Eric's Fate
Chapter Two
Two natural springs, one hot, the other cold, fed into the bath that Egil had made near the family longhouse. Stone walls and seats had been added to create a feature that was the envy of all the local karls. Tonight, under the light of a full moon, Sookie bathed her husband. In the morning he and his father's bondsmen would go raiding.
Eric sat in the warm spring water with his back to Sookie as she cleaned and combed his hair. Occasionally she would rest a hand on his broad shoulders, or stroke his neck, before returning to her task. She didn't want her man to go, but the harvest had been poor, and Egil needed the raid to be a success. By farmers' standards he was already wealthy, but with status came responsibility. The ship had to go out.
Her feet in the water, legs spread to either side of Eric, Sookie leaned in close to him. She remembered the tall gangly youth who had called with her when her father was away raiding. Smiling to herself, glad he couldn't see her face, she thought of the day when Egil had come to ask her father could she marry Eric. Had he said no the insult to Eric and his father would have been immense, but fortunately both families had been happy for the youngsters.
Sookie pulled her linen shift over her head, exposing her generous breasts and milky skin. Her belly was just starting to swell with the child inside. With her hands on her husband's shoulders she pulled close to him, pressing her cheek against his neck. Breasts pressed against his back she began again to rub his shoulders, stopping occasionally to kiss his neck.
Feeling her naked flesh behind him Eric responded with a groan of pleasure. They had come here to bathe, as was their custom before he went away, what came after was becoming a custom too. His body was already responding to the memory. When Sookie stopped rubbing his back she ran her hands down his chest as far as she could, over his nipples and down onto his abs. She nibbled at his neck, then ran her tongue up to his ear, flicking it around the edge before delving inside. As she sucked on the lobe he tried to turn, to reach for her, but she held him in place while she tortured him with the sensation.
Only when she thought she had teased him enough did she get to her feet behind him. Stepping around him she entered the water, dropping onto his lap gently as her cool skin met the hot water. Eric's hands were up to meet her breasts, first cupping them, then squeezing the flesh while his fingers tweaked at the nipples. Sookie murmured her pleasure even as her mouth sought his.
Their lips met. In his eagerness Eric crushed his mouth to hers, but Sookie had other plans, withdrawing slightly, then darting her tongue between his teeth before he could follow her. She felt his lips form a grin as her tongue sought his, her lips applying gentle suction to his tongue when it probed her mouth. In the heat of their mouths their tongues dueled, while his hands worked at her breasts, and hers palmed his nipples.
Wriggling forward in the water Sookie sought his arousal, pressed herself onto him. She was ready as he twisted his hips and slipped inside her. At once she felt the need to pull away from him, as he hurt her when he entered. She had never become accustomed to the size of her viking's love. Gradually she lowered herself fully onto him, all the while sharing that long passionate kiss. When he started to move under her she was flooded with sensation, pleasure and pain all at once. Sookie gave herself over to the animal pleasure that was sex with her Eric. His hands were on her hips, pulling her against every thrust, twisting her pelvis forward to where he knew he could give her most stimulation. She thrust back with every stroke, grinding herself on him as she wriggled her way to an intense rush of sensual pleasure. By the grip her muscles held on him whenever he thrust into her Eric knew her climax was coming. He tensed his own muscles, trying to time his own finish to arrive with hers. Sookie grabbed his balls and squeezed when she came, forcing an orgasm of equal intensity to hers from her man as he bucked and twisted beneath her.
Stroking her back with his hands, teeth on her nipples he gently slowed down the pace of their love making, until in the end they clung tightly to one another in the warm water of the bath.
With the dawn the raiders set sail. Fourteen men manned the treasured ship, their gear stored in boxes on which they sat. Mostly the deck was empty, save the barrels and bags of supplies that Bergur, the ship's master, had brought on board for the crossing. There was no provision on board for their return as the raid was expected to furnish what they would need. Sookie stood on the shore alongside the other wives until the ship was little more than a dot on the horizon. When it was gone from sight she returned to Egil's longhouse to wait with the others for her man to return.
