Tale of a Northumbrian Sheild Maiden

[Hard_Rom]

Tale of a Northumbrian Shield Maiden

The year 794 A.D. in Northumbria is an unsettled one. Besides the continuing series of kings overthrown, murdered and restored in the last few years, now there is news and rumours of pagan raiders descending on isolated communities and monasteries. Only last year the monastery at Lindifarne was sacked, it's treasures looted and the monks slain or carried of. The hope of the people of Jarrow is that these are isolated incidents.

The Jarrow Abbey with it's collection of some of the finest works of art, literature and church treasures in all of Anglo-Saxon England is known as far as Rome and Constantinople. Twinned with the monastery of Monkwearmouth, seven miles to the south located at the mouth of the River Wear, and being a double monastery and nunnery the Church of Saint Peter has seen the likes of Ceolfrith create stunning vulgate bibles and Bede write his histories of England. The abbey church is one of only a few in all of England to have stained glass windows. It's library competes with the best that can be found in Paris and other cathedral towns of Europe. Ecclesiastical conventions have determined the course of religious doctrine that govern the lives of the people of Northumberland, Mercia, Wessex and Sussex. Noble daughters from across northern England come to receive the best of educations. And noble sons not destined to inherit, exhibit great religious devotion or strong enough of arms to be warriors or huscarls become it's monks.

Set three miles back from the coast of the German Sea, on the River Tyne, the church, monastical and nunnery buildings dominate the view above the the village of Jarrow. The village exists as a fishing town with some boat building. No stone is used in the village, mud and wattle are used to construct two room thatched cruck houses. The monastery and nunnery are self supporting with expansive lands for the rearing of the two thousand cattle needed for the vellum from which the abbey produces prodigous illustrated manuscripts. The sale of wool and tuition from educating the daughters of Northumberland earldormen provides the main source of income for the doubled monastery.

The common folk live harsh, disease ridden lives of toil. The monks and nuns live lives of religious service and asthetic piety. The noble daughters living in the nunnery are chaperoned almost constantly and learn to read and write as well as the important skills of female noble life, embroidery and sewing.

 

[Curious_Muse]

Annis sat by the low window and tried to will her needle to pierce the cloth in her hands without falling asleep herself. The days in the abbey never seemed to change, and the hours seemed to slow into days. She tried to stifle a yawn. Her thick, dark brown hair was hidden underneath a coarse veil. Annis hated the garments she was forced to wear as a novice, the way the thick fabric restrained her every step. Back home, she preferred hunting tunics over dresses, and her bow over needles and thread. Next to her sat Merewyn, a slender, quiet girl from further inland whose parents had been unable to provide a dowry for yet another daughter. Merewyn, though so different in spirit and character from Annis, had quickly grown to become her best friend.

Other women in the hall were busy with other tasks. Some were sewing. None dared to speak, not even in a whisper, for fear of punishment. Annis looked up from her stitch work, frowning. So this was to be her life until she decided to either take holy orders, or until some nobleman her family approved of would take her away to lock her yet into another prison, to be his wife, bear his children and look after his household? Under the watchful eyes of the abbess, she angrily pulled the needle through the fine cloth. It was simply not fair.

She had trouble concentrating. The wind had picked up outside, and a swaying branch scraped against the window in an unsteady rhythm, as if beckoning her to come out. Summer was drawing to a close. Beyond the river, the village and beyond the meadows lay the wide, stormy sea, offering vast possibilities to her restless mind, with tales of adventure, of flight, of fairy tales that involved furious sea beasts threatening coastal villages and abbeys. She had always been a girl nurturing an apt imagination, quick-witted and with a sharp tongue.

Having grown up amongst only brothers, Annis had learned how to stand her ground against men trying to bully her and push her around. She had learned how to ride, how to shoot a bow, how to hunt. Aidan, her only younger brother, had even agreed to secretly teach her how to hold and wield a blade. These lessons, held in secret in the woods, had however come to naught: her father had caught them one day, administered a frightful beating to her brother and on that very same day decided that his daughter would be best looked after in Jarrow Abbey, famed for its vast library as much as for its strict education of young noblewomen.

The abbess, a thin, quiet woman of almost forty, rapped her knuckles. “You call this stitching?” She ripped the cloth from Annis’ hands and held it up against the light. “As it is, you can barely use it to rub down the horses. You ruined it! Why is it so difficult to finish even so minor a task?” Annis glared at her defiantly. From the very first day, the abbess had taken it upon herself to discipline the young noblewoman with more fervour than the others.

“I’ll gladly use it for the horses, mother.” Her voice did not rise above a sharp whisper. “I’d rather spend more time in the stables anyway.”

The slap came swiftly and with such angry violence that her head spun to the side. Merewyn to her left whinced but did not dare to console her friend.

“Your pretty face has made you arrogant and wilful,” the abbess hissed. “One day your insolent tongue will urge someone to cut it out.” Her eyes were blazing. “But you will learn your place in this abbey. God willing we will be able to drive these demons from your soul, and you will become the woman that the Lord intends you to be.”

For several heartbeats, Annis did not lower her gaze in the face of the abbess’ fury. She could feel Merewyn’s fearful look on her, willing her to submit to the older woman’s orders. Then she took the cloth from her hands, smiling again.

“Very well, mother superior. I will try to change it then. What is fit for a horse should be fit for a noble.”

 

[Hard_Rom]

The sun is sinking behind the island of Lindesfarne with it's prominent monastery, still bearing the scorch marks of last years raid, as two longships pass by just offshore. A bell begins to toll drawing looks from the men in the boats. Summer is not yet over and the men are stripped to the waist from the exertion of rowing. To a man they sport braided beards, moustaches and long hair. Most are heavily tattooed with intricate patterns and symbols of their pagan gods. From the boats the oarsmen can see people running from their daily tasks about the monastery grounds. But these heathen raiders have no interest in Lindesfarne. It was raided last year and will hardly have had time to accumulate any great wealth to replace that which was plundered. This raiding party has it's sights set further south along the Northumbrian coast.

The lead boat is the property of Jarl Hakon, a wealthy chieftain from the petty kingdom of Sygnafylki, located in western Norway on the Sogn fjord. Hakon does not row but handles the large steering board. Tall and well muscled with blonde hair and blue eyes, the twenty seven year old has been trading and raiding for ten years. He had inherited his father's holdings last year when he was killed raiding a Frisian town. Hakon's younger brother had been died in the same raid. Married with two sons and two daughters, Hakon is in his prime. With any luck this raid should catapult him to the highest ranks of Norse society.

Earlier in the year between planting and harvest time he had been trading with the Carolingian kingdom of the Franks. The short growing season of his homeland had brought him home long enough to see the crops of barley and hay brought in before setting out for the Hetland islands north of the lands of the Scots. There he had learned of a famously rich monastery located near the mouth of the River Tyne from the mouth of a captive monk taken from Lindesfarne. The fool had not learned to keep his mouth shut and gone on about the glory of his Christian god. If the monk could be believed the Jarrow Abbey was chock full of gold, silver and jewel covered books that told the stories of the Christian nailed god, Jesus. One of the things taken from Lindesfarne had been a map of the kingdoms of England, showing the location of major towns and important abbeys. By the maps reckoning Hakon and his men should arrive off the mouth of the Tyne by sunrise.

Following behind is the second boat of the Sondersson brothers, the twins Arne, Bjorn and their older brother Ulf. Sworn men to his service and each the owner of a prosperous farm. Ulf is married with children but his younger twin brothers are content with just lovers and thrall bedwarmers. When not raiding they crew for him on Hakon's trading knarr, the cargo carrying ship of the Norse. When going a viking they command their own snekke, the smaller shallow draft raiding boat used to penetrate up rivers and land on beaches. With a draft of just three feet, it can be beached and the men aboard disembark in water shallow enough to wade ashore.

