“In a few minutes, they will be rolling on the ground, wrestling and yelling,” Mirana said comfortably.
Mirana was right. The boys were the best of friends within the next ten minutes and fighting like the worst of enemies. As for the brothers, they were speaking quietly together, and Laren knew they spoke of Erik. She watched them leave the longhouse and she knew they were going to Erik’s grave. And to their parents’ graves as well.
“So much trouble,” Mirana said, shaking her head. “I am sorry that you have had to bear such dissension. At least Sarla has held fast to your friendship.”
“Aye, she is like a loving sister to me.”
“And you are the niece of the famous Rollo of Normandy!”
Sarla said, smiling, “Aye, but she still only has three gowns, Mirana. Ileria is weaving madly so that the mistress of Malverne does not embarrass us with her lack of finery. None of us want her to return to Normandy looking less than flawless. Have you yet changed Merrik’s mind, Laren?”
She shook her head. “He still believes he is keeping me safe by leaving me here. But don’t worry, this is too important for him to continue in his confusion.”
The women laughed. Kerzog woofed loudly, and ran right at Mirana. She shrieked and ducked behind Laren. The huge hound knocked both of them over, barking and waving a thick violent tail that could break an unheeding arm.
When Rorik and Merrik returned to the longhouse, silent and each alone with his thoughts, his own memories, they were greeted with laughter. Each man slowly smiled. Life once again overcame death and all its pain.
The longhouse bulged with people. The men had hunted, bringing down a deer and a boar. Many others had fished, and the rich smells of the venison and the boar mixed with the baked herring and salmon, filled the air, covering the ever-present smell of men and women pressed too closely together. Laren looked upon the row upon row of bodies, each wrapped in a woolen blanket, along the far wall. She looked down at a tug on her gown to see Taby, rubbing his eyes with his knuckles, wearing only a linen tunic.
She dropped to her knees and drew him to her. “You were asleep, Taby. You had a bad dream?”
He nodded. “How can Merrik be my Viking warrior if he comes back here to Malverne? The Viking warrior stayed with the little boy, to protect him, to keep him safe. I’m not stupid, Laren. I know that this other place is far away from here.”
She’d made up the Viking warrior. She felt tears sting her eyes. She’d given a child a hero and now, because they lived not in a skald’s tale but in the real world, the hero would leave him, and so would she. She couldn’t bear it.
“I don’t know,” she said against his soft hair. “I don’t know, but we will do something.”
She saw Merrik then, standing close to them, watching, saying nothing.
“I don’t want to leave you or Merrik,” Taby said against her neck. “I don’t care about being a prince.”
Merrik came down beside her, lightly stroking the child’s arm. Taby turned, his eyes still dulled with sleep, but there was a quiver at his mouth that made Merrik’s gut cramp. He drew in his breath and said slowly, “Taby, you remember I told you that who you are means many things have to happen that none of us can change.”
Taby nodded, but said, “I don’t care.”
“I know, but I have to do the caring for you. I cannot allow you to be other than what you are meant to be. It is possible that you will someday be the duke of Normandy. There is no choice.”
The child drew up, jerking out of Laren’s arms. “I hate you, I hate both of you! You just want to get rid of me!” He turned and ran back to the children’s sleeping chamber, this night filled with at least eight small bodies all pressed together in the single box bed.
Laren jumped to her feet, but Merrik held her still. “No, let him go. He is very young, Laren, but he must realize that there are duties, endless responsibilities, that direct each of us.”
“He is very young, too young to remember. The last two years have been very hard for him. He’s not known kindness or stability. He fears the unknown, for it is all he’s had for far too long.”
“And his sister as well. Now, we will go see him in a little while. Tell me what you think of Rorik and Mirana.”
“She is more beautiful than Caylis or Megot.”
He laughed at that. “Once I hated her, believed her evil, for her half brother, Einar, was a more black-hearted scoundrel than the Christians’ devil. All that black hair of hers and her white flesh, aye, I believed her a witch. I was wrong. By all the gods, it is difficult to be young. Nothing appears as it really is, and your mind twists and bends and sees snakes where there are rainbows. And what do you think of my brother?”
“Rorik is like all Viking men. He is beautiful, well formed, stout-hearted.”
Merrik just stared down at her, a dark blond eyebrow cocked. “And?”
“And his dog is going to sleep in our bed with us tonight, I doubt not. He has discovered that I’m not as strong as Mirana and thus he can lie on me and lick me until his tongue is dry.”
Merrik grabbed her about her neck, leaned down and kissed her hard.
They planned to set sail for Normandy when the moon had reached its half phase some fourteen days later. Merrik would leave Oleg in charge of both the men and Malverne’s defense. Sarla would continue as mistress of the household. Taby was sullen. He had been sullen since his outburst. On the morning of their departure, he allowed Laren to hug and kiss him, but when Merrik went down on his haunches in front of the child, Taby turned away from him.