My mother had been an elite archer who fought for Wulf, the last king in the Wessex bloodline. She had died at his side fighting the Mercians when I was a very small child.
The men carried broad round wooden shields with decorated iron bosses in the middle. I noticed one huge warrior whose front teeth were missing. His shield was covered with deerskin and had an iron bar across it. The dome of his boss came to a cruel looking point and had probably poked out more than one man’s eye.
Our attention was diverted by the arrival of about forty armed warriors. They were a fearsome looking bunch. Most carried spears that were taller than a man, and all had swords a yard long encased in scabbards at their sides. Some wore the scramasax, the dagger that gave us our name, around their necks. They used to smear these with poison in the old days but they’re not used so much anymore. The warriors were clad in steel like the man I had seen in the forest. A few wore helmets—these ingenious devices extended down over their foreheads in front and ended with built-in eyebrows and nose guards. I spotted one man with a complete face mask: only his eyes were uncovered.
The men carried broad round wooden shields with decorated iron bosses in the middle. I noticed one huge warrior whose front teeth were missing. His shield was covered with deerskin and had an iron bar across it. The dome of his boss came to a cruel looking point and had probably poked out more than one man’s eye.
. . . a tall warrior stepped out. I don’t know what it was about him, but I think I stopped breathing. The servants went about their tasks with increased diligence. There was nothing soft about the man. His muscular frame was covered from shoulder to waist by a shirt made of shiny metal rings. Below that you could see the points of the leather shirt he wore beneath. He wore no helmet. The angles of his cheekbones seemed to provide their own protection. Were his eyes narrow, or was he squinting in the sun? The light glinted off the gold hilt of his sword, and I sensed danger in a primordial way, like a hare smelling a fox. I wondered how many women he had ravished, how many men he had killed.
. . . the group included 30 warriors, many of them famous heroes like Unferth, Werwulf and Erpwald, whose reputations spread before them like road dust before horses’ hooves. One of the priests traveling with the group had told . . . the latest story about Werwulf.“He had a beautiful lady friend at their last encampment whom he treated very well. He gave her gold rings and a jeweled belt. He brought her to court—everyone knew her. The night before they were to leave Werwulf visited the lady in her bower and made love to her.“ ‘I must leave you, my lady,’ he said. ‘And how will you fare without me?’“The lady wept. Then she said, as they must part and there was no help for it, she hoped she would find a younger lover. Werwulf took her in his arms, embraced her tenderly, and bit off her nose.”
I entered the chamber. The light was dim and the first thing I noticed was the smell. The sour breath of the sleeping monarch hung in the air like the still fog of a summer morning. I set down the pitcher and turned to look at Beorhtric. He was lying on his back on the bed, his legs apart. His tunic had worked its way up above his waist, and his penis was practically lost in a great mass of gray and black pubic hair made even more eye-catching by the pale white of his skin. A linen sheet, intricately embroidered along one end with colorful interlocking beasts, covered only his chest and then trailed onto the floor. There was a pillow under his neck, and his head fell back, diminishing the effect of the great wattles of flesh beneath his chin. His mouth was open. He snored loudly and with great inventiveness.
In Courting Trouble a young warrior is eager to prove himself. He goes in search of conquest. Along the way, he is directed to an encha...
