Viking Woman Quotes

Praise not the day until evening has come, a woman until she is burnt, a sword until it is tried, a maiden until she is married, ice until it has been crossed, beer until it has been drunk.

Oh, please, spare me the male ego. I'm not repulsed by sex, and I can reach an orgasm as well as any woman. After all, there are fifty-seven erotic points on a woman's body. If a man can't find one of them, he needs a flashlight and a sex manual.

I'm not surprised he wants to challenge me here, where no one can protect me. He thinks I'm a weak woman. He thinks wrong.

Torture is being married to a proud, insensitive man, while an attentive, supportive man lives under the same roof.

Lucien drew female eyes wherever he went. It wasn't just his height, or his Viking beauty, or his broad shoulders. The man exuded lust from his very bones: he emitted sexual charisma on a frequency that no woman could be expected to ignore.

What I did cannot be forgiven, any more than it could have been avoided.

Most Viking women stay at home and have babies and cook and clean. But that was never the type of woman I wanted to be.

I wanted to see the moment he realized that everything he had done to me—every slap, every punch, every kick—was kindling. It built me up into a raging wildfire, and now it was time for him to burn.

An uncertain warrior is no warrior at all.

It is a man’s world in which we live, Skraeda. Let them think us lambs, when truly, we are wolves.

Nowhere else in Europe at the time, would a woman be allowed to own land much less rule over it.

Coward. She was not! No woman who would refuse the fate her family intended for her and strike off on her own, determined to reach a far shore about which she knew almost nothing could possibly be termed a coward. Fool,then.

It is not safe for a woman to be traveling on her own." "I was perfectly safe until you crossed my path." "Well may you see it that way,but if I hadn't come along,someone else would have and you could be in great difficulty right now." If she hadn't known it would hurt, she might have laughed. As it was, she had to content herself with a grimace. "Oh, you mean I could have been chased over a cliff?

The woman with the horned helmet—who had to be of Viking descent—spoke.

I'll declare it for all the world to hear. Ladies and gentlemen, the only woman I want to sleep with is my wife! Waves of emotion. Storm clouds part; sun breaks through. The Ice cap melts, the Vikings are vanquished, the mermaids sing.

And let me say if I may that Hal’s excited, excited to be invited for the third year running to the Invitational again, to be back here in a community he has real affection for, to visit with your alumni and coaching staff, to have already justified his high seed in this week’s not unstiff competition, to as they say still be in it without the fat woman in the Viking hat having sung, so to speak, but of course most of all to have a chance to meet you gentlemen and have a look at the facilities here.

She scarcely knew what to think except that she was in the presence of a woman who was as close to legendary as any being could get.What stories were told of her! That she had been sequestered in her own manor to prevent men from fighting over her, that she possessed strange powers, that the Wolf had kidnapped her for vengeance but married her for love, that her own brother, mistaking what had happened, had returned her to England by stealth and that Norse and Saxon had come perilously close to war over her.

Twenty years before, she had sailed west from Greenland off the edge of the known world. She was nineteen, newly wed for the second or third time and pregnant for the first. With her were her husband, Thorfinn Karlsefni, and three Viking crews in clinker-built boats. They were sailing to Vinland, a fabulous land that Leif Eiriksson, son of Greenland’s founder Eirik the Red, had washed up on a few years back, when he was caught in a summer storm, sailing west across the icy North Atlantic from Norway. It was Gudrid’s second attempt to get to Vinland. She meant to settle in this New World. At

Even war gods fear their wives, then, Sigurd reflected sourly. 'She is already warping my ear for taking three sons into the same fight,' Harald went on. 'If I took you too she would make what you did to Olaf look like a kiss on the cheek.' He frowned. 'Look now! Her eyes are into us like cat's claws.

I have yet to see the sauna," Rycca said. She was a damn distracting woman. He could scarcely remember what he'd been thinking about a few moments before, except that it had been ridiculous. "You can't actually see much in there," he said absently, studying how the rays of sun played in her hair. "It's dark." "Really? I guess we'll just have to go by touch then." Anticipation rippled through him and with it his merry fellow surged happily. Dragon sighed. A day begun hurtling over a horse's head might as well include a little relaxation. "Is it very hot?" Rycca asked as she ducked her head to enter the low stone building cut into the side of the hill. Vividly aware that the deep bruising he had felt only a short time before was eclipsed by far more urgent sensations, Dragon smiled. "Extremely." She looked at him over her shoulder. "I won't get burned,will I?" "Quite probably," he said and came up close behind her,urging her into the chamber.

