The Viking (closed)

"The Viking"

(closed)

"Get our boats home safely, Bjorn," Eric the Bold said as he reached a hand out to the man standing before him. As the other mimicked the gesture and they clasped forearms in a tight gesture of farewell, the Viking warrior added, "The future of our homeland is in the bellies of those craft."

"You should be coming with us, my king," Bjorn said with a concerned tone. "This is your victory. You should celebrate it with your people."

Bjorn glanced behind himself at the victorious warriors loading more than a dozen boats with the spoils of war. For almost four months, the warriors of Hurstvik had been raiding the villages and towns of England's mid-eastern coastline and nearby interior, and now the boats were heavy with gold, silver, metal works including arms and armor, crops, livestock, and slaves.

"I will celebrate with my people soon enough, Bjorn," Eric reassured him. "After Briarwood."

"One more victory," the other Viking said with a reluctant tone. "Will there always be just one more victory to have, my king?"

"Always, my friend," Eric said, taking a step back to indicate that it was time for the other man to set sail. "Safe journey."



The sun fell slowly behind the hill from which Eric watched the departing ships. The shore below fell into shadows, then the waves crashing upon it. The shadow continued to swallow the sea before it. The sails of the eastbound ships were lit blood red by the descending orb ... and then even they disappeared into the darkness. In a few days, three with favorable winds, Hurstvik would be one of the richest communities on the Danish coast. And in a few weeks, all of Denmark would know of Eric's victories.

And yet, it wasn't enough. This season's raids had been fruitful for the Vikings yet empty for Eric himself. He had failed to capture and pillage a single walled town. Three attempts on such fortified communities had failed, with total casualties of more than two hundred warriors. Each time he'd sent gold east to pay for reinforcements, he'd again attempted to sack one of the larger, better defended communities. And each time, he'd been repelled.

Eric refused to go home without such a victory. Any Viking force could pillage a village with little or no defenses. Eric wanted a walled town! He'd asked for volunteers to remain behind to help with the quest, making it clear that succeed or fail, the soon to arrive winter storms could possibly restrict them to England until Spring, six months away. He shouldn't have been surprised when nearly all of his warriors asked to remain behind. In the end, he picked thirty of the meanest, hardiest men and women to remain as his fighting force, supplemented by another thirty laborers and slaves to support them.

The target this time was the town of Briarwood. It sat on the banks of the Blyth River, four miles upstream from the sea. Eric's plan was simple and proven, at least for smaller, less well defended targets inland: use the rising tide to get as far inland as possible on the tide waters, port the boats, then attack the town from land. Briarwood had escaped Viking pillaging thus far, which Eric hoped would make them feel more secure than they actually were.

The worst that could happen was that the Vikings failed and died, either in battle or in the elements of a possibly harsh winter to come...

Deleting all of my old stuff for a new beginning.

William had been called many a thing during his excitement filled 22 years of life. He'd been called William the Wise as a boy, during his time as a seminary student when his intelligence had astonished his priestly instructors. Later, in his teens, he'd been called William the Wild after he'd discovered the pleasures of the body and set about partaking of them with any and every girl and woman who would part her thighs for him.

More recently, though, he'd come to be known as William the Widow Maker. One two many flirtations with the wives and daughters of noble men had led to a price being put on his head. But killing William was proving to be harder than anyone had ever imagined. As he moved slowly northward, he'd left a trail of bodies behind him. Oh, he'd never killed a man who didn't try to kill him first. That William could honestly say without fearing the wrath of God above. But, he had earned the unofficial title that graced the wanted posters nailed to trees and structures all across Southern and Central England.

In response to his unwelcome status in the south, William had been moving ever so slowly north for the past few years. He didn't consider it fleeing, as he was in no hurry to get anywhere in particular. But William knew that life would be more peaceful for him if he put distance between himself and the very many beds in which he should never have his joy.

William knew... life would be more peaceful ... or so he thought!

Although he had, of course, learned about the Viking threat in the more northerly third of the islands, William had no idea at this point that he would become enmeshed in the Viking story...

Deleting all of my old stuff for a new beginning.

