“Huh?” I am beginning to sound like a blithering idiot. “Dost really want me to explain that?”
“Mayhap later,” Eadyth suggested, “when young daughters are not about.”
“Oh, Mother!” Larise and Emma said at the same time.
Much laughter followed. Then Bolthor asked him, “Wouldst mind if I tell a saga about you and Vagn?” Bolthor never asked for permission, and everyone knew that. It was a telling moment that he asked now, and Toste did not know what to say. He truly wanted to put discussion of his brother behind him, but he did not want to hurt his good friend, either. Finally he nodded with a deep sigh.
“Hear one and all, this is the death-poem, ‘Ode to Twin Brothers, May Their Ties Last Through Eternity.’ ”
“Very good title,” Alinor said. Alinor always did have a big mouth and little sense where Bolthor was concerned.
“Methinks the gods were smiling
the day they sent two babes squalling
from one womb, one mother, one birthing.
Some said they were really one person,
two sides of the same coin.
So how does one survive
when oneself is no longer alive?
Some say the one left behind
must see the departed
in the warm sunshine overhead,
watching a bird flying straight ahead,
a birthing of a horse well-bred,
the welcome of one’s own homestead.
But with that I disagree,
in the case of these twins so carefree.
Toste, my friend, I ask you this:
What would Vagn most likely miss?
This is where you will find his spirit
if through this world he does still flit:
the wink of a winsome maid,
a good jest ofttimes played,
the sway of a shapely female bottom,
a good battle fairly won,
the adventure of a-Viking,
then coming home,
the male pride in a rock-hard staff,
the ecstasy of sexual coupling,
the love of man for woman,
the birth of one’s own babe.
At these times, I believe, Vagn will be
there, and you will know:
Even in death, you are still one.”
A stunned silence followed, and not the usual stunned silence that followed Bolthor’s sagas. For once, Bolthor had composed a truly touching poem.
“Thank you,” Toste said finally. “Mayhap you could help me memorize that one so I can pull it to mind when my spirits are low.”
You would have thought he’d handed Bolthor a chest of gold, so much did he beam with pleasure.
“Would you mind if I change the subject?” Alinor asked.
“Do horses piss?” Toste muttered under his breath.
Esme elbowed him and muttered, “Coarse lout!”
“We must needs talk about Esme,” Alinor said.
“Hah! Your turn,” he whispered in an undertone.
She shot him another of her blue fire glares before sitting up straighter, the creamy complexion of her face pinkening with a blush.
I would like to say some other things that would bring a blush to your fair face, Esme. Wicked things. Tempting things.
“I’m sure you are already aware of the plans being made for you regarding the Witan and a troop of retainers that Toste is putting together,” Alinor began.
Esme cast him a questioning look at the mention of retainers.
Oops, I forgot to mention that. I forgot to tell you lots of things, faced with your naked body and bobbing breasts in a tub of rose petals. Bolthor ought to create a saga about that! I can just imagine what it would be. “Ode to Bobbing Breasts” or something equally outrageous.
I am still waiting for the “Ode to Eat-Me,” Vagn said in Toste’s head, which caused him to choke on his mead. He had to give his brother credit; he had a quick wit for a dead man.
“What Alinor is trying to say,” Eadyth said, “is that we have been talking about this situation, and—”
“Uh-oh!” Tykir said, rolling his eyes. “The women have been talking.”
“Now, Tykir, do not be so quick to judge. I, for one, value the female viewpoint,” Eirik said, batting his eyes in a cowlike fashion at his wife.
“You traitor!” Tykir laughed.
Toste missed this kind of brotherly teasing. He missed so much about Vagn, but especially the teasing, he realized now.