Tales of Infamy (Viking)

8 - Ailmær

It had been a while since I rode a horse. None of us fell off luckily, but we weren't exactly comfortable either.

I lead our small company. Behind me were Reifr and Rikard, closely followed by two men Skarde trusted: Yngvi and Øfden. On my right hand side was the thrall, whose name was Osmund.

"How did you learn our language?" I asked him. When I spoke to him with Skarde and Fálki we were mainly concerned with what he knew of the people in charge around here. I was curious where he had learned it all.

"My father took in an injured viking when I was little. He healed from his wounds and helped in the village." Osmund answered. He was given his own horse, but a tight rope around his own neck prevented him from leaving. I had it in my hands, one good yank and he would be in the mud.

"This viking still around?" I asked. Osmund shook his head. He seemed almost sad about it.

I had never seen anything like it before, and thanked the gods that we came across the settlement and not this beast.

The walls of the city were high and made of stone blocks. On top of which were even higher towers with archers and soldiers patrolling them. There was one large, wooden gate in front of which we halted. I should have asked for the weight of a horse in gold.

The guards did not have their weapons pointed at us, but they were gripping them in their hands. Even my horse got nervous by this, and left a nice present for them right at their front door. The doors were opened from the inside, though the guards who had done so were eager to get out of our way. I urged my horse forward, and my friends were quick to follow.

We had nothing like this back home. We did not have walls, we did not have towers. Everything was built low to the ground. England was lucky. Our terrain was much harder, our winters were ruthless. I wanted to learn as much as I could about their way of life. To see what we could use and make ourselves better than our neighbours.

The people of this city looked at us as we walked by. Some held little trinkets in their hands, and made weird gestures across their own chest when we made eye contact. I heard Øfden laugh behind me, and could not help but crack a smile too. These christians were really something else.

The streets were crowded, but they left us a clear path that led directly to the largest house in the city. I had never seen anything like it before. A house did not even seem to be the name for such a magical place. Odin himself must have crafted it and placed it before us. A warning perhaps, do not underestimate the christians.

I felt my necklace press against my chest. It did this sometimes, as I was sure Thyra enchanted it. I could feel it whenever I needed reassurance that I was doing the right thing. The sun was hidden behind clouds today. Perhaps it was for the best, I needed to focus on this. Not her.

We all got off our horses, and a group of little boys walked forward to take the reins from us and lead them away. Øfden laughed again, commenting about the size of their men. It was true that we were a bit taller. But the people at the house seemed wider than us, so at least they had that going for them.

I stepped forward, yanking Osmund along with me.

"Lord Eadwald, I thank you for your invitation." I said in his language, as I had practised with Osmund. "This is Osmund, my slave and our translator. Reifr and Rikard, my brothers, and Yngvi and Øfden, my warriors."

The lord immediately started spewing out more gibberish to me, making grand gestures with his arms and smiling for his people. He was a round man, though he did have a sword on his belt. His hair fell lifeless alongside his face, and his beard was nothing more than a faint stubble. This is a saksen man alright.

"Lord Eadwald welcomes you into his city, and hopes that you are impressed by his god fearing people. He shows you his wife, three daughters and two sons. But asks you to pardon him for not introducing every person in the city." Osmund said to me, as the crowd around us burst out in laughter over the lord's joke. My friends and I thought this was funny too, though not for his joke.

"What does god fearing mean?" I asked Osmund.

"That they are devoted to serving our lord and heed his words." He answered. I couldn't help but raise my eyebrows at this. Still, I felt all the eyes of the city on me and returned to my conversation with this strange man.

"Thank you for your warm welcome." I said, and Osmund started translating. "This certainly is a city I will remember."