” ‘Tis hard to explain, but even then times were changing for all Norsemen. Throughout Britain, you see evidence of how we Norsemen have assimilated, adopting Saxon customs, marrying their women. And ’tis not one-sided, this blending. Saxons have taken on many Norse ways, as well.”
“Like Earl Orm?”
“Yea, and many others. It seemed to me, even as a child, that my future, and that of my fellow Norsemen, would be better served by learning the Saxon ways so both peoples could live together peacefully.”
Eadyth bit her bottom lip thoughtfully and gazed at this husband of hers—a stranger, really—seeing him in a new light. She had heard of his military exploits, but this idealistic side of his nature intrigued her.
But mayhap his noble words were just a ploy to soften her anger. She would have to tread carefully.
“And Tykir? Did he foster there with you?”
“Hardly,” Eirik scoffed. “He was more interested in the direct approach to settlement in Britain. Kill every Saxon in sight.”
“What has all this to do with Steven and your disgusting behavior?”
Eirik stroked his mustache absently. Then he flexed his fingers nervously and combed them through his hair. His throat worked as he sought for the right words.
Eadyth studied him carefully. What could cause such distress in Eirik that he would have trouble expressing himself. ?
Eirik cleared his throat and began. “Steven was also a fosterling at King Athelstan’s court. In fact, they were second cousins,” he said. “When I arrived, I had seen only ten winters, and Steven five more than that. We should have been friends.”
Eirik seemed drawn back in time, and a fierce anguish swept over his face in memory. A deep, deep pain misted his blue eyes.
“And?” she prompted when his silence went on and on.
At first, he did not seem to hear her as his thoughts turned inward.
“And?” she repeated.
“And we were not friends.” Eirik sighed deeply, forcing himself back to the present. Then he looked her directly in the eye, determination turning his eyes dark blue. “Steven was evil even then. He delighted in torturing not only animals, but those humans unwise enough to cross his path—those younger or weaker than he.”
Eadyth waited patiently for Steven to continue.
“I was only there a few sennights when he made arrangements with a notorious Norse outlaw, Ivar the Vicious, for my kidnapping. ‘Twas intended as a trap to capture Sigtrygg, who was then the Viking king of Northumbria, but, instead, it led to my father’s death.”
Eirik held up his left hand, displaying his missing finger. “Ivar sent the finger to my father with a ransom note, but I blame Steven. ‘Twas the first, and surely the least, of the injuries inflicted on me by the Earl of Gravely.”
Eadyth was appalled.
“When I was back at King Athelstan’s court, I knew enough to steer clear of the brute. But one night I was careless. He and two of his friends trapped me in a remote corridor of the castle, and… and… they beat me viciously.”
Eadyth’s heart went out to Eirik and all he must have suffered as a young boy. She wished she could do something to ease his pain, to wipe away all the bad memories. Forgetting her revulsion over a man’s touch this once, Eadyth lay a sympathetic hand on Eirik’s arm, willing him silently to raise his bowed head.
“Oh, Eirik, how sad for you,” she said, reaching forward to place a comforting hand over his.
He shrugged her hand away. “Your pity unmans me.”
“Pity! Eirik, you were only ten years old. Did King Athelstan punish Steven?”
“Nay, but I handled the matter myself several years later when my body’s growth had caught up to Steven’s. I beat Steven almost to death and would have suffered no qualms in snuffing the very breath from his body, but the king’s retainers pulled me away. I was the one punished in the end with a wergild—and a hefty fine, it was—not to mention banishment from court for one year. ‘Twas well worth the satisfaction it gave me.”
“I think I would have done the same.”