Make for yourself a world you can believe in. It sounds simple, I know. But it’s not. Listen, there are a million worlds you could make for yourself. Everyone you know has a completely different one—the woman in 5G, that cab driver over there, you. Sure, there are overlaps, but only in the details. Some people make their worlds around what they think reality is like. They convince themselves that they had nothing to do with their worlds’ creations or continuations. Some make their worlds without knowing it. Their universes are just sesame seeds and three-day weekends and dial tones and skinned knees and physics and driftwood and emerald earrings and books dropped in bathtubs and holes in guitars and plastic and empathy and hardwood and heavy water and high black stockings and the history of the Vikings and brass and obsolescence and burnt hair and collapsed souffles and the impossibility of not falling in love in an art museum with the person standing next to you looking at the same painting and all the other things that just happen and are. But you want to make for yourself a world that is deliberately and meticulously personalized. A theater for your life, if I could put it like that. Don’t live an accident. Don’t call a knife a knife. Live a life that has never been lived before, in which everything you experience is yours and only yours. Make accidents on purpose. Call a knife a name by which only you will recognize it. Now I’m not a very smart man, but I’m not a dumb one, either. So listen: If you can manage what I’ve told you, as I was never able to, you will give your life meaning.

Equally, the legal codes do seem to genuinely recognise a woman's claim to the integrity of her body and person---for herself rather than merely as an extension of her kin. There were laws against unwanted touching without violence , with penalties that varied according to the part of the body on which a man laid hand or lips.

She poked him lightly with her elbow. "You aren't asleep, are you?" Without opening his eyes, Hawk sighed. "Why is it women always want to talk?" She poked him harder. "Women?" He opened one eye, cautiously. "Did I say that? I mean woman, of course, just one very singular, very adorable, occasionally maddening woman." "Is Dragon very upset?" "Men don't get upset. We get angry, enraged, irritated, bewildered, amused, and, very rarely, flummoxed, but never upset." "Which is he?" Hawk hesitated. He stopped pretending to sleep and gathered his wife closer. When her head was back down on his chest where it rightly belonged, he said, "I think he's hurt." "I was afraid of that.She's very beautiful.

This is not mysticism, but identification; man, building this greatest and most personal of all tools, has in turn received a boat-shaped mind, and the boat, a man-shaped soul. His spirit and the tendrils of his feeling are so deep in a boat that the identification is complete. It is very easy to see why the Viking wished his body to sail away in an unmanned ship, for neither could exist without the other; or, failing that, how it was necessary that the things he loved most, his women and his ship, lie with him and thus keep closed the circle. In the great fire on the shore, all three started at least in the same direction, and in the gathered ashes who could say where man or woman stopped and ship began?

Lord,I love you truly with all my heart. Every moment with you is precious to me but I would give up even that if it meant peace between our peoples. Nothing else can be allowed to matter so much as that." Dragon did not reply. He was staring at her very oddly. Of the others, she had no awareness at all. Only he existed for her just then.She felt as though there was no ground beneath her but this time instead of falling as she had off the cliff, she soared frantically, desperately,not knowing if at any moment gravity might reclaim her but soaring all the same. "What did you say?" he demanded. "Nothing else can be allowed to matter so much as the peace between our peoples! I understand full well how angry you are. The insult done you was profound,but I beg you,think of what you do.Do you go against my father,he wins!" Slowly,Dragon shook his head as though trying to clear it. His gaze locked on Rycca's like a man holding fast to the rudder in a mighty storm. A dull flush crept over his high-boned cheeks. "Insult? You think I want to kill your father because he insulted me? For pity's sake, woman, I damn near lost you! Don't you have any idea what that means to me?" Her eyes widened, never leaving him as he stalked across the stone floor of the Saxon's king's great hall and took firm hold of her by her shoulders. He dragged her up against him even as he near yelled, "Dammit to hell, woman, I love you! What care I for insults? Nothing matters to me save keeping you safe and-" "Love?" Rycca repeated in a daze. "Loki take you, lady, you are not the easiet woman in the world to get along with, you know! You are strong, spirited, stubborn, not a meek bone in your body! Your body...Never mind that, the point is you have stolen into my heart and I lack any will to get you out, so do not dare you think of dying! I absolutely forbid it! Did you say you love me?" Oh,my,Rycca thought, she truly did have wings after all.Strong, sturdy wings that would carry her as high as she wanted to climb. And that was very high indeed. A smile crept over her clear to her toes.She cupped her husband's face between her hands and took his mouth with hers.Well and thoroughly did she kiss him right there in front of everyone. That took some time, and when she was done she was rather breathless. Yet she managed to say, "I love you, lord.More than life,more even than freedom.You are dearest to me above all." And for just a moment, there in the hall of the king,Rycca of Landsende saw the sheen of tears in her Viking's eyes.