Between the two boats Hakon commands eighty-two men. More than enough to sack and pillage an unprotected monastery or village. His second in command is worth ten men. At thirty-five years old and standing six foot eight, Snorre is a giant and a berserker. All he owns are his weapons. Any monies he gets is quickly spent on gambling, mead, ale and women. Only his fighting prowess gives him any degree of respect in Norse society. Jarl Hakon is quite prepared to use Snorre in battle or pulling an oar. But at any other time it's best to keep him well plied with mead, sacred mushrooms and slave girls away from decent folk.

There is a decent current flowing south and at this latitude a prevailing north wind. Hakon will rest his oarsmen through the night so they are fresh for battle in the morn. Not that he is expecting any organized resistance. With any luck they can be gone by the time any local earldorman can raise enough of a force to oppose him.

The two longships sail steadily south ready to bring sword, axe and fire to the unsuspecting inhabitants of Jarrow.

 

[Curious_Muse]

“Why do you have to rebel against the abbey’s rules so much?” Merewyn asked unhappily. They were sitting in the grass by the river, enjoying a rare moment alone and away from the strict schedule of monastic life. It was early evening, and a chill was in the air. Annis drew her cloak tighter around her shoulders.

“I don’t understand how you cannot?” Annis frowned, her dark brown eyes almost black in the dimming light of dusk. At the sight of her friend, she felt a pang of guilt at her words. Merewyn was a delicate girl, blonde and fair-skinned, who looked like a frightened fawn a lot of the time. For her, the abbey was the last refuge. She would never marry, and never escape these walls. She had resign herself to this new life, and make peace with the fact that from now on out, she had to live by its rules, or be thrown out to fend for herself. Annis took Merewyn’s hand.

“It is just…why are we not allowed to pursue any of the things that the menfolk is allowed to enjoy? What is so bad about a woman riding, a woman hunting? Why am I banned from learning how to wield a blade to defend myself, if I am attacked? Why am I left this defenceless?”

“It is the order of the world,” Merewyn said in a hurried whisper, as if she was scared that even at this distance, their chaperones might hear and discipline them for insubordination.

“It is the order of this world,” her friend insisted. “Even in the library of the abbey there are books that tell us of times and places where this order was successfully defied.”

The blonde girl’s eyes widened. “There are?” Annis nodded enthusiastically. “In the old Greek tales there are women who undergo journeys, who go to battle. There are tales of rebellious women who defy the orders of men and their betters. There are tales of priestesses and fierce goddesses…” Merewyn shook her head as if trying to rid herself of the words her friend had just showered her with. “These are heathen places, and heathen times, Annis. Surely you cannot long for an age when people worshipped the false gods.”

Anis fell silent. It was no use trying to convince Merewyn. She barely managed to convince herself. Another thought had crept into her thoughts: what if there would be an attack on the abbey? She did not share this fear with Merewyn, not wanting to scare her even further. Frightful tales of barbarian raids further north on the Northumbrian coast had reached Jarrow, and Annis had, only once, dared to ask one of the nuns about them. The older woman had laughed, and told her that God protected the abbey and all that lived and worked there, and that doubting this fact was akin to blasphemy. Annis had never asked again. Her gaze rested on the muddy current of the river. She watched a piece of driftwood floating past. Had God abandoned the monastery of Lindefarne? Some thought so. Some argued that it was the arrogance of the Northumbrian nobles that had moved God to send them a message. No other abbey rivalled that of Jarrow in riches, however. Lindefarne had been plundered. All of its gold and treasure had been carried off by the attackers. Surely he barbarians who had sacked and burned the monastery to the north would find equal temptation in the twin monastery of Jarrow? Annis shivered.

“Don’t you ever wonder why God gave women a strong mind and the ability to reason if he would have preferred them to remain meek and subdued?” she asked softly.

Merewyn gasped and made the sign of the cross in front of her chest. “The things you say, Annis…if the mother superior would hear you speak like this!” Annis smiled. “I am pretty sure she knows that I speak like this. That is why she insists on disciplining me for every misplaced stitch, even though that silly Bronwyn woman is even less talented at handiwork than I. But she never questions the abbess, and is therefore left in peace.”

Now it was Merewyn who was smiling. “Maybe you should take this as a hint and behave more like the good Bronwyn then. It would make your life here much easier.” She rose, stretching. Then she playfully slapped her dark-eyes friend and laughed. “And mine, too!”

Annis sighed. With one last look at the river, she got to her feet. It was time for the evening prayer, and the nuns did not like the young women in their care to linger by the river after nightfall. Maybe Merewyn was right. She would not single-handedly change the rules imposed on Jarrow’s female novices. Maybe it really was better to mimic Bronwyn, to keep her head down, to

The library of Jarrow was amongst the finest on the island, and contained texts and books that she could never hope to gain access to if she kept defying the abbey’s rules. Maybe, if she stopped trying to tear down the wall by running against it head first, she would manage to find a small door, an escape that she could simply walk through.

 

[Hard_Rom]

Only the barest sign of dawn begins to lighten the eastern sky as the two longships slip past the headland, with it's own priory, commanding the mouth of the River Tyne. The oarsman pull hard against the ebbing tide. Landfall will be done at low tide so as not to leave the boats high and dry when the raid is done or should a retreat be necessary.

An hour later the village of Jarrow comes into view with the first light of dawn. Hakon is pleased to note a small pier extending out into the river. That will save having to wade through the glutinous mud exposed by the lowering tide. A herring boat not unlike the snekke raiding boats minus the carved high prow and stern posts and having only five oars per side sits tied up at the pier. A bonus Hakon thinks, boats even simple fishing boats are expensive. And it can be used to carry off any captives and livestock. Hakon directs his boat to pull up against the crudely constructed dock. Ulf steering the second boat manoeuvers to tie up along side his chieftain's boat.

From a hut close by the dock a man appears. Scratching at various louse and lice ridden body parts and clothing the villager sleepily wanders down to the tideline and begins to have a piss. Then his head comes up as he sees the two newcomer boats with their dragon carved prows discharging mail clad bearded warriors. He frowns and seems confused as to what is happening. The man dies with that look on his face as Hakon signals to two bowmen and two arrows snatch the villager's life. Hakon's men move to quickly innundate the tiny community of fishermen and their families.

There are no more than a dozen mud and wattle thatched huts making up the village. With well practiced discipline two men per hut rip aside the wattle doors and storm in. The screaming begins as any villager not deemed worthy of being taken captive is slaughtered, many still in their beds. Boys old enough to work but too young to fight, girls of the same age and the best looking of the older women are spared. Prodded and pushed at blood covered sword and spear point they are quickly roped together and forced to kneel in the mud by the rivers edge. Five men stand guard over them while five more ransack the villager's homes searching for any thing of value. As to be expected no great riches are found but iron pots, knives, implements and tools all have value.

Hakon leaves the ten men to guard the fifteen captives and the boats while he now leads the other seventy men up the hill towards the monastery. Seizing the village has taken no more than fifteen minutes. Halfway up the hill, Hakon dispatches half his men to move around the far side of the double monastery and nunnery. His men take cover while they wait for the sound of a horn that will signal the place is surrounded ensuring no one can escape. His men take cover amongst the trees and bushes.

Crouched beside Hakon is a collared thrall, heavily gagged. The man, a survivor of the raid on Lindesfarne, still wears a monk's robes, dirty and torn. The shorter hair on the crown of his head marks where his Christian tonsure once was. Having learned something of the Norse language, Hakon has brought him along to translate should he desire to speak with any captives. The gag and a Norseman guard with drawn sword ensure the monk will not sound any alarm to save his fellow monks and English people. The monk thrall informed Hakon that although the abbey monks have been at prayers since an hour past midnight they do not leave the monastery to begin work for another couple of hours. The daughters of English earls being tutored will be rising to wash and dress before morning prayers and breakfast.

