In the feeble glow of my torch the mist was swirling across the freshwater marshland as I trudged along the twisting country road clutching the empty petrol can.
My euphoria had vanished as soon as this sodden mist would do in next morning’s forecast sun when I realised I was out of fuel and my mobile phone had lost its charge.
I was stranded in the middle of a maze of small roads somewhere South of the Isle of Thanet in Kent. My bare legs were covered in goose pimples. My fake leather jerkin was dripping with water from the damp mist and running down to soak my skimpy tunic. It would be the final straw if my Viking sword got rusty. I’d been walking for more than an hour.
I had decided to spend the night at home and return in the morning. I should have accepted the offer of a piece of floor after the Halloween party. At least I’d be warm and dry. Now I was cold and wet and lost. My chances of finding a petrol station were poor. Perhaps someone would see me and give me a lift but there had been no cars and I couldn’t even see a lighted house. All I could see was the road surface and the mist shutting everything off just a few feet in front of me.
“Bugger Thor’s Hammer!” I swore as my sandalled feet found a deep puddle. I’d been swearing by the Norse Gods all evening. I had pretending to be a Viking for so long that I kept in character. My language had been the only enjoyment I’d had. I went to meet Hilary who was to have been there. She wasn’t. Everyone else there were couples in matching costumes so I felt an outsider. Hilary had told me that she and her friends were performing at a re-enactment early in the evening and would come to the party late.
After another hundred yards I came to a watersplash where a stream crossed the road. I’d have to wade through the cold water. It was deep, black and running fast after the week of rain.
“Fuck Freya!” I yelled into the deadening mist “I’d rather be raping and pillaging somewhere warm and dry!”
Suddenly a blaze of light shone at me from the other side of the watersplash. Headlights on full beam blinded me.
“Did I hear someone say “Fuck”?” asked a mocking female voice. “You look well and truly fucked already.”
“I’m lost!” I shouted back. “Where am I?”
“If you want rape and pillage you’ve found the right place. Come here.” She answered.
I plunged into the water. It was freezing cold and running fast up to my crotch. By the time I reached the other side I’d dropped the torch and petrol can. I was staggering and I nearly fell. Hands grabbed me and wrapped a large coarse blanket over me. Right over all of me, head as well, knocking my horned helmet off.
At first I was grateful. The blanket was warm and dry. But then I tried to clear it from my head. It was wrapped tighter around me. My sword and belt were plucked away.
“No you don’t, Mr. Viking. You wanted rape and pillage. That’s what you are going to get but you are the victim.”
Someone wrapped rope around the blanket trussing me inside. Several pairs of hands lifted me from the ground and carried me up a couple of steps and through a doorway. I was dropped on to a yielding surface.
My sandals were taken off and my legs towelled dry. There was a metallic click. My ankles were attached to each other. I could not speak because a hand had stuffed some of the blanket into my mouth.
“Let’s see what sorry sort of Viking we’ve caught.” That was a different female voice.
The blanket was released but I was turned face down and straddled and held by women wearing long woollen dresses. My jacket and sodden tunic were dragged off leaving me naked. My hands were pulled behind my back and tied.
I was rolled to my back and I could see. Leaning over me were several women dressed as Saxons with long woollen gowns girdled at the waist. Each had a white wimple head-dress with a white cloth across their faces leaving only their eyes exposed. Two of them were towelling me dry very effectively. As I became warm and dry my instinctive reaction to the hands drying between my legs was embarrassing.