Eat, my lady.I will come back shortly and you will be released to see to your needs." Startled, Rycca said the first thing that came into her mind. "I think you, but you must not do this, Magda. I would not see trouble brought down upon you." The older woman straightened slowly, a look of worry on her gentle face. She hesitated but finally said, "Do not be concerned about that,my lady." Then she was gone,back into the fog. Rycca sighed deeply. She had one friend at least,so it seemed,and for that she was grateful. But gratitude did not unto the huge knot in her stomach and make it possible for her to eat. Not even the delectable aroma of Magda's stew could tempt her. She set the bowl aside and burrowed deeper into the blankets. They,at least,offered warmth. She wasn't eating. Dammit, she needed to do that to stay warm. There was no telling how long this could go on. On the verge of sending Magda back to try again, Dragon reconsidered. The serving woman had followed his instructions precisely. If this was to have any chance of working,he could not appear overly concerned. As it was, he was taking a chance staying so near. From his position near a corner of the stable,he could see the post through the fog but,he hoped,could not be seen himself.The sight of Rycca tied there tore at him. Not even a stern reminder that she might truly be guilty helped. He simply could not bring himself to believe it.

Simply a woman. Could she really believe such nonsense? We are male and we are female and we are both necessary to the continuation of humanity. How could anyone think that one sex was greater than the other? Men are needed to create life, and women are needed to carry, nurture, and bring forth life. One could not exist without the other. When two things need each other to survive, in my mind, there is nothing more equal. Men need women and women need men. Why was that such a difficult concept for some to grasp?

(We had one guy who killed a woman and made meatloaf out of her.) And they interviewed the guy, George, and he was like, ‘Yeah, she was a pain in the ass and I beat her and, you know, I finally cracked her over the head and she died. I didn’t know what the hell to do with her. Well, Christ, George, I mean… Couldn’t ya—give her a Viking burial or something? You didn’t have to cook the poor woman down like Martha Stewart, for God’s sake. For meatloaf. I love meatloaf. I do. But I was off it for a long time after that.

His teeth flashed white as he smiled. “Let us strike a bargain, wife.” “What sort of bargain?” She made no attempt to hide her suspicion. “I will do as I please with no resistance from you, and when I am satisfied, you may do as you wish.” For just one moment, his evenhandedness surprised her. Just a moment . . . “Do you remember what I said about ignorance and innocence, my lord?” “Very clearly, my lady.” “I have shucked off both. You toy with me. When you are satisfied, you will go to sleep and leave me to fume at having entered into so poor a pact.” “You wound me, all the worse for wounding yourself. Do you not know you are a temptress no man could resist?” He frowned at the sudden thought. “Although they had damn well better lest they be fodder for my sword.” His big hand caught her hair, drawing her head back, baring her throat to his caress. “Be advised, wife, I am a possessive man.” She took a breath, wrapped her arms around his shoulders, and parted her legs, drawing him into the cradle of her hips. “Be advised, husband,” she murmured close beside his ear just before she bit it lightly, “I am a possessive woman.

Rycca?" "Yes..." "I will take two breaths. Then I am coming out of here, taking that gown off you, and you are going to learn to swim.Clear?" Clear.She took another step back and glanced over her shoulder,looking for a likely route for flight. It was a mistake. Wet hands gripped her. He was there so suddenly she had no time to anticipate it.Just as quickly he removed her gown, prompting the gnawing thought that he was very adept at dispensing with women's garments. The water was...not unpleasant. "Relax," Dragon said. He held her snug against him as he waded in deeper. Her stare was chiding.He saw it and laughed. "All right,perhaps that is too much to ask.But try not to drown us both." "I could do that?" "No,of course not,it was a joke. Just breathe normally.You're doing fine." She was clinging to him as the water rose ever higher around them. Why did people do this? Why couldn't they stay on land where they belonged? "I don't think-" "Good,thinking is a mistake in situations like this." "I meant this is not a good idea." He stopped and looked down at her, his eyes suddenly tender. "Rycca, fish swim." "Of course they do." "Fish are very stupid.How else do you think we catch them? Yet they swim and you, a woman of intelligence and spirit, will do the same.

