Viking

His father, Gaius, was born the day Vikings raided the wealthy monastery of Lindisfarne, half a century earlier. Almost every summer since, Northmen from Horthaland had visited the towns along the coast of Northumbria. Usually, they came with trade goods and silver – sometimes, they came with swords and fire.

‘What more do we have to offer?’ his father asked quietly.

Wucestre had been a thriving trading town, until a rainy morning three winters past, when heathens found plundering preferable to trading. Everyone lost loved ones that day as they were either slaughtered or captured as slaves.

Now, most buildings lay abandoned as many of those who had survived took their meagre belongings and found work in the coal mines to the north. Trade had since subsided, and Wucestre was now but a poor village.

Marcus looked around, taking stock of his surroundings. He opened his mouth, about to respond ‘Nothing’ but stopped short when he realised he was wrong. He exhaled slowly. The obvious answer escaped in a low voice:

‘Slaves.’

His father had already turned to go and barked a brief command over his shoulder.

‘Bring Julia to safety!’

Julia was Marcus’s sister, younger by two winters. The once cheerful girl had turned quiet and withdrawn in recent years. Since the loss of their mother, she rarely expressed any joy or passion. Tall and slender, she would soon be a grown woman. Many found her attractive, but her stern countenance made even grown men shy away.

The Vikings would not be shy.

Marcus opened the door the same moment the church bell started chiming. He found Julia at work, as usual.

‘Vikings!’ he said as soon as he entered. ‘We must leave. Now!’

Julia stiffened and drew a breath. Looking up at Marcus, she nodded silently. The girl picked up a knife and a waterskin and draped a blanket over her shoulders. Without a backward glance, she marched out the door and sped up the road alongside the river.

Marcus watched Julia’s diminishing silhouette as she disappeared, admiring her determination. Snapping back to reality, he found the small hand axe he used for cleaving kindling – Julia might need it. Keeping the heavy woodman’s axe for himself, he gathered what little food he could find and packed it into his thick winter cloak. Nothing short of divine intervention would allow him to eat again – this day or any other day. He broke into a run to catch up with his sister.

He passed dozens of villagers on the road, most of whom were women and children. Some not much younger than he was. The women threw nervous gazes in the direction of the ships heading towards the beach. Despite their mother’s efforts to remain calm, most of the children were crying, their eyes large with fear.

Marcus found Julia at the head of the pack. She walked fast, without looking back or talking to anyone. They strode side by side for a while, the silence between them growing louder. What advice could he offer? How far could the women flee? Would the heathens seek them out further inland to take more slaves? Would they return whence they came after laying waste to the village or remain indefinitely to plunder the surrounding areas?

He placed a hand on her forearm.

‘I have to go back.’

Julia continued walking but turned her gaze towards him.

‘Do you?’ Her voice reminded Marcus of how young she was.

‘The men are gathering to launch a counter-attack or at least stave them off long enough for you to get away,’ he replied. ‘This time, I have to be a part of it.’

‘How much time can you buy me with your life, brother?’

Marcus was strong and agile, as most males in his family had been. Nevertheless, he had yet to reach manhood and never had any combat training. Still, he knew how to swing an axe, and often imagined himself in the heat of battle when he felled a tree. On the other hand, he never used the axe for anything but trees. And trees never fought back.

How long could he survive an encounter with a seasoned warrior? A warrior whose training began from the very day he learned how to walk? And with a bloodied history of having slain many men? What if two or more cornered him? He might be able to parry the first blow or at best two, but it would be over before it really began.

He had no answer. Instead, Marcus grabbed his sister’s hand and pulled her to his side.