*
The next day, everyone treated him strangely.
At first, he thought he might be imagining it. He felt different, first of all. When he woke up, he was light on his feet, his frown lifted, his eyes bright. The memories of his kiss with Tosti were fresh in his mind, and the taint of Tosti’s sudden departure seemed to have vanished overnight. Tosti had simply been overwhelmed and confused. If he had treated the incident casually, it would have given the event less meaning. No: his running away had been a good thing, and given them both a chance to absorb what happened.
He knew that Tosti enjoyed it as much as he had. That had been clear enough when their hips brushed.
But during the day meal, when he went to find Tosti in the main hall, a strange thing occurred.
Tosti ignored him.
While Canute approached, Tosti sat with a group of boys, laughing and snickering to one another. Canute wondered what the joke might be, and hoped for once he might find out and laugh along with them. But as soon as he stopped to take his seat, everyone grew quiet, and no one moved over for him.
Canute looked to Tosti for an answer, but Tosti would not return his glance. In fact, no one would look at him at all.
“Tosti?” he said. His voice sounded strained and cracked in his own ears, and he forced a swallow down his throat.
Tosti’s eyes darted to Canute’s, only for a second, then his face flushed and he looked away again. “No room here, Canute.”
“I see.” Canute gritted his teeth, but chose to quell his anger. Tosti felt uncomfortable, and that was understandable enough. “This isn’t my place among you, anyway,” he recovered.
But as he turned and walked away, he heard the boys behind him laughing again. He paused and considered turning to face them, but decided against it, gripping his plate fiercely and continuing to his habitual spot on the bench.
His normal coterie sat in its usual place. Their eyes flicked to him, then back to their plates. Soon no one was looking at him at all.
Canute lingered on his feet, struggling not to fume. Once again, he wondered if he imagined the strangeness of their behavior. Normally at a meal, he got his food, sat down, and ate without paying much attention to anyone. He would simply listen in on their conversations, interrupt when he had something to say, and answer any raised questions. Perhaps he was the one acting strangely.
Instinctively this possibility disturbed him, but he chose instead to embrace it. “Good morning everyone,” he said.
They all shifted uncertainly in their seats. A few muttered “Good morning” back to him. Then an even heavier silence resumed. Refusing to be perturbed, Canute sat down and fell onto his meal with a smile.
A long while passed and he got lost in his thoughts, nearly forgetting the looming presence of his comrades. But eventually one dared address him.
“Canute. Psst. Hey.”
Snapped out of his reverie, Canute responded with a glare, then tried to soften his own expression. “Yes, what is it?”
“I asked if you had a good time yesterday with Tosti.”
“Yes. “ Canute studied the faces around him, which were suddenly much too attentive. He pulled off some fish meat with his teeth and chewed roughly. “Yes I did.”
The men exchanged glances with one another. Some seemed to be repressing smirks.
“Is there something else you’d like to ask?” Canute spat out a splintered bone.
“Yeah.” The young man took a moment to gather up his courage, while the other aspiring Jomsvikings encouraged him with their eager stares. “Who’s the girl? You or him?”
Canute froze. Laughter roared around him, but not so loudly as the blood in his ears. He hadn’t expected this, and he did not like it at all. The first problem was how everyone knew in the first place. They would only know if Tosti had told them himself. And why would he do that? Canute doubted it would be due to pride, based on the behavior he’d already exhibited. The second problem was that everyone did know, and if word got around, Sweyn or Thorkell—or both—would be very displeased. Sweyn would consider it sinful. The Christian God did not allow men to be with other men. Thorkell simply … wouldn’t like it. But there was yet a third problem, and that was the response of these men to the rumor. Some Jomsvikings took pride in taking other men. Others found it womanly. But these men clearly found the rumors laughably embarrassing, and even worse, they’d grown cocky enough to flaunt such feelings in front of him.
The laughter grew louder, and Canute struggled to contain his temper. Thorkell always told him to keep a cool head. The longer Thorkell was away, the more difficult that practice became. But he endured, and in fact he lowered his voice, so that when he spoke everyone grew quiet in order to hear him.
