EXTRACTS

 

EXTRACT ONE: FOUL PLAY

 

"Enter."

Edith Player opened the library door carefully, walked three paces forward and stooped into another deep curtsey. She kept her eyes downcast.

She waited five seconds and then rose from her position, before glancing at the tray on her Lordship's desk.

Lord Rolls was staring straight at her.

Edith felt her mouth turn dry. That morning there had been a mouse scurrying about loose in the scullery. Then Gosford, the house cat, had captured and toyed with it, before being shooed outdoors with the half-dead victim still in its jaws.

The expression Edith now saw on his Lordship's whiskery face was exactly the same as she'd seen on Gosford's earlier.

"Approach." His voice was educated, deep and authoritative.

"... My Lord." She whispered, walking up to his desk.

He smiled. Or what might have been a smile. His lips widened and she saw teeth. But there was no light in his eyes.

"How are you finding life here?"

Edith froze then managed to murmur, " ... thank you, my Lord."

"I asked how you're finding life, Player. Spit it out."

"It's ... fine, m ... my Lord."

She felt him looking at her, and right through her uniform. His dark eyes travelled from her hair and face, down to her ... bosom and belly ... all the way to her ... legs.

Edith was wearing the black dress and white apron she had been provided with as her uniform. But twenty percent of her first year's wages would be docked in repayment of the loan.

"And do you wish to keep your job?"

Lord Rolls evidently didn't beat around the bush. Edith had picked up on the glances and innuendo she'd heard in the servants' quarters.

She kept her voice as calm as she could.

"Very much so, my Lord."

Her eyes met his for just a fraction of a second before she lowered them to the floor. Edith thought of her family's desperate situation.

"Do you have any experience with boys? With men?"

Edith shook her head, feeling short of breath. Her heart was thumping and she had butterflies in her stomach.

"N ... no, Sir."

Lord Rolls was a heavyset man in his fifties. He grinned. He had black hair with gray at the temples, bushy eyebrows and whiskers, a red nose dotted with tiny purple blood vessels. He was wearing a dark 3-piece suit with a gold pocket watch chain strung across his waistcoat.

"I will speak plainly, Player. Theoretically you now have two choices. You will either do exactly as I say and you may keep your job. Or you can leave now without any references, accused of theft. I will ensure that you never get another position."

He opened his fleshy palms in a gesture that said 'up to you', before continuing.

"But in reality you have just one option, girl."

She blushed and nodded. "Wh ... what would you have me do, Sir?"

"Simple. Anything I tell you. I will teach you what to do."

"You mean ... amorous congress, Sir?"

He guffawed, mocking her.

"Amorous? No ... Player, of course not. Nothing 'amorous' about it. I simply mean Fucking! Sodomy! Fellatio ... and not only those things ... and not just with me."

Edith felt tears pricking her eyes. She had never heard such words before but could guess from his Lordship's manner what some of them might mean.

"Remove those clothes." He barked. "Now!"

She hesitated, starting to cry.

"Or I'll ring this bell and order you thrown straight onto the street. And I shall have your useless uncle who put you forward dismissed as well. Hurry up, I don't have time to waste with your dithering."

Slowly, Edith reached for the ties of her apron.

 

 

EXTRACT TWO: CUT

 

 

The two boys playing on the seashore had never seen a longboat. It emerged out of the dawn mist, like a dragon riding on white clouds. And the creaking of wooden oars - cutting so rhythmically and ominously through the water - was a sound the young boys had never heard before.

 

And when they saw not one dragon, but around twenty of them, they began to run.

 

The sleepy, coastal settlement lay near the south eastern edge of the Saxon kingdom of Northumbria, under the rule of King AElla. The location was an idyllic landscape of white-tipped waves, shingle beach and forest green scenery.

 

A mile from the sea, a ramshackle circle of timber houses had been constructed around the inhabitants' pride and joy; a wooden church. They bred and worshipped, farmed and fished. A corral of wooden fencing secured the communal wealth of the ninety-or-so settlers; their pigs, chickens, cows and a single bull.

 

The two 7-year-olds hurtled into the main square outside the church, where traders were already setting up for the day. Cedric, the blacksmith, was at his forge, hammering a new farming scythe. Thatcher was tending a fire ready to make his morning hot drink. Speck was hanging out the pink legs of slaughtered piglets at his butcher's stall.

 

The terrified twins dashed towards their own house, shouting about what they'd seen. Somebody laughed. Dragons flying on clouds, indeed! But, Seward, father of the twins and the settlement's leader, knew immediately who and what had arrived on their shore.

 

Vikings!

 

*** *** ***

 

 

Today was Magnus's birthday. And he couldn't imagine a better way of spending it.

 

The salty air mingled pleasantly with the aroma of wood smoke and cattle not far away. He hadn't spotted a settlement here two summers ago when he'd last sailed this coastline. It was obviously new, and thus would probably still be small and impoverished, but it would nevertheless make a nice spot to celebrate his 37^th birthday!

 

Magnus glanced sideways at Leif, now in his second summer of raiding. His son was wild-eyed, with a firm jaw, flowing red hair and a patchy ginger beard, already standing over 6ft tall with maybe another inch yet to grow. They jumped into the cold water side by side, father and son together, wading onto the English pebbles, followed by forty more Vikings from the leading longboat.

 

Their raiding party consisted of almost 800 men in all, in 20 ships, with plenty of extra capacity to take home captured booty and slaves. With good fortune, Magnus would eventually return to a hero's reception in the autumn. If not, then Valhalla would be welcoming him instead.

 

He turned and watched boat after boat spew its cargo of feral, bearded men, armed to the teeth with spears, axes, swords and knives. Others carried bows and arrows while the female warriors clutched round shields as well as thrusting swords. He waited until a couple of hundred of his band were gathered on the beach and then signalled for the advance party to follow him. The rest would remain in reserve to guard the fleet.

 

In the distance he could hear the panicked pealing of a church bell warning the locals of his arrival. He felt a stirring in his breeches and smiled inwardly. Slowly he broke into a jogging run towards the smoke rising gently into the sky. His blood lust was up.

 

And so was his other lust.

 

*** *** ***

 

Over the next hour, several animals were butchered and set to roast on spits. The rest would be smoked to provide the raiding party with longer term provisions.

 

One Saxon tried to resist and grabbed his wooden pitchfork. He was cut down by a Viking before he could land a single blow. His head was hacked off and placed on a spear as a warning to all.

 

The remaining Saxon men were strung up outside of the wooden church. They were spread-eagled side by side with their wrists roped above their heads and each man's ankles secured to his neighbours.

 

One by one, the dozen men were stripped naked, their breeches dropped to their ankles and their shirts sliced away. Several Vikings had fun mocking the exposed Saxon genitals.

 

Meanwhile the women were counted and evaluated. There were 28 of them, ranging from attractive and neat, to plain and unkempt, but none would go to waste. There was an entire horde of horny invaders to be satisfied. The Vikings had spent several weeks at sea and their balls were groaning.

 

So, once their husbands had been secured and were helpless, it was not only the local animals that were spit-roasted. While the chicken, pork and beef cooked, the Saxon wives were obliged to take on Vikings, two and sometimes three at a time.