785 AD
The waterhole glimmered like gold beneath the setting sun. Eadric admired it with a lick of his lips while he guided his steed down to the bank. After a sweltering day spent riding across the savanna the Saracens called Bilad as-Sudan, or the Land of the Black People, even a pond as small as this one was a welcome blessing. While his horse lapped away at the waterhole’s surface, Eadric cupped his hands together and scooped up as much water as he could. He took a swig of the cool, if earthy-tasting, fluid and splashed the rest onto his sunburned face with a satisfied moan.
Thus rehydrated, Eadric unsheathed his iron sword, planted its tip into the muddy bank, and knelt with one hand on its hilt. He murmured his thanks to Woden, the Allfather, and all the other gods for his good fortune. Unlike most of their countryfolk back in distant Saxony, Eadric and the people of his village were never willing to surrender their old faith in favor of the new Frankish god Christ, no matter how the Franks might have threatened him. Alas, they had made good on their threats, and only by fleeing to the ends of the known world had Eadric evaded the same fate that had befallen everyone he knew and loved.
He could still hear, and feel, the hot roaring flames engulfing his village, as well as the screams of men, women, and children fleeing the Frankish ambush. One woman's scream in particular rang louder than the rest. It might have been Eadric’s dear sister Hilda, whom the Franks ravished before butchering her. He would never forgive himself for not being able to cut down the Christ-worshipers and save her in time.
No, wait, that was not a scream from his memories. It was a real woman’s scream, in the here and now, piercing out from somewhere nearby!
Eadric tore his sword out of the bank, clambered onto his horse, and galloped toward the direction of the cries. He passed through a thicket of scrubby bushes to find a young woman mounted on a horse of her own, swinging a wooden staff at a pride of lions which encircled her. The woman’s mount reared on its hind legs with a defiant neigh and kicked its front hooves at an attacking lion. Another of the big tawny cats pounced on the horse from behind, bringing it down while the hapless woman fell off to the side. A third lion jumped onto her, and she struggled to block its fangs and claws with her staff while the rest of the pride ripped her fallen steed apart.
With a holler of the Saxon battle cry, Eadric charged into the fray with his sword drawn out. He slashed across the neck of the lion attacking the woman. The cat roared as much with fury as with pain and sprang onto his horse’s backside, tearing through its hide with sharp claws. Eadric banged his sword’s pommel onto the carnivore’s nose, drawing blood from its nostrils. After the lion fell off, he veered back to hack off its head in one stroke.
More lions gathered around Eadric, swiping their paws at him and his horse. He fended them off the best he could, flinging red ichor around with every sweep of his sword, while his gallant animal hurled its forelegs into their faces. In his head rang the old Saxon war songs, and he knew that even if he did not survive the feline assault, Woden would reward him with an afterlife worthy of a warrior in his great hall.
A big lion, distinguished from the rest by a thick bushy mane, leaped onto Eadric, shoving him off his mount and pinning him onto the earth. As he used his sword to parry the cat’s attacks, he heard with horror his horse’s whinny of death as the pride piled onto it the way it had the other horse. Eadric threw his left fist into one of the lion’s yellow eyes. The relaxed pressure allowed him to crawl away for a brief moment before the aggravated predator pounced back on him. Wet and hot drool from its fangs dripped onto the nape of his neck while its claws sliced through his tunic’s fabric and the skin underneath.
A woman’s cry rang over the lions’ growls. It was not a scream of terror like before, but rather a valiant battle cry. She whacked her staff onto the lion’s muzzle. It stumbled off Eadric, and he rose up to thrust his sword into its open maw, puncturing the back of its gullet and poking up from its maned neck. The big cat’s body fell limp upon withdrawal. While the remainder of the pride feasted on their slain horses, Eadric and the woman both scurried as fast as they could out of the animals’ sight.
