Free Pit of Vipers (Sons of Kings Book 2) by Millie Thom Page B

silent mob. ‘How many good Christians would your rampaging swine have slain, had God not seen fit to wreck your ship before you reached our blessed kingdom?’
    The crowd screamed for blood and Aelle nodded. One of the guards unfastened the chains attached to Ragnar’s manacles and shoved him through the gap until his bare toes touched the pit’s edge. But Ragnar twisted round, the move fast and unstoppable, and grasping the tunic of the unwary guard, he leapt.
    ‘O . . . din!’ The name of his god rang exultantly from Ragnar’s lips.
    A crunching thud conveyed the impact of their landing, the groans the pain it wreaked. But Ragnar recovered quickly, staggering to his knees and looping his manacled hands over his victim’s head. And with a strength born of desperation, he yanked back the hapless guard’s neck, squeezing and twisting until the last breath sighed from his body.
    The mob screamed outrage, and the fuming king gestured to his men.
    Guards pushed between the crush of people, creating an aisle from the palace to the wall. Expectation buzzed, heightening as Eadwulf caught sight of movement along the route. Four women in the garb of menials moved slowly towards the pit, each pair carrying a large bucket-shaped basket between them, held from the ground by small handles on either side. Both baskets had tightly fitting lids.
    ‘Your charges . . .?’ Aelle enquired as they halted and lowered the baskets.
    ‘. . . are warm, lord,’ the oldest woman assured. ‘And the pit is bathed in sunlight.’
    ‘Then there’s nothing more to be said.’
    The women eased their baskets onto the ledge, tugging off the lids by the attached ropes as they tipped them forward, allowing their contents to plummet into the pit.
    Ragnar recoiled in horror as a dozen vipers tumbled onto him but, too proud to expose the depth of his terror, he did not cry out. Eadwulf stared at the coiling mass of reptilian horror, the zigzagged backs and Y-marked heads bearing testament to the agonising, lethal bites they could inflict. The vipers drew their sinuous bodies into the S-shape that preluded attack and their raised heads struck out, their sharp fangs finding Ragnar’s bare flesh a ready target.
    As the deadly poison coursed through him, Ragnar reeled at the intensity of his pain, scratching frantically at the angry, red swellings covering his skin. He slumped on the rock-strewn earth, the vipers slithering and curling across his fading body, their venom spent. He clutched at his retching stomach, vomiting green bile. But from the depths of his warrior-being he summoned some reserve of strength and yelled:
    ‘How the little pigs would grunt if they knew how the old boar suffers! ’
    The crowds close enough to hear hooted at the amusing image as Ragnar reached out to embrace something seen only by him, an expression of utter joy transforming his agonised face as he quoted:
    ‘It gladdens me to know that Balder’s father makes ready the benches of the banquet hall. Soon we shall be drinking ale from the curved horns . . .’
    Eventually the heart of the infamous Ragnar surrendered to the overwhelming power of the venom. His lips and tongue were now grossly engorged and he clutched at his throat, gasping for breath. His body convulsed, then went limp; his eyes closed in peaceful acceptance that he would never see Midgard again. Aelle nodded in grim satisfaction and gestured for their mounts to be returned. Leaving guards to keep order amongst the crowds the royal couple returned to the hall.
    ‘The Valkyries came for him, Ulf,’ Olaf said, staring up at the blue sky. ‘He killed an enemy before his death and has gone to Valhalla. Odin did not abandon him. Your death will not go unavenged my friend,’ he murmured into the pit. ‘This king will pay dearly for what he’s done this day.’
    Charged with raw emotion they made their way back to the knarr in silence.
    *****
    Leoflaed unravelled herself from Eadwulf’s beefy arms and