Burwenn and Hala

All characters and persons involved in sexual activities in this story are over the age of 18.

6: Nunnery of Lady St Mary, Werham, Dornsæte, Wessex (modern day Wareham, Dorset, England): AD876

Burwenn of Wilton and Hala Frostulfdottir

The constant heavy drone of the Mother Superior's sermon washed over Burwenn as she knelt dutifully with her sisters before the altar. It being a Sunday, they always started out the day before dawn in prayers to give thanks to God for his blessings. The endless latin surrounded the young nun and she automatically chanted along with those parts that the congregation were required to call in on. But her mind was elsewhere, and Burwenn allowed the habit of three years in the nunnery to take control of her body through the motions of the sermon as she daydreamed peacefully.

She remembered a day last summer, when the air was filled with the distant scent of cut straw and the sun flexed its long fingers down to caress her face lightly with its warmth. She had been out in the gardens, helping the elder Sister Gytha tend to the many herbs that she grew there. The old nun had fallen asleep in the shade, as she often did, which allowed Burwenn to finish clipping the buds of overgrown stems on her own.

But she hadn't been in the garden alone for very long. She heard a scrabbling sound just over the stone wall which enclosed the abbey gardens and the next moment a thin, scrawny boy carrying a small sack vaulted over and landed with a tumble in the rosemary. For a moment Burwenn had been too shocked to react, not only was the boy trespassing, but he was thoughtlessly lying prone on the precious herbs she had just spent the last hour carefully trimming. And also, men were not allowed inside the nunnery walls! It was a place of virginal sanctity, protecting the bridges of God from the ravishings of the cruel mundane world beyond its walls.

With a groan the intruder moved slowly, reaching up to hold their head, which was covered in a messy thatch of dirty-straw hair, clutching the bag still with the other. Burwenna had clutched at the small pair of iron clippers in her hand in self-defence. She wondered now why she hadn't called out or why she hadn't just run, something about the boy had perplexed and intrigued her.

As they finally got to their feet and looked around them, the boy had clapped eyes on Burwenn and froze completely still, like a statue, their eyes darting around in a panic. The two of them stared at each other like that, for what had seemed like an eternity, neither one breaking eye contact for a moment. Then the boy had smiled ruefully and swept their hair back from the face before confidently taking a couple of steps towards Burwenn, crushing a few more rosemary plants in the process.

'Good morrow Sister, might I trouble you for a moment?'

In the corner, Sister Gytha had shifted a little in her sleep, but the boy's voice failed to rouse her.

'Stay back... boy!' Burwenn stammered, holding the shears out in front of her, 'I am a blessed sister of the Nunnery of St Maria, you shall not touch me!' Even Burwenn had thought her voice had sounded small and timid.

'Boy?' the intruder replied, then looked down at themself, at the dirty linen shirt and patched dark-green trousers.

'Yeah I guess that figures.' With a quick, deft movement, Burwenn had felt the shears knocked aside, and her wrist grasped firmly, but not viciously in the intruder's hand. She had been too shocked to even react, which is why the intruder had been able to pull her arm forward until it grasped the soft, plump flesh of the woman's right breast hidden under her tunic.

'Still think I'm a boy now?'

Burwenn looked up to meet those same deep blue eyes again and saw the relative softness of the girl's features properly this time. The strong but still gentle curve of her jawline, hairless perfection of her skin and the full ripeness of her lips, curled into a cheeky smile. In that moment Burwenn had realised that she was still lightly cupping the girl's breast in her open hand and with a small squeak she had snatched it back, triggering a small laugh from her assaulter.

'Now you get it,' the messy-haired blond said, 'Look I don't want any trouble, especially with a cute little søde like you. So just point me towards where I can find a way out to the river and I'll get out of your face, all right?'

Now that she knew the truth, Burwenn recognised that the voice was definitely feminine, but had a strange accent, unlike any she had ever heard in Wessex.

'Who are you? Where are you from? Why are you here?'

'Woah woah woah, lots of questions, suddenly very talkative little puttegøj. Look if i tell you, you keep this quiet okay? No screaming, no shouting, no raising hel and the sleeping dead, and you tell me which way I need to go to get to the river?'

