VIKINGS

Vikings appear out of time and start murdering men & raping women around Glen Hartwell

1066 AD THE RIVER HUMBER, NORTHERN ENGLAND

1066 AD THE RIVER HUMBER, NORTHERN ENGLAND
The Norwegian Viking longboats approached the northern coastline of England, led by Harald Hardrada in his longboat, Ormen Lange (Long Serpent). Behind him was a flotilla of longboats containing hundreds of eager Vikings. One of his chief lieutenants was Eiriksson the Bold, captaining the longboat Vikingfrykt (Viking Terror).
"We will soon rout the Britons," boasted Eiriksson to his second in command, Olaf the Mighty.
"Yes, under Harald Hardrada's leadership, we are unbeatable," said Olaf. Before leading a chant of, "Vikingfrykt! Vikingfrykt! Vikingfrykt!" Which was not only the name of their longboat, but also their battle chant.
Soon, all fifty-two Vikings aboard the Vikingfrykt were chanting their battle cry, which soon passed on to other longboats.
"Under Harald Hardrada, we cannot lose!" cried Eiriksson, which caused the chant to change to:
"Harald Hardrada, Vikingfrykt! Harald Hardrada, Vikingfrykt! Harald Hardrada, Vikingfrykt!"
Sadly for the Vikings, this was not true. After landing, they marched to Stamford Bridge in Yorkshire, where their invasion would ultimately be repelled by King Harold Godwinson's English forces at the Battle of Stamford Bridge.
"Harald Hardrada, Vikingfrykt!" chanted the crew of the Vikingfrykt, stopping to cough as they were suddenly enveloped in a thick, swirling green mist.
"What strange Briton magic is this?" asked one of the panicked Vikings.
There was a loud explosion, hurling more than a dozen Vikings overboard, then the Vikingfrykt vanished from the waters of the River Humber.

MID-JULY 2025, GLEN HARTWELL AUSTRALIA
The Tenant family were walking hand in hand along the thick carpet of gum leaves and pine needles that blanketed the forest floor, near the Yannan River, outside Glen Hartwell in the Victorian countryside. Until recently, the Yannan had been a cesspool of muck and noxious fumes. However, the Victorian Department of Building and Works had recently dredged the river [see my story, 'The Mimic'.], removing all white goods, cars, et cetera which had been dumped there, as well as widening and deepening the river to allow a better flow of water, in the hope of keeping the river from becoming a cesspool again.
Sniffing, Britt(any) Tenant, a tall, chesty redhead, aged twenty-one, said, "It smells quite nice now."
"Yeah, but for how long?" asked her husband, Biff Tenant, a tall, dark-haired man of twenty-two.
"Ah, don't be such a grumpy puss," said Tiff(any) Tenant, his sister-in-law, a short, chestalicious ravenette of twenty.
"You tell him, babe," said her husband, Griff Tenant, a medium-height blond man of twenty. "He's always been one of those glass-half-empty types."
"Have not, I'm just a realist."
"Well, in fairness, the Yannan had been polluted for long enough so that legends had grown up around it," said Britt.
"Like the Slime Beast, which was supposed to drag punters off their boats and pull them down to sunken Thule, back in the 1920s," teased Tiff. [See my story, 'The Glen Hartwell Horror'.]
"Exactly," agreed Britt, "although I guess that they would have found sunken Thule, or Lemuria, or Mu, or wherever, when they dredged the river, if any of them were down there."
"Unless they're keeping them secret, like the aliens and crashed space ships locked away in Area 51 in the Nevada desert," teased Griff.
"Very funny," said Tiff, trying not to laugh, but failing miserably.
"Well, anyway, isn't it time for lunch?" asked Biff, a big man with a big appetite.
"Yes, don't want you fading away to a shadow of a mountain," teased Britt.
"Hey, I work hard, I drink hard, I eat hard, and I bonk you hard," teased Biff.
"I'll concede the last two at any rate," teased Britt, making everyone laugh.
They laid out a thick, red-and-white-striped blanket on the ground, then opened the two large wicker baskets: one full of food, the other containing beer for the men and wine for the ladies.
As they sat on the blanket, Britt took a small, roasted chicken from the basket, handed the chicken to her husband and said:
"Here, have a chicken to be getting on with."
"Oh, my woman knows my tastes," said Biff.
Holding the chicken up to his mouth with both hands, he took a large bite and started eating.
"Now, everyone else tuck in before he finishes that chicken, or there won't be any food for the rest of us," teased Britt.
"Don't we know it," said Tiff.
She handed a chicken leg to Griff, taking one for herself, while Britt settled for an egg salad sandwich.
"This is good eating," said Biff between mouthfuls.
He reached into the alcohol basket to grab a large bottle of Victoria Bitter, which he opened with his teeth, so that he wouldn't have to put his chicken down.
"Honey, watch out for your teeth!" warned Britt.
"I didn't want to put my chicken down in case someone grabbed it."
"After you've been gnawing on it, bro?" asked Griff.
"Pukalicious!" said Tiff, before sticking two fingers into her mouth to simulate gagging.
"Very funny," said Biff, before taking a long swig of the beer. "Now that's a big drink for a big man."
"Perhaps we'd better help ourselves to some dinks before he scoffs it all," suggested Britt.
"There are six large bottles of Vic Bitter, a red wine and a white," pointed out Britt.
"Yes, but when they came up with the saying 'a big, big thirst', they were thinking of my Biff," reminded Britt.
"Maybe she's right," said Griff, reaching for one of the bottles of Vic Bitter.
At the same time, Britt picked up the bottle of white wine and poured glasses for herself and Tiff.
"At least we can get one or two drinks in before Biff downs the lot," said Griff, only half joking, knowing his brother too well.
"How dare you?" demanded Biff.
He threw the chicken skeleton and the empty Vic Bitter bottle onto the blanket, then picked up a small roast duck in one hand and another bottle of beer in the other.
"Keep eating as fast as you can, too," teased Tiff.
"I am," said Britt, picking up a cheese-and-tomato sandwich.
"I hope you've got some dessert in that basket?" asked Biff.
"Yes, two family-sized chocolate lamington cakes with cream and jam filling," said Britt. "One for you, and one for us three to share."
"Fair enough," said Biff before downing half of the beer in one long gulp.
"He'll drown in beer one of these days," teased Griff.