Briarwood:




Four days later:

Eric's determination to take Briarwood had led to him taking precautions for which the heathen horde wasn't typically known: scouts had spent three days watching the town; reports had been delivered to the camp thrice daily by runners; and -- instead of rowing the boats up river to an unloading point near the town -- the majority of the fighting force had spent this time sneaking slowly through the countryside until three separate squads were hidden in the forest within view of Briarwood.

"There it is."

Eric followed the gesture of one of the Vikings hidden with him to the south of the wall. The scouts had found a weakness in the town's defense: when the wall watch changed at midnight, the guards currently on shift descended to ground level to meet their replacements, rather than having the latter ascend to change the guard atop the wall.

"Go!" Eric growled with a low volume. "Signal".

To his left and right, Vikings signaled the other squads, and together they all hurried forth, carrying with them ladders they'd fashioned from rope they'd brought and young trees the forest had offered them. It took less than a minute for Eric's squad to reach the wall and another minute to ascend it. Eight of the ten Vikings spread quietly to left and right, finding routes to the ground, while the remaining two lay in wait for the new wall watch.

All hell was about to break loose in the English town of Briarwood.

Deleting all of my old stuff for a new beginning.

News of the Viking raids had troubled Lady Helen for months. These raiders showed no mercy for men, women and children, with several reports telling her of women being raped and men watching as they were raped and then castrated.

Her Lord and husband, while living, had found his pleasure in french wine and tankards of ale. He had squandered the money from taxes that should have been used on the town’s defense, light cavalry and infantry.

It was rumored that Lady Helen had Norse blood in her and unlike other ladies in England, Helen was proficient in the sword, bow and daggers.

The light cavalry, composed of noblemen and rich business owners, had become lax and training of the commoners fell by the wayside.

After the Lord’s death, Lady Helen had the position to undo the recklessness that plagued the Lord’s reign.

Myrddin was a bard that traveled the countryside and was rumored to have mystic powers. Lady Helen knew he had studied tactics and convinced him to serve in her small circle of confidants.

However, time was working against her. The Vikings had been on English soil for a month before Lady Helen took hold of power and the nobles believed that the river’s tides and the walls of Briarwood would protect them.

Only within the last few weeks had the nobles finally backed their Lady and took the Viking scourge as problem they may face.

A week ago, Myrddin had ordered the guards to immediately cease the practice of changing the guard from battlement to courtyard. He would have flailed the Lord for imposing such a stupid procedure.

Helen was standing in a shadowed portion of the wall walk as the wall and tower guards began to leave their posts and step down to the Bailey.

“What in God’s name,” she whispered.

She heard a man’s voice … “Who’s there? What are--” and moments later a thud.

A swoosh whistled by her ear, followed by the sound of an arrow penetrating flesh and then bone. The cry of death echoed around the town walls.

Lady Helen dashed to the nearby bell and struck it several times with a metal hammer that was fastened to it.

“Attack,” she yelled. “We are under attack. The walls are breached.”

A male voice called out from above in the dark, "Who’s there?"

Eric had been tutored in the language of these English people by a monk who had been captured years earlier while his father had been Earl, then King of Hurstvik. Eric likely would have understood the man's question had he been close enough to clearly hear the words ... and if he hadn't been so involved slitting the throat of an off-going wall watch who had stopped to cut a chunk of meat off a pig still roasting over an open fire pit.

Additional words floated through the otherwise quiet darkness, followed by the unmistakable sound of arrows in flight, then arrows finding flesh. The scraping sound of leather and stud armor followed, though Eric was unable to hear the thud of the man hitting the ground outside the wall the Vikings had so easily breached.

Movement to the left caught Eric's eye, and a moment later his knife had closed the distance between him and the second home guardsman, sinking deeply into the man's chest, just below the collar bone. He rushed to the quickly dying man to retrieve his knife, then took a moment to look all about himself. His squad was quickly dispersing through the castle grounds, and up above in all directions, the silent movement of the other squads' members could be seen in quick glimpses.

