulder to knee beside each other. Ragnar’s cock was unmistakably hard, pressing into Athelstan’s thigh.
Athelstan knew he had to ignore it. To acknowledge it would be to burn in the flames of hell.
Besides, it made no sense to Athelstan.
Athelstan knew the mechanics of how a man and a woman copulated. Brother Colin was expelled from the monastery because he had in his possession a parchment depicting drawings of such acts that he shared with the other monks by candlelight when he thought Father Cuthbert was asleep.
Ragnar could not feel this way about Athelstan. It was impossible. He had a woman, a wife, children, whether or not he had fathered them. He simply could not be aroused by another man.
Athelstan needed to say something… anything. “At least I’ve exhausted you, and you didn’t kill me,” he said, feebly.
With Ragnar’s lips on his neck, Athelstan felt Ragnar inhale deeply before pushing himself up on one elbow. Beneath Ragnar’s gaze, Athelstan wanted to close his eyes, but he could not. There was a moment when he thought Ragnar might kiss him, but it was impossible for Athelstan to conceive that Ragnar would kiss a man. Athelstan feared that Ragnar felt the same spark of sinful lust that made Athelstan’s cock grow hard and made his mind feel like he had been lured by the devil. Ragnar probably wouldn’t even bother to pray to his heathen gods that the feeling would leave him alone and free him from committing such a mortal sin.
Before Athelstan was able to beg God silently for forgiveness, the moment was over.
Ragnar reached over and pulled a stray leaf out of Athelstan’s hair.
Athelstan bit his lip and then the weight of Ragnar beside him lifted.
Ragnar stood and offered a hand to Athelstan, helping him onto his feet.
The same spark of arousal rode Athelstan’s spine as their hands touched. He pulled his hand away quickly, lest he be burned with the sin of lust again.
~
Under the forest canopy, the rocks glowed. The tiny flecks of bright mica caught the sun that streamed through the leafy trees. Ragnar was grateful for the pleasant weather.
Ragnar and Athelstan stopped in a clearing to eat the last of Mairi’s eggs. The air was fragrant with pine needles and the occasional salty breeze from the sea. Ragnar dug into his pack and removed his cloak, which was too hot to wear while walking in the heat of the day. He spread it on the forest floor to give him and Athelstan some cushioning from the ground while they ate.
Athelstan looked like a ragamuffin with his rumpled habit that was torn and dirtied from their sparring. Ragnar suspected Father Cuthbert didn’t allow such antics when he travelled with the monks from town to town spreading the word of God.
If Athelstan’s appearance was any indication, he had given up on emulating his Lord and Saviour for good. Ragnar remembered the images of the Christ God that he had seen in the monastery. Haloed and wearing clean garments, Jesus Christ looked very different from Athelstan.
Ragnar peeled the shell from an egg and popped it whole into his mouth.
Athelstan made himself comfortable on Ragnar’s cloak. He reclined back, folding his arms behind his head. After fidgeting to get comfortable, he bent one knee and crossed his other leg over it. His habit and tattered trousers slid up to reveal his hairy legs above where his boots met his ankles. The sun struck Athelstan’s face at the exact angle to make him squint against it. Giving up on keeping the sun out of his eyes, he raised a hand to shield them from its rays.
“Toss me one of those eggs, if we have any more,” Athelstan said.
Ragnar rummaged around in the pack and brought out another egg.
“Do you want me to peel it for you, as well?” Ragnar asked.
“That isn’t necessary,” Athelstan said.
Ragnar tossed him the egg, which took Athelstan both hands to catch.
“Thank you, God, for this delicious food,” Athelstan said, crossing himself.
“And for Mairi the tavern wench who cooked them for us,” Ragnar said.
“And for Mairi the tavern wench,” Athelstan said as he tapped the egg on the mica-lit rock to break its shell.
“I cannot believe you repeated that,” Ragnar said.
“What?” Athelstan asked, picking the shell from his egg. “Even tavern wenches need God’s blessing.”
Not for the first time, Ragnar thought that Athelstan’s company was a better treasure than all the loot that the Northmen had raided from Lindisfarne.
“Jonah must have reached Newcastle by now,” Athelstan said.
“The king has been informed about his missing men, then,” Ragnar said. “It will not be long before they ride north.”
“You’re worried?” Athelstan asked.
Ragnar dug another egg from the pack. He crawled across the ground to where Athelstan lay.
“They will blame me,” Ragnar said.
Athelstan looked up from his egg.
“They will think I killed the king’s men.”
“But how could you, when you were at Lindisfarne?”
“I know that if such a thing occurred in Kattegat, the earl there would believe me to be at fault.”
“You’ve been treated unfairly, then,” Athelstan said, more of a statement than a question.
