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Author's Chapter Notes:
many many thanks to my nice kind reviewers, dusty, ariadne and cordykitten
they made my day.
William could hear the screams from his hiding place in the refectory, the yells of the wounded, and the cries from a woman. It was obvious from the noise what was happening to her as she was defiled in the main church. The torches were flickering and smoking, making it hard to see anything at all. He had been told to run and hide with some of the ladies when the barbarians had first come onto the sacred ground: he'd hidden them in one of the cells that was less than obvious, begging them to be silent.

He wasn’t a fighter by nature, but he couldn’t just hide in the dark listening to what was happening. He made his way to the heavy oak door and slipped through it. He had to find Tara, he hoped desperately, prayed harder than he ever had that she was safe. Begging God to be kind and protect the young girl he raced through the wooden halls. As he came round the corner he saw Brother Richard, head of novices, bleeding from a wound to his head, laying stretched out on the floor. There was a pool of blood around his tonsured head. William leant over the old monk, he checked to see if the old man was breathing: he was, so William pulled him into the shadow of an alcove, hoping that it would provide some shelter against them being seen. Blood seeped out from the wound; William placed a cloth against the cut and tied it up.

He could hear the sound of a woman screaming: the sound seemed to come from outside. He followed the noise: it was leading down to the beach where the dragon ship had been pulled up. Men with torches were heading down the worn sandy path, the torches sending light gleaming off of their helmets and chain mail; swords showed traces of their bloody business, and he could still hear the screams.

William didn't know what to do for the best. Part of him just wanted to run and hide but his conscience wouldn't let him. He knew that he had to do what he could, even if it was just slowing the Vikings down until the warriors could catch up with them. He tried not to think of what would happen if they got hold of him. The Godless barbarians had little respect for the clothes he wore as the screams from the women earlier had told him.

He tripped and staggered down the pathway that led to the sea, trying not to be seen but trying to see what was happening: what he could see turned his blood cold. He saw three women being dragged towards the boat: one of them was Tara, he would know her anywhere. He had to try and save her. She was his cousin and he had a duty to family, though his fear was telling him to run. William sneaked down the path, keeping low, hurrying as much as he could, his robe tripping him up every other step along the rough pathway.

There were men all around the ship: there must have been twenty five or thirty of them, all armed and dangerous. They looked experienced in the ways of war: they moved like his elder brothers. They were working as a team, practised and experienced in what they were doing. And what they were doing was throwing bags of stuff into the boat, heavy with the spoils from the Great Monastery above them. William could hear the heavy footfalls of warriors behind him, wondering if they were friend or enemy. He tried to make it down to the beach ahead of them. The heavy sound of armed men, flaming torches casting their evil light into the darkness: it was a picture of hell. William used the shadows to hide in, desperate to remain unnoticed. He peered over the rough grasses, trying to see where everyone was. The torches surrounding the ship did little to lift the gloom. He could make out shapes then saw one of the women being lifted onto the ship. She was screaming and kicking: it was Lady Alwyn. She managed to land a heel in a very vulnerable place on the man lifting her, knocking the wind from him, by the way he dropped her onto the sand. Lady Alwyn was running towards him, straight at him. William reached up and pulled her into his hiding place, covering her mouth before she could scream and give away their hiding place. William released her mouth and held up his finger to warn her not to make a noise. He pointed at the back path, the one used by the servants and pushed her towards it. Lady Alwyn nodded and scurried up the pathway, keeping low and out of everyone’s sight.

William looked back to the boat: the feet were very close to him now. He had to make a choice; before his mind could choose, his feet chose for him. He was running down the beach shouting and yelling, hoping to disturb the man holding his cousin. His yells brought their attention onto him. The warriors watched in surprise as a slight, unarmed monk ran at them screaming like a madman. He tripped on his robe again and jumped up and rushed to where Tara was being lifted in and started hitting the man holding her. The man batted him like a fly, pushing him back onto the sand. William shook himself and he climbed up the side of the wooden boat and tried, desperately, to pull Tara out. The warrior was not happy with William's interference a second time. It took just one blow to William's head to knock him unconscious and he fell into the dragon boat, at the feet of his cousin who had been thrown in.

The other woman was unceremoniously dumped on top of him and the raiders were away, the tide floating their huge dragonship off of the beach. One single arrow made it into the boat from all those that the defenders of the Holy Island had released from their bows. One arrow and it hit the man who had been carrying Tara. He swore loudly as it pierced his arm, but his crew mates were in no position to help. They manned the oars and headed for the deep sea where none could catch them. The King of Northumbria would be complaining again about the Viking, but they had made a good haul: three slaves and a pile of gold and silver. The ship master pointed the prow northwards and they headed home.





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