Boredom was once unfamiliar to Sigewulf. It was not something he had known on some level, to exist until he first boarded the long-ship for Bretwealda. Nor was it something he had expected to become so acquainted with. It was a sensation that he did not know how during his time on the ship or when waiting for his father’s return to properly cope with. Always on the farm there had been something to do, all had to contribute if they wished to survive. This had been the creed by which all had to live by, and it was one that he had lived quite happily by.
This was not to mean that he greatly looked forward to danger and facing down death as he had come to do so frequently, in recent days. Quite to the contrary, though he did not intellectualise it, he would much prefer having a great deal to do, without the danger that seemed always to haunt him and his father’s every step since his siblings had passed.
What made his time aboard the ships bearable was the stories most of the men, especially Glædwine had told him. This along with the great myriad of chores he had been assigned, during his time on the ship a good break in the boredom that haunted the ship, while the men rowed endlessly.
The time spent aboard the ships though had sadly come to an abrupt end. The storm had struck and collapsed two ships, and almost sent the rest to the bottom of the seas. Hroðgar and the other men had struggled against all odds to rescue those they could, from the fallen ships. But a great many were lost, and had to be given up, no matter Glædwine’s insistence that not a soul was to be abandoned.
“Come to your senses, Glædwine, if we continue to fight to remain in the middle of the sea we will all perish,” Hroðgar had shouted at him furiously. “We must salvage those we have aided, and bring them to safety!”
It was perhaps not the most idealistic view, but it was echoed reluctantly by other members of the crew with one man pointing out, “Those were troop transports we lost. They were carrying our supplies also, but what you risk are the vessels carrying our women and children, if we continue to risk them needlessly, we will eject you from the ship and elect a new captain.”
Alarmed at this speech,
“We must leave this hall,” Sigewulf complained, to those around him.
Trapped in the middle of a grand mead-hall, he was surrounded by a number of the other children, from the other ships and many that predated the arrival of Glædwine’s ships on the islet’s shores. Hardly allowed outside of it, most of the children had taken to their time in Senuna’s castle with more than a little enthusiasm.
“But why?” another of the children, Adalina asked. “There is food aplenty and no adults to tell us what to do.”
“Because,” Sigewulf struggled for a reason, it was true that his father often told him what to do, and rather harshly so. It was not something he particularly missed, however he knew it was for a reason; they had to exact revenge against Ealdwald and his ilk. “We have to find them.”
“But why?”
“Because we must,” He answered simply if stubbornly.
Sigewulf could see that his words had had little effect on the other children; they were reluctant to do as he wished them to. The hall was pristine; it was always kept that way with its gold shimmering chandeliers, marble white walls and similarly snow-white floors. The floors had dark inked patterns interwoven into the marble-stones, while the ceiling a true work of wonder seemed a worthy imitation of the blue skies and twin-suns that dominated summer days.
It was a paradise of a sorts, and with its comfortable cushions of scarlet, blue and emerald colourations, long tables and delicious ostrich, pork, cow and fish meats and other rare delicacies it was hard to argue with this view. It was even harder to resist the fragrances that seemed, to perpetually escape from the kitchens, directly connected to the mead-hall they currently found themselves trapped within.
Certainly the children were permitted to escape outside to play several times a day, and were encouraged to waste their other hours in meaningless pursuits. Mostly they entertained those ladies, who filled the court of the lady Senuna.
It was something that genuinely bored and disgusted Sigewulf, who hated being constrained to the courtyard. To him, the forest, the glens, the mountains were home and he had always been able to run amongst them and to do as he pleased so long as he concluded the tasks at hand. To be deprived of the ability to run about as freely as he might like, was the cruellest punishment one could inflict upon him.
It was the reason for which he had struggled on Glædwine’s ship, and had proven himself quite eager to leave it. Resolved to explore he had however found his every attempt to do so thwarted, by the crones and elders of the court, along with those beautiful Nymphs who inhabited the castle. These Nymphs, were both forest and mountain Nymphs as well as Nereids, that is to say they were sea-Nymphs. All of them were beautiful, ethereal and utterly different from any girl that Sigewulf had ever set eyes upon. By far they were more beautiful, they were prone to sing-song speeches and were in possession (at least some of them were) of some of the sharpest fangs, he had ever seen on any woman.