Their gazes locked,he said,"I made a mistake." "Confusing your wife with a goat?" What was that he had thought about the difficulty of having a wife who was a truthsayer? He took a breath,let it out slowly, and sent with it a prayer. "There was a time-a brief time-when I considered you might be guilty." Truth. Rycca smiled. She freed her hands, cupped them to his face,and rose on her toes to touch her mouth to his. "What is that for?" he asked, caught between relief and bewilderment. Likely she would always keep him so off balance and likely he would always be glad of it for truly fortune smiled upon him. A great knot seemed to be untangling in his chest. "For believing me." "I only briefly didn't," he repeated. "No,I mean for believing I am a truthsayer." "And you know that because-" She laughed and took his hand again. "Because you are a wise and canny man, Lord Dragon. You could as easily have insisted you never even flirted with the thought that I might be guilty and thereby saved yourself what must surely have been an uneasy moment for a husband." He was slightly stung but not too much, for her ready forgiveness was as a balm over all else. "Generally speaking, I do tell the truth for its own sake." "I never thought otherwise. And I would be as truthful with you. Last night, I realized suddenly that I was not afraid. All things considered, that was rather ridiculous but it was how I felt nonetheless." The knot was definitely gone. Indeed, a great warmth seemd to suffuse him. If a woman who had every reason to fear Vikings could be tied to a punishment post by her own Viking husband and not be afraid, that could mean only one thing. "You trust me." "And you trust me." At that moment, looking down at her, his face held nothing of the mighty warrior and jarl. He looked instead like a boy handed the world. She wanted only to give it to him again and again. "I would say," Rycca murmured, "that for a rocky beginning, we are managing well enough." It was an incongruously happy note upon which to discuss a dead man.

We both had wanted to see a Mark Rothko exhibit at the Yale Art Gallery but, because of a labor dispute, some of the university's buildings, including the museum, were closed. As Bill and I walked by, he decided he could get us in if we offered to pick up the litter that had accumulated in the gallery's courtyard. Watching him talk our way in was the first time I saw his persuasiveness in action. We had the entire museum to ourselves. We wandered through the galleries talking about Rothko and twentieth-century art. I admit to being surprised at his interest in and knowledge of subjects that seemed, at first, unusual for a Viking from Arkansas. We ended up in the museum's courtyard, where I sat in the large lap of Henry Moore's sculpture Drape Seated Woman while we talked until dark.

Perhaps if this abbey exists and if we still speak of the Holy Roman Empire, we owe it to the Irish. At that time, the rest of Europe was reduced to a heap of ruins; one day they declared invalid all baptisms imparted by certain priests in Gaul because they baptized 'in nomine patris et filae' [In the name of the Father and of the Daughter]--and not because they practiced a new heresy and considered Jesus a woman, but because they no longer knew any Latin.... Vikings from the Far North came down along the rivers to sack Rome. The pagan temples were falling into ruins, and the Christian ones did not yet exist. It was only the monks of Hibernia in their monasteries who wrote and read, read and wrote, and illuminated, and then jumped into little boats made of animal hide and navigated towards these lands and evangelized them as if you people were infidels, you understand?