Eric smiled, pleased, excited even. His forces gotten beyond the walls without detection. They'd gotten inside a walled English town. After 3 failed attacks and 200 dead, Eric was finally going to get his greatest victory to date. And he was going to get it with the greatest of ease--

And then, as if Odin himself was unhappy with Eric's sudden burst of confidence, an alarm bell began clanging in the darkness, followed by a woman's voice that -- while he didn't understand all of the words -- was, without doubt, announcing the discovery of the incursion into Briarwood.

"Attack ... We are under attack. The walls are breached."

As trained, the Vikings continued to rush through the dark town in silence, slicing and stabbing and hammering anyone who moved. When finally there were enough voices in the dark -- hollering men and wailing women and children -- to warrant their silent stealth moot, the Viking's began howling and screaming out their fury in an effort to heighten the fear that was running through much of the town's population.

Flames began to rise off to Eric's left as a night torch was pulled from its mounting and tossed into a cart filled with straw. High pitched screams to his right told him that one or more of his men had found the female members of a family. Eric cursed below his deep, rapid breathing as he wondered whether his male warriors would be able to hold back their desires to rape until after Briarwood was secure. There would be plenty of time to fulfill carnal desires later: this was the time to kill and conquer!

The bell had gone quiet, then begun again. Either the woman sounding it had been interrupted and had then returned or perhaps she'd gone off to other things and someone else had stepped in to continue the task. Either way, it was annoying the hell out of him, and he was ready to cut the bell ringer's hands off with an ax. He looked up to the wall and caught sight of the silhouette of a familiar shield maiden. He whistled loudly, and when the woman hesitated to look down, Eric hollered, "Kill that!"

He turned at the sound of approaching feet, dodged a pole ax, sliced a home guardsman's back open, and returned to his fulfilling his greatest conquest to date...

Deleting all of my old stuff for a new beginning.

A rush of adrenalin rushed through Helen. She felt this at times during training and once when a wild boar was rushing in her direction. At that time, she froze in panic and only a noble’s quick action saved her from death.

This time, she didn’t think of death, only that her subjects were being brutalized and she had to act. She rushed to a nearby cache of weapons, grabbing a recurved bow and all the arrows one hand could hold.

The Vikings began their death cry and she hammered the bell again, knowing it would ring throughout the town. She scanned the carnage and saw two archers releasing their arrows into her townspeople. She knocked an arrow, pulled back and released, watching it revolve and strike the female archer in the chest.

A whistle caught Helen’s attention and in the glow of a nearby fire she caught sight of a man that exuded leadership. She knocked another arrow, pulled the string back and drew in her breath. This would be a kill shot, right between the eyes.

Time stood still and the fingers on her bow opened. The nearby fire danced to the right and the smoke went from drifting straight up to wavering sideways. She cursed as a gust of wind blew her arrow off course and only grazed the man’s ear.

As the arrow was in mid-flight a crashing sound reverberated and after her miss she was determined to make her next arrow fly true into the heart of the enemy. She saw a warrior caught between pole supports and readied her arrow.

She would die between those poles and as Helen’s fingers began to part, the warrior freed herself and sprinted over a roof. Helen had hit moving targets, but this one moved with a grace that only deer possessed. She hesitated and her target disappeared.

Helen took a step back and believed she was covered in the shadows, but she sensed a presence and turned, aiming her bow in that direction.

This was Lady Helen's first battle, but never thought she could look into the eyes of an enemy and not strike out. She was not frozen like with the boar, she was mesmerized by the woman not twenty feet away and pointing an arrow directly at her.

She held her bow steady, looking into the other woman's eyes. Helen didn't know if the woman would release her arrow, but she knew she could not release hers. All sounds hushed into silence and seconds or minutes may have passed. She released the tension on the string and her bow lowered until it was pointing towards the walkway.

The sound of the arrow whooshing past his head caught Eric's attention before the pain of it slicing through his flesh did. He spun, looking for the source of the missile, and while he saw movement in every direction, no one particular person seemed more guilty than the other. He reached a hand up to his skull, pulling it back to find his palm dark with blood from the cut in his temple near his ear.

There was a crashing sound above him, but Eric had little time to be concerned with it as an aggressive cry was nearing him from behind. Instinctively he stepped aside and brought his sword up before him. The metal on metal clanging sound of an ax on his blade rang out. He spun, swung, and easily sliced the guardsman's head clean from his body. Eric spent no time reveling over the kill, though, instead rushing off toward the clashing silhouette's deeper in the town.