There was something strange about the manner in which their hair shimmered, their eyes were always seemingly aglow not unlike the Elves. But where there was a sense of mortality, of passion about the Elves that Sigewulf had seen even if from a distance, these women were always playing. It was as though they were children themselves, and this was something a great many of the children liked, even if he did not.
Examples of their childishness, could be found in how they were often found by the indoor pond in the atrium (the children were occasionally allowed there), when they would spend time bickering about men, often times they would playfully push one another into the water. Quite how they could spend so much time bickering, and playing in such a manner was a mystery to some of the children, though many of them enjoyed joining them in this sort of game.
Sigewulf always held himself back, he did not trust these Nymphs. Did not like their strange ways, and especially did not like the occasional flash of calculative intelligence that sparked in their other times vacant eyes.
“We must leave,” He repeated himself, “We must find a way to leave and find our parents, when the Nymphs leave for the day.”
“Why, must we leave when they are gone?” Asked Adalfarus, one of the other boys, one whom had since some time ago become quite enamoured of life on the isle.
“Because, do you not see how they look at us sometimes? I daresay that they seem to consider us at times, as one might consider the hare caught in one’s trap,” Sigewulf complained to himself, being careful not to speak too loudly. It would not do if the palace caretakers heard him, those who were elderly men and women, who happened to live there also.
These people were seemingly warm and kind, though they never failed to make the youth shiver and feel cold.
As though summoned, one of their numbers, a grey-haired, stooped figure by the name of Sarah approached the two of them, muttering as she did so. “You two there, come play with the others we have had a ball brought hither, for the lot of you.”
The first of the two boys eagerly accepted this as the finest news in his life; the latter was to regard the elderly Sarah with a pessimistic gaze. Watching the other children as they threw themselves here, there and everywhere, there was something in Sigewulf as the game went on for some time, he was to pay rather more attention to the old women that surrounded the playing boys.
The young girls were busy being taught to knit, weave and otherwise received considerably more attention, as the old women were better familiar with the women’s arts than men’s. What was more was that he was to notice just how coldly the elders studied the boys foolish to play about in the centre of the large two hundred meter wide and large and fifty meters high hall.
They had arrived there as the storm smashed itself against their ships, destroying a number of them and reducing the crew to the desperate action of dragging their ships as far from the sea as possible. Few there were who paid any attention to their surroundings, consumed with worry as they were for their remaining ships.
Every man had to lend his shoulder, pulling furiously on the lines they had tied to the boat that they might tug and pull them along the sward and to safety. Once this was done, they had turned to the task of ensuring next that they were to see to investigating the islet in the hopes that they might find the resources necessary to repair their ships. The women also wished for refuge from the rainstorm that had enveloped the isle, as it had the furious sea.
It happened that the men when they left in search of food, with another group searching for refuge and a third to stay near the shore to guard all that they had. Neither of the two groups that left in search returned.
Concerned, Hroðgar who had been refused leadership of one of the two groups, due in no small part to Glædwine’s refusal to entrust him once more with command of any men, said to him. “Glædwine I do not like this, there is something I do not like about this isle.”
“Bah, it is either it or the storm,” the chief of the navy of long-ships snapped impatiently, “You worry over your son, old friend while I worry over our people.”
“He is right Glædwine,” Bernhard another of the men said in support, “There is something amiss about this isle.”
Another man, one of the more veteran crew-members of Glædwine’s crews added, “Where was this isle before on all our previous journeys? I do not recall seeing it, the prior time we ventured past this region.”
This admission was one that displeased Glædwine who shook his head, wherefore he conceded to his men, if only marginally. “Very well, we shall do as you wish and will tread forward with great caution. Let us look first to establishing a place of refuge for our women and children, we shall also keep the boats prepared, if only for after the storm abates.”