Burwenn's eyes had flashed from the woman, to the door back into the nunnery, back to the woman and the shears she had held in her hand. She could probably run and make it back inside, but the woman looked fierce and desperate and Burwenn wasn't sure that she would make it to safety before this marauder cut her throat. Besides she found a deep burning curiosity about this strange wild creature welling up inside her.

'Okay... if you follow this wall around to the right until you reach a gate, go out and follow the hedgeline, you'll see the river beyond the copse of trees.'

The woman's eyes flicked to the wall and the direction that Burwenna had pointed her, then dwelled on the nun for a moment longer than Burwenna had felt comfortable, her eyes scanning up and down her plain woollen shift with her head cocked to one side.

'Perfect, thanks søde, I'll be on my way.' The woman replied, moving past Burwenn closely and flicking a rakish smile her way as she turned her back.

'Wait, you haven't told me who you are?'

The mop of dirty blond hair turned back for just a moment,

'My name is Hala Frostulfdøttir, I come from Daneland, and I came here to scout out this land so that my brothers and I can return to pillage, loot and rape this land for all it's worth. I'll see you again my lille blomst.'

And with that, Hala had turned her head and scarpered off into the nunnery gardens and out of Burwenn's life forever.

- - - -

More than a year later and Burwenn snapped out of the remembered daydream of that summer's day. She had never mentioned her strange encounter with the strong, forceful blond woman that she had encountered. She didn't know why, perhaps it was fear of judgement for the kiss that she had stolen? Or that she had liked it? Or just the thrill of having a secret that nobody else knew. The movement of her fellow sisters around her aroused her from her distraction and she clabbered to her feet with the rest of the congregation. Mother superior was performing the last acts of the rites and the blessing and Burwenn could make out the first glimmers of dawn through the windows of the chapel.

With the ceremony complete, she filed out with the rest of the nuns in the small nunnery to attend to their daily chores. There was breakfast to get started on, as well as the laundry and tending the small family of pigs that they kept on the grounds. A life of perpetual, holy, devoted boredom is what sister Derehild had called it. Burwenn had giggled along with the other young nuns, pleasantly scandalised by the girl's darring.

Burwenn knew of course that God saw and knew all that she did and said and thought, and forgave her for sinfully thinking that life in the Nunnery was anything but perfect. On one level she knew that she was very lucky to have been taken in and made a bride of Christ, to live in peace with her Sisters. But on another deeper level, she wondered if there was more to the world beyond these walls, more to see and do, and experience. A life like the stange woman Hala seemed to lead. A life dedicated to God was no bad thing, she was doing The Lord's work, which was good for her and for everyone. But Hala had been something quite beyond this life of quiet service. A creature unfettered by tradition, dedication or unseen chains.

But such thoughts were cruel and unholy. God saw her heart and soul and would judge her harshly for such wanton desires. She pushed them down, tramelling their quiet pleas with hard work and dedication. That was her path as a Sister of St Maria's and nothing would keep her from her duty.

There was a whiff of a sea breeze on the air this morning, the smell of salt and seaweed blowing in from the south where the river met the ocean. And calls as well of the fishermen setting sail for today's catch. But very noisy today, almost as if the size of the fishing fleet down by Werham had tripled in size? And then a shout of alarm, a scream, the raising of voices, and then the clanging of the church bell. The alarm had been raised. And that meant only one thing, that the sea brought not only salt and fish this morning, but something else too. The Vikings had come.

- - -

In next to no time the raiders were up and over the wall, charging across the open orchards and gardens of the nunnery and heading towards the main buildings. All around her, Burwenn could hear her sisters screaming and fleeing in fear but she stayed rooted to the spot in complete terror. The stone wall surrounding the compound offered no resistance at all to the Viking invaders. Soon around twenty huge men with long hair and beards had vaulted the parapet and were looking around for any defenders. But this was a house of God, not a fortress, there were none to defend them.

One wolf-pelt wearing Viking carrying a massive razor-sharp battle axe, his eyes filled with bloodlust, began charging up the path to where Burwenn stood frozen. He shouted something in that strange mouth-full language of his as he ran full-tilt towards the defenceless nun. Finally something snapped inside Burwenn and she felt her legs move again, desperate to get away from this oncoming mountain of muscle and violence. But it was already too late, her petrified panic had cost her those valuable seconds she needed to get away and as she turned to run she felt his enormous hand grasp firmly onto her clothing and yank her roughly backwards. The massive man landed a huge blow to her midriff, completely knocking the wind out of her before he threw her roughly to sprawl on the floor.

