Blasphemy [Finan the Agile]

CHAPTER vi. 'The Fear of Death Follows'

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CHAPTER vi. 'The Fear of Death Follows'

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Finan, Sihtric, and Osferth stood ahead of the maiden managing Odin's Alehouse. She took a pitcher from her collection of several others and dipped it into a drum, filling it with freshly-brewed ale. "One silver," the Norse-lady demanded, eyeing the three Dunholm visitors. "From each of you."

"That is hardly fair," Finan stated, his arms crossed with an elbow resting on the hilt of his sword. "What of a single piece, and a 'thank yu'?"

The spiteful woman mimicked Finan's actions, crossing her own arms over her breasts stubbornly. "I do not serve Christianmen," she eyed Sihtric, "nor their pet hounds."

"We are guests of Ragnar the Younger, lady," Sihtric stated, ignoring her insult. "You will serve us as you serve the other Dane's of Dunholm."

The Viking lady tilted her head back, "Two silver or no ale. That is my last offer."

As the Irishman opened his mouth to bargain, the baby monk pulled a pouch from his pocket and slid out two thin pieces of silver. "Thank you, miss," he stated politely, "we are grateful for your generosity."

Not before eyeing the monk in disgust, the viking lady held out the pitcher of ale that Finan spitefully grabbed, spilling a few drops onto the leather of his armor. "Pleasure doin' business with yu,'" he sassed, "may God be with yu'."

As the Irishman turned with a satisfied smirk, the baby monk cheekily added, "God is good!" before the three bastards made their leave.

The Irishmans head was throbbing from the night before, having drunk too much ale. However, not enough to leave a blankspot over the period of time he visited Freydis and was so-rudely made to leave. The man took a swig of the ale out of the pitcher and Sihtric snatched it away before the Irishman drank any more of their two-silver ale. "Aye, yu' rat-bastard!" The Irishman swore, "I wasn't finished."

"You will never be finished when it comes to ale, Finan," Sihtric coolly stated, "at least drink it out of a cup, or else you'll drink half whilst leaving the rest to spill on the ground."

Finan ignored the Dane, a game he often played that left the man simmering with an enlarging greed to duel. The baby monk often ignored the Irishmans instigations, both calmer and wiser than the two warriors; but Finan would never confess that, for he would rather spend his time bantering with the less calm, and less wise Dane. "This place is mad," the Irishman stated, "two silver for a single pitcher of ale? I could get two pitchers for a bloody bronze piece in Winchester!"

"That large cross of yours is the reason she gouged the price so high," Sihtric grumbled, "I should have gone in there myself."

Finan scoffed, "Yes, like the monk with a cock-long wooden cross on his chest had no part in it."