The day wore on.While yet Rycca slept, Dragon did all the things she had said he would do-paced back and forth, contemplated mayhem,and even honed his blade on the whetstone from the stable.All except being oblivious to her,for that he could never manage. But when she awoke,sitting up heavy-lidded, her mouth so full and soft it was all he could do not to crawl back into bed with her,he put aside such pursuits and controlled himself admirably well,so he thought. Yet in the midst of preparing a meal for them from the provisions in the pantry of the lodge,he was stopped by Rycca's hand settling upon his. "Dragon," she said softly, "if you add any more salt to that stew, we will need a barrel of water and more to drink with it." He looked down, saw that she was right, and cursed under his breath. Dumping out the spoiled stew, he started over. They ate late but they did eat.He was quite determined she would do so,and for once she seemed to have a decent appetite. "I'm glad to see your stomach is better," he said as she was finishing. She looked up,startled. "What makes you say that?" "You haven't seemed able to eat regularly of late." "Oh,well,you know...so many changes...travel...all that." He nodded,reached for his goblet, and damn near knocked it over as a sudden thought roared through him. "Rycca?" She rose quickly,gathering up the dishes. His hand lashed out, closing on her wrist. Gently but inexorably, he returned her to her seat. Without taking his eyes from her,he asked, "Is there something you should tell me?" "Something...?" "I ask myself what sort of changes may cause a woman to be afflicted with an uneasy stomach and it occurs to me I've been a damned idiot." "Not so! You could never be that." "Oh,really? How otherwise would I fail to notice that your courses have not come of late? Or is that also due to travel,wife?" "Some women are not all that regular." "Some women do not concern me.You do,Rycca. I swear,if you are with child and have not told me, I will-" She squared her shoulders,lifted her head,and met his eyes hard on. "Will what?" "What? Will what? Does that mean-" "I'm sorry,Dragon." Truly repentant, Rycca sighed deeply. "I was going to tell you.I was just waiting for a calmer time.I didn't want you to worry more." Still grappling with what she had just revealed,he stared at her in astonishment. "You mean worry that my wife and our child are bait for a murderous traitor?" "I know you're angry and you have a right to be.But if I had told you, we wouldn't be here now." "Damn right we wouldn't be!" He got up from the table so abruptly that his chair toppled over and crashed to the floor.Ignoring it,Dragon paced back and forth,glaring at her. Rycca waited,trusting the storm to pass. As she did,she counted silently, curious to see just how long it would take her husband to grasp fully what he had discovered. Nine...ten... "We're going to have a baby." Not long at all. She nodded happily. "Yes,we are, and you're going to be a wonderful father." He walked back to the table,picked her up out of her chair,held her high against his chest,and stared at her. "My God-" Rycca laughed. "You can't possibly be surprised.It's not as though we haven't been doing our best to make this happen." "True,but still it's absolutely incredible." Very gently,she touched his face. "Perhaps we think of miracles wrongly. They're supposed to be extraordinarily rare but in fact they're as commonplace as a bouquet of wildflowers plucked by a warrior...or a woman having a baby." Dragon sat down with her still in his arms and held her very close.He swallowed several times and said nothing. Both could have remained contentedly like that for a long while, but only a few minutes passed before they were interrupted. The raven lit on the sill of the open window just long enough to catch their attention,then she was gone into the bloodred glare of the dying day.

You want to control me.” She spoke dispassionately as though observing the plight of another woman far distant from herself. Dragon looked up, surprised. “You are my wife.” “Say rather possession for so do you think, do you not?” He shrugged, wondering why she stated the obvious. “All wives belong to their husbands.” “I wanted to be free.” His eyes darkened. There was greater challenge here than even he had thought. “You wanted to be safe from Wolscroft and the rest of them, even from me when you though misguidedly. That is why you fled.” She shook her head. “Oh, no, safety was a convent from which not even my father could have forced me. But it was not to one such that I fled, was it? I wanted freedom, and having tasted it, however briefly, I want it still.” His hands tightened on her, driven by the sudden, piercing pain her words brought. Did she think to leave him again? To flee as she had done and leave him once more bereft. No, by heaven, she would not! “No one is free,” he said fiercely. “We are all enmeshed in duty and responsibility.” “Your duty is of your own choosing, for you did not return here after many years away and willingly take up your inheritance. Your destiny is of your own making and you the master of it as much as any man can claim to be. I want the same myself, no more, less.” “But you are a woman . . .” His bewilderment was genuine. Such yearnings as she described belonged to the realm of men. Women were for hearth and home, the nurturing of children, such ordered security of days as could be wrested from uncertain fate. A man in the thick of battle, in the fury of adventure, in the depths of night had to be able to count on that, for without it, of what purpose was anything? “You are a woman,” he repeated firmly. “And my wife. You have been too long apart from womanly ways with no proper influence to guide you. I applaud your strength and your courage; both will breed true in my sons, but—” “Your sons? Your sons? They will be my sons, Lord Vanity, and my daughters as well, mayhap only daughters, for by heaven it would suit me to thwart you so!

