Chapter 3: Varna
Rocking.
The Black Sea was angry today. It had not occured to me before, but if I disliked the idea of dying in a foreign land then I would be rightly livid in the bottom of its crushing waves. To keep my mind off of it and put my emotions to some use, I head up on deck to see what help I could be.
The colors of bright red, a dull beige, and a contrast of black run from the front dragon prow through the full span and length of the ship. The sail itself, illustrated with something that looks like a skinny rooster running its barbed feet in the air, has the same outstanding highlights.
Overboard, there are a number of shields, rounded at the top and narrowing down to points, each with their own color. There is a single oddball shield out of them, flat on both top and bottom, straight at their sides, tall as I am, heavy with iron and steel, and billowed out a ways to allow someone like me to fit snuggly up to my side or bust. Not the type of shield I normally would carry. A more average round shield is among the others, but that has more intricate carvings and paint than the towering one. Each shield serves its own purpose on the conditions.
I would have brought my third shield, one that resembled the ship crews', but with a flat top and thicker. Unfortunately, the incident with Theo had caused me to lose such a fine piece of equipment.
I certainly did not want to lose these two. Steping over the benchmarks, I make certain that the men and mine shields are strapped in for their journey. They can't be too tight, considering we still sailed along the Bulgar's coast and those Bastards have no love for those who wish to keep a dying Empire alive.
When we can reach the northern coast, there is an intent on taking the western river along the Pacheng's plains and make our feet fleet with the carried burden off to the Estonian lands of Livonia. From there, our paths will go their different ways. Mine to Skane, the other Captain to follow the current one onto Baden, a couple of Saxons will make their wages fighting for the Franconians, some of the Byzantines to help assist with spreading the Word of Our Lord and Savior, and there is the shipbuilding crew who will dismantle the ship for transport across land.
My hands are itching to hold, work, or attend something as they clench and open while I pace over the ship's top. Normally, I'd be calm, but the rocking has me irritable. I do try thinking on the reason why, but the image of what this rocking triggers cannot be envisioned.
"Hey, come here!"
I turn to look, reaching up to smooth the blonde out of my face furiously before I huff in a temper and bellowing, "I am sick of this warm wind!"
"It is a nice breeze," this coming from the other Captain. What the Hell is his name?
"God have mercy. You understand we sail North? The colder it becomes with a warm wind, the worse for us all?"
"Come. Here. Please?" The other Captain puts in more emphasis on his former command turned request. Shutting off the world, my ice-blue eyes close, calming myself in the darkness of my own and opening them when I ready to approach.
"Yes?" Taking a look, the other Captain has a sharp nose, like a broken beak that ended like a nub than a crack. His eyes were narrow, face weathered and looking to be worn with wrinkles, dark with a palor reminding me of the lighter skin of olives, and his body is built like a man who has had to be born with powerful lungs and shoulders. Very broad of chest. He'd been good on the eyes in his youth, perhaps, but his belly was not just big but sagged over the trim of his trousers. It brought a slip of the lip, smirking, as he could never manage a shirt to cover both his chest and the flapping bottom of his stomach. So, he simply resigned to go shirtless in this warm-salty weather.
"Grab this bench and lift it across the bow," he nods to the opposing end from the edge he is crouching down to lift. I lower myself, bunching my hands together beneath the bench and the both of us grunt with effort with our tug. Lifting, we turn about elegently avoiding the obstructions onboard and settle the bench down to the rear of the ship. "Thank you," he gratifies me, "but there are more to be moved." He points off at the other benches.
"What are we doing?"
"The ship is not sailing steady. Our Captain made a mistake with settling the benches along the length rather than across." I rarely understood how these Balkan people constructed immitations of our Viking ships. Their knock-offs would be a shame to our shipbuilders and set on fire to purge the blight on the waters. We did not use benches to sit. Each part of the ship had a crucial purpose. What our asses planted on would be a part of the actual structure to keep the ship's integridity stable and flexible under the stress of our voyages. This thing, that we sail in now, finally made me realise why the rocking had been irritating me like so.
"Benches," I shake my head in dismay and continue to assist the other Captain. Still don't recall his name...
I would say, things could get worse, but that would jinx our situation far more than it already had become. There is a storm and our actual Captain has made the decision to port at the nearest dock. That means Bulgars. The Bulgarian Empire is stretching itself lazily along the Balkan lands and would ensare all cultures in its webbing Roman roads. It is as cheaply knocked-off of the Byzantine Empire as this ship and Captain. Not quite the same can be said of their people. They are friendly, so long you don't say anything. My accent tends to give them offense when I attempt their language.
