The Last Viking

Prologue

In the winter of 953. Wilhelm stood on a granite promontory overlooking the stingy Norwegian beach below. The northerly winds ruffled the wolf-fur tunic and leggings that covered his muscular frame, tightly bound with rawhide straps. His long blond hair was braided and fell across his shoulders from beneath the war helmet that had given him his name as a child.

On the beach, five newly hewn ships supported by log rollers were being prepared to embark as soon as weather permitted. These ships were not as large as the war of his father, but they were strong and seaworthy. Wilhelm himself had selected each of the oak trees from which the keels were carved, and he helped cut and drag them from the forest. The trees had dried out over the next four years while he went a-Viking and luckily returned every time to his village.

He had saved his share of the bounty from his voyages and used it to build and outfit his ships. The intricate carving on the prow and stern of his ship was a gift from his father. He had trained his seamen, all of whom were volunteers looking for a share of the bounty if the gods smiled upon them. Thirteen oarsmen and thirteen warriors would man each of the five ships- a total of one hundred and thirty good men, including himself.

From his vantage point on the cliff, Wilhelm observed the trail of men that would down the rocky trails down to the beach and loaded the ship. They were young and strong, carrying large wooden chests that contained most of their worldly belongings. They would sit upon their sea chest as they rowed and would live out of the chests until they returned-if they returned.

The men’s shields hung along the gunwales of the ships, and they carried swords and axes and other weapons: they knew that they would soon be needed. They brought enough food aboard the ships to feed then for a fortnight. After that, they would take food from the farms and villages along the coastline of the island countries to the south.

It had only been sixty days since the winter solstice. The days were beginning to grow longer, thought the cold had not abated. The village elders said it was too soon to leave, the weather would be bad, and the chances of finding England would be poor. But Wilhelm wanted to surprise the villages. They would not expect a raid this early. Surprise was the key to victory, especially when it was a few men against many.

The sky was slate gray and threatening, which was normal for the time of year. Still, the winter had been relatively mild, and the old man who had the sight had told him the weather would hold for the next few weeks. Wilhelm was willing to take the chance. In any case, he knew he could find his way even in the roughest seas. His men were young and willing-almost foolhardy, truth be know-and they would persevere.

They left early the next day, as soon as it was light enough to see. The days were short this time of year, and they needed to make as much distance as possible while the weather permitted. They sailed the five ships south and west, staying in sight of the coastline. They could sail into a quartering wind with their sails and rigging, but the wind refused to cooperate, so the rowed.

As they rowed, Wilhelm stood at the steering board and began to chant an ancient saga. In his deep baritone, he chanted each line, pronouncing the words with precision. He paused between verses and the men repeated his words, pulling against the oars as they chanted. Next, the second ship repeated the line and then the third. Each boat’s men, always competitive, attempted to respond in unison, and each boat strove to have the best and loudest chorus. Continued...

Chapter 1

Dr. John Steinhaus, a professor of medieval literature and history at Tufts University, sat in his office daydreaming over an article he was writing contrasting the effects of Christianity on Charlemagne’s rule to that of Henry the VIII. Suddenly the door opened, and a man walked through without knocking. He was of average height, maybe a little taller than most of John’s colleagues at the university, but he ad the aura of a much larger man.

The stranger strode confidently forward and extended his hand. John reacted automatically and was greeted by a near bone-crushing handshake. John noted that his visitor’s hand was rough, and he immediately assumed he made his living doing physical labor. As the intruder began to speak in a commanding, deep, baritone voice, John was rendered speechless-a nearly impossible task, as his students would attest.

“Wilhelm North, Dr. Steinhaus,” the man began. “Thank you so much for seeing me on so little notice.”

The man spoke in an accent that John could not place, though he often prided myself in that skill.

“Sit down, Mr. North,” John managed in a rather timorous voice, immediately feeling irritated at himself for allowing this stranger to seize the initiative on his turf. A college professor is used to getting respect bordering on obsequiousness, and one comes to expect it.

“I would appreciate it if you would call me Wilhelm,” he said in a very pleasant but still commanding voice, “for you may come to know me better than anyone now upon the Earth.”

John was somewhat taken aback by this statement. He had expected to spend very few minutes with the stranger, whom he had never laid eyes on before. His secretary, Elaine, had made the appointment after the last office hours of the day, and he was due at a faculty meeting at 7:00 pm.

Dr. Steinhaus sat back in his chair and began to evaluate his visitor. He had the clearest blue eyes John had ever seen. His skin was tanned and bore many layers of wrinkles, yet the way he moved did not seem like that of an old man. His strength was certainly exceptional for an older man. He wore a dark blue suit that was immaculately tailored to hit his athletic frame, and his brilliant white shirt was monogrammed on the cuff with the initials WN.

Dr. Steinhaus’ gaze fell upon his hands and became immediately fixated. They were terribly scared. His gnarled fingernails had born witness to many sever impacts and his knuckles were branded with scar tissue.

“You are quite observant, Dr. Steinhaus, and tonight you will begin to understand how to interpret these clues to my past.”

“I am sorry, Mr. North,“ John said, “but I can only spend a few minutes with you and then I must go to my faculty meeting. No doubt Elaine told you that I had to leave on time. You must be very persuasive to get an appointment at all. Elaine is usually quite protective of my time. Tonight the dean will present the new faculty and announce tenure results. As you probably know, I am Chairman of the Department and I’m expected to be present to welcome these new faculty members and congratulate the newly tenured.”

“Dr. Steinhaus, this evening will be much more important for you than you could ever imagine.” Wilhelm said in a low, confident voice. “You see, I am the last Viking upon the Earth and I have come to tell you my story.”

I looked at him with not a little skepticism. “And how do I come to deserve this singular honor,” he began, “and just what kind of Viking are you? A football player perhaps? Or maybe you belong to a troop of Wagnerian actors passing through the area? I really do not have time for games tonight.”

“Don’t make a joke of this, Steinhaus,” Wilhelm commanded. The expression in his eyes was chilling. John immediately knew he had struck a very sensitive nerve and he suddenly felt very vulnerable. A rush of adrenalin coursed through his body, and his muscles tightened so much that it was painful. He suddenly realized that he could be in danger. He felt defenseless, even thought this visitor was really not much larger than himself. Wilhelm North exuded a presence that frightened him to the core. As suddenly as it had appeared, the threat seemed to subside. ...