Over at the Yellow House in Rochester Road, Merridale, they were also settling down to lunch. Except that Deidre Morton had a strict rule limiting their consumption of alcohol at meal times in her boarding house.
"So what treats have you got for us today, Mrs. M.?" asked Sheila Bennett. At thirty-six, the orange-and-black haired Goth chick was the Chief Constable of the local police force.
"Some juicy veal cutlets with mashed potatoes, mashed pumpkin, boiled carrots, cauliflower with white sauce, and your choice of peas or beans.
"Yum, yum," said Terri Scott. The ash blonde, the same age as Sheila, was the top cop of the local area and was engaged to Colin.
"Yes, it sounds delish, Mrs. M.," said Colin Klein. A retired crime reporter, now working for the Glen Hartwell Police Force, Colin was a tall redheaded Englishman.
"It certainly does," agreed Natasha Lipzing. At seventy-one, the tall, thin old lady had spent the last thirty-six years at the Yellow House.
"As long as I can have some brandy with mine," insisted Tommy Turner, the local, reluctantly reforming alcoholic, a short, fat, blond retiree.
"Of course," said Deidre with a sigh, "but if you want it poured all over your food, as usual, you will have to do that yourself."
"If you just cooked everything with brandy or rum, he wouldn't have to," teased Leo Laxman. A tall, thin, black Jamaican, Leo was a nurse at the Glen Hartwell and Daley Community Hospital.
"Don't encourage him, Leo," advised Freddy Kingston, a tall, plump, bald retiree. "He's just dumb enough to take you seriously."
"Well, why not!" demanded Tommy. "Everything tastes better with brandy or rum on it."
"I wouldn't mind a nip of brandy," said Terri.
"Me too," said Leo.
"Very well, three nips of brandy coming up," said Deidre.
"Hang on, whose brandy is that?" demanded Tommy.
"Let's just say 'It is better to give than to receive,'" said Deidre as she poured the three nips of brandy.
"Not if it's my bloody brandy, it isn't!"
"Language, there are ladies present," said Natasha.
"That's the problem, Deidre keeps giving people presents of my brandy."
"He is such a Philistine," said Terri, before taking a tiny sip of her brandy. "Mmmm, my compliments, Tommy."
"Yeah, he only buys the best brandy," agreed Leo, after taking a sip.
"In the expectation of me getting to drink it!"
"You can't please everyone," said Colin, before getting stuck into his veal cutlets. "Mmmm, these are delish, Mrs. M."