This seemed a good middle-ground for them to compromise over, though not many felt that this was enough for them. Most notably Hroðgar was of the view that all was destined to go wrong in a matter of hours, saying to some that, “This islet is a place of great evil, mark my words.”
Previously such mutterings had sparked irritation, especially when Sigewulf’s father was the one to mutter them. It happened though that contrary to all other times, they nodded their heads and complained that Glædwine ought to listen to them.
One woman in particular was to complain to him, “You must tell Glædwine to consider returning to the sea just before the dawn. This place is one of death, of darkness and could yield only misery for us.”
Glædwine continued to look unconvinced and as though he might wish to disagree with the woman in question, but did not. He was a sceptical sort, especially in recent days where those around him had begun to take a far less cynical view of the world around them and a more fearful one.
It naturally fell upon Hroðgar to agree with the woman, saying to her, “Quite so Brynja, it is exactly as you have said, this islet is no ordinary islet.”
“Enough Hroðgar,” Glædwine declared impatiently, “Now let us build the place of refuge that the women and children have need of and then let us be away to explore it in search for our friends.”
Some such as Hroðgar did not take well to these ideas and made no secret of it. It was his view Sigewulf knew, they had made a mistake by stumbling upon the isle. This mistake was not made visible to all of them, until some hours after they had happened upon a cave set in the cliff that held up the grand palace that lay at the centre of the isle.
It was into this gloomy state of affairs that the first of the inhabitants of the isle made their presences known. They came not in the dead of night, but after the night had begun to change to day so that the storm seemed to abate to the immense relief of all involved.
Relief was in no short supply as they were to discover, when Sarah appeared before them. Doing so from seemingly out of nowhere, the old woman was the eldest of those who lived thereon the isle, if one was referring solely to those women who lived on the isle, who were not Nymphs.
It was she who spoke to them, in a powerful voice, saying as she did so, “People of the distant north-lands, of Valhol come hither, and follow me for my lady would speak with the lot of you.”
This speech short as it was, had at once an effect upon those present who were to stare in amazement, with Glædwine to ask of her, “Who are you?”
“I am the Lady Senuna’s servant, Sarah, and she has heard of thy plight from thy companions and has requested that you join her in her palace,” the servant replied at once.
Some might well have said that they ought to ignore her, but some such as the women felt calmer and inclined towards trusting her. All save Brynja, who spoke out at once never one to blindly trust another person, especially so mysterious and strange a fellow as Sarah.
“I do not like this, who is this Senuna? We have boats and the storm has abated, why should, we join her in her palace?” the lady in question was to face a great deal of shushing and accused of being rude.
“We are guests here,” argued another woman, one by the name of Cyneburg, “We ought to mind our manners, for this is not our isle.”
“Bah, it could be ours if we wished it,” Hroðgar retorted impatiently, “Though, I agree with Brynja, this isle has a peculiar stench all its own. We ought to put it firmly behind us, and never look back now that the storm has broken.”
“But it might be rude,” protested Sarah.
“It is rude of this stranger not to come greet us herself,” was the countered response by the likes of Glædwine who snorted in response to the elderly crone. “Return to thy lady, and tell her that we will not be going to her palace, but rather continuing on with our journey.”
This seemed to have settled the matter, or so it seemed to them. It was later when they returned thither to the beach, to begin to ready the ships for the journey onwards, to the land of Bretwealda that they were to be visited by the Lady Senuna herself.
In all the time he had lived, Sigewulf had never seen anyone quite like her. Nor did he imagine, he might see her likeness again, so magnificent, so beauteous did she appear. Dressed in a long green gown, one that brought to mind the stretching emerald fields of Valhol, and that were cut in the style Sigewulf was later to be told, was favoured by Romalian women. The dress or stola as it was called, had long sleeves and were tied at the shoulders with a palla that is to say a kind of shawl thrown over the left arm and her head in place of a bonnet. The dress was hardly revealing, yet clung to a figure that was voluptuous and full in a way that few mortal women could ever truly equal.
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Amazed at her beauty which seemed to shine with the same brightness of the twin suns’, Glædwine was to gape at her just as all other men did.
