ranks, their armored passengers hurling iron-tipped javelins among the enemy with deadly accuracy. What but moments before had been a solid front of opposition dissolved into individual frenzied groups swirling about to face riders who slashed at them from every side.
Again I lifted my staff high, motioned my warriors forward, and we went among them with the sacred names of the gods escaping our lips. The battle was won before it began. Christians by the dozens dropped their weapons and fled toward the false safety of their church and village. My men afoot swarmed and battered those few who stood firm while mounted warriors pursued and hacked down every man who would flee.
I strolled unarmed and unconcerned among the fighting as stout men of both sides grunted, cursed, bled and died about me. Distinct images—a raised shield, a brawny arm holding a sword high, a rearing horse, arrows hanging suspended against the gray sky.
The Christian priest was among the fallen. I stood above him as he gasped away the waning moments of his life, his profane blood corrupting Mother Earth’s hallowed soil. Grasping fingers clawed toward a small golden crucifix lying where he had dropped it just beyond the abilities of his feeble reach. His pleading eyes locked onto mine.
The crucifix was no larger than my finger, but solid gold it was and it would join the growing pile of plunder that would purchase provisions for my men. The trinket quickly found its way into the leather purse at my belt and I strode away from the priest as light left his face forever.
The fighting continued until not a Christian was left standing. My men walked among the fallen ensuring that none still breathed. Afterwards they gathered about me, some grim, others holding expectant grins on their battle-grimed faces.
“Bring our wounded there,” I pointed to a tree, “and I will treat them. You there,” I nodded to a young warrior, “do you hurry back up the hill and bring down my bundle, for there are medicines and bandages in it.”
I rubbed the tension and tiredness from my eyes before continuing. “The rest of you—burn the church and make a good job of it.” I pointed to one of men. “Aimhirghin knows this village well and he tells me that a few of its people remain loyal to the Lordly Ones. Oak-leaf wreaths hang upon their doors. Remember that, for they must not be molested or disturbed in any way. As for everything else in the village, it is yours. Take what you will.”
I walked toward the tree to serve the wounded; my heart long since hardened against that which would befall Christians within the village. As was custom, the children would come to no harm, though all males capable of wielding a sword would be killed. As for the fate of the women, few if any would be killed, but they knelt before priests and I regarded them no higher than their men.
* * *
The merchant stood in the back of his open wagon and heaved a bag of barley to the ground atop a gathering pile. Behind him the rolling grasslands of the midlands stretched into the distance. Our supplies were low and I had anxiously anticipated his arrival at our camp. Word of our mission and victories spread across the country. During the past month ten to twenty new warriors arrived every day and my small army had swollen to six hundred fighting men.
He glanced down at me as he reached for another bag. “I’m telling you, sir, it’s not easy finding folk willing to sell their stores in these hard times. Some kings are selling off everything in their granaries at high prices. It’s a crying shame what they’re doing if you ask me.”
I leaned against his wagon, my arm propped atop a wheel. “So kings enrich themselves while their people starve?”
“Right you are, sir. Such treatment of their people is inhuman, I say.”
My eyes roved from the man to the meadow in the background where there was stirring within our camp. “Inhuman? I think not. Humans come in many forms and are
Again I lifted my staff high, motioned my warriors forward, and we went among them with the sacred names of the gods escaping our lips. The battle was won before it began. Christians by the dozens dropped their weapons and fled toward the false safety of their church and village. My men afoot swarmed and battered those few who stood firm while mounted warriors pursued and hacked down every man who would flee.
I strolled unarmed and unconcerned among the fighting as stout men of both sides grunted, cursed, bled and died about me. Distinct images—a raised shield, a brawny arm holding a sword high, a rearing horse, arrows hanging suspended against the gray sky.
The Christian priest was among the fallen. I stood above him as he gasped away the waning moments of his life, his profane blood corrupting Mother Earth’s hallowed soil. Grasping fingers clawed toward a small golden crucifix lying where he had dropped it just beyond the abilities of his feeble reach. His pleading eyes locked onto mine.
The crucifix was no larger than my finger, but solid gold it was and it would join the growing pile of plunder that would purchase provisions for my men. The trinket quickly found its way into the leather purse at my belt and I strode away from the priest as light left his face forever.
The fighting continued until not a Christian was left standing. My men walked among the fallen ensuring that none still breathed. Afterwards they gathered about me, some grim, others holding expectant grins on their battle-grimed faces.
“Bring our wounded there,” I pointed to a tree, “and I will treat them. You there,” I nodded to a young warrior, “do you hurry back up the hill and bring down my bundle, for there are medicines and bandages in it.”
I rubbed the tension and tiredness from my eyes before continuing. “The rest of you—burn the church and make a good job of it.” I pointed to one of men. “Aimhirghin knows this village well and he tells me that a few of its people remain loyal to the Lordly Ones. Oak-leaf wreaths hang upon their doors. Remember that, for they must not be molested or disturbed in any way. As for everything else in the village, it is yours. Take what you will.”
I walked toward the tree to serve the wounded; my heart long since hardened against that which would befall Christians within the village. As was custom, the children would come to no harm, though all males capable of wielding a sword would be killed. As for the fate of the women, few if any would be killed, but they knelt before priests and I regarded them no higher than their men.
* * *
The merchant stood in the back of his open wagon and heaved a bag of barley to the ground atop a gathering pile. Behind him the rolling grasslands of the midlands stretched into the distance. Our supplies were low and I had anxiously anticipated his arrival at our camp. Word of our mission and victories spread across the country. During the past month ten to twenty new warriors arrived every day and my small army had swollen to six hundred fighting men.
He glanced down at me as he reached for another bag. “I’m telling you, sir, it’s not easy finding folk willing to sell their stores in these hard times. Some kings are selling off everything in their granaries at high prices. It’s a crying shame what they’re doing if you ask me.”
I leaned against his wagon, my arm propped atop a wheel. “So kings enrich themselves while their people starve?”
“Right you are, sir. Such treatment of their people is inhuman, I say.”
My eyes roved from the man to the meadow in the background where there was stirring within our camp. “Inhuman? I think not. Humans come in many forms and are
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