Hakon expects that a noble's daughter may bring half her weight in silver as ransom, unharmed and untouched. Therefore he has given orders that any female taken is to left unraped. There will be time for that after the captives have been sorted out and the ones worth ransoming have been identified. He made a point of telling that to Snorre twice.

The sun is fully up and it promises to be a beautiful day as a horn sounds from the other side of the monastical community. The Norse viking raiders move out from concealment and rush up the hill to bring slaughter and pillage to the Christian holy place.

 

[Curious_Muse]

The bells rang with such mad fervour that Annis rose from her sleep in wild panic, wondering if she was having a nightmare. It was only the rink of dawn. Had she slept too late? Had she missed morning prayers? The bells of the abbey kept ringing, angrily, persistently, as if accusing all those still on their cots. What was going on?

In the dark she tried to feel for her cloak. Someone ran past her cell, panting. This was not the demeanour of someone who had simply missed prime. She could hear people knocking on doors now, shouting for people to rise, and quickly. Cold fear now ran down her spine. She slipped on her leather shoes, her fingers shaking so hard that she needed to try several ties to tie them. She quickly tied her long hair into a loose braid before throwing on her cloak and throwing open the door.

Someone carrying a lantern flitted past her, almost collided with her. “Run, girl, to the chapel. To the chapel! The sea devils are coming, they are coming up from the village!”

The cloaked woman was gone before Annis could ask her anything else. Jarrow was under attack? For a moment she felt panic taken over, turning her whole body to lead. They were defenceless. It would take hours before the lords further inland would hear of the assault and send men to defend them.

She stumbled forward, in the direction of the chapel when she saw a blonde girl standing in the middle of the court.

„Merewyn!”

Merewyn stood rooted to the spot, shaking. She was only wearing a thin linen gown, her blonde hair was undone and in disarray. Annis ran up to her. “Are you hurt? Merewyn, are you hurt?” The young woman only shook her head, slowly.

“Not yet,” she whispered, her teeth shattering with cold and fear. “Not yet. But do you hear them? The barbarian monsters have risen from the sea to swallow us all.” Annis had to withstand the urge to slap her. The young noblewoman was clearly in shock. In the distance she could hear screams, the frantic barking of dogs. She took Merewyn by the hand. “We need to go, Merewyn. Now.”

But where to? The chapel? Annis threw glances about the grounds of the abbey. The chapel was a solid stone building, the door could easily be sealed from the inside. On the other hand, once safely inside, the chapel would become a trap. The attackers could easily smoke them out, or even enter through the windows. No, the chapel would not do. It was too dangerous.

“Merewyn. Now!”

The other woman flinched, still didn’t move.

“But what about the others? We are not allowed to leave the abbey at this hour and without the permission of the abbess.”

“It doesn’t matter, don’t worry about that now.” An edge of panic crept into Annis’ voice as she tried to convince her friend to come with her. She did not want – could not – leave her behind. Impatiently she pulled Merewyn with her, trying to decide which way out she could take. Away from the water, away from the village, from where these monsters were coming for them.

Merewyn’s grip around her hand was painful, and she moved stiffly, paralysed with fear. All she could hope was that the surrounding fields and woods provided the necessary cover, that the barbarians attacking the abbey were after the treasure, and would not run after two girls.

 

[Hard_Rom]

England is a civilized God fearing country. Even as the various kingdoms on the great island war with one another there are rules that are followed holy sites were immune from attack and set battles were duly arranged as to time and place. The one church in England, the Roman Christian church holds great sway over kings and commoners. It's wealth in lands and treasure dwarf that of the greatest of rulers. So why bother with such expenses as walls, gates and guards. What gates do exist are mere thin wooden things between buildings more intended to contain livestock than slow down enemy invaders.

The men Snorre leads in attack, on the far side of the monastery, easily swarm over the gates or just tear them down with brute strength. It is the nunnery which dominates this side of the double religious community. Cowled nuns close the gates and then run screaming for the dubious safety of the main chapel from which bells repeatedly peel the alarm. Raiders in groups of five spread out to search and secure outlying buildings. Dressed, half dressed and in some cases nude women are driven out and herded towards the chapel. If the inhabitants of the community want to congregate in one place the Norse vikings are more than ready to assist them.

Snorre has divested himself of the body of men Hakon assigned to him. He has no fear of being attacked. If the gods ordain he should die then no amount of men with him would save him from his fate. Having consumed a large portion of the magical mushrooms, he is at one with his gods right now. But his gods are not those of his fellow Norse, Odin, Thor and Freya. They are the gods of man and order. It is to the Joutuns, the giants of chaos and natural strive that he holds dear. Towering head and shoulders over his northern bretheren who else would such a giant hold as ones he has descended from. He is not here to gather silver and slaves. He is here to bury his axe in the bodies of his victims and bury his cock in some screaming female.

From a building in front of him a groups of young women pour out. they all come to a halt as they stare bewildered at the giant with his massive battle axe advances towards them. An old woman moves to stand between him and the frozen in fear females, yelling over her shoulder at them. Snorre does not understand her speech but he can figure it out as the women all begin to run. The old woman stares at him and brandishes a wooden cross in his direction as she curses him in the sight of God and commands him to leave this holy place. Snorre checks his advance for a moment sure that the old women is a hag witch and is laying some fearful curse upon him. Then he decides if her god can curse him so be it, he can live with it. But she will not. With one swing of his long axe, he takes her head from her shoulders in a spray of blood.

Ahead of him he spots two young women one dark haired and cloaked while the other blonde haired is dressed in just a thin linen shift. They are moving away from the direction the others run. He can already her the sound of that thin dress as he rips it off. Snorre likes blondes.

 

[Curious_Muse]

For the length of a heartbeat, Annis stood rooted to the spot, unable to avert her eyes. The man, half stripped to the waist and of a height she had never seen before. Surely, such a man could not be human. The abbess faced him holding the cross up to him. From where Annis stood, it looked like a sorry, desperate act of misguided bravery. “Why don’t you run?” she whispered, without consciously noticing that she had spoken.

He severed the abbess’ head in one clean stroke.

A dry croak escaped Annis’ lips. He was not human. He was the devil made flesh, and had had come to haunt Jarrow. Hell had cracked open and spilled out these hordes, and if they could not escape their greedy claws, they surely would drag every single soul living in Jarrow back down to the depths of hell with them.

“What is it?” croaked Merewyn, in tears and out of breath, slightly ahead of Annis, too scared to stop even for a moment. Annis did not find her voice immediately. “Nothing. It’s nothing. Don’t turn around, and keep running. Run!”

The screams were now all around them. The bell has not stopped ringing, and from everywhere people – villagers, nuns, monks from the monastery – run. Run to safety, away from them. Now Annis realised how many of them there really were. They came charging from the side of the river, from the forest, from the fields surrounding the abbey. Their only chance was to break away from Jarrow as they had, run, and hope that the giant behind them would not follow.

There was no such luck. He had spotted them, and turned to follow, the abbess’ blood dripping from the blade of his battle axe. Involuntarily Annis made the sign of the cross before she followed Merewy to escape this beast.

He was fast. She ran, pushed Merewyn forward, did not feel how the stones underfoot cut her thinly clothed feet. Tears stung in her eyes with the effort to run faster. But she could feel that he was closing in on his prey, she thought that she could hear his heavy breathing, feel the ground tremble beneath his steps. “Run, Merewyn, run!” She hurled the words at her friend, determined to protect her against this man.

She stumbled forward, hoping against hope that they could make it to the forest, the trees, the underbrush, before he would reach them. The line of trees was so tantalizingly close.

And she knew she would fail. Annis took a deep breath. “Run for the trees, Merewyn, hide in the forest, I will find you there!” Her blonde friend turned around, her tearstained face pale. “Don’t leave me alone.”