Even though the screams of frightened children and women and slowly dying men would continue to fill the air for more than an hour to come, the battle for Briarwood was over in less than five minutes. The Vikings lived up to their reputation this night, killing any man who raised a weapon or resisted in anyway. A few women were killed as well, but only because they either fought back or simply in the way of a Viking eager to kill someone. The next several minutes were spent herding the survivors into the square beneath the town's main gate.

Eric circled around the growing group of townsfolk, studying them as the leaders of his squads reported to him one after another. The news of casualties was shocking. Wonderfully shocking. After having lost 200 warriors in the previous three attempts to take a walled town, Eric had only lost four this night, though it was also likely that twice that number might not live through this or the next night.

"You did it, my king!" one of the excited Viking lords told him. There was a cheer from the Vikings guarding and continuing to assemble the English. "Briarwood is yours."

"Ours," Eric pronounced. He looked about to the faces looking his way and hollered out loudly, "Ours! It is ours!"

There was another cheer from the warriors, but as the celebration was continuing, Eric noticed a conspicuously absent face. He grasped a man and pulled him close, asking where Astrid was. When the man only shook his head, Eric demanded, "Find her!"

The king of Hurstvik had had and still had feelings for Astrid that he hadn't had for many shield maidens. He'd been her first lover, taking the slave-at-the-time's virginity after she'd experienced her first moon bleeding, as had been his right as Earl-at-the-time.

Eric had enjoyed Astrid's company in bed more than that of his wife and even his most experienced consorts. He could have kept her close to him as a personal house slave, but the girl had wanted to be a shield maiden. After proving herself, Eric had given Astrid her freedom. He'd told her at the time that he hoped they'd continue fucking but that as a free woman, that choice was hers.

Deleting all of my old stuff for a new beginning.

(OOC: TDC4U, good call on the "god moding". )

No sooner had Eric sent a man to locate Astrid -- hopefully alive -- then the shield maiden came into view, accompanied by one of his men and a hostage. No sooner did the pair of them stop the woman before him then Eric knew she was important here: it wasn't just her appearance but it was also the reaction of the other hostages. Some cried out to her, while others showed deep concern for her.

Astrid announced the woman as a present for him, to which Eric asked in his best English, "Who is you name...? Who is master manor? Where man control?"

Under different circumstances, Lady Helen would have held her bow string taught until the warrior released hers, but every moment meant further lives being lost and that she could not live with.

She was prepared to surrender herself when the warrior yelled, “Take Her!” This was a betrayal of honor and in one swift motion raised her bow and pulled the string back. Helen’s training screamed at her to let loose the arrow, but a wisp of time was lost and she was grabbed from behind, watching the arrow fly over the church steeple.

A bear could not have held her tighter and her head bounced off the giant’s chest as he ripped the front of her dress. A rush of evening air brushed over her exposed breast.

Her fingers parted like a cat ready to strike, but she stopped as a blade touched the man’s neck. This giant of a man was filled with the lust of battle, yet this woman controlled him like a trainer controls a wild horse.

Touching the ground was a relief and she covered herself with her silk undergarment. Helen turned to the warrior who should now be in Valhalla, but instead had become her protector.

“Þakka þér fyrir,” Helen said. Never before, in the midst of a battle, had the maiden been thanked by the enemy.

As they broke out into the open area, tears rolled down Helen’s cheeks as dozens of her subjects knelt in terror. The Lady wiped her tears and held her head high.

The cries from the townspeople broke her heart and she tried to control her rage at the sight of the man who had tasted her arrow, but not her vengeance.

She remained silent when the leader asked her name and instead turned to the warrior maiden. Fury coursed through her veins and she hissed, “Ég er ekki gjöf fyrir neinn mann”. She swung and struck the cheek of the maiden … “No man will have me as a gift.”

“I am the Lady of Briarwood. Lady Helen.”

The shock of the evening had turned her world upside down and striking the maiden was a grave error in judgment. She hoped that bowing her head to the maiden would diffuse the tension that weighted down the air in the courtyard.

