Taming the Barbarian

3

The aged merchant hobbled as fast as his infected leg would carry him down the dark stone corridors of Raymond manor. The walls lit with torches illuminating his path to the Lord’s drawing-room. The houseboy is running ahead and frequently stopping for the wounded old man to catch up. They reached the drawing-room where the old man was then asked to wait. The boy rushed off, returning quickly followed by a petulant Lord Raymond. His light brown hair tossed from the vigorous activity he had been engaged in when he had been so inconveniently interrupted. His pale torso exposed in his loose fit cotton night breeches. His bare feet against the stone floor as he came into the room fuming mad.

            “I trust this intrusion is justified.” He barked at the old man calling so late at night.

            “Yes, my Lord.” The old man stuttered nervously, bowing his head in respect and diverting his eyes. He was of no stature to dare and look a nobleman in the eye. “I bring word of Barmen.”

            “And what word would that be?” Lord Raymond asked gesturing for his houseboy to bring him a drink.

            “Barmen has been sacked, three days past. Barbarians from the north. They came by water and burned everything. They emerged from the dark as if conjured by the devil himself. It was a m******e; Lord Barmen had his head separated from his shoulders. It was ghastly.” The old man related the events are ringing the end of his filthy tunic in his wrinkled hands.

            “And his bride, what of the Lady Barmen?” Lord Raymond demanded his interest renewed.

            “She has not been found. It is believed the demon took her. She was seen being carried to the waters by the horned beast, some terrible unholy breed of man and animal, wielding a monstrous bloodied battleaxe, stained crimson with the blood of our countrymen. Was the size of a small child, it was, my Lord.”

            A battleaxe? An unusual choice of weaponry even for a barbarian.

            Lord Raymond took the drink his houseboy brought and sat in a tall wooden chair by the burning fireplace. His interest piqued at the mention of demons. He gestured for the injured man to take a seat across from him. He wished to know more and feared the old man would soon collapse from the combination of pain and fatigue. “John, be a good man and bring my guest some meat and bread, he must be starving from his journey. He will need his energy and bring more wine.” He instructed the boy. Lord Raymond sat forward in his chair his hands clasped together and his elbows resting on his knees. “Now tell me more of this…demon that abducted Lady Barmen.”

            “Well my Lord, he was part man part beast. Horns atop his head, his giant-like body covered with thick fur. His ice-blue eyes are piercing and cold. Staring as if he could surely see through walls. It was as if he knew exactly where everyone was. He did not even have to look to kill our people, through doors and tapestries. He was ten feet tall; he was, the size of a mountain had the strength of twelve men, he did.” The old man said, stuffing a piece of bread into his mouth and continued his story. “He wielded that double-edged battleaxe as though it were a third arm, my Lord. Lopped Lord Barmen’s head clean off in one swing, I am told. Then he stole Lady Barmen from under her bridal bed and carried her off. He and the others pillaged our homes and burned our town to asunder. They disappeared into the smoke like they were ghosts.”

            Lord Raymond settled back in his seat and emptied his cup. A horned man is wielding a double-bladed battleaxe, with frightening eyes and staggering stature. This had not been the first time he had heard of this monster. There had been tales of this beast-man from survivors of villages to the north. Tales of terror and blood. The peasants believed he had been sent from the very depths of hell itself to take their souls. Raymond had heard the same tales on his travels to Scotland and Spain. This monster had earned the fitting soubriquet… The Demon Dax. A hellspawn sent by Lucifer himself to plague the living.

            If this monster had his lady love, she was sure to be tortured and then killed if she were not dead already. Lord Raymond clenched his fist and slammed it down on the arm of his seat, splintering the wood. “This is enough. These salt-water bandits have plagued our shores for far too long. They must be taught a lesson. Driven from England or killed. The time has come to show them English strength. “Is there any indication as to where they might have headed?” He asked the old man who now devoured the plate of boiled beef and dry bread the houseboy had brought him. The old man shook his head without missing a bite. Shovelling large wads of food into his toothless mouth before Lord Raymond changed his mind and had him thrown out.

            Lord Raymond gestured for his cup to be refilled with wine and stared into the fire, formulating his plan. He would hunt down these Norsemen and have them killed. They may be grand warriors but would be no match for a fully armed and readied English army. They would be grossly outnumbered. They might put up a fierce fight but eventually would fall. It was a matter of sheer numbers.

            First, he needed to locate them. They were damned nomads and almost impossible to track. Autumn was upon them and winter to follow soon. His time to find the Norsemen was seriously lacking. They would be gone with the last leaf of the season. Returning home for the winter as always and then any chance of vengeance would be lost.

            “John, send out a messenger to my men. Have them bring me news of the Norsemen’s location or destination. We are going to find them. Have them report back to me in a fortnight.” He wanted to look this demon in the eyes when he ran him through.