“Greetings men of Valhol,” She said speaking their language just as her servant had, with an ease that startled all. Hers was an accented voice, yet was one that enchanted and awed all who heard it, who felt as though they had heard the most lovely choir of their lives.
The first to shake himself from the spell cast by this strange woman, Hroðgar who snapped at her, “Who are you, O lady? I have neither ever heard tell of thee, nor have I ever seen thy likeness before now.”
The lady all could tell hardly appreciated his tone, and was to frown at him in visible displeasure. Even this moue of displeasure though was a sight to behold, with some men sinking to their knees in adulation and others holding their breath in the hopes that they might be graced once more with the monument that was her smile.
“I am the ruler of this isle, that is all that thou needs know about my person and this islet,” She was to reply with all the iciness of the Glacial Sea.
Glædwine was among those most mesmerised by her though, and was to take a few steps towards her, in order to say to her, “Dear lady, do not take offense at Hroðgar’s thoughtless words. He is merely hungry, tired and still shaken from the storm that was the ruin of more than a few of our ships, one which was the cause for our seeking refuge, hereon your home-island. I would hope that you would be so kind as to understand our predicament, and mayhap even be willing to house us if only for a few days.”
The Lady Senuna was to the surprise of all around her; let a great cheer escape her lips as she clapped her hands together, in a demonstration of happiness. “Oh that would be wonderful Glædwine of Valhol, I would be honoured to have you and your people be my guests. It has been so long since we had proper guests.”
This eager acceptance startled everyone, and was the source of a great deal of chatter. Many might well have mistrusted her before, yet now they were filled with certainty that she was little more than a lonely young woman. Quite what a young woman was doing with her own palace; in the middle of the sea was not something that many questioned.
Brynja and Hroðgar though were alone in their continued suspicion though, with the former asking curiously. “You state that you have a home hereupon this islet, yet few are the women who might well survive in such a place, let alone have a palace of some sort on one in the middle of nowhere.”
“All will be revealed in time, for now follow me if you wish to have food, bathe thyselves and to rest until the morrow.” Sarah retorted evenly, rather disinclined to answer her questions, as she turned around to lead them away out of the cave and into the mountains that decorated the islet.
Exchanging a worried look, Hroðgar and Brynja were to turn next to Glædwine, saying to him, “This is strange and I do not trust this woman.”
“Listen to Hroðgar,” Brynja urged as she glanced after the strange woman, “I do not like this woman; she is queer and dangerous in a way no earthly woman is.”
“We have lost much of the food we took with us,” Reasoned another man, with Glædwine quick to agree with this man, and to expand on his argument.
“I would trust Hroðgar, if it was not for how it was he who angered the Elves on the Continent, and he who cost us valuable men, we might well have had need of, when at last we arrive on Bretwealda.” Glædwine snapped bitterly at the woman, who heaved a great and heavy sigh of her own in response.
Pressing her fists against her wide hips, she was to retort, “Long have we been friends Glædwine, I knew thee when you first took my good friend Eadburga to wife and have been as a second mother to thy sons. I will say this, and do not do so lightly; that woman has none of the gentle grace and goodness most often associated with my dearest friend.”
Glædwine threw her an irritated look, before he hurried along with several others refusing to tarry, with each one nudging her pushing her out of the way as they advanced. Still others threw insults in her direction, some of which left even Hroðgar pale with fury and trembling in outrage at them.
He might well have given chase to do them harm, were it not for Brynja, intervening to stop him saying to him as she clung to him, “Stop! Stop Hroðgar think of thy son! They know not what it is they do!”
“They ought to know better than to speak to a fine woman, such as yourself in such a manner, Brynja!” he growled back, his voice booming throughout the caverns of the islet as he attempted to shake himself loose from her.
Brynja clung to him harder, screaming as she did so, “You must not go against them! Lest they kill you Hroðgar! And of what use would such an action be?”
Forced to see the truth, Hroðgar was to curse and spit after those who had departed, until his temper had soothed itself. At which time, he was to reluctantly against his will set out after Glædwine in order to make his apologies and beg to join him.
