B. Alexander Howerton (9 page)

The running boots splashing through the mud of the bog broke
the stillness of the night, sending birds and small animals scurrying noisily
away.  The only other sound was the giggles of the two young lovers, as they
stole glances at each other when they were not scanning for logs or other obstacles
which might trip them.

“I cannot believe we got away without being seen,” Thorvald
called over his shoulder to Dierdre as he swerved and ducked his way through
the gnarled branches.  He held her hand tightly, afraid to let go, fearing she
would disappear in a wink if he did, leaving him cold and lonely.  Dierdre
clung to him as well, suffering the same concern.

The brilliant full moon was mostly obscured by the thick
growth around them, surrounding them in a deep gloom.  “Are you sure it is this
way?” Thorvald asked apprehensively.

“Yes, it should be just ahead,” Dierdre hopefully replied.

As if her words had magically created it, at that very
moment they burst into a wide, dry clearing, bathed in silvery moonlight.

“Ha, haaa!” Thorvald reveled as he whirled about, arms
extended, celebrating his freedom.  He lightly skipped over to Dierdre, wrapped
an arm about her waist, and pulled her close, declaring, “I love you.”

Dierdre giggled and looked demurely down and to one side,
but nonetheless curled her arms around his neck.  Thorvald swung her wildly
around, leading her in an impromptu dance.  Her long cloth tunic swished about
her as she followed his lead.

It was late spring in the land of Eire, and this was the
first night that it had even approached being warm enough to venture out
without a heavy winter cloak.  Thorvald’s Viking blood could withstand rather
brisk weather, but he did indeed relish the pungent scent of newly-sprouting
life that lingered in the air.

Dierdre was ecstatic over the opportunity to be able to
venture beyond the close, confining wooden ramparts of her little farming and
fishing village of Dublin.  Winters were always dreary and monotonous, and this
past winter had been especially burdensome.  Viking raiders, of which Thorvald was
one, had suddenly pounced upon the wattled and thatched huts of Dublin,
boasting at most two hundred souls, and had demanded to be quartered and fed
for a winter’s layover.  The poor subsistence farmers had no recourse but to
submit to the tall, stout, ruddy invaders, wielding vicious-looking war axes
and shields.

Each Viking had been put up in a Dublin family’s hut, and
Thorvald had been assigned to that of Dierdre’s family.  At first Dierdre, who
had just reached maidenhood the year before, was terrified, but she soon
discovered that Thorvald, whose nascent red beard barely clung to his chin, was
a bit apprehensive himself.  Over time, during meals and other interactions,
she learned that this was his first raiding expedition, and he did not necessarily
care for such a way of life, especially the more gruesome aspects of it.

Thorvald gradually developed a trust in Dierdre, and one
day, while he was helping her fetch water from a nearby stream, confided in her
that he had been ordered, in a particular raid, to set a hut ablaze.  He
confessed that he was still haunted be the screams of the mother and her small
children who had burned alive inside that hut.  A tear escaped his eye, and
Dierdre’s heart began to melt toward him that day.  But Thorvald hastily wiped
the tear away and reasserted his gruff Viking manner, lest any of his crewmates
discover his weakness.

After that day Dierdre and Thorvald developed a special
closeness, stealing knowing glances at each other whenever possible, or
brushing legs up against each other at mealtimes.  But the one-room huts of
Dublin were very cramped, and the strenuous work of repairing and preparing the
Viking longboat for sailing in the spring left the would-be lovers no
opportunity for intimate moments.

Then the day came, as the snow melted and the bushes pushed
forth small buds, that Hranskjeld, the Viking captain, announced that they
would sail three days hence, to resume their raids along the Eastern coast of
Eire.  Thorvald realized he was about to be stripped away from his comely
dark-haired Dublin girl, for whom he was beginning to develop a deep affection,
and he frantically cast about for a way to forestall the inevitable.  In
furtive, stolen whispers over the next two days, they conceived the plan that
had brought them to this moon-bathed clearing on the night before he was to
sail.

