Aeleva; The Viking Saxon

Chapter 2

The ship sliced through the swell of the sea. Each jerk threw me to the side of the ship. The splintered wood left pins in my side. The Viking sail was always full and the painted dragon led us through the waters. The sun burned every exposed part of me and the saltwater that hissed up from the battering of the ship hardened my skin and matted my hair. At night I would try my best to focus on the pain of my body and not the barbarism that slaughtered my family.

There was one thread of hope. One golden string, that I wove into a masterpiece and blocked the darkness that encompassed me. My brother Osric. I did not see his body torn and twisted. And so I knew that he had to be alive. I knew he escaped. I knew he was smart. I prayed that he was alive. I bargained with God that he would be alive. If he was dead, I was dead. And every part of me was gone.

The swaying subsided and the boat rocked against a pier. And in an instant, I was plummeted into Daneland.

I raised my head as the boat was pulled flush against the pier. The pagan people swarmed in the town. Thousands and thousands of Heathens crammed into the winding streets and stout houses. Some clutching fruit that tumbled to the floor as they pleaded with passers-by to purchase them. Children darted in and out of legs, around the wooden huts with strong timber frames and thatched roofs. The sea blew the stench of rotten fish through the piers to mix with the smell of unwashed sailors. Boats scattered the seas, pagan sails plagued the waters with images of one-eyed ravens, wolves and eagles. One ship alone carried more people than in my village. Of those docked, scores and scores of men coughed up from the boats, each hauling treasures and Saxon slaves.

My ropes were tugged and I was herded with the rest of the Saxons off the ship and onto Danish soil. We captured and broken Christians were pulled through the town. Blood drained from my already ghostly face at the sight of all the swords and axes that winked at me in the midday sun. Those wielding them boldly stared at us. They grabbed at our hair and shoved us around. The faces jeered at us, some had their skin corrupted by ink with patterns of trees or runes. We were wholly outnumbered.

Hagen was dragging me up towards the centre of the port town. He tugged at my ropes and I hissed at the pain of my blistered skin beneath them. The scar-faced man whose leg I cut, limped beside him. The sun went cold as we walked under a doorway. A stuffed eagle was hammered into the wood on the door frame and I crossed myself to protected me from its pagan curses.

The air was smoky and thick. Warm from the bodies and sweet with sweat. The moment Hagen entered; the people inside hushed. He walked forward to a clearing in the people, before a man on a stage.

"Ver Heil og sᴂll," The man on the stage spoke and his voice echoed around. He had long, long hair. It cascaded down his back in one long rope, adorned with gold and silver. He had small beady eyes, that were swallowed in blackness. The leather tunic he wore had an eagle hammered into it. His two huge arms were extended out in greeting to Hagen.

Hagen kneeled on one knee and I found myself compelled to do the same.

"Heil sᴂll," Hagen said and slowly rose back up. He turned to the scared faced man and gestured to bring forward the chest.

Sailors and men heaved two great sacks and a solid wooden chest before the man on the platform. Hagen spoke to him in Danish, producing polished treasures as he continued.

The man on the stage, remained stern although with each presentation his face softened. The gold and jewels Hagen presented had been snatched from my home, and this man's greed grew with a rapid pace as the gold glinted in his eyes.

The people in the room whispered when Christian prizes were paraded around. In that hall, even woman looked like warriors. My belly shifted when I saw their swords and axes. These women acted as if they were warriors as if the weapons were welded right into their hands. As if it belonged.