You are the third bride wed for peace," Cymbra said with a smile. "And to be frank, it has not been an easy road for the two of us who went before. Yet knowing what we do now, neither Krysta nor I would ever have chosen a different path." "How much choice did you have?" To Rycca's surprise, Cymbra laughed. "In my case, none." She sighed in mocking languor. "I still remember Wolf's deeply romantic proposal. He told me that if I did not wed him, he would kill my brother." "He what?" "Oh,don't worry, he's gotten much better." She laughed again, fondly. "Much, much better.Besides, Dragon is the one who was always good with women." Rycca could not dispute that but neither could she ignore what she had just been told.Shocked, she asked, "What did you do?" "Do? Why,I punched him,of course. What else could I do? He went to our wedding worried that the blow still showed." "You...punched him?" The ethereal beauty beside her had struck the fierce Wolf? "Rycca,dear sister, something you must learn at once.Wolf and Dragon are both wonderful men but they are also overwhelming. It is part of their charm. Nontheless,with them it is always best to be firm. For that matter, the same can be said of my brother, as Krysta learned readily enough." "She and Lord Hawk seem devoted to each other." "As are Wold and I. That doesn't mean one should be a meek little woman rubbing feet." "What a horrible notion! However did you think of it?" "Oh,didn't you know? That's the kind of wife Dragon always said he wanted." Too many more shocks of this sort and she was going to turn to stone right where she stood. "He said that? Whatever could he have been thinking? Any such woman would drive him mad." "Which is more or less what Wolf told him, only he said she would kill him with boredom. No, Dragon needs someone who can match his spirit, which I am now reassured you can do. Come, let us seek out Magda, who will serve us cool milk and cakes and give us a snug place to talk while the men amuse themselves." "Dragon has a sword for his brother." "The Moorish sword? Perfect, they will be occupied for hours.We won't see them again until they are satisfied neither is stronger or more agile than the other.

Even human bones are not exempt from male-unless-otherwise-indicated thinking. We might think of human skeletons as being objectively either male or female and therefore exempt from male-default thinking. We would be wrong. For over a hundred years, a tenth-century Viking skeleton known as the ‘Birka warrior’ had – despite possessing an apparently female pelvis – been assumed to be male because it was buried alongside a full set of weapons and two sacrificed horses.11 These grave contents indicated that the occupant had been a warrior12 – and warrior meant male (archaeologists put the numerous references to female fighters in Viking lore down to ‘mythical embellishments’13). But although weapons apparently trump the pelvis when it comes to sex, they don’t trump DNA and in 2017 testing confirmed that these bones did indeed belong to a woman. The argument didn’t, however, end there. It just shifted.14 The bones might have been mixed up; there might be other reasons a female body was buried with these items. Naysaying scholars might have a point on both counts (although based on the layout of the grave contents the original authors dismiss these criticisms). But the resistance is nevertheless revealing, particularly since male skeletons in similar circumstances ‘are not questioned in the same way’.

After wandering the world and living on the Continent I had long tired of well-behaved, fart-free gentlemen who opened the door and paid the bills but never had a story to tell and were either completely asexual or demanded skin-burning action until the morning light. Swiss watch salesmen who only knew of “sechs” as their wake-up hour, or hairy French apes who always required their twelve rounds of screwing after the six-course meal. I suppose I liked German men the best. They were a suitable mixture of belching northerner and cultivated southerner, of orderly westerner and crazy easterner, but in the post-war years they were of course broken men. There was little you could do with them except try to put them right first. And who had the time for that? Londoners are positive and jolly, but their famous irony struck me as mechanical and wearisome in the long run. As if that irony machine had eaten away their real essence. The French machine, on the other hand, is fuelled by seriousness alone, and the Frogs can drive you beyond the limit when they get going with their philosophical noun-dropping. The Italian worships every woman like a queen until he gets her home, when she suddenly turns into a slut. The Yank is one hell of a guy who thinks big: he always wants to take you the moon. At the same time, however, he is as smug and petty as the meanest seamstress, and has a fit if someone eats his peanut butter sandwich aboard the space shuttle. I found Russians interesting. In fact they were the most Icelandic of all: drank every glass to the bottom and threw themselves into any jollity, knew countless stories and never talked seriously unless at the bottom of the bottle, when they began to wail for their mother who lived a thousand miles away but came on foot to bring them their clean laundry once a month. They were completely crazy and were better athletes in bed than my dear countrymen, but in the end I had enough of all their pommel-horse routines. Nordic men are all as tactless as Icelanders. They get drunk over dinner, laugh loudly and fart, eventually start “singing” even in public restaurants where people have paid to escape the tumult of the world. But their wallets always waited cold sober in the cloakroom while the Icelandic purse lay open for all in the middle of the table. Our men were the greater Vikings in this regard. “Reputation is king, the rest is crap!” my Bæring from Bolungarvík used to say. Every evening had to be legendary, anything else was a defeat. But the morning after they turned into weak-willed doughboys. But all the same I did succeed in loving them, those Icelandic clodhoppers, at least down as far as their knees. Below there, things did not go as well. And when the feet of Jón Pre-Jón popped out of me in the maternity ward, it was enough. The resemblances were small and exact: Jón’s feet in bonsai form. I instantly acquired a physical intolerance for the father, and forbade him to come in and see the baby. All I heard was the note of surprise in the bass voice out in the corridor when the midwife told him she had ordered him a taxi. From that day on I made it a rule: I sacked my men by calling a car. ‘The taxi is here,’ became my favourite sentence.