Burwenn's heart was hammering like a bird trapped in a cage, her breath completely gone from her lungs and in a blind panic she lashed out at the man with her foot, catching him with a feeble blow on the lower leg. The cruel looking viking sneered unkindly at her and muttered something heathen under his breath, before slamming his axe down into the wooden fence beside him, burying it into the wood. Burwenn knew what was about to happen, could see the vile, predatory look in the man's eyes, how he flexed his dirty fingers and reached down towards her.

She finally took a gasp and screamed and rolled over, trying to crawl away from him, her knees scraping against the dry soil and grass beneath her, her mind a chaotic chauldron of panic and terror. She was a bride of Christ, virginal and sacrosanct, this heathen could not be allowed to have her! God would surely not allow it?! But it seemed that even God himself had abandoned her that day as she felt his hands grab her roughly once again by the back of the hair and press her head roughly down into the ground, stifling her screams in the dirt and grass.

This was it, her mind and body rebelled at what she knew was about to happen to her, she tried to blank it out, to disconnect herself from her feeble, struggling body. Tried to not feel the rough fumbling hands of this heathen invader rip and pull at her clothing, feel his hot breath on the back of her neck or hear the rough, guttural grunting of his foreign language.

And then, there was the sound of a heavy impact, and the weight on her head was suddenly lifted as the man who was assaulting her collapsed sideways with a grunt. Something wet and warm splashed across the right side of her face, and, with her eyes closed she was only aware of the distant shouts and screams of her sisters. But she was somehow disconnected from their pain, unable to comprehend. She remained frozen for a moment longer before she scrambled back away from the body of her attacker, where it lay now with a massive gash taken out of the side of his neck.

Her scream was stifled however by another hand gripping her mouth, and holding her torso with the other, as a familiar voice spoke softly in her ear.

'Shhh, it's all right, shhh, I've got you now my lille blomst'.

At that point, her ears ringing, arms scraped and bloody and clothes ragged and torn, Burwenn gave in to the shock, or fear, or even mindless rage that was flooding her mind and she passed out.

- - -

When she next awoke, Burwenn was aware of only the sounds of a crackling fire and the low distant sound of people talking. Something about it seemed wrong or unusual, but the thoughts in her head were mixed up and mis-aligned and in her semi-conscious state she found it hard to reassemble them. Slowly, bit by bit, things began to fall into place, she felt the dull ache of her stomach and rough soreness of her knees. The distant voices she could hear were male, alien and unfamiliar in this hall of female chastity. And then memories began to swirl back into place. The raid, the viking attack, the man who had accosted her and had nearly... A small gasp escaped her lips as the memory of what had happened washed over her. The distant voices stopped for just a moment before the sound of approaching footsteps overtook them.

Burwenn froze in place, willing herself to either be somewhere else or to die here and now to spare herself the shame and torture of what these viking devils would do to her. There was a rustle and a shifting off the woollen pelts on which she lay as another body sank down beside her. She felt a hand reach up and lift a lock of her hair, which had fallen loose of it's binding, from off her face. She tried desperately not to flinch at the touch, but her body naturally recoiled at the foreign movement.

'Hey... Hey it's all-right,'

A voice said, this one softer and gentler. Female, but still with that strange full-mouthed accent. Hala! The woman from the orchard a year ago, she had saved her!

Burwenn risked a slight opening of her eyes to squint at the person now sitting beside her. There she saw the woman Hala, tall and strong and with that same lopsided smile as she had before. Her hair was longer now, which she had woven together into a loose plait which hung down to the left of her face. Also she wore what looked like a chainmail shirt of all things, her hands had a rough texture but were warm and tender as she gently caressed Burwenn's face.

