One Night

He sat bolt upright in the bed. He had woken too quickly. Ari felt disoriented for
a moment.

The room was dark. Clothing and fabric could be seen dimly in the gloom draping
over furniture . Odd shapes could only just be discerned scattered about the room.

He could hear sounds. Voices. Heavy steps.

He stumbled from the bed, half tripping over unseen objects on the floor. Cursing
softly he managed to find the door and haul it open.

The sounds were echoing down a long stone corridor. Fabric hung on the walls
barely visible as dark shapes on a darker background.

There was a torch in a wall sconce spilling a pool of yellow light into the
surrounding darkness. It was in the direction of the sound of voices. He walked
towards it uncertainly, his steps echoing eerily. A little further on was another
torch, and yet another beyond that. He kept walking.

The passage gave way to a long hall. Here large shapes moved noisily around a
narrow fire pit that ran almost the length of the hall. Coals glowed and in spits
and spurts sent out a ruddy glimmer. Long shadows ran fitfully along the walls
adding to the confusion of ghostly shapes.

He peered into the smoky darkness. They were mostly tall men and broad of shoulder
and girth. One towards the centre was little shorter. Though his back was all that
came into view, this man appeared older than most of the others but not stooped
into dotage. Everyone seemed to defer to him. There was something familiar about
this central man. Ari called out to him.

"Brian! What are you…." He looked around at all the others,

"…doing…" All the others looked around at him,

"…here…" his voice trailed off. The older man turned slowly, surprise registering
on a face etched in high relief by the dim glow from the fire.

"Would you be addressing me?" a rich voice resonated with regal undertones.

Ari blinked hard. The other man was wearing a circlet about his brow of finely
engraved bronze and adorned by a rounded green-coloured stone. A longish, grey
beard matched the grey-streaked hair, both neatly trimmed .

"I am sorry… my Lord," Ari fought for the appropriate words, "I mistook you for
another." He bowed his head waiting nervously for a response.

He could feel the man move closer to him. All other sound had ceased immediately
the other had spoken. He could feel every eye upon him.

"I do not know your face," the voice boomed over his head, "What is your name?"

"Ari Jorgensen," he answered firmly, occasioning to look the man in the face.

"Hmmmm," the man stroked his beard thoughtfully, "I know no Jorgensen either. But
Ari is a good strong name and you appear a stalwart fellow. I would be grateful if
you should fight at my back this night."
"Tonight?" Ari asked, thinking sarcastically how wonderful it would be to fight
through the dark hours.

"Yes," another man answered from beside the first, "We leave at moonrise and
should be back before the sun. This is when the raiders are active."

The new man gave Ari an appraising look from behind pale eyes, darkly set and
grim. He was dressed much as the others in the hall, dark coloured linen tunic
over baggy wool-woven pants pushed into the tops of fur lined boots that were
cross-strapped to foot and leg. His long blonde hair was braided with beads and
leather cording.

Ari looked down his own body to discover that he was similarly attired.

"You’ll need a sword," the other man said sternly.

"Here," cried a voice from the gloom as something was tossed into the air.

"But I don’t know how…" Ari began to say before he found that he had snatched the
spinning sliver of metal from the air, "…apparently I do," he finished, admiring
his evident skill with a sword.

With the village at their backs, the men moved out into the surrounding forest.

"These raiders," He began to ask in a hushed voice addressing the men near him.

"Romans," the unfinished question was answered.

"We would beat them in a straight fight," another informed him, "so now they come
in the night to steal our women and children to make them slaves."

Ari had little time to take in the information before the darkness was split by
blazing balls spewing light and flame. The approaching objects proved to be arrows
with burning swatches of tar-soaked fabric. Before their eyes could adjust to the
light, they were assaulted by the clamour of men bursting from cover, red
firelight glinting off their weapons.

Battle was joined.

Instinctively, he raised his sword to intercept a blade flashing towards him. With
ease he deflected it, and with a simple flick of the wrist directed his own keen
edge to his opponent’s neck. He felt it slice through flesh before shattering
bone. The sickening reverberation jarred his shoulder. He had no time to be
appalled as strikes rained down upon him.

In no time it seemed, he was streaked with blood and weary to the bone.

"You fight well," the thain saluted Ari, "Stay a few nights as my guest."

"To your beds now. Tomorrow we celebrate," the order sounded out.

No sooner had he rested his head than Ari felt a hand on his shoulder. He was
sitting upright instantly and reaching for his sword.

Something landed on the floor with a dull thud. Muscles protested their stiffness.

"You really shouldn’t sleep on the couch," a familiar voice remonstrated as his
housekeeper bent to retrieve something from the floor, "What’s this? ‘Viking
Revenge’ A new book? I hope that is only the working title. You wouldn't publish
it like that, would you?" she continued to burble as she worked her way around the
room.

Ari ruffled his hand through unruly hair.

"No more late night snacks of salami, cheese and red wine," he grumbled resolutely
to himself, "Specially not when reading new manuscripts."