Taming the Barbarian

6

            The center of camp filled up with the Norse men and women. Gathered to hear their leader speak and to witness the council of freemen deliberate upon matters at hand. The camp’s freemen took their places encircling the campfire. Olidie, an elder and their leader, stood in the center. He was an old man but a legend among them, he had led his people into battles and always returned victorious. His followers benefited from his rule, gaining love and respect from all that knew his name.

            A man of considerable age, his once blonde hair had turned white, but he could still hold his own in the heat of battle and so long as his weathered hand could still draw his sword, he would lead the charge and if he were a lucky man he would die in battle and not in his bed.

            The gathering hushed awaiting Olidie to speak. “Today, we are gathered to welcome Helom and his men back from the sea. We celebrate their safe return and bountiful gain.” The old man smiled gesturing to the men who had only just returned the evening before. The crowd cheered for their fortunate countrymen, and when Olidie’s hand went up for silence, a respectful hush returned. “Now for new business. The leaves are changing; winter will be upon us shortly. Our present accommodations will need amendment. We have had a profitable season on these shores, and the climate is quite agreeable.” He knelt on one cracking knee and scooped a handful of earth, letting it pour through his thin fingers. “The earth is rich, and the land offers natural protection.” He continued hauling himself back up on his feet. “I purpose we forgo the voyage back home this winter and establish a settlement right here. We can wait out the winter in more enjoyable weather. What to it do you all say? I open the floor to debate.” He said with a wave of his hand.

            They debated through the day the pro and cons of returning home for the winter season or returning in the spring. They debated the potential loss of life on the long hard voyage home, the chance to return to their families, their brothers and sisters. The potential of a new settlement and gaining ground in England appealed too many. Putting down roots and sending for their families in the spring to join them, conquering new territory, exploring a new land was a tantalizing enticement. They discussed the issue, argued, and swayed. They heard from all wanting to take the floor. Listening and commenting on each stand.

            “Tell us, Dax, what say you? You are the only man we have not heard from this day.” Olidie spoke, cutting off the aggressive banter that had consumed the proceedings. Olidie was a man in his sixties. He had lived long and seen his fair share of battle scars having even lost one eye in a bloody battle on the shores of the South Seas.

            Dax shifted his shoulder blades over the tree trunk he had been leaning against. His arms folded across his chest, his fingers massaging his jaw thoughtfully. His comrades had brought up many of persuasive arguments to both sides, but his decision would be based on what he always trusted in. He stood up, tall and straight. “I say we consult the wisdom of the gods if they favour colonization we stay.”

            Olidie smiled his yellow-toothed grin; the boy was a natural leader, so diplomatic. He was distended for greatness. Olidie clapped his hands, summoning the decrypted old witch from her tent. Shrouded in her brown cloak the ancient hag slowly slinked her hunched form into the center of the circle. She reached her bony hand into the folds of her robes, removing a black leather pouch. Her joints are cracking as she knelt in the dirt, she pushed her hood back, revealing her shrivelled liver-spotted face and stark white blind eyes.

Chanting and shaking the bag of bones, she drew an attentive hush from the spectators. Spilling the bleached bones onto a bronze platter, someone had placed in front of her; her bony hand outstretched over the formation. She scraped her nails across the platter chanting softly, then lifted her hands to the sky and cried out to the gods. There was a moment of silence as she studied the bones on the platter before her.

            “The journey home will send many of our brethren to the icy depths.” She hissed through missing teeth. “Shall we stay our land will be blessed with bounty. We shall prosper.” Her old voice crackled.

            “Then Odin smiles on us.” Olidie clapped his hands joyously.

The old witch’s hand flew up to halt the rejoicing men. “But there is a price. Dawn will come where the Valkyrior will descend on us, depleting our numbers by half; and you…” She lifted her thin arm outstretched before her. Her bony finger pointed squarely at Dax. “…you will take your place in Valhalla. Your heart will bring your downfall.”