Never a particularly spiteful man, the formidable captain of the small navy transporting the colonists of Valhol was to smile and placing a hand on his friend’s shoulder say to him. “But of course I forgive you, old friend. How could I not?”
It was in this manner that Hroðgar along with the hitherto silent Sigewulf joined the procession of ‘fools’ as the father was to dub them. It was not only his view that this was a fool’s errand, but also that of his young son. Most of the children were as taken by the Lady Senuna’s appearance as their parents, but not the last son of Hroðgar, for he knew to trust his instincts. And all of them cried out that it was folly, to trust this lady.
His instincts had proven true, when the lady had after luring them all to her home, convinced the men and women to take up drinking at a celebration with her, wherefore she had begun to play the flute. It was her flute that had done it. It was that flute that had perverted and twisted the forms of all those around Sigewulf, at the feast, so that those who were not children had been transformed from their natural shapes and into those of beasts.
If he could only lay hands on that flute, he could reverse its magic. It was for that reason that he watched with hawk-like sternness despite his youth, for the slightest hint of weakness or hesitation on the part of his captors in the hopes of escape. Once he had put the mead-hall behind him, he hoped to slip out and to steal away that magic flute of hers, and to reverse the magic that had transformed his father and friends’ parents.
This was the reason that he privately cheered at the sight of Sarah withdrawing from the main hall early, he knew that it could only prove to be temporary, yet it was exactly what he had waited for. Eager to take advantage of this show of weakness, Sigewulf was to glance about at the other elderly servants of Senuna, those still in the hall.
Most of them had begun to doze off, were caught up in playing with the children, or distracted by idle chatter among themselves. In all, there were none that paid him any mind, or seemed at all interested in what he or Eadberht were up to, in the right-hand corner of the hall where they currently found themselves.
It was entirely thanks to this, that the youth was to whisper to the only friend he had made during his sojourn in the palace of Senuna. The son of Glædwine the two had drifted together, in part due to their fathers’ friendship and also because of how Eadberht missed his father. “Now, Eadburht! While no one is looking!”
“But Sigewulf, what if we get punished for escaping from the mead-hall?” Eadburht demanded of him, a sour expression on his face.
“Bah, was it not thy father who said boys should question and should do as they please? Therefore let us do as we please!” Sigewulf rationalised with a glare at his friend, who sighed in defeat. It was perhaps not the best argument, he had to admit but Sigewulf knew it to be the only way to convince his friend, who was always more willing to listen when one mentioned his father.
Glædwine was an inspiration to Sigewulf also, though for him he was more of a kindly uncle if a foolish one, who in his estimation really ought to have listened more to Hroðgar. Casting aside such dark thoughts though, he was to focus the greater part of his attention on the more important matter at hand; namely that of slipping out the doorway.
Once this done, he was confronted by a beige coloured set of walls, with an arched doorway a short distance further ahead of them. The walls for their part were decorated with only the odd image here and there, of strange figures in the midst of battle. The hallway itself was more than twelve meters long and four wide, so that there was plenty of space for the two boys to advance.
Sigewulf took the lead and pounced on ahead, towards the other doorway, where light could be seen pouring in from outside. He did not make it quite so far though, as he was soon pulled to a sudden halt by Eadburht, who was to point up at the ceiling, with an awe-struck expression on his face.
The ceiling was no less impressive than the rest of the building, as Sigewulf soon discovered. Covered in imagery that was highly reminiscent of the islet they currently found themselves on, it possessed painted frescos also of green sea-weed which seemed to be the Lady Senuna’s personal emblem, one that if he was being honest, the youth had never before thought could be considered beauteous. That is until that moment, as he discovered in the triple strand images that decorated the parts of the ceiling that dominated the fresco.
The images of the isle had at their centre a lady with lustrous blonde locks, a voluptuous figure dressed in white and a cerulean Romalian cut dress and an air of majesty as all about her bowed an assortment of Nereids, sea-drakes and even men and women. Such the explosion of colour that neither Sigewulf nor Eadburht noticed much else for an incalculably long time, that is until they heard the loud steps and coughing of one of the elders echo from behind them.