In a few short days, we end up in a place I really did not desire to be in. Varna, which brings back memories of a fight twice over. Both, besieging and fleeing. I suppose the other Captain saw something flicker across my face as we pulled into the docks.
"You've been here before, eh? Not pleasant, I take." He started sounding chipper, but it became sullen quickly when I face dropped. "Want to tell me about it?" He holds a hand up immediately, "Not now. How about we find a nice hall to drink and speak plainly? At least, the wood we stand on there won't turn our stomachs sour like here." At that point, he laughs and slaps the front of himself. I feel total regret catching that as I watch his belly flab ripple lewdly over his crotch. The thought of when was the last time he saw his manhood and what it must look like passes through my mind...
"Why did I agree to this?" I grab a hold of the nearest cup, downing its contents in a single gulp, grabbing the pitcher and pouring another before Calibri snatches the very cup I refilled from my hands. Finally figured out his name, former Captain Calibri av Croatia. Not a Croat himself, but that is where he hails from. Much like me hailing from Kiev, but not a Rus.
"My charm works on all the boys across the yard," he wiggles his bushy eyebrows and smiles jovially at me.
"Nay, boys?"
"What? You think bringing a woman onboard is a good idea! HA! Wait a month and watch her suffer an infection with a smell worse than rot." Some how, I think he is speaking from experience here. Not going to press him on this story.
"Okay, I mistook you- Nevermind," I wave my hands away from the topic, "Let's get back to before. You want-?"
"Dump the Idiot and help me get the ship to the Danube. I never thought he'd plague us with cowardice. Now the whole crew is getting their legs comfortable here rather than at sea." He jabs a thumb down on the table and twists it, "If he gets it in the waters within the next day, don't worry," his brows knit and a frown forms across his wide face. "If not, then we are. The crew will get it in their heads that the sea is more dangerous than a caravan. It isn't," he spreads his fingers and swipes the air above his head with the turn of his palm, "the storm is dangerous, but it has less intent to kill than you or me and we are not even are not even thinking about murder."
"I think he could have sailed further, weathering the storm, but to ditch him is going to cause problems. This port has authorities-" I'm getting interrupted by his hand waving in my face. The fuck is his problem?
"Let me handle that. I need you to take care of the Captain so he won't alert those 'Authorities' and get your ass onboard in time to kick off land. Not to mention bringing the crew back with us." A wider smile breaks open on his face, "It is pleasant weather for us to do our deeds."
"... No," I state flately.
"It isn't? The dark clouds and rain keep people from being out and about and looking-"
"No. As in, I'm not doing this," I reject him as politely as I can. My eyes half shut, shaking my head, spreading my hands out across the tabletop, and leaning away from him in expectance he may lash out in anger.
"Oh, okay," there is disappointment, but he didn't appear all that upset. At least his smile is still up to enjoying another cup of the wine. After his pull, "I'll find someone else. The ship is sailing." Calibri sounds very determined with his conditions. It manages to chip something in my heart to hear someone who sounds so happy and full of joy have dreaded intent.
"If you must," again, I shake my head, and grab back the cup before he filled it to the brim. I down it once more and look away. The aroma of the establishment is intoxicating with the incensed burners and welcoming woman both hosting and serving those who come in. She had to be past her prime. Of course, she didn't let that spoil her mood. In fact, her smile and laughter is infectious. I don't think Calibri or me could break from meeting her smile with our own. She certainly looks like someone who has had a happy life.
That tells me she isn't from here...
Varna, a city in flames and spewing destructive carnage over its walls and into the sea. The host of irregulars launch their own attack from land while we go A-Viking into the port's docks.
I'm not suited for this warfare like I would be later, but I am quite eager and impatient to show my worth in front of the circle of Rus.
Each brother in arms is equiped with a long hafted axe and a sturdy shield across their upper backs. Helmed, garbed in tight-chainlinks, booted in steel-toed wool and leather, and strapped with their gear for in the chance of being thrown overboard. Heavily armed men sink.
The Rus had come to terms with that fact, but that did not stop them from thinking of ways to survive the dip. Rope, hooks, a bundle of hand and a half staves, and a multitude of other multi-purposed gear could be utilized for both land, sea, and beneath the waves in the event they needed to attach onto something that floats better than they did. This came in handy when a rock the size of my head shot through and bottomed out of our ship.