“My earl… he and I did not see eye to eye very often.”
“I’m sorry,” Athelstan said. “I’ve often sided with those who have been treated unfairly.”
Ragnar thought Athelstan was going to go on and on about his Christ God, as he always did when his voice took on a certain tone. He gave in to its lure and flopped on his back atop his cloak beside Athelstan.
“The poor… the sick… those in need of care…” Athelstan continued.
“Lucky me,” Ragnar said, reaching for Athelstan’s hand.
Athelstan went with the motion and rested his hand on Ragnar’s chest.
“If you tell them the truth, they will not hurt you,” Athelstan said.
“But if I tell them the truth about why I was at Lindisfarne, they will do more than hurt me,” Ragnar said.
Athelstan tapped his palm on Ragnar’s chest.
“You remember the raiding there, the killing… but know now that Jesus Christ has died for your sins so that you may be forgiven and welcomed into the kingdom of heaven. It is what I believe,” Athelstan said.
“I don’t think all Christians are like you, Athelstan,” Ragnar said.
Perhaps it were true. If Athelstan could truly forgive him, and he could see reason for the king’s men to forgive him, Ragnar should not feel so riddled with guilt.
Athelstan’s peaceful nature made Ragnar put his worries aside. Athelstan believed that his God was one who offered mercy instead of punishment. Odin would have dashed Ragnar’s ship upon the rocky shore and forbade him from entering Valhalla if he were half as angry as the Christ God had reason to be with Ragnar.
Athelstan’s hand was warm against Ragnar’s chest. It soothed him, comforted him, and told him that all would be well, even if Ragnar was sceptical.
Ragnar watched Athelstan finish eating his egg. Athelstan wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his habit and closed his eyes against the sun. Ragnar loosened his hold on Athelstan’s hand, but he did not let go.
What Ragnar wouldn’t give to spear his fingers through the monk’s curly hair and draw him closer. To plunder his mouth with his sinful heathen tongue.
Ragnar had been with a few men in Kattegat. It was a rite of passage that the young raiders would play games with each other, swimming naked in the fjords, sleeping in a heap of young male flesh in the longhouses when they went on a summer hunt or to Uppsala, if it was the ninth year of their journey into manhood. Ragnar doubted Athelstan experienced such things. His God was too keen on forbidding this and forbidding that. Although there was something good to be said for the dispensation of his God’s mercy.
Ragnar tilted his head to look better at Athelstan where he lay. His eyes were still closed and Ragnar believed that he had fallen asleep. Just as well, Ragnar thought. The poor monk would be mortified if he knew the feelings that ran through Ragnar’s fingertips as their hands were clasped on his chest.
All these thoughts about his cock and what he would like to do to Athelstan, made Ragnar decide that he needed to piss, lest he act on his forbidden feelings and lose Athelstan’s friendship forever.
Ragnar pried his hand free from Athelstan’s. A light snore emerged from him. Ragnar smiled as he relinquished Athelstan’s hand to him, laying it on his chest while he slept. Athelstan’s eyes stayed shut, his lashes spread across his cheeks like an angel that slept in the stories he had read to Ragnar from the Gospel of Saint John.
Ragnar got to his feet and walked to the edge of the clearing. The forest was decorated in all the colours of summer, blue wildflowers, green leaves, some yellowing with the threat of an early autumn. Ragnar freed himself and pissed into the woods. Before he finished, something caught his eye. In contrast to the greens and blues and splashes of yellow that marked the forested landscape, the bright crimson stood out. He was reminded of the time when he was injured during a particularly brutal sparring session with Rollo. His brother had hit him in the back with the shaft of an axe. Ragnar had pissed blood for a week and he could barely stand each morning when he woke.
Ragnar closed his trousers and walked deeper into the forest to investigate.
Out of the corner of his eye, Ragnar watched Athelstan rise from where he had slept.
Athelstan yawned and scratched his head.
“Come here,” Ragnar said, motioning to Athelstan with his hand. “I think I have found something.”
Ragnar stepped closer to the crimson that had his attention.
“What is it?” Athelstan asked, striding up to Ragnar.
“There,” Ragnar said, pointing to the crimson cloth.
“I see bones,” Athelstan said.
And he was right. Ragnar took a few more steps and saw what Athelstan had first noticed.
“Is it what I think it is?” Ragnar asked. He lifted the crimson fabric from among the leaves.
“Is it the king’s men?” Athelstan asked, his eyes wide. “What else could it be?”
The bones had been picked clean by the animals that roamed this way. Wolves, ravens, wild dogs, all scavenging animals would have gotten a taste of the men as they lay dead. Ragnar picked up a skull that had the unmistakable split of an axe across the back of it. Blood stained the bone.