“What do we do Sigewulf?” Eadburht hissed as he tore his gaze from the ceiling.
“Hurry!” Sigewulf replied at once.
The two tore their way down the hall, keen to reach the other end of the hallway so that they might find some place or other to hide. It happened that the hall they raced down, led to a split, with one path heading outward and the other inward, further into the building.
Hearing the echo of footsteps, once more the two fled inwards shaken and unsure of where it was that they were going, they came to a stop when the hallway led to a vast atrium. Neither youth had ever hitherto this moment ever seen a Romalian atrium. It was an impressive sight that left them both baffled and awe-struck all at once.
If someone had told Sigewulf that one could grow an open-aired garden inside of a house he might have believed the person to be daft. He had only heard the occasional talk and whispers of such things, mostly in sneering tones, as a great many who lived in the far north regarded this as a sign of the overwhelmingly corruption of Roma. That the people there grew gardens and debauched themselves within their gardens, without truly venturing out into the wild as they feared nature so.
But this was not the building of a fearful folk, but rather that of a highly sophisticated people, one who seemed to embrace nature in a way that Sigewulf had never imagined to be possible. The atrium was vast, and was more a small park than a simple garden, stretching outwards in either direction for thirty meters. It was populated also with great trees some that he had seen in the north, and others that he had never seen before. Notably, he saw redwood trees, hazel trees, alders, hawthorns and many others all intermingled with the familiar ash, oak and birch trees that were so familiar to Valhol.
There were also flowers embedded in the ground of the atrium, some which were white lilies, gold ones, red, blue and purple ones, along with red roses and other assortments of flowers. The garden that blossomed all about the forest of trees all about the atrium, were unlike anything either boy had ever set eyes upon before that moment. It looked not unlike how one might imagine an earthly paradise, with the light of the suns’ beaming down on them and the trees and flowers glimmering gaily under them.
It was with a start that Sigewulf realised he had begun walking without thinking through it, nary a thought to the noise of feet slapping the stone floor that had driven him and Eadburht forward with such intensity.
The other boy threw him a worried glance after shaking himself out of his own temporary stupor, “What are we to do Sigewulf?!”
“Hide!”
“Where!?”
“There, over yonder beneath that large oak with the thick branches,” Sigewulf hissed back at him, pulling him by the arm and thither under the tree.
It was to his mind the perfect place to hide; with the large column behind them casting a long shadow over the children as the radiance of the suns’ was covered up by sudden storm-clouds and the tree to their right and somewhat in front of them, none could see them. Or so it was believed by Sigewulf, who was to cling to the nearby tree with Eadburht by his side as he struggled to see past it.
The servants whom they had believed had come to notice their absence, arrived not long after the two had hurried into the atrium-garden, and hidden themselves. There were in total four of them, with the four being elderly as all servants who were not Nereids tended to be. Two arrived just outside the atrium, from the more northerly halls, while the other two came hither from the southern ones.
At the head of those who hurried along from the south, was Sarah who asked of the two who came from the opposite direction. “Did the two of you find them?”
“No Sarah,” answered the other two dully, their wits as shorn as the colour from their faces in marked contrast to the elderly woman.
“Damn,” She cursed heatedly, “Search again, they cannot have gone far!”
This statement made both boys tense with fear.
They exchanged a worried glance, aware that it was them that the maids searched for. The two of them felt their stomachs become gripped by the dark claw of terror, also at the tone of the maids’ voices which were filled with a kind of hatred neither had ever heard them speak with. Sigewulf for his part had only ever experienced such a hate-filled voice, from Ealdwald’s eldest daughter, so that he was a little less bewildered than his friend. Still though, he began to wonder if maybe it might be wrong to think of women as the fairer sex.
The handmaidens remained for a little longer, than either of them might have liked, departing only after several long minutes of searching the immediate bedchambers near to the hallways attached to the atrium.
