chapter 9

A Viking Feast

Merriment and feasting on goat, roasted over a blazing fire. Mugs of Ale toast the sky and boast of bravery in battle are cast to Thor, thrashing the willows and shore of the river Thames echoing across the waters and valleys. The dragon heads of long boat dance among the shrubs and trees tugging at the theaters.  Young captive maidens scream as their long braids are tied together head to head binding them to a tree, the targets of a drunken bet. The screams are reviled in the eaves of the trees echoing across the glade. The Vikings are gambling over their plunder and the maids by throwing their axes at the braids of the maids the winner gets the maids to ravish.  

        
              In the distant Kathleen hears the screams, with her companions leaving she heads to the sound of the screams. From the cover of the undergrowth she watches as a Viking ready his axe for a throw, she recognize him from the images she saw at the henge, it was the one who killed her father. Every fiber of her being now rage, Agrona’s spirit of revenge explodes form inside her, a driving force powering the sudden devastating leaping lunge. Kathleen tastes the warm sweet blood of revenge from the throat of her mother’s killer. The momentum of her incriminating thrust carries her over the shoulder ripping head of the accused. Landing rolling to her feet she attach another charging like a bull threw the legs of her mother’s rapist and killer  taking his man hood with her. She spins around ripping the scream form his throat. The swiftness of her assaults could only be matched by a blow from Thor’s hammer. She makes for cover her brazing attack unnoticed.  Form her hiding place she watches for the wheel of stars to show itself and a chance to revenge the god of Stonehenge.

         
             From the cover of the trees Sir Redwald rallies the knights “knights the scouts report the Vikings are down by the banks of the river Thames, they feast and gamble for captive women, making sport of their fear. There are report there is a dragon maybe three or a one with three heads. Knights advance our standards, set upon our foes our ancient world of courage fair St. George Inspire us with the spleen of fiery dragons. We ride for St George and the slain of Wilton, God will it.”

            
             Sir Erick mounts his prancing charger calling for a jousting lance with metal points of war “Squire get me a lance fit with iron to kill a dragon. Highlander to your mount we ride for glory a dragon to slay.”

            
            Avon responds “I fear not dragons, it be my quest for the heads of Vikings and justice for me lads.  I will carry on foot into battle. I be not a horseman I will face the enemy face to face on foot”.

            
           “What is a dragon? I have never seen a dragon. I want to see a dragon” Chrisween begs with the innocence of a child.

           
            “It’s a great winged scaly beast of old that breath fire and eat little girls, milady” Sir Erick said “I will slay it for you, milady. God wills it!”

 Knights mounted and armed for battle press on in a column of twos breach the swathe of trees.  The Viking encamp lay five hundred yard to the north the command to form a battle line is given. The column fans out to the east and west at methodically strolling pace forming a line of battle standards and shining armor dress the glade like a prim rose garland. They advance on the Viking horde seventy five mounted knights pressed by eighty bowmen, swordsman arm for battle keenly march. The chargers prance pleading to engage the combat a hundred yards a trumpet sounds the glade.

In the Viking camp a drunken scramble to arms beseech the horn that blows. Outnumbered three to one, Berserkers wielding their axes a shields running screaming “Odin, Odin, blood cries for, Odin”

Sir Redwald spear heads the charge sword and mace slashing and bashing berserker heads splatter splintered shield roll. His charger bites the face of a berserker mowing down under his pounding hoofs crushing the chest like ripe grapes making wine. The wrath of Wilton pled the lot of Vikings. Sir Redwald rallies his charge set mace and sword breaking the lines of the Viking resistance.

Sir Erick spotting the dragon’s head above the willows lower his battle lance spurring his charger awaits the dragon and glory. The lance impacting the haul of the long boat and the water’s edge halts his charger, catapulting Sir Erick onto the deck in a thrash of perplexing tumbling the maze of ores.

Avon battles his way to the tree of maidens setting them free.  Chrisween renders aide escorting the maids to the safety of the woods. The Vikings retreat to their long boats managing to set sail down the river Thames in one the others burning save one now captain by Sir Erick. A volley fire arrows bid their ado.

From a distance the sound thunder rolls over the battle field, flocks of crows and vultures feast.  Sir Redwald call for assemble a trump sound and the captain gather their troops accessing their victory. The reports find only a few are wounded but twenty to thirty Viking escape down the river.  Sir Erick, Avon, and Chrisween join Sir Redwald.

“What do we do now? We cannot follow on the water.” Avon said. 

“My knights need rest and do pine for home we have been on the march for three days, we need to eat and care for the wounded.” Sir Redwald proclaims.

Sir Erick boast “I have captured a ship we can press the pursuit. I need twenty men of good backs and twenty bowmen of good skill we can end the Viking threat. God wills it.”  A chorus of “you have, my back, my sword my bow, God wills it” rang the muster.  “What say ye highlander?” Sir Erick demands.

Avon thoughts delay a response “I be not knowing of this, I should be going home yet I have not served justice on the murderers of me mate. What of Chrisween what do I do with her? That tree that talked and she wolf. The tree what did it mean chosen on? This blade it’s so heavy but yet when it is just it’s light, light as a feather. I must go it is right. I, god wills it.”

“I go where my mate goes, God wills it” Chrisween said grabbing hold of Avon’s arm.

“I will send riders to London the king’s guards will lay wait for them.” Sir Redwald said.

“Is there a man among you who knows the way of boats and the river?” Sir Erick questions.

A young squire response “I once was an apprentice ferryman on the river Thames the Vikings killed my master.”

Sir Erick asks “What is your name squire?”

“Jon Sire.”

“Kneel; do you swear to serve God and king?”

“I do, god is my witness.” making the sign of the cross replied Jon.

“I dub thee Sir Jon, helmsman, keeper of the Dragon, rise Sir Jon, rise a knight” declared Sir Erick.

Forty thee men and one young woman boarded the now called Erick’s Dragon. Avon wields the Bruce cuts the line that hold the boat to the shore. As the boat slide away from the hedges Kathleen leaps a board she muse to Chrisween “not without me you don’t” and lays a her feet.