The crossing to Britain was rough, the low sides of the ship providing little cover from the sea as it lashed them. At night they slept on the open deck in leather sleeping bags. More than once during the journey the first mate, a weather-beaten old warrior named Bjorn, made them unship the oars and row against an unfavorable wind. None of the men objected as the labor of rowing was the only exercise the would get until they landed.
It was Olaf who sighted land first, the scout had better eyes than any of the others. A favorable wind carried them towards the shore, making landfall as night approached. Bergur chose a little cove with a shingle beach to run the ship to shore. As soon as they were beached Olaf and Eric ran through the shallow water, onto the beach. They would scout ahead while the others secured the ship. Behind them men were already throwing down ropes to pull it further up the beach.
Olaf led the pair in a wide half circle, checking the ground and surroundings. They found a large farmhouse about a mile north of the cove. For a while both men watched the comings and goings of the inhabitants between the main building and the smaller outbuildings. Grinning, eager to get on with the raid, the men returned to their comrades.
The raiding party were waiting, as eager as their leader. There was no shame in a night attack when raiding. They would catch the farmers unaware, and take whatever they needed in goods and slaves. With a quick nod to Thor the party began the short run to their target.
Something had changed in the short time they had been away. Eric noticed that a dozen horses were tethered at the front of the building, a guard dressed in chain mail and leather coat with them. It was clear from the tack on the horses that they belonged to soldiers. Grinning at the men of the raiding party he told them to anticipate some sport when they got close.
A cat was mewling in the farmyard, a long mournful sound that carried well on the still night air. With a wave of his hand Eric brought his party forward at a run. They covered the ground to the farmhouse in seconds. At the heavy front door Snorri, heaviest built of the raiders ran straight into it with his shoulder. The latch gave easily. For a moment there was a surprised gasp from inside, before the vikings burst into the large room beyond.
By the horses the picket saw the group of armed men running at the house. He wanted to warn his friends inside, but when he tried to shout all that came out was a rasping wheeze. Looking down he saw the point of Olaf's sword erupting through his chest. Pain followed, then darkness.
"Vikings," came the call from inside as men reached for whatever weapons were to hand. Eric was third through the door. His eyes took in the eleven soldiers, the large old man they had been talking to, the group of men in peasant clothes who were obviously farmhands. Then he rushed at the soldiers, huge blade held above his head with both hands. Grimur, his cousin, was at his side, two handed axe lofted high.
Eric's first blow cut the soldier in front of him in half. Surprised as they were the defenders were still reaching for weapons as the vikings rushed through the door at them. Only the fact that the doorway slowed the attack stopped it from being instant slaughter.
At his side Eric was aware of Grimur's axe as it fell on the nearest defender. The man tried to get his own blade up, but the steel shattered under the force of the blow. Grimur struck him with the haft, then reversed the weapon and cleaved the man's head from his shoulders.
And then it was over. The farmhands put up no resistance, this was not their fight. The farmer had an air of resignation about him as he surrendered. All of the soldiers lay dead or dying.
"Don't kill me," the farmer begged.
Bloodlust had left Eric as soon as the fighting stopped. He had no interest in murder. With a wave of his hand he stayed his own party's weapons.
"Gather your family about you. We will not harm any of them if they do as we say. But these," he pointed at the laborers, "these we take as slaves. They'll be no loss to you."
The farmer looked relieved, but still scared. His eyes traveled nervously to a small chest. Eric went to it, flung the lid open. It was full of coins, small silver ones stamped with the face of Harold. Recognizing the dead king's face Eric waved for Trausti the poet to join him. Then he turned to face the farmer again.
"What's this for? Who were the soldiers?" he asked.
"Taxes, they were tax collectors. Better you had killed me than murder tax collectors in my home," the farmer told him.
"Is that how you want it?" Eric asked.