“This fabric is the same colour as the king’s seal, is it not?” Ragnar asked, picking at a piece of fabric that was stuck to the skull.
“It must be them,” Athelstan agreed, making the sign of the cross. “They died here.”
“It would appear that they were killed here.”
“But what about the supplies they carried for the monastery?”
“Do you think they fed the group of Northmen that I killed yesterday?” Ragnar asked.
“They landed near here, killed the king’s men and sustained themselves with the spoils,” Athelstan said, nodding his head.
“And when they were sated, they travelled north in their ship, looking to pillage again,” Ragnar said.
“This new group of Northmen,” Athelstan said, “they must have planned to continue raiding their way up the coast.”
“It was the only explanation for why they encountered them further up the shore. “We ended their raiding when they reached us.”
“We didn’t stop them, you did,” Athelstan insisted.
“You helped,” Ragnar said, knowing that if not for him being driven into action to protect Athelstan, there might have been a different outcome. “A little.”
Athelstan shrugged. “If they weren’t stopped, they would have made it all the way to Lindisfarne,” he said, kneeling at the bones. “Lindisfarne would have been raided again.”
“That’s what the Northmen do,” Ragnar said, knowingly.
“Then you’ve saved my remaining brothers, by dispatching these Northmen who committed this atrocious act,” Athelstan said, waving his hand over the remains. “You’ve saved their lives.”
Ragnar needed all the credit he could get if he was to avoid the wrath of the king when it was discovered that he had led the raid against the monastery.
“Just wait until you can tell Brother Finian that,” Ragnar said.
Athelstan stood, meeting Ragnar toe to toe. He said, “In another week’s time, Finian will be as fond of you as I am.”
~
Author: gwyllion
Genre: Canon era
Pairing: Athelstan/Ragnar
Rating: R
Words: 66,794
A/N: Uppsalir was written for NaNoWriMo 2018. Please see Chapter 1 for additional notes.
Disclaimer: I did not create these characters. No disrespect intended. No profit desired, only muses.
Comments: Comments are welcome anytime, thanks so much for reading!
“That went well,” Ragnar muttered to himself, laying a final stone upon the hastily-dug grave. Despite the pain in his hand where the spear had sliced through the flesh, he did his best to help Athelstan bury his friend.
After Ragnar asked for forgiveness, Athelstan calmed down enough that he could finally speak again. He helped Ragnar bury Brother Benedict’s body in the woods by the bluff. Ragnar asked Athelstan to say a few words about what Brother Benedict’s passing meant to him.
With bowed heads, Ragnar listened to Athelstan as he described Benedict’s virtues. Ragnar had been wary about Benedict when he chided him for calling Athelstan a priest, but Athelstan made him sound like he was a responsible person and a devout Christian. Surely a place in heaven had been reserved for Benedict by Jesus Christ himself.
Ragnar almost suggested that they use the longship for Benedict’s little ceremony. The ship was still tethered with a rope to its anchor below the rocky caves. They could have given Benedict quite the send-off using one of the Northmen’s discarded bows and an arrow soaked in pitch.
He decided against it. Athelstan had been through enough of Ragnar’s escapades for one day already.
Ragnar had to accept that he had done the best he could in asking for Athelstan’s shaky forgiveness. If Athelstan had been less sincere, he could have pushed Ragnar off a cliff. But for now, Ragnar believed that he had been forgiven-at least a little bit.
With Benedict buried, and dead Northmen littering the bluff, it was decidedly an uninviting place to retire for the night. And so, they pushed on for a mile or more, until they reached a pine forest with soft needles scattered on the fragrant earth.
Ragnar found as many downed pine boughs as he could gather and set them against a giant tree that had fallen in a previous storm. The boughs served as a roof that covered a soft dry place to sleep.
“Did you know them?” Athelstan asked quietly, when they had finally settled down for the night.
The fire had produced the first coals, but the flames licked the green branches into a smoky haze. Ragnar could feel that Athelstan still was cold. Their hips pressed together as they sat in the entrance of the makeshift lean-to. The chill seeped through Athelstan’s habit and onto Ragnar’s Lindisfarne garb and into his bones.
“The Northmen?” Ragnar asked. But as soon as he spoke, he wished he had not, because who else could Athelstan be asking about? “They did not look like anyone I knew.”
Athelstan’s eyes opened wide.
The fire crackled and a puff of smoke rose into the night air.
“I just thought….”
“You thought that since they were Northmen, I would know them,” Ragnar said. He stretched out his injured leg. “I do not know all Northmen, any more than you could know all Englishmen.”
“It was a foolish question,” Athelstan said, shaking his head. “I just figured, with the ship and their clothing, you might know them.”
“I remember the ship that took me across the sea to you,” Ragnar said, running a hand through his hair.