“I will find you there. Run, I pray, run! I will try and distract this beast so you can reach the trees. So one of us can!”

Merewyn did not argue any longer, with a sob she turned and made for the brushes. Annis turned to face their pursuer, her heart beating so fast and hard that it was ringing, like the bell, in her head.

Gritting her teeth she stooped to pick up up a stone. It lay heavy in her hand, she could barely close her fingers around it, and its edges were sharp. Did not David defeat Goliath thus? It was time to find out if anything she had been taught at Jarrow would serve her now. Screaming with effort and fury, she hurled the stone at him, almost sure that she would hit her mark.

 

[Hard_Rom]

If he had not been so intent chasing down and raping the blonde girl or just wearing a helmet, Snorre could have avoided entirely or suffered less injury from the well thrown rock. But instead the rock thrown by the dark haired girl slams into his temple as he twitches his head aside at the last moment. He staggers and almost falls but retains his grip on his axe. His free hand comes up to touch the side of his head, he can feel the sharp edges of broken bone and his hand comes away covered in blood. Snorre looks at the young girl who dared to attack him.

Snorre's battle cry is to yell his own name, so that those he kills go to their graves with the sound of his name is the last thing they ever hear.

"SNORRE!" he bellows and raises his axe to cleave the girl in two.

In a large lofted barn, Ulf Sondersson and three men have just cut a butcher's swath through half a dozen monks who had thought to hide under the straw of the loft. When he hears the sound of Snorre's battle cry, he looks out the gable doors in time to see Snorre lift his axe. Below Arne and Bjorn hear the same cry but the curve of the hill hides the scene. Thinking Snorre has met up with armed resistance, they and two other raiders run towards the sound.

Snorre takes two steps towards the girl and then stops. He lowers his axe and cuffs at his eyes as everything goes black. A wave of dizziness comes over him and he sinks to his knees. Half his face is a mask of blood. Broken bone and pink brain matter show at the site of the sharp edge rocks impact.

From the barn loft, Ulf cannot believe his own eyes as Snorre drops to his knees. Not having seen the stone throw, he is at a loss to understand why the giant is down on his knees before the dark haired, cloaked English girl. Snorre is invincible, his Jotun gods have granted him greater strength and size than any mortal man. Some say he was fathered by a giant. Ulf has seen him slay three men with one swing of his axe. Only the gods could bring Snorre to his knees. He even manages to stand after drinking enough mead to lay five men out. He and the men with him stare at the scene unfolding down the hill.

 

[Curious_Muse]

Annis knows that she is going to die. The beast raises his battle axe over his head, his eyes blazing with bloodlust. She takes a step back, too frightened to try and run, too transfixed by what will inevitably follow. Unbidden, images of her parents flash before her eyes. How heartbroken her poor mother will be. The young girl whispers a prayer, lifts her arms before her face instinctively, waiting for the deadly blow. The giant bellows something in a language she does not understand, a sound that resembles a fierce battle cry. Annis closes her eyes.

But nothing happens.

Tentatively, she first opens one eye, then the other. The battle axe had slid from the giant man’s hands who – she cannot believe it - is now on his knees before her, swaying like a felled bull. His face was covered with blood, matting his hair and beard. Even now he almost comes up to her full height. The stone had hit its mark, had brought the beast to his knees. Annis stared at him, dumbfounded.

The scared little girl had defeated the beast with the throw of a stone, just like David had vanquished Goliath in the story. Annis can almost hear the grating, annoyed voice of the abbess in her head, telling her to pay attention to the scripture and the text before her.

“A champion named Goliath, who was from Gath…” Suddenly she is gripped by a laughing fit. She cannot help it. Annis shakes with laughter. “His height was six cubits and a span. He had a bronze helmet on his head and wore a coat of scale armor of bronze weighing five thousand shekels…” The beast should have worn a helmet, too. But what now? She turns, tries to make out Merewyn between the trees, but cannot see her. The beast groans, but does not fall. If she runs now, she might be able to save herself. Annis hesitates. But the stone did not kill him. She stares at the man who entered the sanctuary of Jarrow with his horde, sowing death and destruction. He killed the abbess in front of her eyes, has doubtlessly killed and violated countless others. The image of the old woman raising her wooden cross up to his face appears before her eyes. The swing of his axe, the sickening sound when it hit flesh. The sounds around her fade away and all she can see is his bloody axe that she does not dare to seize. It looks too heavy.

Her eyes fall upon the blade at his belt. A slender weapon. Annis wonders if she will be quick enough to snatch it from him without risking being crushed in his hands. She recalls that David, too, had taken Goliath’s head as a final triumph over the Philistines. So be it. With a fierce cry she darts for the weapon, pulls it from its sheath before the beast knows what she does, before he, hurt and slow, can react. She slashes at him, twice, feels the blade connect to the skin and tendons of his neck. Blood seeps forth. Her laughter has turned into a sob. “You murderer, you beast!” she yells. “Go back to hell!”

The blood spatters across her face and she freezes in shock. Her fingers are wrapped around the hilt of the blade, unable to let go. With one last look at the dying beast, she turns and starts running, hoping to catch up with her friend, hoping to leave the horrific slaughter at Jarrow behind her.

 

[Hard_Rom]

It is a moment of utter disbelief for the men watching from the barn loft and the raiders running to assist Snorre. As the Sondersson brothers watch the English girl snatches Snorres long seax from his waist and hacks at his neck. Not once but but twice. Snorre topples sideways with his head still attached to his body by a strip of flesh.

"Tyr's Spear," Ulf exclaims when Snorre's body hits the ground.

He and his men turn and descend to the ground floor and head for the scene of the giant's death.

Arne, Bjorn and the men with them do not check their run to defend assist Snorre, from what they assumed to be Anglo-Saxon soldiers. As the girl turns to run they move to surround her. But armoured, armed and shielded they make no attempt to cut her down. One man hears a whimpering noise from behind a tree and dashes around it to find a blonde haired girl dressed in a thin linen dress. Still clutching his sword in his hand he grabs her by the hair and drags her screaming out from behind the tree.

For a moment the men surrounding Snorre's killer stare at her in disbelief. Snorre's blood is splattered on her face and drips from his short sword. It is Bjorn behind her who first begins to laughs.

"By all the god's" he exclaims, "If this how dangerous their women are." "We should get back to Norway as fast as we can, before the English men arrive."

They keep their shields up but Arne, Bjorn and the other man lower their weapons and break out in smiles and laughter. No man called Snorre a friend. He will be missed in battle but not in the feasting halls of his companions.

"What should we do with her?" asks their comrade, "She killed Snorre Berserkr!" 'Do you think she used witchcraft?"

It is Bjorn who spots the blood covered, sharp edged stone. He gives it a kick and glances at Snorre's almost decapitated body.

"No, she bashed his head in with a rock," he replies still smiling.

"If anyone knew it was that easy, a hundred men would have killed Snorre years ago," his brother says with a laugh.

"If anyone had been brave enough to try," Bjorn adds.

Still holding the keeling, weeping blonde girl by her hair their companions speaks up, "She has the bravery of Hermod." "We should let her go."

Hermod is a Norse god, a son of Odin, who volunteered to enter the realms of the dead to rescue the god Baldur and his wife Nanna.

"If we let her go she will spread the alarm," Arnes answers, "We do not know how many warriors are in the area." "We will hold her until we leave, then let her go."

His brother and the other two men nod in agreement.

 

[Curious_Muse]

Annis runs, but does not get far. The attackers are too fast, too numerous to be outrun. She finds herself surrounded by a group of men, wild-looking men with braided hair and beards, strange patterns drawn on their bodies. They are heavily armed, but make no attempt to kill her.

She hears Merewyn at the same time as they do. Helplessly Annis watches as one of the men drags her out of her hiding place, screaming and crying, her thin linen shift an inadequate protection of her modesty.