On the banks of the Yannan River, Biff Tenant was eating his second roast duck, in between downing great slugs of Victoria Bitter. Having not quite finished his first bottle, Griff grabbed the second-last bottle to drink next, allowing Biff to drink four large bottles, to his two.
"If you hope to drink that next," teased Britt, "you'd better put it between your legs, then cross them as tightly as you can to hold it, or my Biff will be fighting you for it as soon as he finishes his fourth bottle."
"What are you inferencing, woman?" asked a decidedly tipsy-sounding Biff.
"Only that you're a big, big man, with a big, big thirst," teased Britt.
"Damned straight," said Biff.
"I don't know why he doesn't just take a box of a dozen bottles into the loo with him," teased Tiff, "then he could hold a bottle in one hand, and his dick in the other."
"Yeah," agreed Griff, "so everything he drank would go in one head and out the other."
"Crudely, but aptly put," said Britt.
"Waz zat?" asked Biff, definitely a little under the weather.
Looking at her sister-in-law, Tiff said, "It's a good thing we've only been sipping our wine, because I think we're the designated drivers."
"We'd better be," said Britt.
"Unless he successfully fights me for the fifth bottle of Vic," said Griff. "In which case, I'll be sober enough to drive."
As Biff finished his third Vic Bitter and reached for a fourth, Britt said, "Don't worry, if he downs that before you get to your second bottle, we'll offer him the red wine. There's still a full bottle of Riesling."
"Will he drink wine?" asked Tiff.
"Not when he's sober," admitted Britt, "but when he's this blotto, he'd drink methylated spirits if that was the only alcohol available."
All, except Biff, laughed. Biff was too bleary-eyed, unfocusingly drunk to realise that she had been talking about him.
"Frankly," teased Griff, "when he's this drunk, he'd drink piss if you added alcohol to it."
"Would so," slurred Biff.
Before they could say anything more, there was a small explosion and thick green smoke poured toward them from the Yannan River.
"Oh God," said Griff between coughing, "sounds like someone is fishing."
"They're braver men than me, Gunga Din," said Britt, also between coughing. "I wouldn't eat anything swimming in the Yannan, even after it was cleaned up."
"That's for sure," agreed Tiff.
When the green smoke finally blew away, still coughing a little, the Tenants were astonished to see a long (twenty-three metres) wooden boat, with a single square sail, sitting upon the river, just in front of them.
"Where the Hell did that come from?" asked Griff.
"And did those idiots cause the green explosion?" asked Tiff.
She pointed to where at least three dozen men sat in the longboat, all dressed in animal furs, with metal helmets with long horns on the sides.
"Who the Hell are they?" asked Britt.
"Looks like they're those idiots from the LePage and Elroy Battle Re-Enactment Society," offered Tiff.
"Fuck off, you can't play you're childish war games here!" shouted Griff. "And did Terri Scott give you permission to set off explosions in the area?"
Growling like a bear, the Viking leader, Eiriksson (son of Erik), led a charge from the longboat Vikingfrykt to the four Tenants. Eiriksson held aloft a long metal-tipped spear, while his second-in-command, Olaf the Mighty, carried a battleaxe.
"I said, we don't want to play ...!" shouted Griff, stopping as Eiriksson stabbed him in the heart with his spear.
"What'sa happened?" muttered Biff, as the women started screaming.
Biff tried to get to his feet, but had to settle for his hands and knees. He started to crawl toward his dead brother, stopping to fall face down onto the blanket, when Olaf hacked off a large section of his skull and brain with his battleaxe.
"Death to the Britons!" cried Olaf, before whacking Biff a second, then a third time with his axe.
"Are you insane?" asked Tiff between tears, before turning to throw up upon the blanket.
"Two comely-looking lasses," said Eiriksson lustily.
"Yes," agreed Olaf, "Briton women are famous for their comeliness."
"We're not Britons, we're Aussies!" cried Britt.
Leaping to her feet, she tried to kick Eiriksson in the testicles, but got his knee instead.
Managing to stay on his feet, while pretending not to be in any pain, Eiriksson said, "And spirited at that."
He slapped her across the face, just enough to stun her, then threw the chesty redhead across his left shoulder.
"I think we will take these comely wenches as our playthings," said Eiriksson, trying his best not to limp as he carried Britt back to the long boat.
Following his leader's example, Olaf picked up Tiff and threw her across his left shoulder. Then, seeing the unopened beer and red wine bottles, he picked them up in his right hand, trying not to drop his battleaxe, and followed his leader back to the Vikingfrykt.
Seeing his crew ogling Britt and Tiff, Eiriksson said, "These Briton women belong to Olaf and me. We will capture other Briton women for you."
"We're Aussies, Dickhead, not British," said Britt, risking getting slapped again.
"These Briton women speak a strange language," said Olaf.
He and Eiriksson climbed into the longboat at the rear, so that they could take pleasure from the two women, without the rest of the Vikings watching.
"We're Aussies, Dickhead, not British," repeated Britt.
"Strange indeed," agreed Eiriksson.
Despite the two women fighting them, the two Viking leaders soon had them naked and started to fondle their breasts, before forcing their thighs apart to penetrate them and start riding the two women.
Hours later, exhausted from the sex, Eiriksson and Olaf fell asleep, while the two women did their best to clean themselves out using water from the Yannan River.
"We've got to get out of here," whispered Britt.
"Yes, these idiots are insane," whispered Tiff.
"Waz zat?" asked one of the Vikings, who was still awake.
Although it was after midnight, and the other Vikings had followed their leaders' example and fallen asleep, allowing the longboat to drift slowly upon the current.
"I said, you're a handsome Viking," lied Britt, "it's a pity you aren't allowed to pleasure us."
"What are you ...?" began Tiff, being shushed by her sister-in-law.
"Who says I'm not?" demanded Halfdan the Horrible.
"Your leader, Eiriksson," teased Britt.
"I'm not afraid of him," whispered Halfdan, which suggested that he was.
"Then come here, and prove it, handsome," said Britt, giving him a lascivious smirk.
Smiling like the proverbial cat that got the cream, Halfdan stood up and carefully stepped around his sleeping colleagues, and tiptoed across to the two Aussie women.
"All right, Briton beauty, you are going to get ...."
That was when Halfdan became half-head. As he leant down toward her, Britt whacked him in the forehead with a battleaxe, which one of the Vikings had left lying in the boat.
"Urgh!" muttered Halfdan, before falling overboard.
Then, as quietly as possible, Britt and Tiff climbed overboard and swam back to the shore of the Yannan River, to start as quietly as possible back to town.