“Was it the same ship that we saw anchored in the surf?”
“No, not the same, but very similar. Perhaps it shared the same shipbuilder.”
Athelstan poked at the fire with a stick.
“These are troubling times for Englishmen, I fear, and for myself,” Ragnar said.
“Why should they be troubling for you?” Athelstan asked.
“Because I am your guardian now,” Ragnar said. “If my ship was able to sail here to raid, and now this other ship was also able to sail here to raid against the king’s men, your people may be in great danger.”
“You are not responsible for guarding me,” Athelstan said with a clenched jaw. “The Lord is my guardian.”
Ragnar tried to hold his tongue, but he could not.
“I saw the fear in your eyes when we were under attack,” Ragnar said. “You need all the guardians that you can get.”
Athelstan huffed out a breath.
Ragnar took it as acceptance.
“I think it would be a good idea for you to learn to defend yourself, instead of running away,” Ragnar said.
Athelstan turned his head and looked at Ragnar with a knitted brow.
The firelight shined in Athelstan’s eyes. How had Ragnar never noticed before how blue they were-not the same icy blue as his own, but deep blue like a fjord in autumn before the water froze into the white ice of winter.
“I’m relieved you have no weapon. I can’t decide whether you want to kill me or whether you want to teach me,” Athelstan said.
If only he knew that Ragnar had the same question on his mind, even though he had already been forgiven for so much.
“I could teach you to wield a staff as I did against the Northmen today,” Ragnar said. “At least it would give you a chance to defeat an enemy if your God and I were not around to protect you.”
That earned Ragnar a grin.
“You know,” Ragnar said, struggling for the words. It was not the right place or the right time, but he had to make Athelstan know how he felt. “When my men and I raided Lindisfarne, I was angry at you.”
“Angry at me?” Athelstan asked, leaning away from Ragnar. “How could you be angry at me? I did nothing to incite your anger.”
Ragnar felt the coolness slide between them and he was not willing to accept that Athelstan had moved away, leaving him without any contact.
“Hear me,” Ragnar said. He stretched back to remove one arm out of his cloak that he had donned in the evening chill.
“What?” Athelstan asked, looking at the cloak.
“You are cold,” Ragnar said. He removed his cloak completely and shook it out in front of the fire. He then swung it behind them, so it covered both his and Athelstan’s shoulders. “This will keep you warm.”
Athelstan relaxed beside him again. It was a small victory for Ragnar.
“I was angry because it was so easy to take what we wanted from Lindisfarne,” Ragnar said. “Your gold, your treasures, your lives, you did not put up a fight. It was like taking things from a baby.”
“We are not trained to fight.” Athelstan said. “We could only hide and pray that God would protect us.”
“And that’s what made me angry-that your God left you with no defences against us. What kind of God, what kind of leaders, would leave their men without the skill to protect their lives?”
“I hadn’t really thought of it that way before,” Athelstan said. “There was never a reason to believe that someone would dare attack a monastery.”
“And you will not think in such a way again, believing that your God would protect you against axes and spears. I will not hear of it.”
“But-”
“No,” Ragnar said, laying a finger across Athelstan’s lips. “Say no more, priest.”
Athelstan smiled against Ragnar’s finger. Ragnar trailed his thumb over Athelstan’s bottom lip. It was softer and plumper than Lagertha’s when she was a young maiden.
Ragnar tore his eyes away from Athelstan and returned his hands to himself. He was relieved that it was a windless night, or the smoke from the fire would have blown into their little shelter, forcing them further apart.
“Were you really a farmer?” Athelstan asked, leaning forward to lay another punky log onto the fire. “It’s hard to tell when I’ve seen you covered in the blood of the men you’ve slain.”
“Yes, I was a farmer,” Ragnar said, coughing from the new smoke. “I had a garden that grew more vegetables than I could eat in a year. I once lived with a woman and two beautiful children who helped with the farming.”
“I… I did not realise that,” Athelstan said. “This woman, does she know that you are here? That you sailed to England?”
“She is a self-sufficient woman. I am sure that she will be fine without me.”
“But she must miss you,” Athelstan said. “She must wonder what became of you.”
“She will be relieved that I am gone. We fought constantly. She gave me most of the scars you see on me. Look here,” Ragnar said, pointing to a small scar that he knew to be on his nose.
Athelstan turned to look where Ragnar pointed.
Ragnar’s breath caught in his throat when he found himself under Athelstan’s scrutiny. He watched Athelstan’s eyes rove over his face.
“Did she break your nose?” Athelstan asked.
“I could not breathe for a month,” Ragnar said, wrapping his arms around his knees.
“You probably deserved it,” Athelstan said with a laugh.