Once their footsteps had faded away completely, Sigewulf stepped out from under the shadow of the trees. “I think they have gone, hurry Eadburht.”
“I do not like this Sigewulf, we ought to return to the mead-hall,” Eadburht said to him with a worried glance after the two hallways both to the left that the servants had disappeared down.
Sigewulf heaved a heavy sigh, annoyed by his friend’s desire to go back the way they had come, swallowing his anger he was to carefully word his reply. “Only after, we have properly explored and found your father Eadburht.”
Eadburht did not look wholly convinced, yet did not say much more. Aware that his friend would not listen he was to instead agree to explore the halls and rooms to the right of the atrium. The two of them had almost made it part of the way down one hallway, when they suddenly heard the sound of stamping feet once more, followed by a number of screams.
“Catch them! After them!” Sarah was heard to shriek, as her feet slapped along the marble stone floor.
The two boys searched about for a place to hide, with the first door they attempted to throw open locked, so that Eadburht hurried to the next one. He had just thrown it open when skidding around the corner, near to where the middle of the atrium-garden was to be found, a large boar the size of a small mare appeared. Seeing them, the large dark eyed beast plunged on ahead, with a trio of smaller pigs just behind him, this much to the surprise and bewilderment of the two boys who gaped.
Sigewulf might well have hidden himself at that moment, and his destiny could well have been different from what it was, had the boar not plunged ahead towards him and the three little pigs not hidden behind him.
Sarah seeing them took a moment to goggle at them, when she turned the corner also as she appeared but a moment after the pigs did. Setting aside her surprise, when four of her fellow elderly servants, each of them armed with spears turned the corner a moment later, she was to point at them. “Now we know how it is that the pigs escaped the pen! We have a pair of troublemakers, likely the lady Senuna will not miss these two should something happen to them.”
“What? You would have us slay two of the children?” One of the old men asked.
“Give me that spear; if you will not you fool!” Sarah shrieked as she seized the man’s arm, taking up the weapon so that she might charge forward against the pigs and children.
She might well have done harm, might well have slain one of them were it not for the large boar. Shaking and slavering with rage, the boar that had stopped a short distance away from Sigewulf, to observe him with an intensity that had left the boy bewildered had by this time turned to confront the old crone.
What occurred next was so violent, so horrible that it left them all full of not only shock but amazement as the boar leapt forth, easily evading Sarah’s clumsy strike wherefore it struck her. Goring her with his tusks, the boar was to tear a large hole in the middle of her stomach, spilling her blood all over the marble floor.
Hardly satisfied with only one blow, it was to tear at her a second time spilling her intestines and bowels all over the floor. It was by the fourth blow that she ceased to scream and simply lay thereupon the floor in a state of utter shock, just before the boar gored her throat open.
Covered in blood, the large pig was to challenge those before him, proud as any king of the jungle and of men had ever been he defied those who might otherwise have done him harm. Daring them to attempt to bring the fight to him once more, as Sarah had just failed to do.
Sheltered in spite of their advanced age, those who had sought to hunt the boar and those pigs it had taken under its protection, preferred to fall back. Screaming ‘Murder!’ as they went, it was not long before the whole of the palace knew what had transpired in the small hallway past the atrium.
Alarmed by what had transpired, and by the sight of the blood and entrails that had been torn from the once domineering head-chambermaid of Senuna, the two boys were to exchange a worried look. Neither of them quite knew what to expect, they only knew that this particular boar was of a violent nature unlike any other, they had seen in some time.
The boar advanced until it stood before them, shaking still with the force of its battle-rage and looking from the pigs that had huddled just behind them, to the two youths. Eadburht backed away, shaken and daunted by the beast that to him seemed to loom tall as a horse.
Eadburht might have been overwhelmed by the ferocity of this beast, were it not for the animal’s large dark eyes. He knew those eyes. He had seen them everyday of his life, hitherto his time on the islet of Senuna. It was with a start that Sigewulf spoke the name of this boar, recognising it as the man he had always feared the displeasure of, more than any other thing in the world and had always loved more than any other person on earth. “Father.”