It was nearly four o'clock in the morning when Mrs. Dorothy Miggins heard a hammering at her front door at her boarding house in Wilson Street, in Lenoak township.
"Now, who can that be?" asked Mrs. Miggins, starting out of her bedroom.
"Was that knocking?" asked Suzette Cummings, an eighteen-year-old raven-haired police trainee.
"Hammering more like it," said Dorothy as the two women walked across to the purple carpeted stairs and headed down to the ground floor.
"Let me handle this, Mrs. M.," said Suzette, "in case they get violent."
"Very well," said the old lady as they walked down the stairs.
At the front door, wishing she had brought her service revolver down with her, Suzette hesitantly opened the door, then asked, "Yes, who is it?"
By way of answer, Britt and Tiff Tenant collapsed on top of her from exhaustion, taking the young ravenette down to the floor with them.
"Aaaaaaaah!" cried Suzette, for a second thinking that she was under attack.
"Oh God! Oh God!" gasped Brittany. "Our husbands have been murdered by those loonies at the LePage and Elroy Battle Re-Enactment Society!"
"And we were raped for hours by two of them," muttered Tiffany, before passing out.
"Help," said Suzette, struggling to get out from under the two women.

EARLY THE NEXT DAY, OUTSIDE LePAGE TOWNSHIP
Dennis DuBeck, at a hundred and fifty-five centimetres tall, as its founder and leader, was a giant of a man at the LePage and Elroy Battle Re-Enactment Society. The society prided itself upon being able to re-enact almost any war. But today, July 19, 2025, they were going to spend the day battling the Visigoths.
They were dressed as knights of old, some in papier-mâché suits of armour, some in more realistic chain mail, and some in Sherwood Forest green for some reason. Most were carrying wooden swords and shields, but a few had authentic metal weapons.
"Sir Kay, call your Chivalry to attention!" ordered Sir Lancelot (Dennis) to his third in charge.
"My chivalry to attention!" called Marsha (Kay) Maudsley, a tall Amazonian brunette in her thirties, probably the best soldier in the re-enactment society. Then, dismayed by their slapdash shuffling, she shouted: "Stand to attention, you worthless knight-wannabees!"
Which had the desired effect of bringing them to order!
"Excellent, Sir Kay. Now, Sir Galahad!"
"My chivalry to attention!" shrieked Kenneth (Galahad) Maudsley, Marsha's husband, terrifying his 'troops' into line.
"Excellent. My chivalry!" shouted Dennis Lancelot.
The most well-trained of all the re-enactment troops, his chivalry snapped to attention like real soldiers.
"Excellent, as always," said Sir Lancelot. "Now, quick march!"
He raised his right arm in a 'Heil Caesar' gesture, and the troops started forward. Only to have to stop again as three police cars, sirens blaring, pulled up in front of them: Terri Scott's police-blue Lexus GX, Donald Esk's rusty blue Land Rover, and Stanlee Dempsey's pristine white Range Rover.
"Hold it right there!" called Terri Scott as she, Sheila, Colin, and Suzette climbed out of the Lexus.
"What is the problem, officers?" demanded Lancelot-Dennis. "Can't wait, we're just about to set out on our latest battle."
"Against the Vikings?" asked Colin Klein.
"Viking?" asked Dennis, looking puzzled. "No, the Visigoths."
"They were members of a powerful Germanic tribe that played an important role in the final decades of the Western Roman Empire," explained Kenneth.
"We've had two men killed last night by people dressed as Vikings, sailing a longboat, and using green explosives, without a licence," said Terri.
"And their widows claim that it was members of your society that did it," said Colin, trying to sound as stern as his fiancée.
"Firstly, we don't use any-coloured explosives," said Dennis. "Secondly, we don't own a long-, medium, or even short boat."
"Although fighting the Vikings would be something new," said Marsha. "We've never re-enacted their landing at Humber River, or their defeat by King Harold Godwinson's English forces at the Battle of Stamford Bridge."
"Yes, but we don't have a boat for the Vikings."
"My family could build a longboat," insisted Kenneth. "Don't forget we come from a long line of carpenters."
"Well ... I'm not sure," said Dennis, wary of stepping into a boat made by Kenneth's family.
"With respect, Sire," said Marsha, "if we are the Britons, it would be Marcus's losers as the Vikings, who would have to risk stepping into the boat."
"Yes, of course," said Dennis, smiling.
"Honey, my family are professional builders. My Uncle Gerard has a furniture-making factory."
"What's it called, Jerry Builders?" asked Marsha, making everyone, including the cops, except Kenneth, laugh.
"Honey!" protested Kenneth Maudsley.
When she finally stopped laughing, Terri Scott said, "Nonetheless, we need Sheila to take facial pictures of all of your society members to show to the two widows."
Sighing from frustration, Dennis said, "Oh, very well."
"Is this all of them?" asked Colin Klein.
"No, only our Britons," said Kenneth Maudsley.
"Marcus Youngblood's Visigoths are hiding in the forest somewhere," explained Marsha Maudsley.
"Oh, God," said Terri. Then to Stanley Dempsey and Don Esk, "get back into your Rovers and see if you can find them."
"Marm," said Stanlee, a huge ox of a man with short black hair.
It was a couple of hours before Stanlee Dempsey, Don Esk, and the others returned with pictures of Marcus Youngblood's Visigoths. By that time, Sheila Bennett had already taken the pictures of Dennis DuBeck's Britons to the Glen Hartwell and Daley Community Hospital, to be shown to Brittany and Tiffany Tenant as soon as they were well enough to look at them.
"Well, if you've got everything you need," said a peeved Dennis DuBeck, "may we, at last, get on with our role playing?"
"Of course," said Terri, "but, as they say in the movies, 'Don't leave town!'"
"Technically, we already have,' said Marsha Maudsley, "since we're in the forest."
Sighing from frustration, Terri amended it to, "All right, don't leave the Glen Hartwell region until we've resolved who murdered and raped the Tenant family."
"Tiff and Britt Tenant?" asked Marsha. "They're friends of mine."
"Then, we'll give them your regards," said Terri, as they headed back to the three police cars.
"All right then," said Dennis after the police had left, "Sir Kay, call your Chivalry to attention!"
"My chivalry to attention!" called Marsha (Kay) Maudsley. "And try to get it right first time for a change ...."

