Today, Ivar promised, the real torture would begin. Hah! As if they hadn’t been tortured enough. Thork looked down at the three additional fingers that had been chopped off his left hand and grimaced. His lone, swollen thumb stood out grotesquely.
“Good thing you can still swing a sword with your right hand,” Selik said dryly from his position next to him on the ground. All fifty of the Jomsvikings were tied together with one long length of rope. “Think you that you can still please your wife with all those fingers missing?” Selik teased morbidly.
Thork closed his eyes on the painful thought of Ruby and the fact that he would never see her again. When he got his emotions under control, Thork tried to grin at Selik over the intense pain in his chest.
“Is that all you can think of? Ivar starts the executions today and you have a woman’s parts on your mind! Thor’s balls! What woman will look at you with that ugly scar on your face now?”
“Do you think it ugly?” Selik countered arrogantly. “Methinks it makes me look the rogue. Methinks the women will love me more.”
“Mayhap you are right,” Thork conceded, examining the unhealed scar which ran from Selik’s right eye to his chin.
“Well, at least Eirik is all right. Ivar does not seem to plan any more harm to him.”
“Yea. Pray he will not,” Thork sighed. Lord, ’twas all he lived for now, to see Eirik safe. He no longer hoped to save his own skin. “Selik, if we should not make it through this day, please know that you have been a good and true friend.” He had trouble swallowing over the lump in his throat before he continued, “Perchance we will meet again in heaven—or Valhalla—whichever it may be.”
Selik appeared to choke up but then gathered his usual wits about him. ” ‘Tis sure you are we are headed in that direction? Mayhap you have been more the saint than I have.”
Despite his excruciating pain, Thork smiled, but he knew they might not have another opportunity to speak and he had much to say yet. “Selik, if you should survive, promise that you will look out for my children… and Ruby.” Oh, God! Ruby! We had so little time together. So little time!
Ivar’s soldiers came and led the Jomsvikings, roped together in a long line like beads on a string, to the bailey outside the fortress. Hundreds of his followers gathered to witness the downfall of the famous Jomsvikings, wanting to see how their renowned valor would withstand death.
Thork saw Eirik off to the side with a group of other prisoners. He lifted his chin deliberately with a jerk to signal his son to be brave. Eirik, God bless his soul, raised his head proudly, his tearless eyes meeting his father’s in youthful courage. Holy Thor! He was too young to have to display such valor.
Ivar’s men released the first three Jomsvikings from their bonds and led them to the executioner, who twisted sticks in their long hair to bare their necks for his sharp blade.
Ivar stepped forward, preening before the crowd. If he only knew what a bloody replica he was of his hated enemy Sigtrygg! Having the same mountainous size, both bore the scars of numerous battles. Both carried themselves with an arrogant, vicious countenance. Both were ugly as sin.
“For years I have been told how brave you Jomsvikings are,” Ivar said loudly to the assembled group. ” ‘Twill be interesting to see if Jomsvikings die different from other mortal men,” he sneered, then turned to the first Jomsviking brought forth. “What dost thou think about dying now?”
Ingolf, a veteran Jomsviking of at least twenty years, curled his lip contemptuously at Ivar. “Jomsvikings do not fear death, just cowardice.” He lowered his head to the block, and it was chopped off neatly in one stroke.
The next Jomsviking, Gaut, spit at Ivar’s feet and snarled, “I die with a good reputation. You, Ivar, shall live with shame.” Gaut, too, was decapitated.
“Ram!” shouted Hedin, the third Jomsviking, then “B-a-a, b-a-a, b-a-a.” Ivar stopped the upraised hand of the executioner, a puzzled frown making his face even more ugly. “What is your meaning?” he bellowed.