It was a hot summer’s day on the Holy Island of Lindisfarne. The lanes were dusty underfoot, the languid breeze heavy with the scent of the North Sea, and a Viking had just offered to buy my daughter.
His drooping moustache quivered as he spoke to her, his hands on his thighs and his head bent down to her level. “How old are you? Thirteen? Fourteen? That’s prime marriageable age, that is.”
Kelis giggled, her honey-coloured cheeks tinged with pink. “I’m twelve. And you’re old enough to be my dad.”
Actually, with his bald head and grizzled beard, not to mention the beer gut—mead gut?—he looked old enough to be mydad. Bearing in mind this was a bloke with a broadsword, I decided not to mention it.
The Viking, who’d introduced himself without a trace of irony as Balder, stared at her. “So? What’s that got to do with anything? Twelve’s even better, as it happens. Fourteen, well…” He pursed his lips and sucked in a breath. “Bit long in the tooth for a first time bride. But it’s not for me, as it happens. I’ve got a wife. It’s my son I’m trying to marry off. What d’you reckon? He’s over there by the boat. Ulf!”
The boat in question was a red and black longboat, with a gold dragon’s-head prow, sitting outside the priory gate as if beached there on the road by an unusually high tide. Another Viking shambled past it like a one-man zombie apocalypse. He was tall, if a bit hunched-over, had blond dreadlocks and a beard with beads in it. If it hadn’t been for the lurching and the worryingly vacant expression, he’d have been pretty good-looking. “Ur?” he grunted.
“Found you a wife, Ulf. What d’you reckon?”
Ulf lurched over to Kelis, put his nose up to her face and gave her an audible sniff. “Ur,” he said in a tone of approval.
Kelis squealed in mock terror and cowered back against me, tickling my arm with her loose brown curls—the same mid brown as my hair, but a bubbly riot where mine is dead straight. She got my hazel eyes, too, and my nose, but the rest of her is all her mother. “Why’s he being funny?”
Balder beamed proudly. “He’s a berserker, Ulf is. Great fighters, they are. Give ‘em an axe or a sword, shove ‘em into battle and you’re knee deep in hacked off limbs before you can say Ragnarok. Course, you have to remember to point ‘em at the enemy first.”
Ulf’s unfocussed eyes lit up manically at the word enemy. He grabbed a wicked-looking axe from the table and waggled it threateningly in my direction. I was surprised—and interested—to see him wink as I took a step back, Kelis clinging to me like a giggly limpet.
“Down, boy!” Balder grabbed Ulf’s arm. “That’s your father-in-law. Notthe enemy. Friend, Ulf. Axe down.”
Ulf’s shoulders slumped as he lowered his weapon. “Ur,” he muttered sullenly.
“Sorry about that. Not very discriminating, your average berserker. So what do you reckon, son? Think she’ll be a good wife for you?”
Ulf nodded his shaggy head with worrying enthusiasm. “Ur.” As his gaze met mine, there was a flicker of amusement that I was sure was just for me.
“Looks like he likes you. All right, just a few more questions before we seal the deal. How’s your cooking?”
“Um, I can make flapjacks. And we did pizza sauce in school.”
“Close enough. Can you make cheese?”
“Makecheese?” Kelis stared at the weirdo who didn’t seem to know cheese came out of packets.
“Milk goats?”
“Ew!”
“And you’ll have to hand sew all your own clothes. And his. And the kids’. And you’ll need to have lots of them, to make sure one or two survive to look after you in your old age.”
“Um…”
Balder shook his head sadly. “Sorry, Ulf. I don’t think she’s the girl for you. Doesn’t seem ready to take on her responsibilities. Think we’ll have to keep looking.”
Ulf pouted, then held up the axe. “Ur?” he asked hopefully.
“No, you can’t kill them either.”
With a scowl, Ulf slammed the axe back onto the table then lurched off to terrorise a Japanese family who’d just wandered into view. “You must be very proud of him,” I said, keeping my face straight.
Balder beamed with paternal pride. “Chip off the old block, he is. Apart from the homicidal rages, of course. Now, any questions?”
Kelis had a few questions—Kelis alwayshad a few questions—like did girl Vikings ever get to fight?
not as a rule, apparently, although there had been one or two shield maidens
and were there any gay Vikings?
not if they knew what was good for them
. I got the distinct impression your average old Norse man was pretty rigid about gender roles. Then we wandered off towards the picturesque ruins of Lindisfarne Priory, where some of Balder’s fellow re-enactors had set up their tents.