“I’ll buy you a dress,” he whispered, “and show you.”
The insubordinate Dane gaped and flushed. Some of the men guffawed; a few chuckled uncertainly. But the others only looked upset.
Canute stuffed the last of his food down his mouth, though he had lost his appetite, and left as quickly as he could. He tried to shake the strange morning from his memory, but throughout the day, similar circumstances pestered him. After the meal he supervised a group of Jomsvikings in their practice of battle advances, and though they continued to obey his instruction, they seemed to take longer than usual, and a gleam of rebellion pervaded their eyes.
As soon as he could, Canute sought out Tosti again. He needed to confront Tosti about how the men treated him today, but also ... he simply wanted to see him again, and preferably alone.
He could not find Tosti anywhere. He looked until he had no choice but to start asking around, ignoring the knowing smirks on his inferiors’ faces as well as he could.
“He went hunting with a few others,” someone told him at last.
Canute felt both disappointed and angry, as if Tosti avoided him on purpose. And perhaps he did.
By the time the day was over and everyone regrouped in the main hall for the night meal, Canute’s mood had spoiled completely. A simmering temper, even more foul than usual, had replaced the good spirits he woke up with. His head ached from clenching his teeth and chewing violently on his food; he became glad that no one would talk to him, for he felt that one more sly word would send him toppling over the edge.
Then Tosti returned.
He did not sit down to eat, even though he entered the hall with a group of his friends, who did. Instead he caught Canute’s eye from afar and cocked his head towards the exit. Canute, who was already half-standing, threw down his scraps and followed him out. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew that almost the entire hall was watching him. None of that seemed to matter so much as seeing Tosti again.
Outside he slid to a stop, looking every which way for the hasty fellow. He saw a trail in the grass and hurled himself around the corner, hands curling into angry fists before he caught sight of his prey.
“Canute, listen—”
Canute grabbed his shoulders and thrust him against the wooden planks of the hall. He wouldn’t let Tosti run away this time. Tosti grunted but lifted his hands in surrender.
“What did you tell them?” cried Canute, sounding more hurt than angry, which was not what he’d intended.
“I told them ... what happened.”
A tremble weakened Canute’s grasp. His gaze drew to Tosti’s plump lips, even though he should have been looking Tosti in the eye, measuring his sincerity. “Why?”
“Don’t know. I wanted to hear what they ... thought of it, I guess.”
Canute’s hands slipped from Tosti’s shoulders, his grip becoming a light caress. He stepped closer, as if to entrap Tosti with his own body. His voice lowered further. “All that matters is that they respect you. Beyond that, you shouldn’t care what they think.”
“Don’t you?”
Canute wanted to say “Of course not.” He wanted to scoff and kiss Tosti again, to embrace him, to press against him completely. Instead, he felt the pr
esence of the Jomsvikings nearby like the heat of a fire. He turned his head slightly, and stiffened at the sight of dozens of them, lingering near the exit of the main hall and shamelessly watching the two men together.
Involuntarily, Canute drew away. And as soon as he did, he flushed with shame. He had just demonstrated the truth to Tosti, without ever saying a word.
When he looked to Tosti again, however, he found the young Jomsviking’s face soft with empathy. “Canute.” He grabbed Canute’s shoulder with a firm hand. “I want to show you something.”
“Show me what?”
“Something … something that made me feel better. See … I was a Christian, yesterday. I didn’t want to do something forbidden. But I found something today … a sign from our gods.”
Canute frowned. He did not care for surprises. “What is it?”
“You’ll see.”
The Viking prince looked uncertainly at their growing crowd.
“Let them see, too,” said Tosti. “You will be glad they did.”
This made him even more uneasy; but Tosti reached out and clutched his hand, squeezing it gently where few could see, and this gave Canute the strength to respond. “Very well.”
Tosti grinned, his wiliness returning as his hand slipped away again, and then he dashed into the dimming light. “This way!” Struggling not to look too eager, Canute made after him.