Seventy minutes later, Dennis-Lancelot's men (and women) were still wandering through the forest, looking for Marcus Youngblood's Visigoth arm, without success.
"Where the Hell could they have got to?" pondered Dennis DuBeck.
"They've hidden themselves very well for a change," said Kenneth.
"Or else, they were too chicken to turn up to fight us," offered Marsha, flapping her elbows like wings, while going, "Bark! Bark! Bark!"
"Honey, Marcus might be an idiot, but he's not a coward," insisted Kenneth.
"So, you don't want me to sing, 'He seems like Chicken Tonight!'?"
"Honey!"
Before they could argue the point any further, they found themselves near the banks of the Yannan River.
"He wouldn't have hidden across the river, would he?" asked Kenneth.
"Well, it is clean enough to risk swimming in now," suggested Dennis.
"Just don't swallow any of the water, for Lord's sake," said Marsha.
As they were talking, they heard from the left chanting of, "Harald Hardrada, Vikingfrykt! Harald Hardrada, Vikingfrykt! Harald Hardrada, Vikingfrykt!"
"That's not an authentic Visigoth cry," said Kenneth.
"Why are you surprised, honey?" asked Marsha. "Marcus's research is even less reliable than what they do on the Discovery Channel in the States."
"Oh yeah, I remember the Discovery Channel from our honeymoon in the States a while back."
"That was before Captain Looney Toons took over control of the Half-Wit House," Marsha said for Dennis's benefit.
While they were talking, the Vikingfrykt was rowed into sight from the left.
"Those bastards, they have got a longboat!" said Kenneth, thinking that it was Marcus Youngblood's Visigoth army.
"I know they didn't get this approved by the Re-enactment Society Council!" said Dennis.
"How dare they change the rules without permission from the council?" said Marsha-Kay. "Hey, you buggers are cheating ... again!"
Hearing the sound of a female voice, Eiriksson called for the rowers to stop. Looking across at Dennis DuBeck's Britons, he said:
"Another comely Briton wench."
"Do Britons allow their women to fight in their battles?" asked Olaf, puzzled.
"Maybe their men were too cowardly to fight us, so they let their women have a turn," suggested a tall blond Viking, Bjørn the Beast.
Leaping from the longboat, he splashed to shore, then ran up to Marsha to say, "You are a fine and comely wench."
Not bothering to draw her sword from its scabbard, Marsha punched the Viking as hard as she could in the face, sending him sprawling. unconscious to the thick carpet of pine needles and gum leaves that blanketed the forest floor.
"Sir Kay," cautioned Dennis, "there was no need for that. He was just role-playing."
"Nobody calls me a wench! Except for Kenneth, when we're role-playing at night."
"Ho, ho, a spirited as well as comely wench," said Eiriksson as the longboat headed for shore, so that the Vikings could disembark.
"Where the Hell is Marcus?" demanded Dennis. "He should be leading you lot. And you're supposed to be Visigoths, not bloody Vikings!"
"Who was talking to you, old man?" demanded Eiriksson.
"Old man! I'm not quite sixty yet!"
"Nearly sixty, that is very old indeed!"
"Haven't you heard that sixty is the new forty?" demanded Marsha.
"Even if that were try, forty is hardly young," said Eiriksson as his men charged off the longboat, Vikingfrykt.
"Prepare to die, Visigoth swine," said Marsha, crouching a little as she withdrew her hardened steel sword.
"We are not Visigoths, we are Vikings!" cried Olaf the Mighty.
"Prepare to die, Viking swine," corrected Marsha.
Then, before he had time to react, the Amazonian brunette charged Olaf, swinging her sword with such force that it dented his circular shield and sent it flying out of his left hand.
