"Check yourself, Dalwynn," said Gryndall threateningly as he arranged the blanket over his saddle. "It's up to me whether or not we stop between here and Brinsley."
"My Lord. There are Vikings in Brinsley. Ransacking and pillaging. Raping and murdering and - "
"Dalwynn," Gryndall growled, mounting his stallion, the blanket now folded and draped over his saddle, providing some cushioning, "stopping five minutes isn't going to make a difference. The damage has been done. We will get there soon enough."
Dalwynn tried to be speak. "My Lord - "
Gryndall raised a hand, silencing the knight. "And I want my knights ready to fight. I don't want their bladders bursting. We're taking five minutes and then we'll be on our way. And if we have to stop again for five minutes between here and Brinsley, then so be it. There's no sense in breaking our necks to get there. We need cool heads. I want calm and collected men fighting at my side."
He glanced at the others. The militiamen looked proud to be included in his use of the word "men".
"We are organized. Disciplined. Methodical. We're not a horde of hot-headed barbarians. We are trained soldiers. Are we understood?"
"Yes, my Lord," answered Dalwynn, somewhat sheepishly.
"My Lord!"
Gryndall turned in his saddle.
Simon was running back towards them from the ditch, his pants still undone.
"My Lord! I just saw a Viking! A Viking! There! In the woods!"
Gryndall frowned and quickly surveyed the silent walls of trees that ran alongside the road.
"Where did you see a Viking?"
"Over yonder, my Lord."
He pointed to a spot in the trees.
"I see nothing but trees and brush," said Gryndall. "Are you certain you saw a Viking?"
Simon was blushing now as he looked at the others.
Theo. Junius. Muirfinn. Conan. Donal, who was climbing back into his saddle. His three fellow militiamen.
"Are you sure it wasn't a deer or some other animal that you saw?" asked Junius with some amusement. "It's quite foggy in there and hard to see properly."
The militiaman shook his head.
"No. 'Twas a Viking what I saw. I'm certain of that."
Gryndall exhaled through his nose.
Dalwynn snorted. "Are you sure it's not just this talk of Vikings? You've got Vikings on your mind, lad. You're bound to see something you're thinking about. And the more time we waste, standing around talking about them - "
Gryndall raised a hand and Dalwynn stopped mid-sentence.
"We're going. Now hold your tongue, friend. I've heard enough."
He turned to Simon.
"Get your pants done up. We've got somewhere to be."
Dalwynn gave an approving grunt as the blushing militiamen did up his pants and mounted his horse.
"Are we ready?" Gryndall snarled.
Dalwynn's attitude had put him in a foul mood.
"Ready, my Lord."
Gryndall nodded and cracked his reins, sending his stallion galloping forwards.
Sigurd had almost cost them everything. Sigurd. That bastard whoreson. One of Gryndall's men had seen him.
Anwir glared at the dead Viking's body as he and Erik the Bald and three other Vikings stood over him.
His face was blood-stained. His eyes swollen. His hands and feet severed from his limbs.
At least the Vikings are thorough in their punishment, thought Anwir wryly.
"We'll take the road now?" asked Erik the Bald, his beady eyes dancing in their sockets as he peered at Anwir.
Anwir nodded. "Aye. Now that Gryndall and his men have passed, we'll take the road. They've gone to Brinsley and they'll be there for awhile. The road is ours all the way to Clarendon."
Erik the Bald smiled, spat, and marshalled his men forwards with a wave of his hand.
Brinsley. High Street. Outside the Red Boar tavern. Thirteen Vikings are harassing Elwynn and Gail. A crowd of worried onlookers watches from a short distance away.
"NOOOOOOOOOO! LEAVE HIM ALONE! YOU'RE HURTING HIM!" Gail screamed.
The thirteen Vikings clustered in the middle of High Street laughed.
"Have some more, pretty boy!" one particularly foul-looking one jeered as he held Elwynn's head and forced another bladder of wine down the man's throat.
The tavern keep was on his knees and the three Vikings grouped around him laughed again as he choked, spluttered and began to turn a deep shade of red.