Poor Merewyn is out of her mind with fear. She does not try to resist the rough grip in her hair, stumbles as the man pulls her from behind the tree, tries not fall. Annis aches with worry for her friend. She watches as the man who has wrapped her thick blonde tresses around his hand forces the girl to her knees. Merewyn’s pretty face is stained with tears, and her dark blue eyes implore Annis to help her.

“Let her go!” Annis hisses. “You are hurting her!” Her voice is shaking, betrays her own fear in the face of these wild men, blood-spattered and fierce as they are, killers. But it is of no consequence, none of the men pay her any heed. Instead they keep talking to each other in their own language that she does not understand. Annis guesses that they are debating the death of their comrade, and the fate of the two girls, now their prisoners.

Another frightful whimper from Merewyn makes Annis flinch. “Let her go!” she says more loudly, frowning, her fingers wrapped around the hilt of the dead man’s blade so firmly that it hurts.

She brandishes the blade at the men in front of her. Clearly, they are, if not afraid, suspicious of her. A mere girl she has killed their comrade, the giant, and the surprise is written all over their faces. Some of the men still hold up their shields. “That’s right!” Annis says wildly. “I killed your beastly friend. If you touch either her”, she points the tip of her sword at Merewyn, “or me, you will pay for it!”

Then the suspicion turns into mockery and finally, laughter. Annis doesn’t know what to do. She does not dare to attack them, knows that she would likely not survive the attempt – and as a result, neither would Merewyn.

The men are amused. Annis lowers the weapon, takes a deep breath, tries not to let fear and desperation take over.

Absent-mindedly, she wipes her face with back of her hand, smearing Snorre’s blood across her lips and cheeks, but she does not notice it. Merewyn’s captor speaks again, points his chin in Annis’ direction. She tenses. He is speaking about her, but what is he saying? His voice is calm, but would murderers like him not give the order to kill in a calm voice?

But nothing happens. What do they want? Neither girl wears any jewellery, and the abbey will provide them with plentiful bounty and treasure. Do they have a king? A leader? Merewyn is now crying softly, shaking with cold.

Annis, never letting go of her only weapon, unfastens her cloak and walks over to her kneeling friend. She stares at the man holding her, signalling that all she wants to do is lend the garment to Merewyn, whose lips have turned blue and whose teeth are shattering now. Fear has drained her body of all energy and warmth, and the cloak will provide at least some small comfort.

 

[Hard_Rom]

It is not until the dark haired girl raises her seax do the men realize she has been trying to be heard. And then she breaks out into, what from her tone says, a boastful speech finishing with a demand for the blonde girls release. It's too much. Again the Vikings burst into laughter.

"She reminds of Sigi," Arne says naming the dead little sister to bjorn, Ulf and himself, "I think she is threatening to kill us all if we don't let her friend go."

This really makes the men laugh. Her bravery is to be applauded but if she thinks threats will get her anywhere, she does not know Norseman mentality. The gods alone determine if one lives or dies and when. So if a man's fate is already decided why give in to threats. So when she approaches the man holding the blonde girl, he tosses down his shield, transfers his sword to his other hand, holds it dangerously tight to the whimpering girl's throat and spits at the other girl's feet in defiance. Behind her the others raise their weapons to strike her down if she tries to free her friend.

"Hold!" Ulf calls down from the top of the hill.

He comes running down with three more men to join the four already surrounding the girl. Pausing he looks down at Snorre's dead body as if to confirm what he has already witnessed.

"Take her," he tells the man holding the blonde girl.

The man sheaths his sword, picks up his shield and drags the blonde girl out of the group. She screams and calls out to her friend bit two of Ulf's comrades move to interpose themselves between the dark haired girl and her friend as she is dragged off towards the monastery. The blonde girl is nothing, just another captive as far as Ulf is concerned. But the dark haired one...

"This one is favoured of the gods," he exclaims.

"She is brave and lucky!" Arne responds.

"Then not only does Freya protect her but Loki too," Ulf says, "Put your weapons away."

He sheaths his sword, slings his shield over his back and moves to stand fearlessly in front of the girl as the other seven men sheath swords or stuff axe hafts inside their belts. Showing empty hands he keeps back a respectable distance so as not to frighten her anymore than she is. Although the defiant look she has would indicate that she is quite willing to not go down without a fight or even quietly.

"We will not harm you," he says gently, "Please, come with us."

Ulf makes a beckoning movement with his hands. He turns and starts to walk away turning his head to repeat his words, "Come with us,". And again beckons with his hands. A two men step aside to let him out of the circle and make a gap. The others keep their places between the girl and the dubious safety of the trees and woods.

 

[Curious_Muse]

Annis stops, frozen. She still holds the cloak in her hands, but does not get the chance to drape it around her friend’s shoulders because the man holding her captive now defiantly presses his sword against Merewyn’s neck.

The girl’s blue eyes widen in shock as she feels the cold metal of the blade resting against her throat. All it would take is a flick of his wrist to break through the skin. Annis knows that he is ready to kill her, that it would mean nothing to him to end a life. Merewyn whimpers as his grip tightens, and Annis backs away. Her eyes are black with rage as he spits out in front of her, and she stares at him defiantly, her hate palpable. “What kind of man attacks a girl like this?” she spits at him. More she does not dare to do. More she cannot do.

Then another man comes to join them, and with a brief order from him, Merewyn is dragged away. Annis panics. She tries to go after her friend, but two men step between her and the man who now takes her away. “No, please don’t hurt her!” she shouts, trying to catch a glimpse between the men who now block her view and keep her from following.

She whirls around at the man who has given the order, her delicate face masked by fear and anger. Why? What do these men want of her?

He shows her his empty hands as a gesture of peace. Annis frowns. Her heart beats furiously in her chest. His fellow warriors follow suit, each putting away their arms as if to show her that she is safe from harm – for now. Annis feels trapped. She does not trust this man, or any of his companions. She has seen what they are capable of. She has seen them slaughter innocent men and women like cattle.

But her choices are few. The men stand between her and the trees marking the line between the open field and the relative safety of the forest. And even if she would be able to reach it, there were too many of them. They would come after her, find her, and maybe would not be as inclined to treat her with the strange respect they show her now. If she cannot run, if she cannot fight them – and she does not even consider that option as a possibility – then she has to do what they want of her, for now, if she is to stay alive and save Merewyn.

Her dark eyes are trained on the man in front of her, then wander to the two men who step aside to make way for her to follow him. He beckons again, says something she does not understand, but his voice is kind. Annis raises the blade to point it in the direction of the monastery, to where the man has dragged off her friend. “I want to see her,” she says. “She is my friend, and she deserves to be treated well. Can you take me to her?” Annis speaks slowly, tries to make her voice sound firm, and hopes that he will understand.

If she does as he wishes, she might have a chance still to plead for the life and honour of her friend Merewyn. She lowers the weapon, but does not drop it. Throwing a long, suspicious glance over her shoulder towards the men still standing between her and the trees, she makes another step in the direction of the man who wants her to follow, careful to keep several arms lengths between them as she does.

***

Merewyn screams when she realises that she is to be separated from her friend. The man drags her away, out of the circle and down towards the monastery. She has trouble to remain on her feet, stumbles again as he pulls her forward. His grip is like iron, he hurts her, and her attempts to dig her heels into the hard ground are futile.

“Annis, Annis! Please help me! Don’t let them do this, I beg you!” Tears stream down her face. Never in her life has she felt such terror. The monastery is where these sea beasts have killed countless others already, she has heard their screams. Is it her turn now to die?

She desperately tries to keep up with the man, while at the same time trying to twist and turn her head to keep sight of Annis. What will they do to her? The men have stepped between her and her friend, and all Merewyn can do is scream and try to wave with her free hand. It is no use.

“Please,” she now pleads with her captor, trying to pry at his fingers with her free hand in order to loosen his grip at least a little. “Please don’t kill me.”