Will she survive it? I told his lordship she would. I didn’t want to give him an excuse not to help her. Methinks that if he suspected she was near death, he would turn her out.” “I don’t know. Methinks it depends on her will to live. If she doesn’t want life, she’ll die.” Haldana sighed. “I’ll stay with her and watch over her. Please, direct the girls to take over my duties.” “Yea. ‘Tis already done.” Ulric narrowed his eyes in heavy contemplation, drawing back the coverlet at the girl’s bruised throat. His frown deepened. It looked as if she’d been strangled. “M’lord has put her in my charge until she awakens. He wishes to speak to her then.” “Methinks that m’lord is more frightened of her being here because she is a woman and a woman of his class.” “Yea, methought it also. He didn’t think much of me saying she was a beauty.” In truth, Ulric only saw the line of the lady’s slender body outlined by the coverlet and the fullness of her lips, but he’d mainly called her beautiful just to aggravate his lordship. He let go of the coverlet, letting the old material fall once more to cover the noblewoman’s neck. He moved his fingers to stroke the wiry hairs of his mustache. “Wouldn’t it be nice if she was sent here to melt the curse from his lordship’s heart?” Haldana sighed, wistful. “Yea, even the curse from this castle. Then the Monster of Lakeshire would leave us be once and fer all.” “You are a romantic dreamer, dear girl.” Ulric kissed Haldana briefly on her forehead and turned to leave. “Let me know at once when she awakens.” “Yea, Ulric, I will.” Haldana let her girlish giggle echo in the chamber as he shut the door. From outside the chamber, he heard her say, “Poor child. You don’t know what you have gotten yerself into coming here.

A maiden? Out here? And scented with festering carcasses?” Vladamir searched the forest that surrounded his castle. The hum of insects was quite clear on the morning air, and he noticed that the red bristled pigs grazing just beyond his walls were undisturbed. Nor could he detect movement within the barren limbs of the trees. Finally satisfied that the girl was alone, he turned his attention back to Ulric. He refused to show any interest in the maiden. “Wake her and send her on her way.” He kept his voice passionless and made no effort to help the woman. “If she is dead, burn her, for I won’t tolerate that wretched smell in my bailey.” “Should we not try to find out who she is first? Mayhap there are those who search fer her even now. Would you deny her kinsmen a proper burial?” Ulric protested quietly. “Do as I command!” Vladamir insisted in a low growl. Even as he did so, he saw the knights that manned the wall look over the girl with curious stares. He heard their whispering as it drifted down, though he couldn’t make out their hasty words. He didn’t need to. The woman was more than likely a Saxon wench and they would wish to know whom, for none in the manor were missing. If she was dead, there was nothing he could do for her. He didn’t need this headache. His life was stressed enough.

You do not tell a woman you love her and then shimmy off up into the air.

Her eyes snapped to his, green and gold flecks alive with fire. ‘In my experience, if a man makes a mistake, it’s dismissed as youthful exuberance. If a woman makes a similar mistake, it only proves she’s not good enough!’ ‘Not on my ship.’ He bristled, knowing she spoke the truth and wanting to beat the senses out of any man who’d dared to question her worth. ‘Really? How nice.’ Her mouth twisted into a mocking smile and his mood soured further.

Did you see Erik’s sword?” Patrick asked. “Yeah,” Beth said. “And he’s not afraid to use it. We have to stay away from him.” “Who is he?” Patrick asked. “Erik the Red discovered this land. He named it Greenland,” Beth said. “Before that he lived in Iceland.” “Why did he leave Iceland?” Patrick asked. “A powerful man stole Erik’s family treasures,” Beth said. “There was a fight between the families, and people died. The Icelanders wanted the fighting to stop. So they kicked Erik out.” “They kicked him out of his own country?” said Patrick. “Yes,” Beth said. “Erik had a ship and crew. So he sailed away to become a trader. That’s when he discovered Greenland. He settled here and raised a family.” “I’ve heard of Leif,” Patrick said. “My teacher said he discovered North America 500 years before Columbus did!” Just then the door opened and a woman came in. She was dressed much like Beth, except a scarf covered her blonde hair. A string of colorful beads hung between the brooches on her tunic. A large gold cross dangled from the string. Beth was relieved to see the cross. A Christian Viking was a peaceful Viking. At least she hoped so. “Children,” she said, “I am Thjodhild, the wife of Erik the Red and mother of Leif.

