Copyright© 1997-2003

Said a madam named Mamie La Farge
To a sailor just off of a barge,
"We have one girl that's dead,
With a hole in her head--
Of course there's a slight extra charge."

The damned Saxons had taken a toll this day. Nearly all of their warriors had fallen to our swords and spears. It had been a fine day for blood letting, one that proved that the gods had not abandoned us. It would take until after this winter before they had another raiding party come out of the east, many moons until the Saxon invaders recovered from the blow we dealt them today.

We missed killing their King or his bastards, but without warriors there was little he could do against our homes. We did capture much of his household and his possessions that he had held in what he thought was a secure encampment.

Not so long ago when the Roman Legions had left our island, they had left behind some knowledge about siege-craft and war-craft. Our Warlord, my Lord, whom I had sworn a blood-oath too, was well learned in such knowledge.

My own sword, was heavily notched and was still slick with the blood of my enemies, of my Lord's enemies. Many of my friends and companions had fallen these last months and I had extracted a revenge this day. Only months ago, my wench and her two brats were killed in a raid by these same Saxons. They had raped her before my children, then leaving her naked to die from exposure. My children had disappeared, probably taken as slaves to work in some unspeakable Saxon mine.

Yes, I had taken a revenge this day. I stood alone, leaning on my battered sword as my fellows had advanced upon the Saxon town. The bodies about me already picked clean of anything valuable - the pay of a warrior. Myself, I came out well ahead in terms of loot gained, the numbers I had slain very numerous.

During the battle, even my fellows retreated from my swinging sword. It sang as I killed, maimed and and killed some more. I wadded through the stinking Saxon mass of men as my cries bellowed our impending victory. The leader of our group fell, but I did not even slow and thus my fellows followed me through the valley of death until victorious.

I sang as I killed, bellowing cries of blood and victory as my sword reaped havoc and the Saxons fell upon each other to get away from my advance. I did not achieve victory alone, but was certainly instrumental in crumbling the left flank of the Saxon horde. Warriors, even much older and experienced than I, saw my berserker rage and followed me to deal death to the invaders of our homes.

Moments ago, as I stopped, exhausted from the days death dealing, my Lord stopped his charger next to me and spoke only a short phrase to me, "Well done, Captain Ger'yon." His retinue followed him as my back straightened and my head lifted. I had just been raised in status, to a leader of a warrior band and more importantly, I was given recognition by the only man that mattered. Then I remembered that this promotion would mean more battles, more killing and more blood letting - until I was one of the maimed bodies laying in my own gore upon a killing field such as this one.

My thoughts returned to the present and the screams, cries and general sounds of mayhem in the newly conquered Saxon town. Our warriors seeked their revenge now upon the remaining citizens, extracting an ancient tradition. The harder the fight the siege was, the harsher the revenge. This meant, our men raped and killed all Saxons that they came across. Old, young, male or female - all were cattle to the swords and spears. Only those of comely appearance, females, would be spared - to live a new life as slaves. It had been some weeks since leaving the fortress at Calleva, and my fellows extracted their own revenge. I tried, unsuccessfully to ignore those sounds.

I am so weary.

Weary of killing, of sorrow and pain. Its a warriors lot of course, but that need not mean I enjoy it. All my family and most of my friends lay dead or enslaved due to the Saxon invader. I had seen the axe blows that cleaved their bodies. Buried the sun bloated stinking frames of what was once a living person. Held intestines in my hands as the person cried out, scared to die.

As the tears flowed from my eyes, I passed it off to the abundant smoke billowing out from the gorged town. Yet, I weeped for all that I've done, all that I've see and all that has happened to me and mine.

It wasn't finished either. Surely, we had gained months to sit back and enjoy our spoils. Yet, my Lord would surely press his strategic advantage and attack as soon as the crops were planted next spring. He had sworn his own oath, to drive the Saxons from our shores or die trying. My oath forced me to follow.

I starred at the drying nearly black blood and flesh stuck to my sword lost in thought.

"Ger'yon!" My head rose slowly to see one of the remaining Captains change his mount towards me. "M'lord asked me to give you this as the first of many gifts!" A bundle dropped to the ground, "And he asks if you would grace him with your presence at our feast tonight Captain Ger'yon?" I nodded knowing that the "feast" would be a drunken brawl with the screams of rape victims accompanying the sounds loud singing. I would be missed little if I did not appear.

The Captain galloped back to the towns gate, anxious to return to the plundering now that his chore was done.

The bundle jerked about and I watched it as if in a dream. I knew what it was, had seen enough presents like this presented and had shared in the use of such presents more than once. The long thick blonde hair hide the face from me, and the fur cloak hid the rest. It was the present of a lord to a favoured servant - a woman. Normally a high born comely woman. Age mattered little.

A part of me, weary in body and soul, just watched as the wench spit her own hair from her mouth and face. She looked into my eyes, the eyes of her new master for the first time. She screamed and yelled at me in a language that I knew not. She spat towards me, but I took little notice, as it mixed in with the blood and gore upon my person. I saw that her arms were bound before her, her ankles also, there was no escape for her except death.

At that moment, I considered lifting my sword for one more blow, to deal death as I've so expertly dealt it this day one more time. Death would be a better ending than the rape of your enemy.

Yes, I took pity upon her. I did not want her. I knew it was a wrong feeling, my fellows would little understand. I no longer had the hate in me that I once did. I ignored her screams and just looked upon into the retreating blue sky - night was approaching fast enough. It was beautiful, the sky, the sun the light clouds. So much in contrast to the sight that awaited me when I lowered my gaze to the gentle green hills and the carnage that I helped create.

I know not how long I stood there, but I realized the Saxon wench had become quiet and could feel her eyes upon me. I then thought how I must look, with tears upon my cheeks, her breathern's blood and flesh upon my person and sword, and a far away look in my eyes.

Looking down our gaze met, the victor and his slave. The man and the woman. I became lost in her eyes, a startling light blue. The colour I've only seen in the eyes of men I've killed, Saxon men. She was startlingly beautiful, and realized just how special a gift from my Lord this wench was. Obviously she was a person of importance, even noble Saxon blood.

I considered cutting her bindings and releasing her, but realized that would either be a death sentence or she would fall to another, one with much less pity than I. I did not want her, I did not want a slave, a Saxons wife most likely. Possibly a man I felled this day, his guts still dripping from my blade.

Nor did I want to do what the other warriors of my band were currently doing, raping all the comely wenches that they found, killing all the others. When the choices narrow, fall back on duty and tradition. With a sweep of my blade, the leather tongs binding her ankles were cut away. The Saxon wench just watched me, her eyes very bold for a new slave.

I turned about and began to walk - my wet sword thrown up upon one shoulder. I did not look behind me, as only the wench and the dead lay there. Yet, soon, I heard fumbling soft footfalls. In fact, I was a little disappointed, hoping the Saxon wench would save me the burden of her slavery and run away. This action of hers, following me, showed that the wench was of some intellect. That was of some bonus.