Free Viking Passion by Flora Speer

it from Miklagard.”
    Miklagard again. Lenora knelt on the earthen
floor by the open chest and looked up into Erik’s dark, handsome
face.
    “What is Miklagard?” she asked softly.
    “The greatest city in the world.”
    “Is it like Rome?”
    Lenora, raised in a small settlement in the
midst of agricultural lands, was unable to picture a city, although
she had heard of York, and Father Egbert had spoken of Rome.
    “It is the second Rome,” Erik told her, “and
greater than the first, if you believe the people who live
there.”
    “Greater than Rome?” she echoed. “How can
that be? I don’t understand.”
    “You don’t need to understand.” He picked up
the piece of linen and began to rewrap the Greek book.
    “But where is Miklagard? Is it near here? Can
we go to see it?” Lenora’s curiosity flared, intrigued at the
frequent repetition of that name since she had met Erik. “I would
so much like to see a great city.”
    Erik laughed, amused by her enthusiasm.
    “It is many months’ journey by sea and land
and riverboat,” he said. “To get there you must travel far east to
Gardariki, where the Rus live, to the place the Slavs call Kiev.
From Kiev you must sail down a dangerous river to the Euxine Sea, a
great black sea far south of here. Across that sea lies Miklagard,
in Grikkland. The Greeks call it Constantinople.”
    His eyes focused on something far away,
remembering. He did not notice that Lenora had risen on her knees,
and, leaning forward, had gripped his right forearm with both her
hands. Her face was close to his as she listened to him. She forgot
the damp, barren cabin in which they lived, forgot everything but
Erik and his deep voice as he talked on, conjuring up wonders for
her starved imagination.
    “It is a city of gold and silver, and huge
buildings of stone and brick and marble.”
    Lenora did not know what marble was, but it
sounded wonderful.
    “Buildings bigger than Thorkell’s hall?” she
asked.
    Green eyes met gray ones with a smile. “Much
bigger,” Erik said. “The Emperor of the Romans lives in an enormous
golden palace set in beautiful gardens. There are parades every
day, and great ships lay tied up at the wharves, laden with gold
and silks and spices and jewels, and merchants make huge fortunes
buying and selling goods from all over the world. In Miklagard the
sun shines every day and the air is warm, and life is sweet for a
man with a purse full of silver.”
    “Oh,” Lenora breathed, nearly overcome with
wonder, “How I would like to see it. Will you go there again, Erik?
Will you take me?”
    They gazed into each other’s eyes, so close
Lenora seemed to see the same faraway vision filling Erik’s mind.
She could almost believe that she, too, had walked the distant
streets of Miklagard and breathed its foreign air. Then the vision
faded and she was once more aware of Erik’s physical presence, of
his tautly muscled body and his wide, smiling mouth so near her
own. That mouth came nearer, almost touched hers, before he turned
his head away.
    “No.” The light faded from his face. “I shall
not see Miklagard again. And even if I were to go, I could not take
you. The journey is too dangerous. You would die before you reached
the Great City. I was nearly killed getting there, and almost died
again returning home.”
    “Was that when your leg was injured?”
    The look in his eyes changed again. He stood
up, shaking off her hands.
    “I have told you before, you ask too many
questions,” he said harshly.
    He had finished wrapping the Greek book. He
replaced it in the wooden chest and held out his hand for the
second book. She pressed it against her bosom.
    “Let me keep it,” she begged. “I want to read
it.”
    “Give it to me. Now.”
    “Please.” She was almost in tears. Why this
one book meant so much to her she could not say, but she would not
give it up easily.
    He moved so quickly, she did not see the
motion. Iron-strong hands reached out to grip