“She left me for my brother,” Ragnar said.
Athelstan’s mouth fell open.
Ragnar looked away.
“I’m sorry,” Athelstan said. “I’m so sorry that happened to you.”
“The children, Bjorn and Gyda, I would like to see them again someday.”
“Oh, you will,” Athelstan said, clasping his hands together. “I will pray that it happens.”
Ragnar wondered if Athelstan’s God would come through for him. If he never returned to Kattegat again, he could rest with the knowledge that Rollo would take care of his family.
“Are you sure that you are not just trying to get rid of me?” Ragnar asked, turning to face Athelstan. “Trying to send me back to Kattegat?”
“I know you don’t believe me, but I promise you that I will do whatever I can so that you will see your children again.”
Ragnar stretched his legs, so his feet were closer to the fire’s warmth. “I never said that they were my children.”
It took several moments for the reality to dawn on Athelstan.
“Ahh…” Athelstan said, a wave of understanding coming over him. “Your brother, then?”
“Hmmm…” Ragnar hummed.
And then, because Athelstan seemingly had no intention of convincing Ragnar to stay in Northumbria, Ragnar added, “You are a good person, Athelstan. But you are a terrible fighter.”
Perhaps there was something Ragnar could teach Athelstan, after all.
~
Athelstan rolled on the ground, his feet caught in his habit. He had landed hard on his elbow, but he wasn’t going to give up that easily. Crawling to his knees, he lifted his staff a few inches and swept the ground with it, making Ragnar leap over the stout stick. He had hoped to trip Ragnar, but he moved too slowly.
“Next time, Northman,” Athelstan muttered.
“Nice try, priest,” Ragnar said. He stood, taunting Athelstan by beating his palms against his chest.
Athelstan got to his feet and wielded his staff again. He watched for Ragnar to move against him while trying to keep a manageable distance between them. He couldn’t decide whether to concentrate on Ragnar’s feet, his hands, or his eyes. His eyes might foretell his next movement to him if Athelstan was a fearsome warrior, but for now Ragnar’s mirth-filled eyes only made Athelstan want to laugh.
Athelstan danced across the forest floor, seeing an opening. He closed his eyes as he brought the staff down on Ragnar’s head with all of his might. He knew it was a mistake as soon as he did it. The staff missed its mark and Ragnar wrenched the staff from Athelstan’s hands, holding it high above his head and out of Athelstan’s reach.
For a man with a half-healed broken leg and a fresh gash across the palm of his hand, Ragnar moved as swiftly as a deer to avoid Athelstan’s attacks.
“I’m not giving up,” Athelstan shouted. He jumped up to reach the staff.
Ragnar let go at the exact moment that Athelstan’s hands wrapped around the stick.
Athelstan crashed down to the ground, his makeshift weapon landing on top of him.
Ragnar collapsed, laughing, onto the ground next to Athelstan.
Athelstan had the wind knocked out of him, but there was still time to catch Ragnar off-guard and make a move. He rolled onto his side and held the staff in a wide grip with his hands. Pushing off the ground with his feet, Athelstan screamed wildly and crashed onto Ragnar with his full weight, the staff landing across Ragnar’s neck.
Athelstan sat astride Ragnar’s chest, his habit rucked up between his legs. He watched as Ragnar’s face turned red, his eyes bulging wide as he gasped for breath.
Ragnar’s hands slapped in vain and he tried to take the staff from Athelstan.
Athelstan kept applying pressure, not willing to lose to Ragnar again in a sparring battle.
The thought that Ragnar was being overly dramatic crossed Athelstan’s mind. It seemed just the kind of thing Ragnar would do to get the upper hand, but his gasping and struggling eventually made Athelstan take pity on him. He leaned back and took the staff from where he had held it against Ragnar’s throat.
“I’m sorry,” Athelstan said. “Are you hurt?”
Athelstan should have known better.
Ragnar’s face broke into a wide grin, his eyes laughing at Athelstan above him.
In an instant, Ragnar threw Athelstan off and sprang to his feet.
“No!” Athelstan cried, knowing he had been tricked. He landed flat on his back. His feet scrambled for purchase in the fallen leaves as he reached for the staff and came up short.
Ragnar grabbed the staff from where it landed and threw it aside while Athelstan rolled and got onto his knees. Without any weapon, besides his strength, Ragnar took Athelstan’s arm and dragged him back onto the ground. Ragnar landed in a heap on top of him.
“Mercy,” Athelstan cried, panting as Ragnar climbed atop him to sit on his chest, raising his hands in victory. Athelstan jabbed at Ragnar’s thighs with his elbows, but it was no use.
“I’ll show you mercy,” Ragnar said slyly.
“I can’t breathe,” Athelstan laughed. “I was merciful to you.”
