PART TWO
~ A Maiden There Lived Whom You May Know ~
The sentinel of the Kongen’s Gull had heard the screaming and panic. The king’s guard had also scattered, pulling the king with them, but there was no knowing where the man had been taken. There were hiding places, including the vault, but the fact that they didn’t bring him down to the vault must have meant their actions would have been seen. Which meant the Northmen must have somehow made their way into the longhouse. More screams and scuffling overhead.
The sentinel braced for battle.
Heart racing, mouth dry with fear, the sentinel stood poised, waiting. But the wait was not excessive, for it was as the sentinel had feared – the Northmen were already in the longhouse. One, the sentinel could see, was heading down the stairs, cautiously.
The figure of the enemy was illuminated from behind, a tall and broad silhouette in the darkness. He was moving warily, but deliberately, his enormous sword in front of him to ward off any attackers that might jump out at him from the darkness. In this dank-smelling chamber with its rough-hewn walls of stone, the enemy continued to come.
The sentinel was fearful but prepared. Sword lifted, the sentinel waited for the coming strike, bracing for the first blow. But, much to the sentinel’s surprise, the advancing Northman came to a halt about halfway down the tunnel. The sentinel was fairly certain that it was to allow his eyes to become accustomed to the darkness, but there was still something very tense and terrifying about the pause. The very tall Northman simply stood there and waited, patiently, as if his inactivity would drive the sentinel mad with apprehension. It almost worked, but the sentinel managed to remain calm. Finally, the Northman spoke.
“Do you understand my words?” he asked in his language.
Surprisingly, the sentinel nodded but didn’t lower the weapon. The Northman continued.
“I seek the king,” he said. “Tell me his location and I shall not harm you.”
The sentinel didn’t believe him for a minute. The helmed head shook back and forth, and the Northman cocked his head.
“Are you daft?” he asked. “Can you not speak?”
The sentinel didn’t reply for a moment. Then, the helmed head bobbed up and down, once. “I can speak.”
The Northman, who had, to this point, been wearing a helm in the Teutonic fashion, stolen, with a face plate, suddenly lifted the face plate.
“A woman?” he hissed in disgust. “Does your king force a woman to guard him?”
The sentinel shook her head again. “He does not force me to do anything,” she said. “I do what I was taught to do.”
Now the Northman was even more confused. “Who taught you this disgraceful thing?” he demanded. “Who would permit a woman to guard the king?”
The sentinel didn’t say anything for a moment; eyes the intense purplish-blue color of bluebells gazed steadily at the big Northman. “I do what I wish to do,” she said. “Now, if you are going to fight me, get on with it. I grow weary of speaking.”
The Northman’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. “I would not be so eager to die if I were you,” he said. “If I fight you, it will be over quickly.”
“I suppose we shall see.”
The Northman didn’t exactly want to fight a woman; much as killing helpless women was dishonorable, fighting one, even an armed one, was an embarrassing test of a warrior’s skills. He began to reconsider his position, looking around, seeing three doorways in the tunnel now that his vision had adjusted. Two doorways were close to him while the third, at the end of the tunnel, was evidently being guarded by the sentinel from the way she was standing in front of it. It began to occur to him that there must be something very valuable in the chamber she was guarding. He pointed his sword at the doorway behind her.
“Is your king in there?” he asked.
The sentinel’s sword remained in front of her. It had never wavered, not once. “I will not tell you,” she said. “You will have to kill me to know that answer.”
He sheathed his broadsword. “I do not have to kill you,” he said. “I will simply come over there, push you out of the way, and discover for myself.”
“I would advise you not to try.”
He grunted. Then, he chuckled. He couldn’t decide if he was disgusted or humored by her stance. He suddenly began moving towards the sentinel with the intention of carrying out that threat when she sliced her sword at him in a rather expert move, so close that she caught the sleeve of his arm and ended up nicking him. She would have sliced him severely if he hadn’t been wearing armored protection for his lower arms. His father wore the same thing, as had his father, who said he had gotten the idea of such protection from the ancient Romans. Still, she nicked him enough to draw blood and he fell back, inspecting the cut.
“I was attempting to do this in a way that would not see you harmed,” the Northman said, his tone dangerous. “I can see that I will have to do this in a way that simply sees my wishes accomplished. It is unfortunate.”
The sentinel kept her sword out, preparing for the worst and wondering if she would live to see the sunrise. She tried not to think of how scared she was; she only tried to think of what needed to be done.
“Do as you must,” she said. “As will I.”
“I am sorry for the path you have chosen.”
“We shall see who is sorry in the end.”
“Are you sure you want to do this?”
“Are you?”
Her answer inflamed him. The Northman didn’t hesitate; he unsheathed his sword as fast a lightning and charged her. The sentinel, seeing that she was about to be bowled over, stepped aside at the last minute and stuck out her foot, tripping the big Norseman so that he crashed head-first into the wall and knocked himself silly. As he fell to the ground, she yanked the sword out of his hand and tossed it far away down the tunnel where he could not retrieve it. Then, she stood over him, the tip of her sword to his neck.
And that was how he awoke when his senses returned.