Thork nodded occasionally but added little to the conversation. He stared into his goblet and occasionally glanced surreptitiously over to Ruby. He forced himself not to look toward his sons who sat at the edge of the circle, painfully aware of their isolation even when he was present. It was the only way, he told himself. He had learned that lesson the hard way.
“What is this Jomsviking?” Ruby asked.
Olaf looked at Thork questioningly. Thork pondered how much to tell the wench. After all, there was still the possibility she spied for Ivar, or Athelstan. Finally, he replied carefully, “I have been a Jomsviking since I was fourteen. I lied and said I was eighteen. Jomsvikings are select warriors who swear oaths of loyalty to a brotherhood of Viking comrades. We vow always to think of victory, to never speak words of fear—”
“Oh, my goodness!” Ruby interrupted. “That sounds just like Jack and his positive-thinking philosophies.” She told them about some ungodly things called “Coyote tapes,” and, at the looks of confusion on their faces, she explained, “At one time in parts of my country, the coyotes—”
“Coyotes?” Thork interrupted.
“Wolflike animals. They posed a menace to farmers and ranchers, so the government put a bounty on them, encouraging people to kill them. Well, not only didn’t they kill them off, but the stupid beasts reproduced by the thousands. Coyotes were found alive in the wild with metal traps hanging on their bodies. Some still lived minus paws or ears or despite serious wounds. The whole point was that coyotes survived, no matter what adversity.”
“Sort of like Vikings,” Olaf quipped, and Thork nodded.
“Are you a Jomsviking?” Ruby asked Olaf.
“Nay. They live in fortified towns where no women and only men between the ages of eighteen and fifty may dwell.”
“So that’s why Sigtrygg said Thork would jeopardize his Jomsviking oath by marrying.” Ruby looked at Thork with new understanding.
“If I were not married, ‘twould be an honor to be a Jomsviking,” Olaf added. “Much revered are they by Norsemen for their bravery and ideals.”
Ruby weighed the words, then commented with a little laugh, “Jomsvikings seem like a cross between mercenaries and the noble knights of King Arthur’s round table.”
Thork laughed spontaneously at her analogy. “Perchance you are right. I have heard tales of that Welsh lord and his men who fought the Saxons. Now you call my attention to it, mayhap there are similarities, but one big difference—Jomsvikings are mainly unmarried men, with no families.” He put special emphasis on those last words, wanting her to see why her words of marriage had outraged him so.
Ruby silently pondered all he had said, looking over to Eirik and Tykir for their reactions. The stories about him engrossed the boys. Thork somehow knew that Ruby noticed the same yearning in their eyes as he did. They obviously wanted, nay, needed, a father. But that could not be.
When everyone seemed talked out, Olaf asked Astrid, “Will you play the lute for us?” But Tyra interrupted, “Nay, Father, we want Ruby to tell us her tale of Hansel and Gretel again.” Olaf looked indulgently at his daughter and over to Astrid to see if her feelings were hurt, but she appeared as eager for a repeat of the saga as her sister.
The excited girls urged Ruby to tell the silly story several times. Soon they would be able to relate it themselves and undoubtedly would, Thork mused, as he watched the wench weave her strange magic around them all.
When encouraged to tell yet another story, Ruby said, “Eirik and Tykir, this story is dedicated to you two because you look just like my sons and this was their favorite story.” Both boys jumped in surprise. They apparently weren’t singled out for attention very often, Thork realized miserably. Ruby defiantly faced Thork, challenging him to stop her. A muscle jumped angrily in his jaw, but Thork said nothing, allowing Ruby to begin: “Once upon a time there was a boy named Pinocchio…”
Afterward Tyra delighted them by holding short fingers to her nose, testing. She must have told a fib recently.
“Humph!” Thork said testily to Ruby. ” ‘Tis a wonder your nose does not stretch out to here.” He held a forefinger about two feet from his face. “With all the missaying you do, if noses truly grew with every lie, yours would need a sling to hold it up.”