Deleting all of my old stuff for a new beginning.

Eric was as surprised by the Englishwoman's slap as Astrid seemed to be, but what surprised him even more was the fact that the shield maiden didn't sink a dagger into the noble woman's gut. He watched the two tussle as his warrioress shouted demands at the other woman.

"I am the Lady of Briarwood," the woman said, adding, "Lady Helen."

Eric stepped up closer to Helen, asking in English, "Master of manor...? You! A woman!"

He laughed loudly and turned in a full circle as he announced to his warriors in their own language, "This woman ... she thinks she is in charge of this town. A woman!"

Back in Denmark, no woman would ever be given power of a village. Perhaps she would exercise temporary control while her husband was absent, off raiding for an extended period of time. But controlling a walled city like Briarwood...? That was simply unheard of. The Vikings laughed and howled and made inappropriate comments about Helen, including one that directed Eric to lift her dress and see if there was a dick hanging there.

"You master control Beh-royer-wooden, yah?" he asked, mutilating what he thought was good English. When he got confirmation, Eric said, "Then ... you control make pick."

He gestured a hand out over the huddling captives, speaking some rapid Danish that she couldn't possibly have understood. He turned back to Helen again, moving closer as he continued in English, "You make pick. Six. No, seven."

It was obvious that the Englishwoman wasn't understanding that at which Eric was getting. He reached down to grasp a young woman barely past her midteens and jerked her to her feet. With his second hand, Eric easily ripped the front of her dress fully away from her bosom, revealing a spectacular pair of breasts swollen to feed a baby who -- during the attack -- the woman had had the foresight to hide away in her home somewhere in the village.

Eric reached down and conspicuously grasped his groin in an inappropriate fashion, jolting his other sword forward in a simulated, powerful cock ramming. He reached out to the woman's bosom, grabbing at a big tit before letting his head roam down to her groin in a failed attempt to feel that instead.

"Pick!" he demanded. He gestured to the Vikings who -- regardless of gender -- were now hooting and hollering with excitement, then said, "Make pick seven who make men happy. And rest--" He gestured toward those on the ground, mostly females -- finishing, "--no make men happy. Seven do all."

The strike from the maiden wasn’t a surprise, she expected much worse. Her cheek stung like it had been pierced by a thousand needles and she would have fallen to the ground without the assistance of the man she knew well.

Helen spread her arms out and ordered her people to remain still.

The Lady walked with the warrior and shook her elbow free when she stopped.

She ignored the Viking King and glared at the warrior. “I am the Lady of Briarwood. Lady Helen.”

Helen looked towards the King as he circled in place. She envisioned her dagger piercing his neck and coming out the other side. He was crude and smelled like he had rolled in a pigs sty.

Grabbing a young girl infuriated her and seeing the girl's dress being ripped open made her blood boil. She thought of the dagger strapped to her inner leg, but knew the warrior would strike her down in an instant.

She turned back to the warrior, begging her to stop this. “Viltu vinsamlegast stöðva þetta.” And what did he mean … six, seven, pick, women - “Hva vill hann vi konurnar?

Eric demanded that the Lady of Briarwood pick again, but after only half understanding what she was trying to tell him in his own language, he concluded that she hadn't understood his demand. He barked an order at one of his Vikings. The man didn't hesitate to snatch at a young woman, lift her forcefully to her feet, and drag her off toward the nearest building. All around the crowd of townsfolk, cries of fear and anger rose again, but Eric was able to ignore them as his men threatened with their weapons, sometimes striking the most concerning English.

"Six more," he said to Helen as he stepped closer to her. Now out of sight beyond a broken down hut door, the cries of the woman about to be raped spilled out in every direction. Eric waved out over the mostly female crowd of hostages before looking to Helen as he tried to make clear, "Make pick six more. Rest not make men happy. Lady of B'-ry-er-wood pick. Or..."

He reached up to grope the large, exposed breast of the teen he was still clutching, then threatened, "Or Eric pick."

Deleting all of my old stuff for a new beginning.

(OOC: I was eager to get this scene moving forward, so I hope that neither of you mind that I’ve done this.)