"PLEASE! HE'S DONE NOTHING TO YOU! LEAVE HIM BE!" Gail screamed a second time, wrestling with the Vikings. She pulled at their arms, pleading, begging.
Several onlookers shook their heads, concerned expressions on their faces.
"She'd better be quiet."
"They can't even understand her."
"Well still, she'd better be quiet else they'll cut her tongue out."
"Bloody savages."
"LEAVE HIM ALONE! YOU'RE HURTING HIM!"
"Shut up you filthy whore!"
A loud smack silenced the crowd of townsfolk amassed outside the Red Boar and Gail was sent sprawling to the pavement.
"You Carthalian bitches need to learn respect," said the Viking in broken Carthalian.
"And you drink piss here in Carthal!" added the other Viking in equally broken Carthalian, pointing a finger at the men, women, and children standing in the crowd.
He stepped closer to Elwynn, forcing him to drink more wine from the large wine bladder in his hands.
“Drink up, pretty boy.”
The tavern keep vomited then and the Viking released him before kicking him to the cobblestones.
Gail screamed.
"YOU BASTARDS!"
Huddled together, the two dozen onlookers continued to murmur anxiously amongst themselves.
"She shouldn't talk to them like that."
"They'll kill her if she doesn't keep quiet."
"Poor thing."
An unbelievably wide and squat Viking with a mass of untidy straw-blonde hair grabbed Elwynn and lifted him off the ground. He looked at Gail, watching and waiting for a reaction.
"LEAVE HIM ALONE! YOU BASTARDS!"
The Viking dropped the tavern keep. "WHO ARE YOU, WHORE, TO TALK TO US THAT WAY!? GRIMTHOR! BRING HER HERE!"
A tall and stocky Viking with a long black mane nodded and strode over to where she lay. He picked her up with one arm and dragged her (despite her plump size) kicking and screaming across the cobblestones.
"Put her down here," he ordered, pointing to a spot on the ground in front of him.
"Yes, Olaf," the Viking grumbled, looking somewhat unhappy that he had to drop his prize at the other Viking's feet.
"Erik the Bald will be happy with this one, hey men? Wide hips. Ample breasts. Just how he likes 'em."
There were maniacal grins and chuckles all around.
"Though I think I might have a go with her myself first. What's your name, whore?" he said, leaning down and grabbing Gail by the chin.
She looked directly at him and spat in his face.
"YOU BITCH!" Olaf roared, staggering backwards.
Grimthor smacked her and Gail, still on her knees, spun around and collapsed to the ground.
"Bow to him. Bow to my chief now. Or pay with your life," Grimthor threatened, drawing his axe and taking a step towards her.
Gail shielded herself with her hands and murmured something inaudible, her face smothered by the sleeve of her dress, her voice unable to escape.
"Bow to him, Gail!" Elwynn pleaded, his expression anguished and hopeless as he watched the scene unfolding in front of him.
Olaf, wiping the spit from his face with the sleeve of his shirt, looked on, a gleeful glint in his eyes.
"Bow to him, Gail!"
Gail turned her head and sat up so that everyone could see her blood-stained face.
"Never," she said defiantly through a mouthful of blood. "I am a woman of Carthal."
She rose her head higher and
held it in the air. "My king, the great King Gryndall, told me never to bow to any man! And you, filthy pig, are not even a that!"
The tall Viking roared and raised the axe higher above his head, preparing to strike. Every man, woman, and child huddled together in the crowd of Carthalian onlookers held their breath.
But then, just as everyone braced for the dreadful moment, there came the sound of what seemed like a hundred horses' hooves. Thunderous. Roaring.
The crowd in the street wondered aloud in quiet whispers.
"What ever could that be?"
"I don't know that I want to find out."
"Whatever it is, it's something big."
The sound was coming from further up the street, around the bend, and all heads turned, the Vikings' included, watching and waiting to learn the source of it.
And then they saw it. Hurtling forwards, their faces marked with intense expressions and their horses racing with death-defying speed.
Gryndall, his knights, and the Lancaster militia.
"By Thor..."
The tall Viking holding the axe over Gail couldn't even finish his sentence as the heaving, glistening convoy of horse and steel blew by, the riders having already drawn their swords and notched their arrows.