We were not going to land this ship.
I didn't pay attention to the others as my first reaction had been to gap in amazement down into the rigged hole Varna's catapulting defenses made. A man, a very tall Rus, shoves me aside at the wrong time. Or, maybe it was the right time? Another pummeling of morter crushes in the Rus's chest and haults him overboard in silence. Had I been where he was, that would have been me. It became apparent, the stationed defense on the wall is assured on its target and will keep its barrage on us until we are driftwood.
Taking the lead, I jump overboard with all the other Rus thrusting out their arms with a-linking to another ship before they too drop in. There isn't enough on me to burden or impede my swim to the docks. A few times, I have to duck beneath the waves as the whistling sounds pass by my head and shoulders. I know not if they were aimed at me or simply a volley of arrows to thwart all heralding invasion. That being the case, once at the docks, I take the pier as my shelter before the Rus could arrive.
I watch, from the slits of the boards as men run over the pier or along the beach. Across the dock, I can see a barricade forming with another stationed weapon of destruction. This thing, I've never seen before, but it gave such a loud -TWANG- when its shots ran across the waters that I still felt my teeth vibrate from its sonic incursion splashing into the sea. In a few moments, I had feared my brothers would not reach the shore before they were smashed or pelted with enough rock and tipped steel to sink in the same shattered fashion as the ship we born into this port.
Then came the cries. Shouts, roars, and a challenge is met with the squelching splash down into the sinking sands at the Varangian rally. Quickly, I pull away from my shelter to join their point. A sharp pain flitters along my shoulder, not really expecting it to be much, but the dull thud it made gave me a pause in thought. Luckily, I did not stall my feet.
Before I can join the fray, I quickly tackle down one of the fleeing Varnans around the middle of his back.
This man's face turned to see me over his shoulder and he cried out in more alarm than I thought was possible from a person. Reaching beneath his juggular with both hands, I take a grip on his beard, lifting his jaw upwards as I sit to straddle his hips, and simply pull and fall back as hard and swiftly that I can. It had the desired effect as he drops his sword to grab for me, but flail harmlessly in his awkward position. At that, he let out a gasp as the Rus have spread their line out to my position and finished the man in my hands with an axe blow to his exposed throat. I let go of the deadman's beard, instinctively wiping my hairy palms on his leathered back before crouching behind the Rus shieldwall.
I'm joined up with a few of the lesser host. Their straight blades shine, ready to inflict their lethal injection to the brazen close enough to our marching shelter. I watch, mesmerized at the effeciency of each Varnan slipped beneath the Rus-wall, held down by our hands, peppered with swift stabbings from a dozen short blades, and then stripped of their own arms to neutralize the potential threat of them still being able in their brief and shortened life on this Earth.
Having my own weapon now, I want to brave outside of the safety, to adventure the inside of this city, and clash eagerly with more soldiers. It almost happened. I was so close to running out from under my Rus brothers to reach the barricade. Instead, I fell forward. A pain unlike anything I ever felt coursed through my arm, neck, back, and chest. I blacked out for only a couple of seconds, but it was enough for the crouching men to safely pull me away further behind our line.
I passed out laying in the sand with a couple of men hovering over me. When I woke, I had been told that I had been jabbing someone in the face beneath the moving shieldwall. At last, he had enough, turned to me, and noticed a quivering arrow stuck in my shoulder. He yanked it out and I fell over. One little hole in my shoulder had granted me an evening to rest and miss out on the glory of taking the city.
This did not please me, but my displeasure only brought the harbringer of misfortune from whomever watched over my shoulder into the next day when we lost the city...
The woman smiled our way again and I smiled back with a nod. There was a little wink my way and a twinkling in her eyes. It wouldn't be surprising that she found a young man like me attractive.
I still had a face of a youth, especially when I constantly brought the blade to my cheeks in this God awful heat, but I feel that she would still be interested in a tumble from how well I am built. I'm still not nearly as brawny like the Rus. Instead, I've corded lean muscle, agile and flexible, quite strong and solid, and all the more imposing with my height.
With my shield, compensating for my lack of width, and axe in hand to sweep away anyone, I'm all that much more intimidating. Fortunately, this woman had not witnessed that image of my character. I'm more to believe she is wanting to see an image of me without any outfit.