But this was all wrong, Burwenn opened her eyes fully and like a trapped beast scrabbled backward from this strange manly-dressed woman until she had her back against the wall. She saw that she was in the main hall of the Nunnery, the tables and chairs had all been cleared to one side and a large fire had been made up in the central hearth. Around it sat ten or twelve people, all dressed in that same collection of furs, leather armour and chain-mail. As she struggled, she saw a few glance her way and she recoiled at their gaze, whilst also noticing that there were one or two other women amongst their number.

'Hey, it's okay', the woman Hala said gently, raising her palms up towards Burwenn, 'You're safe, nobody here is going to hurt you, not without going through me first, you understand?'

The words Hala was speaking registered on some level with the panic-stricken nun, but the effect of having her whole world collapse around her and nearly being... raped, made it very hard to Burwenn to focus. She found herself just concentrating on the woman's outstretched palms, noticing the calluses and rough spots very much like her own, but also noticing the relative strength and power behind the arms that supported them.

'But... you attacked us!' She managed at last, pointing an accusing finger, 'You and your heathen brood! You attacked this house of God and you... what have you done with my sisters?!'

Her breath came quickly now, revolting at the implications of what would have happened to the fifty-or-so other women that had inhabited this place. Burwenn had heard tales of the Viking, they were God's punishment on this sinful world, merciless raiders who took what they wanted, anything they wanted and left the land ravaged and barren in their wake. If they had taken the nunnery then surely it was already too late?!

'Shhh, it's okay,' Hala continued to placate, 'You're safe, don't worry about it, you're safe so long as I'm around, all right? Nobody will harm you so long as I want you unharmed.'

'You're one of them?! A Viking woman? God must truly have forsaken your people if women are forced to fight alongside men!

At this Hala laughed heartily and Burwenn thought that she heard a few derisive chuckles from over by the fire as well. The warrior woman stood up and stretched her arms wide, the fire behind her making her appear as a demon or maybe an angel.

'Forced?! I am a Shield-Maiden little nun, I am just as mighty a warrior as any of these drunken louts. And I do so because I am free! I do not bend and cower before any man, or scrape and grovel on my knees before an empty altar. My people fight, and we take what we want, because it's what we're good at! And believe me, if I didn't want you, then there would be a far worse fate awaiting you than what I have in mind.'

Something about the way Hala gloated and looked down at Burwenn made something tremble inside the cowed nun. There was something similar in it to the way that the Viking man who had attacked her had looked at her, but less animal somehow, more restrained and patient. And there was power there, like none Burwenn had ever experienced in her life here. Something about this violent, cruel but strong woman intrigued and repulsed her in equal measure.

Hala knelt back down and leaned into towards Burwenn, closer than she felt at all comfortable with. She could see the small patch of pox-scars on her left cheek and the halo of loose hairs around her head as it was framed in the firelight.

'Sit tight and get some rest, lille blomst,'

she said calmly, her gaze matching Burwenn's intensely. She blinked and Burwenn thought she was about to move away but in that moment the other woman leaned in to plant a full-lipped kiss on her partly-open mouth. Burwenn was too shocked to even move or breathe, she was aware of the soft, dry texture of Hella's lips and the heavy, human scent of her body. Although it lasted for just a moment, in that kiss, Burwenn felt a maelstrom of emotions, from fear to delight, from revulsion to curiosity. And just as quickly as it had started, it was over. Hala laughed happily and cockily as she stood up and traipsed back to the circle of firelight, leaving Burwenn alone, stunned and utterly alone.

- - -

Burwenn spent most of the night tossing and turning in fitful dreams. Some were filled with screams and vicious men wielding weapons, their hard unwelcome bodies pressed against her own. But other dreams were filled with warm, calm darkness with only a soft presence nearby, unfamiliar and hard as well, but strangely welcome. It was in these dreams that the young nun found herself most able to rest and found that in their embrace, the fear of the day seemed to lessen somehow.

When she awoke, it was with a small squeak of surprise as she found that she had been sleeping with the Shield Maiden Hala's naked arm wrapped around her. The roughly-dressed woman had clearly snuck in behind her and had snuggled up to her, their bodies warming each other through the night. A deep flush filled Burwenn's cheeks that was part anger and revulsion at having her bed so invaded, and part embarrassment and confusion. Why would this woman have chosen to spend the night with her when there were plenty of her own people with her, men at that, the natural companion of woman. For a woman to lie with another woman was... sinful.