"A spirited wench, indeed," said Olaf.
Smirking at the wrong moment, as Marsha swung her sword again and shattered his helmet in two, knocking the Viking out.
As Olaf crashed to the forest floor, Eiriksson laughed and said, "A spirited woman indeed."
"Well, cop this, young 'Arry," said Marsha, charging the Viking leader.
Taking a step backwards, Eiriksson laughed and said, "You will make a fine wife, Briton woman."
"She already has," said Kenneth, "she's my fine wife."
"So, I must kill you first before I can claim my prize?" asked Eiriksson.
Ignoring Marsha, he charged toward Kenneth, only to have the Amazonian brunette whack him on the back of the helmet with the flat side of her sword, dislodging his helmet and sending the Viking sprawling to his knees.
Eiriksson shook his head for a moment, then climbed slowly to his feet again, saying, "Briton woman, I will fight you in bed, after I have dispatched your husband."
To which Marsha whacked him on the head again with the side of her sword, sending the Viking face-down on the carpet of pine needles and gum leaves.
"No one wrestles with me in bed, except my Kenneth," said Marsha.
Advancing upon the fallen warrior, she raised her sword above her head, as though to strike him again, when Dennis called out:
"Not when he is on the ground, Sir Kay. We have to stick to the rules of fair combat, even if Marcus and his clowns do not."
Looking frustrated, reluctantly, Marsha abandoned Eiriksson and raced across toward Bjørn the Beast, who had made the mistake of climbing to his feet again.
"Die, Viking swine!" cried Marsha.
As the surprised Viking turned to face her, the brunette cracked him upon the helmet with the blade of her sword, cutting his helmet in half, leaving a dent in his forehead, and knocking him out.
"I should have warned you," shouted Kenneth, "she's not only my wife, but she's also the fiercest, most bloodthirsty warrior that we have."
"We know that," called back, a short, stocky Viking, Frode the Fearsome, who looked anything except fearsome at the moment.
"Ahhhhhhhh!" shrieked Marsha.
Raising her sword high as she charged toward Frode and a small group of Vikings.
Dropping his sword, Frode shrieked in anything but a fearless manner and turned to race back toward the longboat, followed by half a dozen other Vikings!
"Ahhhhhhhh!" shrieked Marsha again.
Then, seeing her husband under attack by three Vikings, the brunette raced across to whack one Viking on the top of the helmet with the side of her sword. This did not damage the Viking, but drove his helmet down over his eyes, forcing him to drop his sword, while struggling to pull up his helmet.
"Ahhhhhhhh!" shrieked Marsha again.
Striking the second warrior on the helmet with the blade of her sword. Which cut his helmet in half, and caused blood to fountain from the top of his head.
"Careful, honey, you don't want to kill anyone," said Kenneth.
"Ahhhhhhhh!" shrieked Marsha, straight into the face of the third Viking.
Who dropped his sword and shield and ran as fast as he could back to the Yannan River, where he leapt into the river to swim back to the Vikingfrykt, since Frode and the others had rowed the boat into the middle of the river for safety.
Although the fighting continued for another twenty minutes or so, the result was a foregone conclusion. Finally, the last of the Vikings beat a hasty retreat back to their longboat, dragging or carrying their fallen comrades with them.
"Ahhhhhhhh!" shrieked Marsha again, from the bank of the river.
Scaring the Vikings into rowing downstream as fast as possible..
"I told you she was our most fearsome warrior," Kenneth shouted after them.

