Stealing the Valkyrie

Easy Rhythm

For her second lesson, Rollo took Edithe to a meadow far outside of Kattegat's walls and the walk was pleasant in the sunshine. Out here it was just the two of them and, after yesterday, she preferred it that way.

Watching Rollo fighting the other Viking had served as a stark reminder of how barbaric his people were. Her father would have never allowed such senseless violence to take place in her village. While here in Kattegat, everyone was clearly prepared to fight for their lives over any dispute which wounded their pride.

Perhaps that was why her people were slaughtered and his were still standing.

She watched him, his eyes carefully scouring the treeline before he pulled his tunic over his head and threw it to the long grass. By now she was becoming all too accustomed to the sight of his bare chest and hardly batted an eyelid at it.

At least, that was what she told herself.

Carrying his weapons he moved across the field several paces before stopping and standing directly in line with her. Silently they watched each other, armies of one, holding down their line with the battle ground stretching between them.

Anticipation shivered along her spine, prickling the hairs on the back of her neck.

What was he doing? What was he waiting for?

After what felt like a long pause he held up his sword and beat it against his shield. Wood clattering with wood, a hollow sound on its own but it seemed to reverberate around the meadow and a scattering of birds fled to the trees.

Was he trying to frighten her? She held her sword a little tighter.

Then he began to chant, his heathen words and the clattering sword growing faster and louder. His rhythm was hypnotic, intensifying until his voice was thundering in her ears and her heart was pounding in her chest.

He was the stuff of Christian nightmares, a wild barbarian man. Tall and brutal, tattooed and fierce. Edithe couldn't take her eyes off him even if she wanted to.

Suddenly he stopped and the tightness in her chest loosened. Why had she been holding her breath? She felt foolish now. What did she think he was going to do?

"Edithe," he called, hitting his sword against the shield a single time, encouraging her to do the same.

She glanced around the empty field, her palms slick with nerves. Even with only Rollo there to watch, she felt strangely inhibited. It was immodest to draw such attention to herself. But he was Viking and had no regard for modesty.

"Edithe," he repeated, encouraging her again.

Carefully, she tapped her sword to shield and he laughed, even from here she could see the way his eyes wrinkled with pleasure.

So she hit her shield again, louder this time.

"More," he urged, unrelenting, until together their drumbeat pounded fiercely to the tune of his foreign song. The same words over and over, and after a while, she chanted it too.

"Up unto the overturned keel,

Clamber with a heart of steel,"

Their voices and the endless rhythm consumed the meadow, frightening away any creature who dared to approach their battle cry.

"Cold is the ocean's spray,

And your death is on its way."

Now her heart didn't beat with fear but with excitement. All her life she had been encouraged to be gentle and obedient, quiet and thoughtful. Now she was shouting so loudly her voice could reach the very heavens. Perhaps it was immodest, but she revelled in the freedom of it.