            Dax took a breath, his fate revealed, he never feared death, but to know his time was to end soon was unnerving. If they stayed, he faced cretin death. He was no coward if he was to die, so be it. A pleased smile graced his handsome face. “If I am destined to take my place in Odin’s army, I say let us get started on that settlement.” To die, a warrior’s death was an honour. To fall in a grand battle and take his place with the greatest warriors of past generations was a dream of any good warrior. No man wanted to die of old age, to sit at Hel’s table, and it was comforting to know he would not suffer that humiliation.

            Olidie rose from his seat to address his people. “The time for deliberation is over. Let us put the matter to a vote.” The vote went around, each freeman giving his yea or nay on the matter. “Then it is unanimous; we winter on English shores.”

***                             

            Tess ran her hands over her belly-flattening out the wrinkles, examining the women's handy work. Her new dress fit considerably better than it had that morning. It had been taken in five inches in the waist and four in the shoulders. The hemline had been brought up more than six inches and still covered her feet. The woollen fabric brushed the ground as she walked, but at least she could walk without lifting her skirt out of fear of tripping on the hem.

            “This a wee bit better,” Susie observed.

            “Still a tad long.” Hanna pointed out. They had worked for hours stopping to prepare the afternoon meal for their masters and teaching Tess to make a stew; a meal which Dax refused when she had brought it to him. His attention preoccupied with the gathering. Tess had returned the serving to the pot with great irritation. She had worked all morning on that meal with Marian only for him to discard her efforts, the least he could have done tasted it. He further added to her irritation at the evening meal when he took a mouth full of soup and spat it back in the bowl. “Good god woman that is vile.” To hell with him any way he could prepare his damned meals.

            “It shall have to do; we need best be finishing our work before the day’s end,” Susie added reminding Hanna they were grossly behind schedule.

            “There’s more work?” Tess sighed, wondering if there was no end. She had assisted Marian with two meals and five loads of washing. Her hands were wrinkled and raw from the water.

            “There is always more work,” Hanna said sweetly breaking the bad news to the pampered lady. “Now we must gather the dishes and clean them for the morning.”

            “More water.” Tess wined.

            The tent flap opened, and a dark, middle-aged man entered the small space. He was smaller than the others, thin and tall. He nodded his head to Tess and then spoke to the women in the Norse’s language. Tess listened intently studying their faces trying to decipher what they might have been saying. Hanna gestured for the man to sit. He called outside and was joined by two others. A young boy coming into his manhood, and a short, redheaded man her age, both staring at Tess as they came in and sat cross-legged on the dirt floor. Hanna dished each a bowl of leftover soup they had each taking the offering gratefully thanking her.

            “Tess dear this dark fellow is Nabu, he was captured in a place called Africa two years ago, he does not speak English, but he has picked up quickly on the Norse native tongue. The lad is Robert; they brought him back as a babe, said his parents were dead and he would be too if they had not taken him.” Hanna explained to Tess.

            “I am sure his parents’ death was by their hand, undoubtedly.” Tess scoffed.

            “It is possible. This young fellow is Angus. He has been with us going on five years now. They take him on the ships as a scout.”

            “A scout?”

            “I run out ahead and make sure the land is safe. If I get killed, they turn around and go somewhere else?” The man elaborated, stuffing his mouth with food.

            “How can they be sure you’ll come back?” Tess inquired wondering why he had not used these opportunities to escape.

            “They are excellent trackers. If ye do not return in three days’ time, they track ye down and kill ye like a dog. They always find ye. I ‘ave saw it happen, I prefer my head right where it is.” He smirked, his accent was thick, obviously one of Susie’s countrymen. “We've got our work cut out for us these next days with the settlement and all.” He commented, shovelling more food into his mouth.

