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Three years earlier

“Presenting…” proclaimed His Majesty’s announcer, I walked from his side head on high. “Sir Gozlin de Lorraine!”

“Presenting…” proclaimed Lothair’s announcer “Sir Jacques de Bouillon.”

On the other side stood the champion of Lothair, brother of my liege Charles the bald, and claimant to this this area. A sword on one hand and a round shield on the other. He looked fierce, his full-body chain mail made him look inexpungable, his hazel eyes stared with sizzling determination, but I wasn’t the least intimidated, and I hadn’t been for a long time “swords are for losers” I scoffed. It had been many years since I had known anything close to defeat, it had simply become too easy, I had concluded a while ago that there wasn’t probably a man in the world who could rival me. Any kind of nervousness I had ever felt from combats was by now almost extinguished, for no matter who I faced I was already two to three steps ahead; I could even see the conclusion of each duel almost two seconds before its end.

This proved no different, my opponent certainly was skilful, as all champions ought to be, but nothing out of the ordinary, which meant that for me he was merely a chore. I was used to seeing their surprise as they noticed that my skills where far beyond the ordinary, his feet shifted on the grass stepping back and his eyes turning wide, trying to find an opening, which I of course had already anticipated. With a distracting blow to the right with my lance I managed to close the distance between myself and him and, with blinding movement, grab his sword arm with my weak arm. Despite and all of his well-practiced attempts at pushing me away I stood in place, unshakeable. My strength was too much for him, I was too much for him, I let go of my lance and placed my now free hand under his shield. Pushing down, my weight fell on top of him. Now all he could do was thrash aimlessly, I didn´t bother to even pretend this was difficult, I looked all around at the staring impressed faces, a familiar sight. He tapped twice, thrice on the ground. I stood up and waited for His Majesty to raise my arm, feeling the wave of cheers explode on my side, a familiar feel.

——-

I was sure that he was just doing it to impress me. I just didn’t see the point really, was he trying to drive home the message that I wasn’t a one-hundredth of the man he was? Because if so, I that had already been well understood, no matter how much pride and resentment got in my way. If he didn’t, why was it that he seemed to remove his tunic whenever and only when he was oaring in front of me?

It was impossible not to admire this supreme specimen of a man though, the way those massive boulder-sized shoulders connected and worked in sync with his enormous pectorals and thick-veined arms was something that approached watching a god in action. A primordial tuzla escort being of rock. A golem of the old Jewish magicians. Every time he pushed his oars into the water the lurch forward caused by his individual contribution could be physically felt, which was why he rowed at the back where he could target both sides at the same time and not alter the course of the vessel.

I was awed by the sight of his biceps when they were at the peak of their movement, their size could easily have covered my whole face, which at times I felt myself wishing they did before pushing the thought away. When he bent forward, I could see the space between his chest contract and complete disappear, which got me wondering what kind of pressure was built-up inside that steel-hard cage and what would happen if anything or anyone was unlucky enough to be stuck between them at the moment that they closed.

For hours on end I was forced to stare at the mechanical perfection of his intercostal muscles working in conjunction with his abdominals, each muscle was accounted for and visible under his waist, which was thicker than mine, not because of fat, but due to the sheer girth of the sheets of sinew beneath it. This landscape of masculinity was accentuated by the water that was constantly washing over him, seeping into the nooks and deep crevices that formed in the spaces between these vast, wave-commanding structures.

——-

A sheltered fire had been lit one night, camping by the river. Hrólfr wasn’t around, I actually had no idea where he was though no one seemed the least bit worried.

Although I was quickly learning up on my Norse as I was absolutely forced to, but I wasn’t able to converse in it yet. Therefore, it dawned late on me that I had begun hearing the word “glima” all around me. It was a word I did not know, and I wondered what it’s cause was, all I could see was that the Vikings had started removing their tunics.

“What’s happening?” I asked in Frankish, “glima” answered Áki. “Well I had figured that out…” I rolled my eyes. “What is Gilma?” “Ermmm…push body to floor” “What?” “Body to floor” He stooped, made a gesture as if to hug someone and push to the floor. “Ah…wrestling” I said, and the instant the word slipped out of my mouth I both dreaded and knew what was going to happen.

“The frank will play too!”

I tried to dismiss it all with gesture, but I don’t think anything in history had ever been ignored as much before.

“We show how.”

So it was that Yngvar and Erik bent over, locked heads into each other’s shoulders, grabbed their backs and started trying to wrestle each other to the floor. Sand was lifted off the beach as they both pushed and thrusted, trying to outmuscle each other, but beyond that they tried to find a way to outwit. They both tried to find openings to getto each other’s legs göztepe escort so as to grab it just in time and tumble the other. In the end, after a push Erik managed to grab hold of one leg, making Yngvar fall, both coming down laughing on top of each other.

