A week had elapsed since the birth of Kraki Halvardson, and Leofric had to admit that the newborn wasn't as much of a problem as he had supposed. Though Fritha had wanted to return to her chores within days, her husband refused, stating that Ola could do her work for a time, such as when the old wicce said she could safely take up housewifery again. Leofric found it no bother to help Ola with the chores, and he learned quite a bit about cooking from his norse brother. Had he been left to his own devices, burnt porridge and charred meats would have been their fare, but with Ola's teachings, and the occasional hint from Fritha Leofric found himself actually enjoying cooking.

The only chore he found irksome was the fairly regular cleaning of the infant's napkins, and the consequent cleaning of the baby itself. Fortunately that task was left almost entirely to Fritha, with Ola filling in when his mother rested. At night the baby slept quietly next to his mother's breast where food was within easy reach, and during the day, she seemed to know when feeding was required, for the baby never had to do more than whimper. Several times during that first week, the old woman had returned, with both medicines and food for the now expanded family. She said that both were doing fine, and that very soon Fritha would once more be herself.

On one of these visits, she brought another person with her whom she introduced as the local priest, a man in a plain grey-brown wool tunic with a reddish beard. Ola found him fascinating, with the fore-part of his head shaved on a line stretching from one ear to the other. The only ornament he wore was a small wooden cross on a leather thong. Leofric recognized him at once for a priest of the northern church, rather than that of Rome. He fought the impulse to kneel before the man, but rather nodded and left the house. He had reached the forest above the hill-side before Ola caught up with him, and placed a restraining hand on his shoulder.

"Dearest brother...my Leofric...tell me what is wrong!" The concern was evident in his voice, but the seaxa shook his head and walked deeper into the woods. Ola was torn with indecision--should he follow his distressed friend, or return to the house where his help might be needed in translation? Though his father's saxon was improving, he still had problems, and Fritha had picked up only a few words. Several times, he turned toward the steading, then back to the forest unable to decide. He said an extremely bad word, and set off into the woods, figuring that the old woman could explain should it be needed.

* * * * * * * * * *

Inside the house, Halvard watched as the woman gently took the baby from Fritha. The priest brought out a small flask of oil and said a few words over it in his own tongue before he motioned for the old woman to bring the baby to him. At this, Halvard spoke: "What you do? I want no curse on my son!"

The priest looked startled, but the old woman smiled in reassurance. Since she was responsible for Kraki being there at all, Halvard relaxed just a bit. "No harm, Halvard...this is just a protecting, like the extra prayer I said when he was born..." and she motioned discreetly to her pouch where a small figurine lay. Halvard nodded understanding, but still looked concerned. "It is just a...naming...to say to God, 'this is Kraki, watch over him'....I promise, no harm is meant!"

Halvard though this over. "He will not be a papar? A man must find his fylgjur himself among the spirit-folk."

She did not understand his remark, but she did see his genuine concern. "He will not be christian by this--he must make that choice freely. This is just a bit of extra help should he fall sick before he is older."

Halvard nodded, and allowed her to bring the baby to the priest, who bared it's head and uncorked the vial of oil. He dripped a bit of the clear liquid on the baby's head, said a few words, and repeated this action twice more. "How do you call this child?" he asked in saxon. He repeated Halvard's words exactly. "I name thee Kraki...son of Halvard, son of Rurik, son of Isleif of Fjell." He took his wooden crucifix and pressed it to his lips, then to those of the baby, and made the sign of the cross. He said a few more words, and took his leave. After smiling at Halvard, and returning the baby to Fritha, the old pict wicce left as well.

* * * * * * * * * *

Some distance away, Leofric fought his way through the forest's tangled undergrowth blindly, putting as much distance between himself and the priest as he could. He did not hear the sounds of Ola trying to follow him and calling out his name, nor did he realize that tears were streaming down his cheeks. He only became aware of his surroundings when he found himself tripping and falling face-first into the cold waters of a shallow creek. He found himself chilled and thoroughly soaked sitting on the stoney edge of the stream. He ran his fingers through his red hair, wringing out some of the water, and getting it out of his eyes.before he heard Ola calling again. He shivered, huddling into himself in the dappled sunlight, and called out weakly to his friend.

Ola burst breathlessly into the tiny clearing, and stopped in his tracks at seeing his soaked brother. He gave a small cry of despair and stripped off his tunic as he approached. His fingers made quick work of removing Leofric's sodden tunic and shirt despite feeble protests to the contrary, and he made an attempt at brushing off some of the water's droplets before slipping his own tunic over Leofric's shivering form. He knew that without some warmth the lung-sickness could set in, and he set about finding the makings for a fire. As the fire caught, he returned to Leofric's side, and pulled his shivering body close against his own. Ola could feel the dampness seeping into his own thin shirt, but he didn't care. The health and care of his dear friend was foremost in his thoughts.

Leofric laid his head on Ola's shoulder, and he could hear the other boy's heart beating quickly from his exertions. The sound was hypnotic, and he lost track of the world and the coldness in his limbs as he listened to the beat slowly return to normal. He became aware of Ola's arms holding him, and of his hands rubbing his back and arms trying to provide needed warmth. It was quite a while before he realized that Ola had been making soothing noises and murmuring reassurances to him in a hushed voice which barely stirred the saxon's damp hair against his neck.

"Now...will you tell me what's wrong, sweet brother?"

Leofric looked up, and saw that the small cross he had given Ola had slipped from beneath the boy's shirt. The cross his own father had given him before.... Leofric cut off that thought quickly, but he could not so easily stop the tears which he found once more flowing down his face. Nor could he halt the sobs which began to wrack his body, preventing any sort of speech.