Thorfinn Bearaxe breathed deeply, the cold mist of late summer dawn shrouding the coast of Northumberland. His Drakkar, a sleek 20 oared raiding boat, Fjord Wraith gliding silently through the shallows of the estuary, undetected by its prey. The crew dipped their oars in well drilled unison, the keel slicing through the water using the incoming tide to float effortlessly towards the abbey and the village surrounding it.
This was a raid for riches and slaves, and Thorfinn Bearaxe had a reputation for taking both. He stood six foot three inches tall, with piercing blue eyes and dark hair that set him apart from the reds and blondes of his Norse crew. Only the greying of his beard and the lines of age gave his age away. Although he had survived for 44 summers so far, his body was taut and strong. Never afraid to take his place at the rowing bench, his hands were hard and his back broad.
He could swing his grandfather's Dane axe with ease; the same Dane axe that gave him his name when he used it to take the life of the bear that attacked his mother when he was only 13 summers old.
Thorfinn pulled his mail over his head, letting it drop over his rich red tunic, taking the weight off his shoulders by tightening the belt around his narrow waist. "Widow Maker", the intricately pattern welded sword, he had been given by his father when he killed his first enemy in battle at 17, was dropped over his shoulder to hang at his left side. Slinging his pine wood shield with its twin ravens in black on the front over his back, and settling his helm on his head he grabbed his Dane axe. Giving thanks to Aegir, the god of the Sea for a safe journey, he dropped lightly into the cold thigh-deep water of the estuary and helped beach Sea Wraith up on the bank.
Sliding up the side of a wood, the crew made their way, invisible to their victims, towards the gate in the wooden palisade. 50 yards short, on command, the men silently dropped to their stomachs. Bearaxe watched silently, as two of his men crawled up to the wall, crouching either side of the gate.
An eerie creak signified the opening of the gate. Ivar the Toothless, thrust his spear through the gap in the gate, its steel head cutting through the throat of its unsuspecting victim, leaving him gurgling on the floor, drowning in his own life blood. Quickly stepping over the body, Ivar attacked again, the bloodied silver blade cutting through the kidneys of the youth trying to run to raise the alarm.. Dragging both men through the gate, Ivar grinned his toothless grin, signalling to Bearaxe to make his way.
Bearaxe left five men at the woods to watch Fjord Wraith and the entrance to the village as he and the rest of the crew trotted over to Ivar. Twenty-five warriors swept through the entrance, armed to the teeth and made their way up to the long house in the centre of the village. Silently entering through the partially open door, Thorfinn in the half-light could make out six Saxon warriors and their womenfolk snoring on their beds of fur-covered bracken. Earthenware pots were strewn around, and half-eaten food was left on the tables. At least these warriors had had a decent send-off before they went to meet this new Christ they were all following. No more fucking, drinking and fighting for them in this 'heaven'. Thorfinn shook his head sadly. Surely sitting next to Odin in the great hall was the place to go after this life was over? As the Saxon Warriors were dispatched to their maker, cold steel to the throat silencing them forever, women were dragged from their beds wide-eyed, silenced by fear. Once the hall was empty Bearaxe made his way towards the richly embroidered curtain separating the warriors from their Thane.
Pulling it back he stepped inside the Earl's quarters. Lying on his back was a fat man in his 40s, nothing like Thorfinn; he was red faced from easy-living. His heavily-jewelled fingers lay on his fat stomach, and he was snoring like a boar.
Next to him lay a girl, maybe 18 or 19, her long golden hair like a halo around her face on the pillow. Her face was red for a different reason - though clearly asleep, she was restless, biting her lower lip, her face flushed red, and despite the heavy fur covering he could see that her knees were drawn up and her hands were down between her legs. Thorfinn smiled.
"Thank you Frigg, for providing me with this reward!" he said quietly to himself. Slowly he removed his mail and weapons, and loosening his breeches, seven inches of Norse cock stood proud from his belly. He grinned. "This weapon is called 'Widow Taker'!'" he thought to himself. 'Saxon pussy is just the way to start this raid.' Drawing his sword, he dropped its steel tip to the fur and lifted it away, revealing her half-naked body. Through the material of her underskirt he could make out two erect nipples on beautifully ripe firm breasts. His eyes slowly travelled down her body and watched as her long slim fingers slid in and out of her hot, wet Saxon quim. He stood for a while, slowly wanking his cock as her fingers brushed over her clit. Her breathing became shallower and faster, blood coloured her neck and cheeks, her hips lifting invitingly as she thrust two fingers in and out of her cunt as her orgasm approached.