“Make pick, six more,” Eric again pressured. He was unsure whether the Lady’s reluctance was due to the partial language barrier or due to her refusal -- or simple unwillingness -- to select which of her female subjects would become a plaything for the heathen invaders. He looked to one of the Vikings guarding the cowering mass of mostly females, a particularly and perpetually horny warrior who had at least half a dozen children back in Hurstvik born to him by women other than his own wife, and asked, “Which one makes your cock hard, my friend?”

The Viking had already been eying a girl in her mid to late teens, but as he snatched her by the wrist to drag her away, the female who’d been huddling with her -- perhaps a sister or friend and a handful of years older -- fought not only to prevent the younger girl from being taken away but also to get her own self into the grasp of the warrior as well.

‘i think she likes you,” another Viking joked. Yet another laughed, “This Christian, maybe she’s heard of you and that baby maker of yours. Can’t wait to have it inside her making yet another bastard!”

There was more laughter and goading as the Viking tried to separate out the young English girl and the older woman tried to take her place. Eric finally intervene, demanding as he eyed the volunteer, “Take her! And get it finished. Your brothers wish a turn as well.”

The Viking reluctantly released hold of his chosen rape victim and instead dragged off the other woman. As Eric glanced off to toward the open door where the woman he would one day come to know as Anna was still screaming in horror, Eric knew he couldn’t wait any longer for the lady of Briarwood to pick her sacrificial Lambs. He began picking out women on his own, NS had just happened with the young team, yet 2 more volunteers took the place of other women whose honor they cared for more than their own. Soon Eric had his 7 play things in hand and turned his attention two pressing matters matters.

“You be put guard,” he attempted to explain her near time fate in her language. “Fight … and I kill every Englishman before you eyes”

He looked to Astrid and -- knowing that all English cities, castles, and even small towns like Briarwood had one -- ordered, “Find a cage and throw her in it.”

As Astrid grasped Helen and carried out his orders, Eric put the rest of his Warriors to work herding their hostages into one of the nearest and more secure looking structures. Once the English were handled, the Viking hoard went to work doing what they did best: pillaging.

Eric had given the exposed bosom of the young teen he had in one strong hand a final glance before releasing her to join the others. He, too, shared the sexual lust drove many of his subjects after such a victory, but Eric had more important issues with which to deal.

He supervised gave orders about sending scouts into the countryside and setting watches on the town’s walls. The raid of the Briarwood would not go unnoticed by other Englishmen living beyond the walls. And of course there was always the great possibility that a resident of Briarwood had or still would escape to rush across the countryside to announce the horde’s conquest.

Eric hadn't sacked his first walled English City just to steal a few more trinkets or a herd of goats or possibly a small trunk full of gold or silver coins. Despite the odds of being able to successfully do so, Eric the Bold had every intention of keeping this Briarwood for himself, the first of many future Viking settlements to grace the coastline of the land of the English.

Lady Helen would be able to fly before she could pick which female would be raped. Although the Danish blood in her flowed deep, it didn’t flow deep enough to stop the turmoil and sickness swirling in her mind. She was raised a Lady and had been exposed to the delicate side of life, this was foreign to her.

She had turned to the warrior for any hint of support to stop this, but saw none. She pleaded again to make them stop and perhaps even if she wanted to, these savages seemed to be beyond human control.

She saw the power that men had and the number of times they abused it. Only through bloodline could a female rise in stature, but ultimately fell under the control of a man. Her marriage was arranged and at first she refused. She continued her refusal and her father was so angered that he pulled her hair and struck her, not once, but twice. “You are my daughter and you will obey my wishes,” he had said.

She did marry, but she swore no man would abuse her and she continued her sword and bow training in earnest. One day a thief was brought to their court and she intervened. He had to spend six months in prison, but he did retain both of his hands. She met secretly with him and learned the use of daggers. She always carried at least one and kept many more well hidden.

The warrior was of no help and was about to plead with the Viking leader to stop this, when she saw her handmaiden, caught in the arms of a brutish looking man. She had taken this women into her house, hoping that time would heal her. Now, her horrors were going to come to life again.

Tears streamed down her cheeks and her body trembled. Her mind began to darken at the horror she had seen and the destruction of all she held dear.