 

[Hard_Rom]

Ulf has no idea what the girl is saying. She points to the monastery with her weapon.

"Yes," he replies with a nod, "Come with us." "We will not hurt you."

When the girl takes a step to follow Ulf, four of the raiders move to Snorre's body. Snorre's axe is placed on his dead chest. Bjorn steps up and draws his own seax and finishes the job of removing Snorre's head. He carries it dangling from his hand while the four men, hoist the giant's body up onto their shoulders and begin to climb the hill following Ulf and Bjorn. Arne and another Norse warrior walk behind the girl by ten feet to ensure she does not try to run.

The party climb the hill and enter the monastery cluster of buildings. More than a few bodies have be stepped over or walked around including the headless abbess. Whose lifeless eyes stare at the groups as they pass. The bells have stopped tolling and parties of men are plundering the buildings. A couple of screams are heard as someone found hiding and not deemed worthy of slavery is hacked down. Several groups of raiders laden down with almost anything of value and one dragging a couple of novice nuns make their way to the church. There are more than a few living staring eyes as Ulf leads the party bearing Snorre's headless body.

In front of the church is a steadily growing pile of pillaged goods and valuable church property. Precious candlesticks, silver bejewelled chalices and precious gold crucifixs form part of the pile along with iron tools from other buildings. To one side a group of shivering captives, some fully clothed, others partially so and a few naked ones kneel under heavy guard. All are young or comely.

One raider carries from the church one of the greatest treasures in all of Christendom. A complete bible with a heavily jewelled cover. For a few minutes he and a couple of other men marvel at the illuminations on the vellum pages. Then he uses a knife to cut the cover off the holy work. One man fingers the soft calfskin pages, cuts several out and walks away behind a building undoing his breeches as he goes. The cover is tossed onto the pile of valuables.

Upon seeing their holy book torn and defiled several monks cry out and attempt to stand. Two are clubbed back to their knees while a third is speared through the belly. He falls back amongst the captives with his guts spilling out and blood fountaining from his mouth. This sets of a round of screaming from many captives who are given a heavy clout with a spear butt to silence them. As their guards administer the blows, the man with the blonde haired girl appears and non too kindly shoves her in with the other captives.

Then all the Norsemen turn their heads as Ulf and his party enter the scene. Jarl Hakon has been sitting on a large water cask drinking wine intended for mass. His jaw drops when he realizes the burden that the men carry. He stands up and waits as Ulf walks towards him. Snorre's headless corspe is set down beside the pile of precious loot. Bjorn sets the head down on the corpse's chest.

"What happened?" he asks in a shocked tone, "Are there English warriors about?"

Ulf laughs, "Just one."

He steps aside and his comrades all step away from the dark haired, blood splattered girl brandishing Snorre's bloody long seax.

 

[Curious_Muse]

She looks around, sees the captured girls and is relieved to see Merewyn among them. As long as she is alive and unharmed, she might be able to plead for her friend. There are others from the nunnery that she recognises, and some of the older girls and women have also been herded together with them. All look terrified. Some are entirely naked. Some sob quietly, but it looks like the warriors have not touched them. Annis’ throat is in knots. Not yet. She sees the dead monk, his shift soaked with blood, his guts spilled, and looks away quickly.

Pages have been ripped from a richly decorated holy book. Annis does not care about the treasure, about the gold and holy trinkets amassed in the abbey, but the library, she knows, holds a different value than all the jewels in the world. Clearly, these beast men did not cherish books as they did, or they were simply unable to read them.

She is all too aware of the stares. She can only guess what she must look like, spattered with blood, her shift dirty, and her hair in disarray. There are whispers. Someone points at the blade in her hand, shyly, so as not to rouse the anger of the men holding them captive. Annis is terrified, too. She has never experienced war, but she knows that she has only been lucky.

The man who looks like he might be the leader amongst those warriors sits on a cask and knocks back consecrated wine intended for holy service. He is young still, and like the other wild men he, too, seems unfazed by the death and destruction his horde brought to Jarrow. It angers her, the easiness with which they deal out such violence and horror, but for once, Annis holds her tongue, mostly because she is too terrified to speak. She has no idea why she is treated differently than the other captives. Are these men not angry that she killed their comrade? That a mere girl killed a warrior such as him, and with nothing more than the throw of a stone?

Or is this a tribunal? Is she to be tried? Will this man have to decide what is to be done with her?

Annis does not know if she is expected to kneel, or to bow, or if she is supposed to show her respect to him in any other way, so she remains as she is. As he looks at her Annis holds his gaze for the length of a heartbeat before lowering her eyes. She can feel the expectant silence all around her.

“Please leave us alone. Leave Jarrow now.”

It was a hoarse whisper, not more, and Annis herself is surprised by the words spilling from her lips. But it does not matter, her words have no consequence, since the men around her do not understand what she says.

 

[Hard_Rom]

"Are trying to tell me she killed Snorre Berserkr?" Hakon asks Ulf in disbelief.

"Caved his head in with a rock," Bjorn says happily. "And cut his head of with his own knife," adds his twin brother.

"In fair single combat," replies Ulf, "We saw it done."

A murmer of astonishment goes through the Norse raiders.

Hakon looks at the girl. Pretty but hardly the image of a hardened warrior. Most shield maidens he has met are broad shouldered farm girls. He suspects she got lucky. While he doubts her strength of arms, there is no doubting her bravery. To even stand up to a berserker is commendable. While no true Norseman would back down from a confrontation with a berserker most die. Hakon is intrigued by the girl. He looks about and finds his thrall Christian priest.

"Priest!" he orders, "Talk with this girl." "Ask her name."

The collared thrall steps forward.

"My name is Harald," he says to the girl, "I was a monk at Lindisfarne until I was captured and made thrall." "This is Jarl Hakon and these are his sworn men."

"You have done a great deed by slaying Snorre Berserkr. The pagans honour such bravery. I think they will to let you go free."

"But I must warn you, these are violent men and do not take to being threatened. Answer Jarl Hakons questions respectfully. A jarl is like an English earldorman."

"He wants to know your name."

 

[Curious_Muse]

Annis frowns at the man in front of her who is still wearing the now dirty and torn garb of a monk. He says that he was captured at Lindesfarne, and he looks miserable and weak. The monk, Harald, is collared, and Annis wonders if this is the fate that awaits them all.

The man Harald called Jarl Hakon looks at her with interest, intrigued as if by an exotic animal. Annis is afraid, and has to interlace her fingers in front of her to keep from shaking. Harald’s comment that this man, Jarl Hakon, will not tolerate any disrespect was unnecessary. She has seen how cheap a human life is to these people, and she will not risk losing hers by angering them.

She has to clear her throat.

“My name is Annis,” she says, straightening her back and trying to make her voice sound firm. “And your man there”, she points behind her at the maimed body of Snorre, the berserker, “attacked us. He wanted to hurt us, so I killed him.” It is her only defence, and she wonders if it will count in the eyes of the warrior leader. She pauses. “I had no other choice. Forgive me.”

Murmurs and whispers now rise from the groups of captives who have understood every word that she said. “How is that possible?” “A waif of a girl like that kills such a beast!” Annis does not pay any attention to the excited chatter. She hears: “Witchcraft!” and “A sign from God”, but pays no heed to it.

Again, she clears her throat.

“What will happen to us now, Jarl Hakon?”

 

[Hard_Rom]

The monk keeps up a running translation.

Jarl Hakon's face breaks into a grin.

"He wanted to hurt you," he says with a laugh, "And so you killed him." "Simple enough."

It is obvious to him that Annis is an instrument of the gods. To punish her would bring monstrously bad luck. Hakon is a pious man. If the Norn's decreed that Snorre should die here in England at this girl's hands then so be it. A man's fate is predetermined by the gods on the day they are born. Certainly the Trickster Loki had his hand in guiding the girl's hand. Thor himself would be proud of such a person who defeated a giant to protect themselves and their folk.