            “Ain’t it grand, a winter in jolly ol’ England!” Hanna clapped her hands. She had not spent a winter on her home shores in what felt like a lifetime. The news Nabu brought them greatly welcomed.

            “What?” Tess asked. “We are still on English shores?”

            “Why yes, love we are, and it would appear we are staying.”

             Tess was unsure she had heard them correctly. It was a perfectly well-known fact, in the fifteen years that the north men had been sacking English shores they had never settled for the winter. It was a time of security for her countrymen. “They are staying?”

            “Sounds like. They voted it in the Thing this afternoon, and the final word was settled. We start come dawn.”

            “They never winter on English shores.” Tess declared torn between hope and dread. If she remained in England, she might be found. However, if she were not, the barbarians would have all winter to plunder her homeland.

            “They will survive this winter. We start building in the morning; the goal is to have the village up completed by snowfall.” Angus added with a flirtatious wink to the pretty new addition.

            Tess was taken aback by his boldness. “Good Sir, I beg you to remember yourself.” Tess scolded.

            The men laughed. “So ye belong to the Demon now, must be a change.” Angus teased.

            “It is an adjustment,” Tess confirmed her back straight and her hands folded properly in her lap.

            “Look at her. She must have bred.”

            “A noble, she was.” Susie nodded.

            “Ye, do not say! Blueblood. He always did go for the prize of the pick when choosing his spoils.” Angus smirked. “When the Demon tires of ye, ye shan’t have difficulties finding a warm bed ’round all these men.”

            Tess shot up stomping her foot in the dirt, outraged by his insinuation. “I am an English Lady, good Sir, not some Scott w***e. I would bid you remember that.”

            Susie and Angus threw down their food and rose to their defence, their tempers flaring. “Listen here; ye pampered English whelp…” Susie snapped offended by Tess’ choice of reference. “We all be doin' what we must survive, and ye be doin’ the same soon enough. Ye say ye ain’t no w***e like myself or any of the rest of us, but if ye be beddin’ Dax like we all assume ye be, then lass ye need be comin’ back to earth, ye be made a w***e, and that isn't going to be changing none. No need to be ashamed of it. No one here faults ye; we are all like ye; we all want to be livin' another day. If spreading me, legs will accomplish that than spread them I will. Ye will too when the time comes.”

            The tent flap opened, and a large bearded Norseman barked at the small group of thralls finishing their meagre meals. They leapt to their feet and scurried out of the tent one by one each getting a smack on the back of the head as they passed him. His grey eyes were as cold as the blade of his sword, peering at them through thin slit eyelids, his bushy brows drawn together in disapproval. Hanna took Tess’ arm and nudged her toward the exit. “Come, darling; he is telling us we should not be loafing about.” She translated in a whisper.

            “Loafing about, who is loafing? It is the first chance we had to sit all day.” Tess complained resenting that she was being rushed through the first thing she had to eat all day.

            “Come now your Ladyship, do not push your luck, he is not friendly, and he does not much care for repeating himself. They are celebrating the decision to stay in England. They want ale, and we are to make sure their mugs stay full.”

            “Did they not celebrate just last night?”

            “Tess darling you have a lot to learn. These people love fighting, sailing, and drinking. They would celebrate the sun rising. Now hurry along.” Hanna whispered ducking through the flap and receiving a backhanded blow to the head. She held the back of her head as she limped away.

            Tess nervously slipped through instinctively dodging the smack he offered her. His rage invoked when he missed. The gall of the insolent thrall to defend herself. His hand flew up to strike her down; she would not stand when he was through with her. Tess backed against the tent, cornered by the massive man preparing to beat her. She closed her eyes tight, braising herself for the crippling blow.

***

            Dax spotted the scene in progress; it would appear Tess had angered one of his countrymen and not one of the better natured one. Dax tossed his mug to the ground. Quickly he rose and closed the distance between them with four long strides. A hand came up intercepting the swing. “Do not damage my property, Kenium.” He barked in their language. He positioned himself between Kenium and Tess. He could feel Tess lean into him cowering; using his body to shield herself.