When the longboat was out of sight and sound of Dennis, Marsha, and Kenneth, they stopped to gather their thoughts:
"Vikings don't run away from women!" insisted Frode the Fearsome.
"You certainly did," said Bjørn the Beast.
"At least she didn't knock me out ... twice, like with you," said Frode. Laughing he added, "Once with her fist."
"She caught me by surprise."
"Twice?"
"Besides, she had bigger muscles and a bigger fist than most men."
"She was certainly a magnificent woman," said Eiriksson the Bold, thinking: If also the most frightening opponent whom I have ever come up against!
"How can we live down this shame?" asked Olaf the Mighty.
"We will redeem ourselves with our next victory," said Eiriksson. Only hoping that it was true.
As it was, they would redeem themselves in less than an hour. Having rowed across to the opposite bank of the Yannan River, they came to a clearing where Marcus Youngblood (Marconius) and his Visigoth troops were having a late lunch before heading, belatedly into battle.
"Poor Dennis must be pulling his hair out wondering where we've got to," said Marconius, "by the time we attack, they will have really let their guard down."
After checking out the Visigoth troops, to make certain that there were no Amazonian women amongst their numbers, Eiriksson the Bold announced:
"This is how we will redeem ourselves. On my word, we will charge and slaughter the Visigoths."
"Those of us who have still got our weapons," said Bjørn the Beast, taunting Frode the Fearless.
"At least ...."
"Quiet," hissed Eiriksson, then: "Charge!"
At his command, the remaining thirty-six odd Vikings raced out of the bushes, aiming their swords, spears and battleaxes at the seated Visigoths.
"What the fuck?" said one of the Visigoths. "Dennis is cheating a ...."
Which was all he got out before Eiriksson speared him through the heart.
"What the fuck?" asked Marcus, standing quickly. He stared at the bloody corpse for a moment before shouting, "Run for your fucking lives."
Leading the 'advance to the rear', he called out, "I don't think these bastards are Dennis's men.
"Vikingfrykt! Vikingfrykt! Vikingfrykt!" shrieked the Vikings as they charge after the Visigoths: Beheading them with their battleaxes, cutting their limbs off with their swords, stabbing them in the head from behind with their spears.
"Die, Visigoths, doe!" shrieked Eiriksson, as the rest of the Vikings continued to chant: "Vikingfrykt! Vikingfrykt! Vikingfrykt!"
"Swim across the river!" screamed Marcus, leading less than ten of his fifty-strong forces across to the other bank
"Thanks be to Odin, the King of the Gods!" cried Eiriksson. "You have granted us the opportunity to redeem ourselves immediately, Mighty Odin. All heil mighty Odin!"
"All heil mighty Odin!" chorused all of the Vikings.