“Now your turn frank,” declared Áki, and walked before me.

I stood there, frozen for a moment, too conscious of all the eyes staring at me and I shyly began to remove my tunic.

There it was, in full sight the first humiliation of the night, as it was clear that all these men, even Harald, where more heavily built than me, a knight. Their backs were wider, their chests firmer, and even though I tried to nonchalantly flex my arms for them to appear bigger I couldn’t quite reach the size theirs had when relaxed. I started feeling cold on my skin, but still I walked forward. Feeling their eyes, “what could they be thinking?” on me.

“Okay,” said Áki his warm smile emoting from within his goldish goatee, “let’s put heads on arms like you saw them.” ‘Please just let it be size’ I thought frantically, “now hand on backs,” ‘Damn…fuck, please let the hardness just be superficial.’ But I knew what was going to happen “Now let us go!”

I could barely have called it resistance; despite I gave my best push I felt myself swept away by a torrent of strength. My own muscles giving in to Norseman’s superior ones, not even registering as opposition. In an instant I found myself on the floor, with Áki’s breath and weight above me and the clamour of the celebrating men around me. He hadn’t even needed to outmanoeuvre me.

“It’s important to push as hard as you can as soon as it starts.”

“Aha,” I said, looking away.

“Let us try again.”

I could find no possible answer to that without seeming like I was afraid, so I acceded wordlessly. This time it seemed Áki had even given me two seconds of advantage, just waiting there to counter my strength, but despite this I couldn’t move him an inch. It was like trying to move a boulder, all I could feel was my struggling body against the stubborn hardness of his. Instantaneously he was on me again but now with his groin pressing against mine. His abs digging into my stomach. His chest crushing my own.

“I guess you need someone with less experience.” He said from on top of me, ruffling my hair.

“Yeah. Maybe.”

He helped me up with a strong grip which didn’t even buckle slightly under my weight, and the next moment the other Vikings were wrestling each other, contesting inside the circle. The fire reflecting dark shadows on their glistening rugged bodies, revealing deep clefs within. Now as everyone shouted gleefully around them, I knew what was coming, soon they’d ask me again to fight a less experienced Viking. And soon enough they did, when the little rock shelter was starting to smell of sweat when üsküdar escort I was called up again. Unable to refuse, I secretly wished that maybe it was just Áki who was exceedingly strong, so again I put my hands on a Viking’s trapezius, dismaying again at their hardness and yet again falling to Yngvar, and to the blonde Özur, and to Harald and to Erik and the result repeated itself over and over, my muscles yielding inexorably to theirs. My hands slipping helplessly on their sweaty bulging hides.

I was now on the floor for umpteenth time and tears were welling in my eyes as I got up, I attempted to hide them and looked away “I’m useless without my lance,” I muttered.

But before anyone could see my face a voice came from the mouth of the shelter: “Havin’ fun without me?” I could barely make out the words. It was my captor, his enormous frame covering a large part of the starry sky. I saw some run in to come talk to him and heard some laughter and discussions. It was at this moment, when they stood in full height side by side, that I realized that some of the Vikings were almost as tall as Hrólfr, they just seemed so much smaller due to his girth.

After some more talking I saw Hrólfr open his large arm span and five of the Vikings, Özur, Áki, Niáll, Yngvar and Erik placed themselves against him, two under each armpit, one with his head between the backs of the other two, and the others providing support from behind.

It was then that I felt something come loose inside me, something twitch, for when the five men, each of whom I had been helpless against started pushing, Hrólfr didn’t even flinch, in fact that he started sniggering and with a confident grin started pushing them easily into the middle of our little cave, this made me feel I was shrinking in place. The two at the front flailed trying to get hold of his gargantuan calves but it was useless. They just swatted aimlessly as I had when facing each of them. As soon as they reached the middle, he swung his bestial arms and cast all five of them onto the floor under him with a great bellow. He flexed both his arms in triumph, letting the immense biceps underneath his tunic strain against his sleeves. Veins accentuating their size.

The crowd cheered ecstatically at their leader´s power, patting themselves on the back and going over to celebrate him.

I stood in a corner taking in what had just happened, feeling weaker and more vulnerable than I had ever done in my life. They formed the circle again, the musky smell of their sweat, of men that I couldn’t hold a candle to, who could pin me down without a second thought, overpowered me. I felt a curious, inexplicable (very explicable in other situations) hardness emerge from between my legs. And it was then that Hrólfr decided to stand behind me. His monolithic shadow drowning my frame completely.

“Enjoying it?”

“Mmmhmm” I barely muttered, not turning to look, aware that the immense shadow I was submerged in had started to remove its tunic.

“Wanna go at it you and me?” I almost heard a chuckle in his voice.

“No,” I whispered, for the first time in the night.

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