Ragnar reached for one of Athelstan’s wrists, and then the other. He next took both Athelstan’s wrists in one large hand and forced them over his head.
Athelstan howled as his arms were wrenched back, his fingers digging into Ragnar’s skin and only finding the damp dirt where his hands landed on the ground above his head.
“Let me go,” Athelstan shouted. He hoped there were no more Northmen coming to raid, because his yelling surely would have given their position away.
Ragnar lay heavily on top of him, the weight of him pressing Athelstan down into the leaves and detritus of the forest floor.
Athelstan couldn’t catch his breath to shout again. He felt like his ribs were being crushed. He thought he’d try to kick himself free, but kicking his legs did no good, since his filthy habit trapped him further beneath Ragnar.
“Never trust your opponent to show you mercy,” Ragnar said, shaking his head, his blue eyes gleaming with delight. “It will not end well for you.”
For all that Athelstan had endured over the past month, he could very well have feared for his life. But here he was, fighting against his Northman friend, who had both slain his brothers and sworn to protect him from harm. Athelstan could not imagine a stranger turn of events had he read it in the Gospel of Saint John.
“Get off me, you heathen,” Athelstan shouted.
Ragnar held on tight to Athelstan’s wrists. With his other hand, he cupped Athelstan’s chin.
Athelstan knew that Ragnar would have no respect for him if he could not work his way free, so Athelstan squirmed and kicked and tried to manage enough fury to free his hands.
“Your God will not save you now,” Ragnar said, his mouth only an inch from Athelstan’s.
Athelstan stopped resisting and gathered his wits. He tried a different strategy, but bucking his hips with his arms trapped above his head had a different effect on Athelstan.
As he canted his hips upward, everything in the forest went silent. Athelstan felt like he had been immersed in a pool of warm water. He felt a glowing spark of warmth rush down his spine. Athelstan did not know whether it was his sensitive hands, trapped in Ragnar’s calloused grasp with Ragnar’s other hand cupping his chin, or the weight of Ragnar’s body pinning him immobile, that brought the feeling on. He lifted his hips from the ground again and decided it wasn’t his imagination the first time he felt the spark of forbidden arousal.
Athelstan had felt such a spark in his dreams sometimes. He would wake up with a slick patch of moisture darkening his sheets and the need to fall to his knees and beg for God to purge his sin from his thoughts, his mind, his body. But this spark, in the presence of another person, was new and terrifying to him.
Athelstan felt his face flush with heat.
Ragnar didn’t know. He couldn’t know.
Athelstan remained still, not daring to move again, lest his cock harden further and Ragnar and all the world know of his sin.
Athelstan worried that his face had turned red with embarrassment. He could make the excuse that the exertion of their sparring might have the same effect.
Couldn’t he?
Before he could decide whether to lie, Ragnar gave up his position and fell beside Athelstan.
“You’ve exhausted me, priest,” Ragnar said. His breath was ragged in Athelstan’s ear, but at least Athelstan could breathe again.
Athelstan could still feel Ragnar against him, as they lay shoulder to knee beside each other. Ragnar’s cock was unmistakably hard, pressing into Athelstan’s thigh.
Athelstan knew he had to ignore it. To acknowledge it would be to burn in the flames of hell.
Besides, it made no sense to Athelstan.
Athelstan knew the mechanics of how a man and a woman copulated. Brother Colin was expelled from the monastery because he had in his possession a parchment depicting drawings of such acts that he shared with the other monks by candlelight when he thought Father Cuthbert was asleep.
Ragnar could not feel this way about Athelstan. It was impossible. He had a woman, a wife, children, whether or not he had fathered them. He simply could not be aroused by another man.
Athelstan needed to say something… anything. “At least I’ve exhausted you, and you didn’t kill me,” he said, feebly.
With Ragnar’s lips on his neck, Athelstan felt Ragnar inhale deeply before pushing himself up on one elbow. Beneath Ragnar’s gaze, Athelstan wanted to close his eyes, but he could not. There was a moment when he thought Ragnar might kiss him, but it was impossible for Athelstan to conceive that Ragnar would kiss a man. Athelstan feared that Ragnar felt the same spark of sinful lust that made Athelstan’s cock grow hard and made his mind feel like he had been lured by the devil. Ragnar probably wouldn’t even bother to pray to his heathen gods that the feeling would leave him alone and free him from committing such a mortal sin.
Before Athelstan was able to beg God silently for forgiveness, the moment was over.
Ragnar reached over and pulled a stray leaf out of Athelstan’s hair.
Athelstan bit his lip and then the weight of Ragnar beside him lifted.
Ragnar stood and offered a hand to Athelstan, helping him onto his feet.