Across on the other bank of the river, Dennis and Kenneth were still hunting for Marcus Youngblood's Visigoths. Marsha, her adrenaline still rushing, was hoping to catch up with the Vikings again!
"I'm starting to think that they chickened out on meeting us in combat," suggested Kenneth Maudsley.
"If they saw your Marsha chasing off those bogus Vikings, I can't say I blame them," said Dennis with a laugh.
"Ahhhhhhhh!" shrieked Marsha again, just for luck.
"Does she ever calm down?" asked Dennis.
"Eventually, but until then, it's best just to let her get it out of her system. I used to take her to bed when she got this worked up ... but after she almost effed me to death a couple of times, I learnt my lesson."
"Too much information by far," said Dennis.
"Ahhhhhhhh!" shrieked Marsha again as Marcus Youngblood and eight of the routed Visigoths ran out of the forest.
"Aaaaaaaaaah!" cried Marcus, turning to run off along the bank of the river, followed by the handful of surviving Visigoths.
"Where the Hell are the rest of your troops?" demanded Dennis.
"All dead."
"Dead?" asked Kenneth, wondering if he had heard correctly.
"Killed by the fucking Vikings!" shouted Marcus without stopping.
"Killed by ...?" asked Dennis.
"Ahhhhhhhh!" shrieked Marsha.
"It's best just to let her get it out of her system," explained Kenneth.

An hour later, while Marcus and his surviving men, and two women, were at the Glen Hartwell and Daley Community Hospital, being treated for physical injuries as well as shock, Terri Scott and a dozen or so cops were at the site of the Visigoth massacre.
"Jesus, there must be over forty bodies here," said Tilly Lombstrom. A tall, attractive, fifty-something brunette, Tilly was a surgeon at the hospital.
After Sheila took the crime scene photos, Tilly called for the air ambulance to help them to ferry all of the bodies to the morgue in the basement of the hospital. Glen Hartwell's six vehicular ambulances were soon on the way with the first six corpses."
"So what happened?" asked Terri.
"We weren't here to see it," explained Kenneth, "but before running away from us Marcus Youngblood said it was the Vikings in your longboat."
"We had dealings with them first," said Marsha, who had finally recovered from her adrenaline surge.
"Then where are your dead bodies?" asked Colin.
"Thanks to Marsha, we didn't have any," said Dennis.
"She beat the Hell out of half of them, and scared the bejesus out of the other half," said Kenneth proudly, "I did warn them that she was our fiercest warrior."
"I guess I had a bit of an adrenaline rush," said Marsha, only remembering half of what she had done. "I remember three of them at once attacking my Kenneth, then me rushing across to beat them up."
"If we had three more like her, we wouldn't need an Australian Army," said Colin, only half joking.

After sailing the longboat, Vikingfrykt, along the Yannan River without finding any more Britons or Visigoths to vanquish, the revitalised Vikings reversed direction. A simple enough task since Viking longboats had no flat stern, only two pointed bows, so that instead of having to turn the boat to go in the opposite direction, the rowers just had to stand up, turn around and sit down again, and in a couple of seconds they were ready to go in the opposite direction.
After rowing well past where they had killed the Visigoths and been routed by Marsha Maudsley, they reached a section where the water became shallower. Which even the shallow boat had difficult transversing.
"Time to disembark!" ordered Eiriksson the Bold. Who was feeling a lot more bold, now that Marsha was nowhere in sight. What a woman! he thought with a regretful sigh.
Climbing from the longboat, they managed to pull it to shore. They removed the mast and sail, then upended the Vikingfrykt to carry it cross country, still unaware that the time-storm had carried them from the Humber River in 1066 England, to the Yannan River in Victoria, in July 2025.

Lake Cooper, outside Harpertown, is an inland lake, which is stocked with fish, etc., every winter when it overflows and joins up with the Yannan River in Glen Hartwell, which in turn joins up eventually with the Tasman Sea. There had been some epic battles fought there [See my story, 'The Devil Fish'.], however, the Howard brothers weren't there to fish.
"Just fun and son, bro," said Marty Howard, a tall, lanky redheaded man, with teenage acne, despite being thirty-two.
"Fun and sun," agreed his Arty Howard, a short, twenty-nine-year-old, with long(ish) raven hair.




Eiriksson
Eiriksson the Bold
THE END
© Copyright 2025 Philip Roberts
Melbourne, Victoria, Australia