Part 33 (2/2)
Ragnor walked with Hagan to greet the monks as they arrived.
”You have given up G.o.d's way of peace and taken to the sword?” Hagan demanded.
”This is G.o.d's battle we wage. Against those who would steal the dead, not the living.”
”Monk, you make no sense,” Hagan said flatly.
Ragnor turned to start to the center of the village. The place held an eerie calm. It seemed that no creatures had been spared. Horses and dogs and farm animals lay about in the midst of slaughtered humans.
”There is something evil here,” Gudric warned. Grudgingly, he indicated Peter. ”As the monk says, the G.o.ds would fear to tread here.”
The Nors.e.m.e.n continued forward. Hearing a hacking sound, Ragnor turned to see that Peter was industriously engaged in removing the head of a fallen man.
”Peter!” he remonstrated, more in amazement than in disgust or anger.
”We will cremate them with prayers,” Peter said, as if that explained his actions. ”Let's look to the living,” Hagan said.
They kept walking and came to the village church. As they stood there, the door creaked ajar. The brothers looked at one another. Hagan shrugged his shoulders. ”Who wants to live forever?” he queried lightly.
”I'll go first,” Ragnor said and shrugged as well. ”I am the seventh son.”
”We go together.”
”It is just a church.”
They took a step closer. The door burst open. A child came flying out; she buried herself in Hagan, who was so startled he nearly fell over.
A young man appeared, a mere boy with no more than a scruff of hair on his cheeks.
”We ran to the church when they descended,” he blurted out. ”Oh, G.o.d, can you understand me? We are all that's left. They-they attacked the sheep and the cows. I saw my father ...”
He said no more. He collapsed. The monks had come from behind. One of them helped the boy up.
”How many live?”
”Fifteen, twenty ... all in the church.”
”Start building a barricade!” Hagan roared to his men.
”You build your barricade,” Peter said. ”But I am telling you-you will be safe in the church.”
”We must build defenses-” Ragnor said.
”Then you must,” Peter told him. ”And we must do what we must do. Son,” he asked the boy, ”where are the others?”
”Coming out now that... that we see you.”
At that moment, more people spilled out of the church. Those behind were so frenzied, they pushed those in front forward.
A woman catapulted into Ragnor's arms. She steadied herself against his chest and looked up at him with large dark eyes. Dark brown hair tumbled down her back. Her kirtle was ripped and torn, she was dusty, her cheek was bruised. She was beautiful.
”Thank G.o.d!” she whispered to him.
He stared at her.
”You're here, you've come. You didn't lie to my father, my chieftain.”
”We've come too late.”
”But you will keep the rest of us alive!”
”We will, or we will the with you,” he promised.
”Alan-help the men find what remains of our tools. Mary, help me get together water, and what food we can find.”
Her hands were still against him. ”We will fight with you, or die!” she said softly.
He watched her as she drew her hands back and walked around him with a determined sway of her hips.
”Let's get going! Darkness comes quickly!”
”To the dead, my brothers,” Peter said to his monks.
Ragnor shook his head, but the monks went to work with ferocious energy, collecting the animals and the people. A great crematory bonfire was lit. The smell of the roasting flesh was ghastly.
Even to a Viking, Hagan told him woefully.
By nightfall, Peter insisted they all go into the church. Hagan agreed. Nors.e.m.e.n did not fear the dark, he a.s.sured Peter, but his men were worn. The church afforded the best center of defense, with the spiked wall they had built circling around it.
Hours pa.s.sed. The surviving women had gathered what food and water they could. The chieftain's daughter came to Ragnor's guard post by a window, standing by him as he looked out on the moonlit night.
”Hagan says another man will take watch. You are to eat,” she told him. ”Come, I have food for you.”
She led him to a corner where the hard wooden benches had been drawn together, creating an awkward table.
He ate, wolfing down his food, then looking at her. ”Have I taken your share?”
”If you had, you would have been welcome. I am in your service ... though, of course, your kind take what you will.”
He sat back. ”My kind?”
She shrugged. ”Vikings.”
”Ah. Vikings.”
She lowered her head for a moment, then stared at him again, smiling ruefully. ”All right. Perhaps it is not just Vikings.”
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