Ulf, his two brothers and the other men who witnessed the killing are looking upon the girl with open admiration. They would also certainly object to dealing harshly with her. Hakon's position is very much based on the loyalty he enjoys from his men. Even if she was not favoured by the gods, keeping men such as Ulf and his brothers loyalty would suffice to keep her safe.

He turns and talks quietly with a man beside him. Who then proceeds to strip Snorre's body of it's possessions. Snorre would invariably spend any loot he earned on mead, ale and gambling. Aside from his axe and long seax his possessions are of not great value. But he did posses a nice bone handled knife, an intricately carved walrus bone comb and two bronze matching armbands of Jormungand, the serpent that lies at the worlds end. The man returns to Hakon who takes the two armbands and forms them over his lower arms. They had previously been fitted to fit Snorre's massive biceps. With some further fitting they should now fit the girl's upper arms. He then returns them to his man who moves forward to offer them to Annis.

Hakon adopts a more serious tone, "I am Jarl Hakon Alriksson. I greet you Snót Annis Jotunnbani." Which the monk translates as Lady Annis Giantslayer.

"As is custom by the rules of single combat you have the right to your opponents possessions." "We will keep his axe so that he may go to the halls of Valhalla with weapons but his seax is yours."

"I cannot let you go yet. You may raise the alarm before we are ready to depart. But your safety and honour are guaranteed while you are amongst us. When we leave this place you are free to go where you choose."

"As for these others," he continues, "You need not concern yourself with." "They are our captives and slaves now."

"If you are hungry or thirst we will only be too happy to give you food and drink."

Hakon drops the serious tone, "I do ask though, Lady Giantslayer, that you refrain from killing any more of my warriors." "I will need men to man the oars."

When he finishes speaking, Ulf begins to pound his weapon against his shield boss. Immediately all the other Viking raiders follow suit.

 

[Curious_Muse]

Annis is dumbfounded as the monk, Harald, translates what the Jarl tells her. That she is entitled to the giant’s possessions, that she gets a title for having killed their companion in single combat. The word almost makes her laugh, as all she has done was to land one lucky blow with a rock. She does not know what Valhalla is, or why the giant would need an axe to go there.

She stares at the gifts in her hands, two beautifully crafted armbands and a knife. Then she looks up at the Jarl, unsure of how to react to this unexpected reaction.

There is a part of her, a hidden, small part that cannot help but feel elated by the fact that this man, this earl who commands a horde of wild, violent warriors treats her with such respect and in some way as an equal, despite the fact that she is a girl. If Harald translates everything that he says – and Annis has no reason to think that he does not – Jarl Hakon makes no mention of the fact that she is a woman who dared to pick up a blade and stand up to a man. She would give much to be able and speak to the monk in private, sure that he could instruct her on the beliefs and thoughts of these warriors. Maybe she can find such a moment later.

From what she has learned in her young life until now she did not guess that such views were even possible. She cannot see any women amongst his horde, but clearly he does not think it impossible, or improper for a woman to fight. They even lend her a new title, and Annis likes it. But this feeling is small and fading in the light of the fact that he does not intend to let the others go free as well. Merewyn, a slave of these creatures! She would never survive it. Annis catches a glimpse of her friend amongst the other women and girls, and her heart aches with worry. She chooses her next words carefully.

“Jarl Hakon, I think you for your gifts and your mercy. I do.” She pauses to lend her gratefulness weight, and to find the words that might find his ear. These men have come to Jarrow for loot, and Annis doubts not that the women make up an important part of that bounty. But maybe she can appeal to his mercy?

“These others you speak of as captives and slaves? They are my companions and my friends. Some of them have been my teachers and mentors. Is there nothing I can do to free them?” She tries to tread as carefully as she can, watching Harald’s expression as much as she does the Jarl’s. Does the monk flinch? Does he hesitate? Annis does not want to miss any sign that might warn her of having ventured to far. She decides to try her luck.

“If your men and friends would fall captive to enemy warriors, would you not try and negotiate their release? Would you just walk away as you have offered me?”

She sees from the corner of her eyes that a few of the girls gasp in shock at her words, surely because to their ears, she comes across as insolent. But she is not finished.

There is an almost playful glint in her eye as she continues. “If you are ready to reconsider, Jarl Hakon, I promise you that I will refrain myself from killing any more of your men. You have my word.”

 

[Hard_Rom]

The monk thrall, Harald translates Annis thanks but halts his translation when she begins to bargain for the captives.

"It will do you no good, Lady Annis," he says, "The pagans believe that only by dying in battle or as an old warrior of great reputation will they go the their heaven, which they call Valhalla." "All others go to a place they also call Hel."

"It is there greatest honour to die in battle and a great dishonour to be taken as a thrall."

"Jarl Hakon would not negotiate for any captives but would instead begin to plan revenge on those who attacked him and his kin."

"What are you saying, monk?" Hakon demands.

"I am telling Lady Annis about Valhalla and of the Norns, Master," Harald lies, "She agrees she will not kill any more of your men."

Hakon waves at him to continue.

"These pagans are not like us Christians," Harald continues, "They have strange customs and beliefs." "They believe that that their gods determine when a person is to die and that there is nothing one can do to change that."

"They have no kings as we think of kings. All free men and women are allowed a voice at their great councils they call the Thing." "They even allow women to train as warriors, own property and let them divorce just by proclaming it before witnesses."

"They are truly a barbaric people with no skills in letters but for crude symbols they carve in stone."

The monks views are tainted by his Christian beliefs. Norse kings are chosen on merit during democratic tribal meetings. And while the clan determines who a woman marries, she is free to divorce him if she is unhappy with the arrangement. In such a case she retains her own property and can claim upwards of half the joint property accrued during the marriage. While not common female warriors are accepted. Freya herself, perhaps one of the most popular gods, is a goddess of battle and death, who chooses half the dead on the battlefield to feast in her own hall.

"It is Jarl Hakon's intention to ransom for silver any noble daughters. He will ask half their weight in silver as ransom." "If their families can pay then they will not beharmed. Those who will not be ransomed, I am afraid, will be enslaved and despoiled."

"Enough talk, monk!" Hakon barks, "We waste time." "Find out which of the captives is worth ransom and then find the things you need to write your Christian words."

"You shall leave a message concerning when and where the exchange will take place."

"In seven days we will return to the river mouth. The price is half a girl's weight in silver." "Choose one of your monk brothers. Who will be freed to deliver the message."

Harald bows and scurries over to the captives.

"The leader of these men intends to ransom any rich man's daughter. If your family is rich enough to offer fifty pounds of silver, please stand up."

Food stuff is also being taken. Jarl Hakon signals to a man carrying a ham, a wheel of cheese and a few loves of bread. He slices off a thick slice of ham and a chunk of cheese. With a loaf of bread he sets them on the water cask he was sitting on.

He looks at Annis and using his hands offers her to join him.

 

[Curious_Muse]

Annis is unhappy that the monk refuses to translate her words, but accepts that he will not act against her interest. She wants to asks Harald what can be done, if anything can be done, but Jarl Hakon cuts his words short and, she judges by the tone of his voice, gives him an order he wants to see followed without delay.

And indeed, the monk hurries away to talk his captive brethren, relaying the wishes of his master. Fifty pounds in silver! But the demand is not unreasonable. Many, if not most, of the young women in the abbey’s care do come from very wealthy families who will certainly pay the ransom to save them and their honour. Annis herself is unsure if her father could pay such a sum, but one thing is sure – Merewyn’s family cannot and will not. But something surely must be done to help her?

She watches, anxious, as one after one, the girls stand up. Those that are not lucky enough to wear their shifts, shyly hide behind their fellow sisters. “Please, stand up, Merewyn,” she whispers. The delicate blonde girl has never been a good liar, and took pride in her honesty, even when it was to her own disadvantage. Annis does not dare to speak up, but wishes and prays that she can will her friend to understand and to once, once only, lie to save herself.