And behind him, several dozen Jomsvikings followed after.
Tosti led him away past several shacks, through various sparring and weaponry arenas, until they approached one of the primary living lodges, in which most the men slept. Canute hesitated. “What in Valhalla would be here?”
Tosti only paused at the entrance to wave inward. “Come and see!”
“Don’t be stupid,” he growled, though Tosti had already disappeared within the lodge. He realized he spoke to no one but himself. Once again he sensed the large crowd behind him like a cliff’s edge; one step back and he would fall into the abyss. “Too late now,” he muttered.
He followed Tosti into the darkness of the lodge.
The building smelled of sweat and dirty blankets, as it usually did. His lips curled and he kept moving. He thought that if Tosti was given the choice, surely he would want to stay in more comfortable quarters, like Canute’s. Fortunately, the lodge was mostly vacant of bodies right now—at least until Canute and his followers arrived.
Tosti knelt down by what must have been his own bed and rummaged through a pile of belongings next to it. Canute struggled to repress his trembling. What on earth did Tosti have to show him? For some reason, Canute dreaded finding out.
“Here!” cried Tosti, and held up a sack. Only a small object seemed to occupy the sack—but that small object was moving. Tosti grinned from ear to ear as the bag swayed in his hand. “Close the doors!” he called.
Someone obeyed, trapping them all as witnesses to whatever was about to occur.
When Tosti opened the sack and the black bird flew out, Canute did not feel surprised. He did not feel much of anything.
There, captured and released for Canute’s own sake, was a raven.
His breath fled his body and left him standing, transfixed, watching the dark wings flap. The raven’s reach extended further than he had imagined; it seemed a tremendous creature, almost monstrous, within the confines of the lodge. It cast a sharp silhouette against the waning sunlight, trickling weakly through the cracks of the walls, slicing at the brightness like so many knives.
But the sound emitted suddenly from its gullet was the most awesome, and terrifying, feature of all.
No one else in the room dared make a noise, anyway; but even if they had all raised their voices at once, the caws of the raven would have cut through the sound. It shrieked with the agony of a magnificent creature contained for a day within a woolen sack; it screamed with the rage of its injured pride; but most of all, it cried out with the despair of a dying soul.
Its caws grew louder and louder, shriller and more piercing, until it released the power of its wings in a sudden burst. It sped through the air like a dark streak of lightning, propelled towards the largest beam of light from the wall.
But the raven struck the wood, its cry stopped sickeningly short. The beast bounced back, drooped, and plummeted to the floor.
Thud.
No one moved for a long while. No one said a word. Canute delayed inhaling for breath until his head swam with dizziness. Meanwhile his eyes remained locked on the black, unmoving shape on the floor, like a blot in his vision blinding him to everything else. Sensation returned to his limbs first, trembling; then stretched to his fingertips, curling; then came rushing out of his throat.
“No!” he cried.
He rushed to the crippled creature before he even became aware of what he was doing; he pushed gawking men aside in order to make his way to the beast. He swooped down to its side and reached out, hands shaking, to grab it. He gasped as it jerked against his palm in response.
He stood with the bird clutched to his chest. He turned to everyone and grinned desperately at them. “No, look—it’s still alive. See!”
He held out the raven’s body, which after a long while, twitched again. This time the spasm was so violent the creature slipped from his hands and back to the floor, where it continued to thrash about in the throes of death.
As Canute gaped down at it, the world seemed to spin. Tears filled his eyes and blurred his twirling surroundings yet more. He did not merely look upon a dying bird. He looked upon a dying god. He looked upon a dying god!
Then he heard everyone laughing.
At first the sound filled him with confusion. Why would anyone dare laugh at an omen like this? He glanced desperately from each of their faces to the next. Then he realized they were not laughing at the raven. They were laughing at him.
“Oh no, look out, it’s Odin!” someone called.
“Guess he couldn’t stand being in the same room as Canute!”
“No, no, look!” Everyone turned to look at this speaker, who sounded quite serious. But then his voice changed to mimic Canute’s. “I think it’s still alive!”