The Viking was speaking in his broken English and she only understood …. guard … kill … cage … throw.

Lady Helen’s stomach began to heave and her knees buckled, ready to pull her down to the ground. She saw nothing but darkness and reached out to the warrior for support. The only good thing of the night was the warrior grasping her from falling.

Deleted and posted below with edits.

Deleting all of my old stuff for a new beginning.

One of the armed women said, "He makes no sense ... and I don't like him ... May I cut his throat so he'll shut up?"

William recognized the language as being from Denmark, a dialect of Norse specific to coastal regions from whence came some of the most violent and cunning warriors of Western Europe, a people some called Norsemen, Viks, Vikins, Vikings, Danes, or other such variations.

"If you cut my throat, you will never learn to use that," he spoke back to the shield maiden, hoping he was using the words correctly. He pointed toward the locking mechanism of the cage, then to a large skeleton-like key on the wall near the door. "You need that."

The Vikings looked between him, the key, and the lock. They talked amongst themselves, but William recognized only a few of the words ... and none of them had anything to do with locking Lady Helen safely away in the cage with which he himself had been threatened after his first escape attempt. He'd been here for almost half a moon, awaiting his sentencing.

Of course, with the arrival of the Norsemen, William was thinking that he might be looking at either an immediate execution or, if he could do some quick talking, a blessed release. He talked as politely as he could to the quartet of women, switching some of the words he used to alternative ones when it was obvious that what he was saying wasn't getting through to them.

He remained sitting on his ass during all of this, not wanting to appear any sort of threat to them. And eventually he was able to convince them to bring him the key on the wall. Of course, as one of them was doing so and as one of them was watching Lady Helen closely -- apparently the leader -- the other two were standing over him with their swords at the ready.

"This is a key," he told them, flagging the key before them before inserting it into the lock of the shackle around his ankle. It clicked loudly, allowing him to open the shackle wide. The two guarding him tensed: they couldn't have any idea why he was bound here, but they had to assume it was doing something that made him worth watching closely. "Unlocked..."

He raised the key before them again and dangled the unfastened bracelet. He then put it back around his ankle, locked it again, jerked on the chain to show he was again secure, then repeated the unlocking procedure. He put the shackle around his ankle one more time and turned the key in the hole, but this time he turned it the wrong way: although the shackle remained closed, it wasn't locked.

"Put this in that hole," he said, offering the key with one hand while pointing to the mechanism in the cage's door. He made a clockwise gesture with the key, telling them, "Turn this way, and the door locks."

One of the shield maidens took the key and did as William had directed. She then jerked at the door, finding it fully secured. They talked between themselves some more, during which William looked to Helen, hoping she would give him her attention. When finally she looked his way, he smiled broadly and asked, "Now ... who do you think they're more likely to execute now?"

Lady Helen gained some composure as she was led to her residence, but was struck by panic when they led her to a thick wooden door that led down to a place she despised.

Escaping from one maiden was unthinkable and in her situation it would be impossible. She didn't resist, even when put in the cage. As the others examined the door, she looked to the warrior and spoke in her language, "What's your name?"

After her response she continued, "Only the King would treat a Lady in this manner and he would only do this if she were a threat to him. Please bring me to my residence. As a Lady, I promise to cause no harm."

The sounds from the corner made Helen turn and she realized the fool was telling them how to lock a door. A week ago, he had been brought to her by several townspeople, saying he had been convicted of being drunk in public and attempted murder. He swore his innocence, but didn't they all.

She knew his fate would be ordeal by hot water, whereby the accused had to dip their hands in a kettle with boiling water and had to pick a stone from depth. After three days their wounds were judged. In case of healing signs they were considered innocent anything else mean’t they were guilty.

Her order was for him to be chained in the dungeon and await transport to the town of his accusers. "Feed the man properly and ensure no harm comes to him."

She saw him smile broadly and say, "Now ... who do you think they're more likely to execute now?"

Lady Helen grasped the bars, " Not only are you a criminal, you are a simpleton as well. Did your father drop you on your head at birth?"

She grasped the bar tight, her fingers gone white. She let her fingers slip from the bars, turning to the warrior, her eyes pleading, "Please, set me free."