“By Thor’s hammer, I hope nobody saw us slip away,” Thorvald
said, glancing nervously about.  He noticed some very interesting stone
structures surrounding the glen, but did not have a chance for closer
examination, for at that moment Dierdre pulled him into a close embrace and
kissed him, full on the lips.  He responded in kind as their hands explored
each other’s backs and shoulders.

Eventually Dierdre pulled back a bit and looked up at him
through her long, dark eyelashes, her straight, soft, long, raven hair
cascading down her shoulders.  “I want you.  Here.  Now.”

Thorvald needed no further prompting.  He pressed close to
her, burying his face deep in her hair, breathing in deeply the sweet scent of
a young girl in springtime.  She hugged him close, showering kisses on his neck
and throat.  Neither had ever kissed anyone romantically before, or had
experienced any amorous encounters, but the magic of freedom and the greatly
arousing influence of the full moon’s glow inspired them to instinctively enjoy
the close contact of another’s body.

Thorvald pressed his open lips against Dierdre’s.  Sweet
tastes filled his sensations, tastes he had never experienced and never knew
existed.  She responded, parting her lips wider and flicking her tongue gently
against his lips.  A passion overcame them both.  The ancient song that calls
forth from the interplay of the souls of a man and a woman, the rhythms of the
timeless dance, infused them, engulfed them, overwhelmed them.

Thorvald gently pulled Dierdre’s tunic over her head, and
she did the same for him.  He leaned down and lightly kissed the area between
her small, white breasts, cupping them both in each hand.  She let her head
fall back, her mouth opening in a gasp of pleasure as she ran her fingers
through his thick red hair.  He reached up, placed his hands on her shoulders,
and gently pulled down.  As she complied with his silent request to kneel, he
sank too, all the while kissing her breasts and belly.  He reached over and
spread his tunic on the ground, then guided her to lie on her back on it. 
Kneeling, he bent forward and kissed the insides of her knees, pushing his head
slowly farther up her thighs.  She writhed in ecstasy as she ran her fingers
through her long, dark hair.  Her eyes closed and a soft gasp of pleasure
escaped her as he kissed the furry mound between her legs.

His lips traveled up her body, pausing at her navel, then
continuing to her breasts.  He lingered there for a bit, letting his tongue
roam freely between each aureole. Eventually he proceeded to her neck and lips,
while maneuvering his hips between hers.  He was now engorged, feeling the fire
of passion sweep through his veins and his loins.  He reached down and fondled
her between her legs, discovering a pleasant moistness.  She writhed in delight
as he stimulated her.  He tried to guide himself into her, but being new to the
whole experience, missed on several attempts.  Dierdre raised her knees to give
him greater access.

Finally Thorvald approached at just the right angle, and
slipped into Dierdre surprisingly deeply.  A sharp gasp of surprise accompanied
the widening of her dark eyes.  She then lay back and relaxed, pulling him
closer to her.  He began sliding slowly in and out of her, afraid to hurt her. 
It was actually she who gradually increased the tempo, encouraging him with her
hands and legs, eventually bringing him to a frenzied thrusting.  After a few
seconds he began emitting short, high grunts, then shoved himself forward with
a long, low moan.  Dierdre wrapped her arms and legs tightly around him,
holding the warmth of his body close.

Thorvald rolled over onto his back, breathing heavily. 
Dierdre turned onto her side, facing him, and snuggled up as close as she
could.  He put one arm around her neck, pulled her close, and kissed her
tenderly.  He pulled his head back far enough to see her in the full moonlight,
and gave her a loving smile.  Suddenly a shadow crossed her features.  Thorvald
looked toward the Moon.  A cloud had rolled over it, blocking the light.  At
the same instant, a brisk wind picked up, causing the young, naked lovers to
shiver.

“There’s going to be a storm,” he announced, reaching for
his tunic.  “We should find shelter.”  They hurriedly dressed, and Thorvald
started a small fire by placing the end of a small straight branch among some
dry leaves, against another broken branch, then spinning it vigorously between
his palms.  The pile smoked for a bit before a small flame erupted in its
midst.  He then found a larger branch, lit the end of it, and held it up as a
torch.  “Follow me,” he instructed as he stamped out the small fire.

