one of them was armed to the teeth with swords, daggers, spears and axes. They carried large wooden shields, brightly painted with complex scenes from some distant pantheon of war gods or heraldic sagas. Helmets covered their monstrous, bearded faces.
A powerful man, obviously the leader of the heathen horde, stepped into the room, crossing massive arms over his bare, muscular chest. Thick, decorative gold bands encircled each of his biceps, and tooled leather bands clasped his thick forearms.
A triumphant sneer wiped itself across his tanned face, as he perused the scene before him. Bright, white teeth contrasted with his bronzed skin, and his startling, sapphire eyes shone with victorious satisfaction. Long, golden hair fell loosely about his wide shoulders, and it reached down a broad back that wielded a wicked, gleaming battle axe. His chiseled chin was tipped with a blonde beard and his chest bore the tattooed markings of a warrior.
A demonic aura emanated from his very being, as if he believed himself infallible, and, indeed invincible. The arrogant man didn’t even bother to wear a helmet or armor. He must have believed himself a god, as indestructible as almighty Thor himself.
Elizabeth realized at once who the men were.
Vikings!
Northmen, Danes, Nordics, Scandinavians...It mattered naught what name they be called. The words struck terror into the hearts of all God-fearing Anglo-Saxon men, women and children throughout the four kingdoms of England. Their reign of terror had reached as far as Ireland, Wales and Normandy. Even the fierce, war-like peoples of Scotland, the mountainous highlanders who had repelled the indomitable Romans, had not been spared the Vikings’ wrath.
The raids had begun without notice, with the malicious attacks on Dartmoor and Lindisfarne Abbey, and had been unrelenting ever since. What’s worse, the unholy marauders seemed to prey specifically on unguarded convents and monasteries where they knew they would encounter no resistance to their destruction. Defenseless nuns and monks were killed outright, taken for slaves, or thrown off cliffs and left to drown, while their churches and priories where pillaged for gold, silver and jewels.
When the Danes dared attack a village, they did so exclusively on the Sabbath day, and only when the unsuspecting townspeople where unarmed at mass.
The raging looters had no fear of the Cross or of the Christian God.
“ God morgen !” the master of the raiders shouted abruptly, his deep voice reverberating from the walls.
The man was a giant.
They all were.
Elizabeth came to her feet, quaking with fear, but she couldn’t pull her eyes away from him. His penetrating eyes settled on her, drinking in every detail of her partially-obscured face. His eyes slid down over her body appreciatively, stripping her nun’s habit right from her flesh. A sarcastic smirk split his face.
He uttered a command to his men under his breath.
All hell broke loose.
The abbess screamed. Some of the women scurried to take cover under the tables, terrified eyes peering out in fear at the foul ogres who invaded their sanctuary. Others remained seated, heads bowed and lips moving in silent, fervent prayer for help from above. A few began to wail and cry, pleading hysterically with the fiends to leave. Sister Mary, bless her heart, held a wooden cross at the savage beasts, chanting the Ave Maria rhythmically over and over, as if to exorcise these devils from her sight. Finally, the abbess fainted.
The heinous intruders moved quickly, throwing everything of value into big burlap sacks. They ripped gold crosses straight off the walls, pried silver spoons out of the fingers of the startled sisters, and even stripped them of their personal eating knives. Candle sticks, gilded picture frames, lanterns, incense holders and jewel studded chalices were thrown into their bags of plunder. The kitchen was raided for copper, bronze and brass. Every object made of metal,
A powerful man, obviously the leader of the heathen horde, stepped into the room, crossing massive arms over his bare, muscular chest. Thick, decorative gold bands encircled each of his biceps, and tooled leather bands clasped his thick forearms.
A triumphant sneer wiped itself across his tanned face, as he perused the scene before him. Bright, white teeth contrasted with his bronzed skin, and his startling, sapphire eyes shone with victorious satisfaction. Long, golden hair fell loosely about his wide shoulders, and it reached down a broad back that wielded a wicked, gleaming battle axe. His chiseled chin was tipped with a blonde beard and his chest bore the tattooed markings of a warrior.
A demonic aura emanated from his very being, as if he believed himself infallible, and, indeed invincible. The arrogant man didn’t even bother to wear a helmet or armor. He must have believed himself a god, as indestructible as almighty Thor himself.
Elizabeth realized at once who the men were.
Vikings!
Northmen, Danes, Nordics, Scandinavians...It mattered naught what name they be called. The words struck terror into the hearts of all God-fearing Anglo-Saxon men, women and children throughout the four kingdoms of England. Their reign of terror had reached as far as Ireland, Wales and Normandy. Even the fierce, war-like peoples of Scotland, the mountainous highlanders who had repelled the indomitable Romans, had not been spared the Vikings’ wrath.
The raids had begun without notice, with the malicious attacks on Dartmoor and Lindisfarne Abbey, and had been unrelenting ever since. What’s worse, the unholy marauders seemed to prey specifically on unguarded convents and monasteries where they knew they would encounter no resistance to their destruction. Defenseless nuns and monks were killed outright, taken for slaves, or thrown off cliffs and left to drown, while their churches and priories where pillaged for gold, silver and jewels.
When the Danes dared attack a village, they did so exclusively on the Sabbath day, and only when the unsuspecting townspeople where unarmed at mass.
The raging looters had no fear of the Cross or of the Christian God.
“ God morgen !” the master of the raiders shouted abruptly, his deep voice reverberating from the walls.
The man was a giant.
They all were.
Elizabeth came to her feet, quaking with fear, but she couldn’t pull her eyes away from him. His penetrating eyes settled on her, drinking in every detail of her partially-obscured face. His eyes slid down over her body appreciatively, stripping her nun’s habit right from her flesh. A sarcastic smirk split his face.
He uttered a command to his men under his breath.
All hell broke loose.
The abbess screamed. Some of the women scurried to take cover under the tables, terrified eyes peering out in fear at the foul ogres who invaded their sanctuary. Others remained seated, heads bowed and lips moving in silent, fervent prayer for help from above. A few began to wail and cry, pleading hysterically with the fiends to leave. Sister Mary, bless her heart, held a wooden cross at the savage beasts, chanting the Ave Maria rhythmically over and over, as if to exorcise these devils from her sight. Finally, the abbess fainted.
The heinous intruders moved quickly, throwing everything of value into big burlap sacks. They ripped gold crosses straight off the walls, pried silver spoons out of the fingers of the startled sisters, and even stripped them of their personal eating knives. Candle sticks, gilded picture frames, lanterns, incense holders and jewel studded chalices were thrown into their bags of plunder. The kitchen was raided for copper, bronze and brass. Every object made of metal,
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