Nay, he would not. “So I eat and drink overmuch. I can afford the excess. What sin is that?”
“Fool!” the angel said, and immediately a strange fog swirled in the air. In its mist, Cnut saw flashing images:
•Starving and dead children.
•Him gnawing on a boar shank so voraciously that a greasy drool slipped down his chin. Not at all attractive.
•One of his cotters being beaten to a bloody pulp for stealing bread for his family.
•Honey being spread on slice after slice of manchet bread on his high table.
•A young Cnut, no more than eight years old, slim and sprightly, chasing his older brothers about their father’s courtyard.
•A naked, adult Cnut, gross and ugly with folds of fat and swollen limbs. He could not run now, if he’d wanted to.
•A family, wearing only threadbare garb and carrying cloth bundles of its meager belongings, being evicted from its home with no place to go in the snowy weather.
•Warm hearths and roofs overhead on the Hoggstead keep.
•A big-bosomed concubine riding Cnut in the bed furs, not an easy task with his big belly.
•The same woman weeping as she unwrapped a linen cloth holding scraps of bread and meat, half-eaten oatcakes, and several shrunken apples, before her three young children.
Cnut had seen enough. “This farce has gone on long enough! You say I am going to die? Now? And all my brothers, too? Excuse me if I find that hard to believe.”
“Not all at once. Some have already passed. Others will go shortly.”
Really? Three of his brothers had been here several months past, and he had not received news of any deaths in his family since, but then their estates were distant and the roads were nigh impassable this time of year. The fjords were no better, already icing over, making passage difficult for longships.
“I should toss you down the privy hole and let you die in the filth,” the angel said, “but you would not fit. Better yet, I should lock you in the garderobe and let you starve to death, like your serfs do.”
Ah, so that’s what this was about. “You cannot blame me for lack of rain or poor harvests. In fact, your God—”
Before he could finish the thought, the angel pointed a forefinger at him, and a flash of light passed forth, hitting Cnut right in the chest, like a bolt of lightning. Cnut found himself dangling off the floor. He clutched his heart, which felt as if a giant stake had passed through his body, securing him to the wall.
“Let it be known hither and yon, the Viking race has become too arrogant and brutish, and it is God’s will that it should die out. But you and your brothers are being given a second chance, though why, only God knows.”
What? Wait. Did he say I won’t be dying, after all?
“This is thy choice. Repent and agree to become a vangel in God’s army for seven hundred years, and thou wilt have a chance to make up for your mortal sins. Otherwise, die and spend eternity at Satan’s hearth.”
A sudden smell of rotten eggs filled the air. Brimstone, Cnut guessed, which was said to be a characteristic of the Christian afterlife for those who had offended their god. At the same time, he could swear his toes felt a mite warm. Yea, fire and brimstone, for a certainty.
So, I am being given a choice between seven hundred years in God’s army or forever roasting in Hell. Some choice! Still, he should not be too quick to agree. “Vangel? What in bloody hell is a vangel?” Cnut gasped out.
“A Viking vampire angel who will fight the forces of Satan’s Lucipires, demon vampires who roam the world spreading evil.”
That was clear as fjord mud. Cnut was still pinned high on the wall, and he figured he was in no position to negotiate. Besides, seven hundred years didn’t sound too bad.
But he forgot to ask what exactly a vampire was.
He soon found out.
With a wave of his hand, the angel loosened Cnut’s invisible ties, and he fell to the floor. If he’d thought the heart pain was bad, it was nothing compared to the excruciating feel of bones being crushed and reformed. If that wasn’t bad enough, he could swear he felt fangs forming on each side of his mouth, like a wolf. And his shoulders were being ripped apart, literally, and replaced with what, Cnut could not be sure, as he writhed about the rush-covered floor.