In her book Woven into the Earth, Else Østergård discusses how much wool was needed each year to provide a family with their clothing and blankets. Possibly 5 kilogrammes of wool per person, which would allow for the durability of wool garments. But then there are all the additional requirements for wool, including wool tents and wadmal cloth being used as currency in the Nordic region, Scotland and Ireland. This all adds up to a lot of sheep. It has been calculated that in order to produce the required annual crop of wool to supply all the needs of the population, the combined Viking flocks would have needed to total two million sheep.

If he had really won Norway for a woman's love, it was the highest dowry Harald ever paid. Over the course of his fifty years he allegedly collected two hundred wives and had more sons than he knew what to do with. Even three generations later, nearly every jarl in Norway could credibly claim to be related to the first king.

I did tell Jack about the talk I’d had with Dane, and he listened closely. I realized that although Jack comprehended Dane’s views, on a visceral level he didn’t get him at all. “He should have fought for you,” Jack said. “He should have tried to hand me my own ass.” “What would that have accomplished?” I asked. “It’s ultimately my choice, isn’t it?” “Yeah, you get the choice. But that doesn’t change the fact that he should have come after me like a damn Viking for taking his woman.” “You haven’t taken me,” I protested. He slid me a purposeful glance. “Yet.” -Jack & Ella

It is likely that the woman normally brought a dowry and that the man contributed a certain sum, and that both were the personal property of the woman in the marriage.

No woman or child was ever to be molested or carried away as captive, and all the spoil or plunder of war was to be equally divided.

Passing one tableau of blood and guts and moving on to the next, I caught myself glancing over my shoulder to make sure some Viking wasn’t following me with a battle-ax. The effect was so disorienting that when I reached the end and found a Japanese woman immobile and reading on a bench, I had to poke her on the shoulder to make sure she was real.

It is not shocking to see an ad or photograph of a nude man or woman in the daily or weekly press. To most Swedes nudity outside of a sexual context just isn’t a big deal. This

She is both things. The terrifying goddess and the uncertain, frightened girl. How can a woman manage to be both? How does she manage it in her head?

With a good woman, if you wish to enjoy her words and her good will, pledge her fairly and be faithful to it: Enjoy the good you are given.

Hills, Helen. Invisible City: Architecture of Devotion in Seventeenth-Century Neapolitan Convents. Oxford University Press. Hollingsworth, Mary. The Cardinal’s Hat. Profile Books. Horne, P. “Reformation and Counter-Reformation at Ferrara” (essay). Italian Studies, 1958. Hufton, Olwen H, editor. Women in Religious Life. European University Institute. Kendrick, Robert. Celestial Sirens: Nuns and Their Music in Early Modern Milan. Clarendon Press. Laven, Mary. Virgins of Venice. Viking Press. Le Goff, Jacques. The Medieval Imagination. University of Chicago Press. Lowe, Kate. Nuns’ Chronicles and Convent Culture in Renaissance and Counter-Reformation Italy. Cambridge University Press. Maclean, Ian. The Renaissance Notion of Woman. Cambridge University Press.

This woman has always been my destiny. The gods have blessed me, and I shall remember that every day for the rest of our lives.

There is even a reference to Vikings in Newfoundland returning with two Native American children, who may have settled and ultimately entered the gene pool in Iceland. In 2011 a DNA feature (CIe) was identified in the Icelandic population which is not of European or Asian origin, and may have arrived with a Native American woman around the year AD 1000.

I’m praying for the mysterious woman’s sake that she will just be a waitress. Or even better, one of the cleaners. A mousy, obedient girl, submissively scrubbing the floors with her lids lowered, but fuck no, of course she has to be one of the strippers.

Ymir was a frost giant; he was evil from the first. While he slept, he began to sweat. A man and woman grew out of the ooze under his left armpit, and one of his legs fathered a son on the other leg.

Their greatest folly is that they don't understand you or your kinfolk. They cannot imagine that you would refuse being their vassal on the throne. They have no inkling that there are races of man that value sovereignty above the air they breathe. Like a puppet they expect you to approve and sign whatever policy put before you, bulking as they presume and barbarian would confronted with the daily administrative minutiae of rulership- along with the flowery jargon they'll use to disguise their schemes. And soon, drowning in woman and wine, your senses dulled from that stuporous escape- they'll have you unwittingly dismantle the Varangian guard before burying a dagger in your back" - Almuric Agricola Excerpt from Varangian: Book One of the Byzantum Saga