He proceeded in the direction of the strange stone shapes he
had spied earlier, hoping to find shelter.  Dierdre followed close behind,
holding his free hand.  The stones were massive, taller than two men, and
positioned upright.  In many instances a third large stone lay across the tops
of two of the massive stones, forming crude archways.  The structures were
arranged in a circular pattern, and some of the top stones had fallen from
their perches.  Tall grass had grown up around and, in some cases, on the
stones, lending an atmosphere of extreme age and decay to the structure. 
Thorvald thought to himself that this could not be a natural formation, but he
could not begin to fathom how or why any men might want to create such an
arrangement.

“What is it?” Dierdre asked, gazing around with trepidation.

“I don’t know, but look over there. I think I see an opening
to a cave or something, there at the edge of the circle.  Maybe we can find
shelter there from the storm.”  As Thorvald stepped into the area of the circle
defined by the standing stones, he sharply cried out.

“What’s wrong?” Dierdre asked with concern.

“I just kicked something hard,” Thorvald replied, letting go
of Dierdre’s hand to reach down and rub his left toes through his boot.  “I
wonder what it was?”  He reached down through the tall grass to where he
thought his foot met the hard object, and felt around a bit.  “Aha,” he
exclaimed, as he stood upright again.  In his hand was a most interesting
stone.  It was oblong, about half the size of a man’s head.  It was clear, yet
seemed to shimmer with changing colors as he held it up to examine it in the
torchlight.

“What do you think it is?” asked Dierdre, mesmerized by the
different colors being reflected off it.

“I don’t know, but it’s beautiful.”

“Yes, it is.”

As if suddenly struck by an idea, Thorvald turned to Dierdre
and bowed low, holding the stone up to her.  “I present this wonderful stone to
you, as a token of my love and affection, to remind you of our first night
together, when I am away at sea.”

With a wry smile spreading across her lips, Dierdre took the
stone with both hands.  “Why, I thank you kindly, sir.  I will keep it and
cherish it always.”  She leaned forward and gave him a quick kiss. Then she
crooked the stone in her left arm and took Thorvald’s free hand again with her
right.

They approached the opening, which was made by a much smaller
set of three stones forming an arch, but still large enough for a man to pass
through.  Rising behind the arch, covering the backsides of the stones, a small
hill stood.  The stone arch appeared to be a doorway into the hill.  Crouching
down, Thorvald thrust his torch forward, into the opening.  He could see a
tunnel sloping gently down into the hill for a few feet, before the darkness
became too thick to make out any more features.

A blinding flash behind them, followed quickly by a
deafening clap on thunder, startled the young lovers.  Almost instantly
thereafter, large, wet raindrops began to pelt them.  “It seems safe enough,”
said Thorvald with determination.  “Let’s go in and wait out the storm.”

They proceeded cautiously into the opening, Thorvald holding
his torch high and out front to light the way.  The tunnel ran forward for
about fifty paces, sloping slightly down the whole time.  At the end of the
passage, a flight of stone stairs led down into the earth.  Thorvald and
Dierdre walked cautiously down them, noticing strange images and symbols
represented in chipped and faded paint on the walls.  At the bottom of the
stairs, they found themselves standing before a heavy oaken door, ornately
carved with runes and strange bas-relief depictions of wild creatures.  The
light of the torch cast flickering, ominous shadows, making the creatures
appear rather terrifying and gruesome.

Thorvald glanced at Dierdre, saying with his expression,
“Shall we open it?”  Dierdre returned his gaze, silently replying, “I’m
frightened, but go ahead; I trust you.”  Thorvald reached out with his free
hand and pulled on the heavy iron ring that served as a door handle.  The door
was incredibly heavy, and did not move at first.  Thorvald leaned back and
tugged harder.  With a groan, the door slowly swung open.  The two young lovers
peered inside the room.

A rich red glow from a fire at the nether end of the chamber
bathed the room in a warm red glow.  The chamber was cluttered with richly
ornate tapestries, curious decorations, and shelves and tables loaded
haphazardly with bottles, jars, scales, and other indecipherable instruments. 
An old woman bent over something at the far end of the chamber, in front of the
fire, examining something the youths could not see.  Not knowing what to do,
Thorvald and Dierdre froze in abject apprehension.