The same spark of arousal rode Athelstan’s spine as their hands touched. He pulled his hand away quickly, lest he be burned with the sin of lust again.
~
Under the forest canopy, the rocks glowed. The tiny flecks of bright mica caught the sun that streamed through the leafy trees. Ragnar was grateful for the pleasant weather.
Ragnar and Athelstan stopped in a clearing to eat the last of Mairi’s eggs. The air was fragrant with pine needles and the occasional salty breeze from the sea. Ragnar dug into his pack and removed his cloak, which was too hot to wear while walking in the heat of the day. He spread it on the forest floor to give him and Athelstan some cushioning from the ground while they ate.
Athelstan looked like a ragamuffin with his rumpled habit that was torn and dirtied from their sparring. Ragnar suspected Father Cuthbert didn’t allow such antics when he travelled with the monks from town to town spreading the word of God.
If Athelstan’s appearance was any indication, he had given up on emulating his Lord and Saviour for good. Ragnar remembered the images of the Christ God that he had seen in the monastery. Haloed and wearing clean garments, Jesus Christ looked very different from Athelstan.
Ragnar peeled the shell from an egg and popped it whole into his mouth.
Athelstan made himself comfortable on Ragnar’s cloak. He reclined back, folding his arms behind his head. After fidgeting to get comfortable, he bent one knee and crossed his other leg over it. His habit and tattered trousers slid up to reveal his hairy legs above where his boots met his ankles. The sun struck Athelstan’s face at the exact angle to make him squint against it. Giving up on keeping the sun out of his eyes, he raised a hand to shield them from its rays.
“Toss me one of those eggs, if we have any more,” Athelstan said.
Ragnar rummaged around in the pack and brought out another egg.
“Do you want me to peel it for you, as well?” Ragnar asked.
“That isn’t necessary,” Athelstan said.
Ragnar tossed him the egg, which took Athelstan both hands to catch.
“Thank you, God, for this delicious food,” Athelstan said, crossing himself.
“And for Mairi the tavern wench who cooked them for us,” Ragnar said.
“And for Mairi the tavern wench,” Athelstan said as he tapped the egg on the mica-lit rock to break its shell.
“I cannot believe you repeated that,” Ragnar said.
“What?” Athelstan asked, picking the shell from his egg. “Even tavern wenches need God’s blessing.”
Not for the first time, Ragnar thought that Athelstan’s company was a better treasure than all the loot that the Northmen had raided from Lindisfarne.
“Jonah must have reached Newcastle by now,” Athelstan said.
“The king has been informed about his missing men, then,” Ragnar said. “It will not be long before they ride north.”
“You’re worried?” Athelstan asked.
Ragnar dug another egg from the pack. He crawled across the ground to where Athelstan lay.
“They will blame me,” Ragnar said.
Athelstan looked up from his egg.
“They will think I killed the king’s men.”
“But how could you, when you were at Lindisfarne?”
“I know that if such a thing occurred in Kattegat, the earl there would believe me to be at fault.”
“You’ve been treated unfairly, then,” Athelstan said, more of a statement than a question.
“My earl… he and I did not see eye to eye very often.”
“I’m sorry,” Athelstan said. “I’ve often sided with those who have been treated unfairly.”
Ragnar thought Athelstan was going to go on and on about his Christ God, as he always did when his voice took on a certain tone. He gave in to its lure and flopped on his back atop his cloak beside Athelstan.
“The poor… the sick… those in need of care…” Athelstan continued.
“Lucky me,” Ragnar said, reaching for Athelstan’s hand.
Athelstan went with the motion and rested his hand on Ragnar’s chest.
“If you tell them the truth, they will not hurt you,” Athelstan said.
“But if I tell them the truth about why I was at Lindisfarne, they will do more than hurt me,” Ragnar said.
Athelstan tapped his palm on Ragnar’s chest.
“You remember the raiding there, the killing… but know now that Jesus Christ has died for your sins so that you may be forgiven and welcomed into the kingdom of heaven. It is what I believe,” Athelstan said.
“I don’t think all Christians are like you, Athelstan,” Ragnar said.
Perhaps it were true. If Athelstan could truly forgive him, and he could see reason for the king’s men to forgive him, Ragnar should not feel so riddled with guilt.
Athelstan’s peaceful nature made Ragnar put his worries aside. Athelstan believed that his God was one who offered mercy instead of punishment. Odin would have dashed Ragnar’s ship upon the rocky shore and forbade him from entering Valhalla if he were half as angry as the Christ God had reason to be with Ragnar.
Athelstan’s hand was warm against Ragnar’s chest. It soothed him, comforted him, and told him that all would be well, even if Ragnar was sceptical.