Kenium was not one to back down.

            “She needs to learn her place.” His comrade snipped glaring at him through his dark eyes with one ghastly scar across the left one. Kenium was a vicious brute of massive stature, with naturally dark hair and a full beard that he frequently bleached with lye like so many of his other countrymen who had not been blessed with golden locks. He was as broad as an ox and as smart as one. Kenium was known for his obsession over tradition and station, both of which Tess offended.

            “Her place is where I say it is. She is my new plaything, and I do not like bruises on my women.” Dax growled bending the man’s arm back. “If we must debate this further we can settle this with Hednalagen. Do we have an understanding?” Dax jerked the arm. Further, his opponents face twisted in pain. “Of course, I could just break your arm and call it settled.”

            Dax released Kenium; a scowl shot his way. “A thrall ain’t worth it, but one day Dax we will settle this over another matter, something worth dying for.”

            “I look forward to the day.” Dax snipped mockingly as his countrymen slinked off to nurse his arm.

“Cut her damned hair,” Kenium yelled back, “we do not want someone mistaking her for a maiden.”

 Ignoring him, Dax turned and stared down at Tess who was cowering. His expression softened, and his language is changing back to English. “This is becoming a habit; you seem to have a natural ability for getting into trouble.”

            “And you for coming to my rescue.” Tess took the hand he offered; his favour was more desirable than the alternative. If she stayed in his good graces, he would keep her from the wrath of the less desirable residences in camp.

            Dax led Tess toward the festivities. Retrieving his mug from the ground and briefly moping about his spilt ale. What a shame, Dax held his emptied mug to Tess and dropped into a sprawl over a long bench carved from half a log. “Fill it up and stay close.” He ordered. Tess is glancing at the ale barrels surrounded by rowdy, aggressive men and her scowling attacker. Dax smirked at her hesitation. “No one will touch you; you have my word.” He tried to ease her anxiety. His attempt is useless.

            “I refuse to place myself in that situation; eventually, you will become drunk and unable to defend me.” Tess outright refused.

            She was bold; he would give her that, to speak to him in such a defiant tone, a testament to her breeding. A woman is more accustomed to giving orders instead of taking them. “They would not dare to touch you, impaired or not, they will not cross me.”

            Tess scoffed. “Liquid courage motivates men to do what they otherwise would not.” Tess quipped, staring him down. She dared to challenge him here in this place in front of his countrymen. Dax felt his ire rise. She put him in a difficult spot challenging him as she did.

            “Move along,” Dax repeated slapping her bottom playfully trying hard not to let things get to him.

            “I will not.” She said, forcing the mug back into his hands. “Get it yourself. I am tired of playing your servant.”

            Did she seriously defy him? Dax looked around to see his countrymen laughing at him. “The Demon cannot control his woman.” One snickered drawing a collective laugh from those around them. No, this would not do. Dax threw the mug to the ground and tossed a surprised Tess over his shoulder. His arms are holding down her legs, so she could not kick him. Tess screamed and beat her tiny fists against his back.

            “Put me down you brute!” She screamed squirming and turning sideways to strike him in the back of the head. She squirmed so much he nearly dropped her. Dax carried her into his tent and threw her onto the furs. Tess scrambled to her feet and shoved him hard, but he didn’t budge as she took out her frustrations on him, screaming and punching him as hard as a woman as small as she could. “I hate you! I hate this place! I hate-”

            That was enough, Dax shoved Tess, and she fell back onto the furs. He was so furious he wanted to scream at her, but his mind was racing, and the words just would not come to him, so he started ranting in his language knowing she had no idea what he was saying, but it didn’t matter he just needed to vent. She tried to get up again, and he shoved her back onto the bed. She was going nowhere, and he was not going to tolerate her tantrum, the spoiled little wench.