"I think I'm being summoned," I state as I glance back to Calibri. "Tomorrow, you won't sail before. Yes?"
"Yeah-yeah, go have you fun Young-One," he gives me his own wink and chuckles. As that is said, I stand and depart from the table to go greet the middle-aged woman.
The sad part of this evening is everyone noting the absence of the Hall's lady. She did have to engage with me intimately in a more private setting. What did they expect? A show? They could find their own entertainment. I know Calibri could find that in just about anything that moved and talked.
Away from them and focusing on me, we sit in what appeared to be her room. Well, maybe it was her bord? I recall that there would be no way she's from this city. Someone who could produce a smile so sweet and warm had to have been here only recently in the years.
That stretch of pink lip over happy lip only was outshinned by the white of her teeth. Sparkling dark gold eyes drift down my body when I take a seat on her cushy bed. It is being apparent where her eyes lingered and I obliged by unstrapping my drawers and shifting the hose down my slim hips and firm buttocks to let my meaty length pop up in attention to the single lady applauding my display.
I smile at the genuine glee.
She smoothly saunters over to me with a seductive lift of her legs to straddle my thighs and sliding up close enough to be face to face... Well, she has to look up, even if she does have the advantage of sitting in my lap. Those pink lips brush along the smooth curve of my chin. I could hear her inhaling my masculinity and it only seemed to quicken.
Those gorgeously round breasts press into me, a pair that were the second tier of attention in the hall, but I had been preoccupied with another motion from her.
Those small hands found their way to smoothing out the clothes on my rock solid stomach and forked both a palm up and down. On the one hand, she pushes me to lay myself down. I suppose this is to get a better advantage over me.
On the other hand, her fingers tangle with my blonde hairs around the base of my manhood before wrapping a hot palm around the thick neck.
For a moment, I could have forgotten everything that has happened to me here. A span of time that I could have obtained a happy memory. It didn't take long for her mask of joy to drop into ugly hatred.
The grip on my cock is turned to embracing a tight vice over both stem and my nuts. Recoiling on the bed in pain, I attempt to throw her off of me, but managing to knock to the ground with a hold still on my treasured anatomy.
Her other hand had managed to hook into my shirt and score into the fabric with her nails only so much to hold onto the shredded clothing. Half sitting, kneeling on the floor, she digs her nails into my scrotum, twisting with the meat of her thumb and palm around the center of my crotch.
This produced a scream from me.
It didn't take long for the door to her quarters to burst open. A huge bear of a man stood in the doorway. He had a stupid drunk look, but those eyes sobered at the sight of the pair in this room. I certainly would have had my eyes bug out too if they saw a woman attempting to gauge out a man's entire root. In one brief lapse of shock, we all stared at each other in understanding, but I still had to say it.
"GET THIS FUCKING HARPY OFF OF ME!" Okay, she is from Varna and certainly knew who I am. There are not many tall, blue-eyed, fair-haired and blonde, and had a face like a youth coming from the Black Sea...
The hills had eyes. And horses, thousands of them. The cover of darkness wouldn't hide their numbers for long.
One marrow, we are the invaders to take the city of Varna from the Bulgars. Rising lights of the next marrow, we are on the defence from the Serbs who've come in aid of the Varnans.
A whole city, which had been in a siege for who knew how long before our surprise naval attack, and we had the host of Byzantine, the Rus, Bulgar prisoners, and a populace all in occupance of a walled in community lacking the supplies to continue such a condition.
We had to flee back into the sea, but we would do so after leaving the city of Varna a burnt shell. A-Viking raid strategy is adopted to take what could move and destroy what could not. In short, we left the city blazing behind us and the city watched from the safety of the coast as we bade our farewell to the unfortunate mass.
The Rus and irregulars, who all wore their arms and armor, I had none to show for it and I stood out like a sore thumb. My arm strapped, a shoulder well gauzed and wrapped, leaving my torso naked with only the whipping of my bright yellow hair to play cover, an icy-fire reflected in my eyes the city, and the innocence draining slow and gradual from my youthful face as I stare-off the hatred looks of the Bulgar citizens...
After that delightful scenario of being cupped with claws, I return waddling to Calibri, pluck the pitcher off the table and engorge myself before plopping down in the seat. The former Captain looks up at me in stunned silence for a moment.
"That was quick," he states matter-of-factly.
"Shut up."