The ground shook. The buildings trembled.
Two arrows pierced the Viking through the neck. The axe slipped from his fingers and clattered harmlessly against the cobblestones as he sank to his knees, clutching helplessly at the blood spewing from his neck.
"Oh my!"
"Poor bastard."
"Did you see that!?"
The crowd buzzed with excitement.
Two more Vikings were felled by devastating blows from Gryndall's broadsword and Theo's spatha respectively.
"Watch out!"
The blood spattered the crowd as the men shielded their wives and the women pressed their children to their bosoms.
"KILL THEM!" Olaf roared, pointing his small blade at the Carthalian riders as they streamed past. "I WANT THEIR HEADS ON A SPIT!"
More whispers from the crowd of people clustered along the sidewalk.
"Who are they?"
"I don't know."
“It’s King Gryndall!”
“I don’t believe it!”
“It can’t be!”
“No, it is! Look at the shield. It's got the royal emblem!"
“KILL THEM!” Olaf roared a second time as Gryndall and the other riders pulled on their horses' reins and came to a stop some fifty yards further down the street.
The nine Vikings still standing exchanged nervous glances as they studied their opponents.
Olaf shook with anger.
“WELL!? WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR!? AFTER THEM!”
The crowd’s heads moved from side to side as they looked first at the Vikings and then at the knights. Meanwhile, in front of them, Elwynn was helping Gail to her feet and he pulled her to the side of the road so that they stood with the crowd. The Vikings didn’t bother to stop them. This had been what Gryndall was waiting for and as soon as the two were clear of harm’s way, he dropped his visor and slashed the air with his sword.
“FOR CARTHAL!”
Before the Vikings could fully prepare themselves, the twelve riders were charging towards them once more, their horses snorting and champing at the bits in their mouths, thirsting for a fight.
The Vikings crouched into defensive stances and grouped themselves into a circle.
"SPLIT!" Gryndall roared.
The riders split into two lines at the last second, each headed to one side of the Viking cluster. They thundered past, swinging their swords, thrusting with their spears, and letting their arrows fly. Six Vikings fell, Olaf included, and the crowd cheered, whooping and hollering as the men on horseback thundered up the street, only turning around once they were well clear of any threat.
Olaf rose slowly to his feet, blood pouring from a deep gash in his shoulder.
"KILL THEM!"
But the remaining Vikings dropped their swords and put their arms in the air.
"WE YIELD! WE YIELD! WE YIELD - "
A slash from Olaf's sword silenced the man. He fell to his knees, blood pouring from the hole in his face.
"COWARDS! AND YOU CALL YOURSELVES VIKINGS!"
He spat. Loudly. Grotesquely.
Several of the townsfolk looked away. But others, the men mainly, though a few women joined them, had taken up debris from amongst the dozens of items scattered about the street.
Table legs. Fire pokers. Broom handles.
"YOU SEE! EVEN THESE PATHETIC PEOPLE ARE MORE VIKING THAN YOU!"
"DO YOU YIELD?" Gryndall called loudly from the end of the street.
Several of the Vikings, nursing injuries, their faces pleading, glanced nervously at Olaf.
"WHAT ARE YOU LOOKING AT ME FOR!? WE DO NOT YIELD! WE ARE VIKINGS! WE WERE BORN TO CONQUER! WE FIGHT UNTIL - "
"CHARGE!"
The crowd watched as Gryndall snapped his visor down once more and slashed the air with his sword.
The riders shot forwards, barreling down on the injured and disorganized Vikings.
Olaf took an arrow to the chest and a dagger in the back. Eyes wide and with his face wearing a shocked expression, he fell to the ground.
"ARE THERE ANYMORE?"
"No! We yield! All of us!"
Gryndall narrowed his eyes at the Viking who had spoken.
"Throw your weapons over there," he said, pointing with his sword to a spot several feet away.
A mad flurry to unbuckle and unhinge and unclasp and then a dozen daggers, maces, and axes were tossed into a pile.
"Is that it?"
"Yes...your Majesty."
"Donal. Muirfinn. Search them. The rest of you," he bellowed, switching his attention to the townsfolk. "Help Gail and Elwynn here. Take them inside and fix them up. Are there any more injured?"
