The Viking and His Wife

An Angel

"Now, my tale begins with two friends. Two men admired everywhere they go. One was an Earl, my father. The other was exiled and had nowhere to call home; both he and his son so my father took them in and treated them like family.

"His plight was that he killed a man but had only tried to defend himself. He was convinced he was wrongly accused and my father filled with brotherly affection believed him. Told others how much of a good man he was and wanted him to make a name for himself in society. He provided everything, a home, there was always food on his table, new clothes on his back-"

"What about his son?"

"Like our fathers, we were joined at the hip."

"Really? Were you able to walk in a straight line?"

"No Lufner, that means they were close."

"Oh."

Jimbjörn continued and before Lufner could ask any more questions, Sangard slapped a hand over his mouth.

"Just listen."

Namitha could not help but crack a smile which she hid ever so poorly behind a hand.

Usoff too was humoured.

That friend as we all have guessed it was Arlock. And his father though held in such high esteem by the gracious Earl grew jealous of the things the Earl had and wanted it all for himself.

So he became a usurper.

His plan would have succeeded if it wasn't for the coward who told the Earl everything. Loyal men, all of them but the ones he got on his side were sentenced to death. He on the other hand was blood-eagled. Not only was his plan to usurp but to murder the Earl and his entire family.

Jimbjörn's father had no place in his heart to forgive. The harshest of punishments was an act of mercy itself for he was a man who valued all the good things the gods provided him in life, more so his flesh and blood.

His son, Arlock was spared but was made to watch the entire execution from start to end.

Arlock did not flinch once at the sounds of his father's cries or the sight of his flowing hot blood. He just stood there and stared his father dead in the eyes till life left him and he slumped like a piece of meat on a slab.

It was only when it was done and over that he acknowledged the Earl's grip on his shoulder, tears of anger and loss battled down his hard face and soaked his peppered beard.

Arlock never spoke of his father but since that day, the Jarl took him in as his son and raised him as if he were his own. He was only 11 years old.

Only time proved how much Arlock was like his father. No matter how much the Earl tried to steer him in the direction of good, Arlock went the other way but still Jimbjörn entertained his company. Surely, friends who grew up together and lived under the same roof must remain loyal to each other till their last breath. It was so Jimbjörn told himself so many a blind eye was turned at Arlock's rebellion.

Arlock was a boy growing into a man. He no longer wanted the warmth or counsel of a father. Only his proud opinion of himself mattered once he grew tall and his muscles grew sturdy and as hair grew on his arms, chest and face. Humility was a thing of the past. Fame and the attentions of women folk were all that got him through the day.

The Earl had seen his good friend in his adopted son and it made him fear for the welfare of his own flesh and blood.

"Don't be like your father." He was told but those words were only spat back in the ageing Earl's face.

"I am not my father."

"Conduct yourself as if you were my son."

"Only the gods can stop me. For now, I do what I want."