A new howl of laughter, even louder than before, rang over the congregation.
Canute breathed so hard now that he might have opened his mouth, if not for his clenching jaws. So they knew about the raven, too. Tosti had not only told them about their physical connection; he had shared one of Canute’s most intimate secrets. There were reasons why his father had not made the runewoman’s sighting common knowledge. It was incriminating. And for the truth to come out like this, with a raven twitching to death at Canute’s feet after a desperate attempt to escape …. it was more humiliating than anything he could have imagined.
Canute unsheathed the knife at his belt. He hesitated only long enough to regain everyone’s attention.
Then he knelt down and plunged his dirk into the raven’s chest.
The bird gave one last spasm, then went very still.
Canute pulled out the blade. The wound he left behind was not so much a fountain of blood as a damp indentation. But the edges of his dirk gleamed red with the liquid, and he found this to his satisfaction as he stood again, holding the blade aloft.
He looked past its tip at Tosti, who stood petrified with horror.
Canute did not feel any sort of expression on his face, but the look in his eyes must have been terrifying enough, for Tosti trembled. “Canute ...” he gasped. “I didn’t mean for any of that to happen. I thought … I thought it would be a good thing. I wanted ...”
Canute did not want to hear him speak another word. The sound of Tosti’s voice brought too much pain. And his own inclination to respond revealed that he could not trust his feelings. He pulled back the knife, then flung it.
Tosti’s fast reflexes saved him. Canute rarely missed a target. He had better than normal vision, and his hands grew steady when aiming, no matter his circumstance. His blade would have pierced Tosti throug
h the eye. But Tosti darted out of the way; he ducked, swerved, and then ran away. He was almost gone by the time the knife plunged into the far wall and stuck there.
Despite his exceptional eyesight, Canute’s vision blurred again, and he blinked rapidly to push back a film of thickening moisture. His calm composure wavered. He felt the weight of all the Jomsvikings’ eyes upon him, and thought that if he stood there too long, he would buckle underneath it.
“You fools,” he said. “There is no Odin. Not anymore. It should be as clear to you as it now is to me. The one God is so powerful, there is no room for another.”
Nor was there allowance for the relationship he had nearly had with Tosti, he recalled. He took a deep, shuddering breath.
“And so ... He is my God now. If any of you feel differently, I welcome you to worship this miserable corpse.”
He kicked the dead raven towards them, and everyone scattered from it.
Canute already had the men’s respect again, he realized; their expressions changed, their interpretations of the night’s events morphed into something new. Canute turned a defeat into victory. Thorkell would be proud. Such transitions came easily to Canute, and he sensed they would be even easier now, with the one true God on his side.
But he could not bring himself to smile as he turned and walked away, leaving them all in silence.
**
READ MORE
Read the Lost Tales in any order you’d like, before or after reading the novel Eadric the Grasper, or completely alone as quick glimpses into an ancient world. For more news and updates on the Sons of Mercia series, visit www.jaydenwoods.com.
The First Lost Tale: Golde the Mother
The Second Lost Tale: Ethelred the King
The Third Lost Tale: Aydith the Aetheling
The Fourth Lost Tale: Athelward the Historian
The Fifth Lost Tale: Alfgifu the Orphan
The Sixth Lost Tale: Hastings the Hearth Companion
The Seventh Lost Tale: Hildred the Maid
The Eighth Lost Tale: Canute the Viking
The Ninth Lost Tale: Runa the Wife
The Tenth Lost Tale: Edmund the Aetheling
(The Lost Tales are available in print at many online retailers)
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Though Canute the Great is a real figure of history, and a fascinating one at that, one can only speculate as to his true personality. This is my creative interpretation of Canute’s life, and though my goal is to never contradict what events definitely occurred, this short story is pure fiction speculation.
For a full list of consulted sources, and/or to let me know what you think of my work, please visit https://talesofmercia.wordpress.com
Thank you for reading books on BookFrom.Net Share this book with friends