Jarl Hakon beckons her to come over to join him. Annis, distractedly, walks over to where he sits, her eyes set on the corner where the monk keeps counting the girls whose families will pay the ransom. Names and names of families are written down carefully. She takes a piece of dry bread and tears off a small piece, but fails to actually eat it. More and more women and girls stand up, so few now remain unaccounted for.

In the end, only Merewyn and four other young women still sit in their corner, huddled together like frightened fawn. Her friend looks at Annis pleadingly, crying softly. The dark-haired girl puts down the food, she cannot eat now while Merewyn suffers like this. She turns to Jarl Hakon and whispers: “My apologies, Jarl Hakon, that I cannot eat with you, not now.” He will not understand her words, so she points at Merewyn. “She is my friend.” Annis makes a gesture as to indicate a caress against her cheek and her heart. Then she takes off her cloak and holds up a piece of bread, gesturing with both towards the crying girl. “May I give her this?” She does not have much hope that her request.

***
Merewyn sits between the other woman and girls, watching as one after one, they stand to give their names, ranks and family names to the monk, who then writes all of this down. She trembles, but not only because of the chill. Her family cannot pay. There are too many daughters that her father has to account for, and giving her to the abbey had already been an act of desperation, because he could not even scrape together a dowry.

For a short moment, Merewyn considers lying, but she is too afraid to deceive these beastly men. What will happen to those that cannot pay? Will they be killed? She throws at desperate glance at Annis, who sits next to the man who acts the leader of these warriors. “Please help me, Annis,” Merewyn whispers under her breath. “Don’t let them kill me.”

 

[Hard_Rom]

Jarl Hakon had intended to feed the captives. They need to be in decent shape to fetch the best price. For those who are to be ransomed he sees no need to be cruel. For the others some may have long sea voyages ahead of them. He looks at the pretty blonde girl. She will fetch a very good price on the eastern shore of the Baltic Sea. There slaves are taken to a land far to the south where blondes are greatly desired.

"Gunnar!" he calls out to one of the men guarding the captives, "Separate the ransomable ones." "Give them bread, meat and water."

"The others bread and water."

He looks back at Annis and nods his head.

The women who are to be ransomed are collected and moved away from those destined to be thralls.

Harald is close enough to overhear Merewyn. He does not have the heart to tell her what is in store for her but he tries to allay her fear.

"Have no fear, child," he says quietly, "You will not be killed." "Know that no matter whatever happens or what they will do to you, you are loved by God."

He makes the sign of the cross and attempts to place his hand on the girl's head in blessing. But a viscious cuff from one of the Norseman sends him reeling. The pagan Norseman leers down at Merwyn and laughs. Then turns and gives Harald another hit before resuming a watch over the cowering women and few monks.

The raiders begin to gather up the loot and plunder into sacks and blankets. Several sheep, pigs and chickens, all trussed up are now included. Fresh meat is always welcome. Hakon intends to carry off as much plunder as three ships can hold before he puts what remains to the torch.

Snorre's body, head and axe are tightly wrapped in blankets. Four men pick it up and head back to the ships with it.

 

[Curious_Muse]

Annis quietly watches the warriors throw anything that could be of value into sacks and blankets. Even animals are carried off. She wonders about

She does not dare to try and approach Merewyn who now stands in the small group of women that will be taken as slaves, a group that is being watched by Jarl Hakon’s men. With the monk busy tending to his masters and their book keeping there is nobody who can communicate Annis’ questions to the Jarl, and

Finally she makes a decision. Annis walks over to Harald, and without waiting for him to finish his current task asks him: “Brother Harald, can you ask Jarl Hakon if I can come with them on their ships?” Worry, shock and incredulity all join for a complicated dance on the monk’s face when he hears her request, but Annis is undeterred. If they will take Merewyn, then she wants to go with them, and besides – where else is she to turn? With Jarrow destroyed, the village gone, Annis has preciously few options. Would she have been amongst the captured girls this morning, she too, would not have been able to stand when asked if her parents could spare fifty pounds in silver. (She would have stood up to safe her skin, but that is another matter.)

“I do not want to stay here if they will take my friend. Can you please ask them? Jarl Hakon gave his word that I could go wherever I wanted, and that is where I want to go.”

***

Merewyn stands pressed against the wall of the monastery, desperate to shrink as much from the wild men’s view as she can. She had noticed the way they looked at her, and it makes her skin run cold with fear. Annis’ cloak is now draped around her shoulders, and she forces herself to nibble on the piece of bread someone gave her, even though she does not feel any appetite.

The friendly monk, he had looked at her with such an ache in his eyes! They will not kill me, she thought, but that will be the only mercy. The blonde girl draws the cloak tight around her slender figure, shivering. The other three girls are in similar shape. One is sobbing so loudly that Merewyn fears she will draw the men’s anger and yet more unwanted attention.

Annis! All Merewyn wants now is to speak to her friend, but there are guards blocking her from going anywhere. It is clear that their captors respect Annis, that, by killing their companion, she has gained some standing. Will that help?

 

[Hard_Rom]

"Are you mad?" Harald exclaims, "You cannot do any thing to help your friend." "In a few hours someone will come here to investigate why the bells were rung."

"You will be able to return to your family. You can't go live with the pagan's. You place your immortal soul, not to mention your honour, at stake. How will you be confessed? The word of God has not spread to these people. There are no churches, no masses said to the glory of Our Lord. It would be sinful for you to go among them!"

Ulf Sondersson has been keeping an eye on Annis. He sees the monk thrall harangue her and walks over with a curious look on his face. Prodding the monk with an axe he asks, "What are you saying, thrall?"

Harald immediatly hangs his head and adopts a polite tone, "Lady Annis... Lady Annis is asking if she... if she can come with you when you leave."

Ulf is as shocked as Harald was. He has seen how Annis tries to protect her blonde friend at every opportunity.

"Tell her there is nothing she can do to save her friend," he orders Harald, "It is safer for her to stay here."

"I have, Master," Harald relies, "And I have told her that help is surely on the way."

Ulf's brow creases as he thinks for a moment. You can never have too many women around. Childbirth and disease take as many of them as battles and raids take men. She would probably breed brave sons. He also thinks of Arne and Bjorn, who although have bred sons to inherit are still scandalous in refusing to marry. It reflects poorly on the family.

Coming to a decision, he gives Harald another poke with his axe and says, "Ask Lady Annis to come with us." "I will petition Jarl Hakon on her behalf."

Ulf walks over and begins talking with Hakon.

Harald relays Ulf's request and decision to Annis. When they join Ulf and Hakon there is a debate happening.

"Is she mad?" Hakon objects, "Why would she wish to leave her kin folk?" "Besides, there will be trouble with Snorre's brothers."

"You know as well as I do what they are like. Not any better than Snorre."

"No better than Snorre,"Ulf replies, "And not half the fighters." "Without Snorre, Gunter and Torstal had better watch their manners in the future."

"You did say she was to free to go where she wished."

"I did not mean on my ship," counters Hakon.

"Then she is free to travel on board my ship?" Ulf asks.

"It's your ship," Hakon replies. He nods politely to Annis and walks away bellowing to the men to start taking everything down to the ships, including the captives. Men shoulder bags of plunder and carry valuable iron implements. The thrall captives are shoved and kicked into line and marched off down the hill. Those intended for ransom are given a blanket and much more gently led away. One of the monks has the letter Harald wrote thrust into his hands and then he driven in the opposite direction with a few choice kicks as he passes departing raiders.

Ulf breaks into a smile and turns to Annis and Harald, "Tell Lady Annis, she is free to travel on my ship. She will be my guest. If there is anything she wishes to take, she should get them now. We will be leaving soon."