Several heads in the crowd nodded.
"Then step forward and you shall receive assistance."
Three men and a small boy emerged from among them. The men were cut and battered and bloody. The child held his arm, his eyes red and swollen from crying.
"Your Majesty," said a woman wearing a flour-covered apron. "These men here. Tristan Walcott. Liam Handsome. James Cobb. They were beaten black and blue. Along with young Stephen here," she added, placing a hand on the shoulder of the small boy.
Gryndall nodded. "Very well. Conan. Junius. See that these good people are cared for. Those who are well enough, help your fellow citizens. Get these fires put out," he waved his hand in the direction of several plumes of smoke rising above the rooftops in the distance. "And anymore Vikings that are found in Brinsley are to be killed if they do not yield."
He turned his gaze back to the motley crew of Vikings who were now sitting, legs crossed and arms folded, on the cobblestones.
"Donal. See that these men are bound and gagged until I'm ready to question them."
He looked at the militiamen.
"You lot can help him."
He turned to Dalwynn. "You and I will go for a ride. I want to survey the damage. Are there anymore of you?" he asked in Norse, glaring at the Viking he had spoken to a minute earlier.
The Viking shook his head. "We are the last ones."
His comrades, seated beside him, glared at him, but said nothing.
"And how did you come here?"
"By ship...your Majesty."
"By ship?"
The Viking nodded.
"And where are your ships?"
"Just out of the harbour...your Majesty."
"They left you here?"
The Viking nodded a second time and Gryndall turned to Dalwynn.
"Seems odd. Leave these ones here and put the ships out of harbour. What are they waiting for? A second attack?"
Dalwynn scratched his beard and stared angrily at the Vikings.
"I have no idea, my Lord. Perhaps a second attack."
"I want to see these shi
ps."
Gryndall turned to Donal.
"Have these men locked up somewhere until Dalwynn and I return. We shouldn't be more than an hour."
Donal nodded and gave the Order's salute. "Yes, my Lord."
"Your Majesty."
It was Gail.
"Gail..."
"Before you go...I just want to say...thank you. "
Her face was still bloody. Her left eye was swollen shut and had adopted a bluish-purple hue. Her speech seemed laboured and difficult.
"Gail."
Gryndall slid from his horse and took the woman in his arms. She looked weak. Tired.
"Get this good woman somewhere clean and comfortable," he commanded. "Quickly."
Several men and women rushed forward from the crowd of onlookers and took her from his arms.
"Thank you...your Majesty," she said slowly, softly, the eyelid of her good eye fluttering sleepily.
He touched a hand to her cheek. "Rest up. We'll likely be spending the night. I'll check on you later."
Gail nodded then and allowed herself to collapse into the arms of the men and women holding her.
Sighing deeply, Gryndall looked at Dalwynn, mounted his stallion, and cracked the reins.
As it turned out, Brinsley was not as badly damaged as Gryndall had initially feared. There were forty-four casualties (among them, three Brinsley militiamen), six burned businesses (one of which was the Heart and Crown Inn - the place where he had enjoyed his very first intimate encounter as a young soldier - with a beautiful and mysterious prostitute from the East) and nine torched homes. Of the homes that were torched, only two had been occupied and both residents had been able to escape unscathed.
As for the three Knights of the Order stationed at Brinsley - Atilius, Bothan, and Marcus - all three were a little worse for wear after some intense fighting, but none were severely injured. These, Gryndall sent to the Red Boar to re-group with the others and freshen up.
The good people of Brinsley - from every quarter of the city - were eager to help deal with the aftermath. Teams of volunteers combed through the blackened shells of burned out buildings, nursed the injured, and buried the dead.
The most vexing matter that remained for Gryndall, once he had finished surveying the city with Dalwynn was that three Viking long ships were anchored just four miles from the harbour.
"What do you think they're waiting for?" asked Dalwynn gruffly as he and Gryndall watched them from the edge of the quay.
Gryndall shook his head. "I've no idea. Perhaps, as I suggested earlier, they're planning on launching a second attack."
Dalwynn grimaced. "Do we have the numbers to deal with them if they do?"