Ragnar watched Athelstan finish eating his egg. Athelstan wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his habit and closed his eyes against the sun. Ragnar loosened his hold on Athelstan’s hand, but he did not let go.
What Ragnar wouldn’t give to spear his fingers through the monk’s curly hair and draw him closer. To plunder his mouth with his sinful heathen tongue.
Ragnar had been with a few men in Kattegat. It was a rite of passage that the young raiders would play games with each other, swimming naked in the fjords, sleeping in a heap of young male flesh in the longhouses when they went on a summer hunt or to Uppsala, if it was the ninth year of their journey into manhood. Ragnar doubted Athelstan experienced such things. His God was too keen on forbidding this and forbidding that. Although there was something good to be said for the dispensation of his God’s mercy.
Ragnar tilted his head to look better at Athelstan where he lay. His eyes were still closed and Ragnar believed that he had fallen asleep. Just as well, Ragnar thought. The poor monk would be mortified if he knew the feelings that ran through Ragnar’s fingertips as their hands were clasped on his chest.
All these thoughts about his cock and what he would like to do to Athelstan, made Ragnar decide that he needed to piss, lest he act on his forbidden feelings and lose Athelstan’s friendship forever.
Ragnar pried his hand free from Athelstan’s. A light snore emerged from him. Ragnar smiled as he relinquished Athelstan’s hand to him, laying it on his chest while he slept. Athelstan’s eyes stayed shut, his lashes spread across his cheeks like an angel that slept in the stories he had read to Ragnar from the Gospel of Saint John.
Ragnar got to his feet and walked to the edge of the clearing. The forest was decorated in all the colours of summer, blue wildflowers, green leaves, some yellowing with the threat of an early autumn. Ragnar freed himself and pissed into the woods. Before he finished, something caught his eye. In contrast to the greens and blues and splashes of yellow that marked the forested landscape, the bright crimson stood out. He was reminded of the time when he was injured during a particularly brutal sparring session with Rollo. His brother had hit him in the back with the shaft of an axe. Ragnar had pissed blood for a week and he could barely stand each morning when he woke.
Ragnar closed his trousers and walked deeper into the forest to investigate.
Out of the corner of his eye, Ragnar watched Athelstan rise from where he had slept.
Athelstan yawned and scratched his head.
“Come here,” Ragnar said, motioning to Athelstan with his hand. “I think I have found something.”
Ragnar stepped closer to the crimson that had his attention.
“What is it?” Athelstan asked, striding up to Ragnar.
“There,” Ragnar said, pointing to the crimson cloth.
“I see bones,” Athelstan said.
And he was right. Ragnar took a few more steps and saw what Athelstan had first noticed.
“Is it what I think it is?” Ragnar asked. He lifted the crimson fabric from among the leaves.
“Is it the king’s men?” Athelstan asked, his eyes wide. “What else could it be?”
The bones had been picked clean by the animals that roamed this way. Wolves, ravens, wild dogs, all scavenging animals would have gotten a taste of the men as they lay dead. Ragnar picked up a skull that had the unmistakable split of an axe across the back of it. Blood stained the bone.
“This fabric is the same colour as the king’s seal, is it not?” Ragnar asked, picking at a piece of fabric that was stuck to the skull.
“It must be them,” Athelstan agreed, making the sign of the cross. “They died here.”
“It would appear that they were killed here.”
“But what about the supplies they carried for the monastery?”
“Do you think they fed the group of Northmen that I killed yesterday?” Ragnar asked.
“They landed near here, killed the king’s men and sustained themselves with the spoils,” Athelstan said, nodding his head.
“And when they were sated, they travelled north in their ship, looking to pillage again,” Ragnar said.
“This new group of Northmen,” Athelstan said, “they must have planned to continue raiding their way up the coast.”
“It was the only explanation for why they encountered them further up the shore. “We ended their raiding when they reached us.”
“We didn’t stop them, you did,” Athelstan insisted.
“You helped,” Ragnar said, knowing that if not for him being driven into action to protect Athelstan, there might have been a different outcome. “A little.”
Athelstan shrugged. “If they weren’t stopped, they would have made it all the way to Lindisfarne,” he said, kneeling at the bones. “Lindisfarne would have been raided again.”
“That’s what the Northmen do,” Ragnar said, knowingly.
“Then you’ve saved my remaining brothers, by dispatching these Northmen who committed this atrocious act,” Athelstan said, waving his hand over the remains. “You’ve saved their lives.”
Ragnar needed all the credit he could get if he was to avoid the wrath of the king when it was discovered that he had led the raid against the monastery.
“Just wait until you can tell Brother Finian that,” Ragnar said.
Athelstan stood, meeting Ragnar toe to toe. He said, “In another week’s time, Finian will be as fond of you as I am.”
~