Erik Golden-Shield stood in the middle of the church courtyard, magnificent shield and winged crown glinting brightly under the sun. A pleased grin on his lips split his blonde beard, and he gestured at Priscilla with his ornate sword as she stepped out to face him.
"I knew you were a woman of reason. Leave it to a Peacekeeper to look at a situation with cold logic and you will always get logical results in the end," he chuckled. "Now if only everyone could be as sensible as you are..."
He looked to his right, and Priscilla followed his gaze to spot the rest of her legion, cursing under her breath at what she saw.
The yard was now filled with Erik's personal guard, who surrounded the Lion Flame Knights like pigs stuck in a pen, spear tips pointed at their throats while their weapons lay harmless at their feet. Only two had been separated from the rest: Judith, who stood begrudgingly at Erik's side, shoulders hunched and fists clenched but still clutching her sword, and Godfridus, who looked to be fairing far worse than the legion commander.
The Gladiator was down on his knees, propped up by two Sea Eagle Raiders who held him up under his arms while the mighty Highlander, Old Wolf, stood before him, punching his meaty fists into Godfridus' bare stomach again and again and again with powerful blows as if trying to tenderize a slab of meat before throwing it on the fire.
Godfridus grunted and gasped in pain each time a fist slammed into his gut, his head lolling on his shoulders from the force of each impact, his muscular stomach bright red from the punishment it had already received. Old Wolf looked neither pleased nor upset by what he was doing, simply going about yet another task given to him by his master and seeing the job done with brutal efficiency.
Magnús stood not far behind his father, back turned to the Gladiator he had fought and lost to by all accounts. His eyes were downcast toward the ground, but a clear frown was visible in his fair beard. He seemed to cringe every time the smack of flesh hitting flesh filled the air, and he fidgeted and kicked his feet in the dirt as he struggled to come to terms with his humiliating defeat.
Erik, on the other hand, seemed completely unbothered by the sound of a man being brutally beaten not five paces away. The amused smile never left his face, and he beckoned Priscilla closer with a nod.
"Come on then, no need to be so shy. We are all friends here, yes?" he said. Then he turned to one of his nearby warriors and handed over his golden shield and sword.
The warrior took the weapons carefully, backing away with a respectful bow, and Priscilla could see a splatter of crimson blood on the Jarl's blade. It seemed that at least this time, Erik had fought to claim his prize, and looking him over again, it was clear that he was already adorned with a few gold rings that hadn't been present when they had left the river fort.
Erik looked back to her now, waving with his hand. "Come, come. No need to skulk in the shadows. All of you! There is no need to be afraid," he urged, looking past her and back toward the church.
Glancing over her shoulder, Priscilla saw Marcelo, Coal, and the Lawbringer stepping out after her. They moved together in a close formation, their weapons raised and prepared to go on the defensive if any Northman came at them. Erik simply chuckled, holding out his empty hands for them to see.
"No weapons, if you please. I simply wish to talk is all." He held his bright smile with the sound of Godfridus grunting in pain as the Highlander assaulted him, carrying on through the air.
Priscilla slowly brought her hands out to her side; fingers spread out wide while her sword and dagger remained safely sheathed at her hips. With any luck, her comrades would do nothing foolish behind her back while she had her little chat with the Golden Jarl. Just as slowly, she began to approach, stepping closer to Erik and Judith as the silent horde watched on. To either side of the barbaric crowd, she spotted newcomers pushing to the front to watch things unfold over the iron-wrought fence.
To her left stood Ivar and his red thugs. The black-bearded savage crossed his arms over his chest as he watched her through narrowed, suspicious eyes.
On the right stepped out Jarl Herleif and his brother Gunnar, each of them giving a deep frown that showed a striking family resemblance. She could also see the golden helmet of the tall Valkyrie behind them while the two Berserkers and their Shaman stalked along the length of the fence like hungry wolves.
For a moment, her gaze met with Gunnar's. His face was a picture of surprise and confusion, and if she dared to hope, a bit of guilt too. If she and the rest of the Knights were to die here today, then perhaps at least one of these barbarians would feel something other than joy at their slaughter. Though she had to admit, it was strange to think he might only care because she had convinced him to do so with one of her lies.
"Now let us get to the bottom of this, shall we?" Erik said, stealing back her attention as sure as he had stolen the golden chain that now adorned his neck. He looked between her and Judith, though the Warden refused to meet his eye. "I understand that you have taken issue with my men laying claim to this place of worship? You seem to think that they only seek to do more harm here. Well, perhaps they only wished to try their tongues at saying prayers to this one mighty God of yours? Stranger things have happened in these uncertain days."
Judith remained silent. Again, there was only the sound of Godfridus enduring his abuse, the Highlander's fists thumping into him without end.
Erik gave a long sigh through his nose; lips pressed tight before turning and raising a hand to his champion. "Take a rest, Old Wolf. I think you have done enough to salvage my son's honor this day," he said, letting his hard eyes linger on Magnús for a moment, making the young Berserker shrink beneath his father's glare.
Old Wolf gave a grunt, shaking his hands out as he backed away. Godfridus hacked and sputtered within his helmet as he hung limp between the Raiders who held him, sticky red froth dripping from under the rim of his helmet and down his neck. The Highlander walked over to his claymore, which he had speared into the ground, and spat at the ground as he leaned against it without a care.
"I have no delusion over what your warriors seek here, Erik," Judith spoke up in a stony voice, "I swear to you, I care not for whatever treasure remains inside, even if it is of holy purpose. I only wish to see that the people of this city are kept safe and out of harm's way."
"Ah yes, the poor people. We must think of the people," Erik agreed, giving a sympathetic nod. The sun's glare flashed off his polished golden ornament and into Priscilla's face, making her squint and turn away. Erik seemed to have noticed this and rounded on her next. "I take it they are all still safely inside?"
Priscilla nodded, her hands still outstretched from the weapons on her belt. "Yes, my Lord. They have come here only to seek refuge from the fighting, and years of bloody raids have left them fearful of your warriors. They are... reluctant to come out."
Erik narrowed his eyes, then glanced past her to the building beyond. "A pity. Allow me to show them that they truly have nothing to fear from their northern saviors," he said, stepping between the two women and heading for the church. He stepped right up to the three Knights guarding the door, Coal, Marcelo, and the Lawbringer, all still holding their weapons defensively at his approach, but the Golden Jarl acted as if they were not even there, stopping just before them with his hands at his hips as he looked in through the open doors.
"Good citizen's of Eitrivatnen!" he called out in his booming voice, the confidence and bravado coming off of him like waves, "I am Jarl Erik Golden-Shield, leader of this grand army that has liberated you from the hands of tyrants and thieves! Your city is saved! The strength of your cruel masters crushed by our courage and our steel! I bid you now to come out! Come, and walk again through the streets of your city without fear and feel the sun on your face again!"
Priscilla couldn't believe what she was hearing. This alliance of theirs was still a foreign notion, and in all of her years fighting Vikings and plotting against their raids, she had never known them to show compassion or mercy. Then again, in those days, each engagement was met with a kill-or-be-killed mindset. Now, peace between their people was necessary to fight against an altogether more abhorrent foe, but Priscilla's growing suspicion made her realize just how uneasy things with the Northmen still were. Together, they had sailed and fought, even shedding blood while guarding each other's backs, but sometimes old wounds went too deep to ever really heal.
"Come out! Step into the light and be free!" Erik called again, beckoning the people forth with a wave of his hand.
Slowly, a lone figure crossed over the threshold of the church, shielding their eyes from the sun above. It was the priest, looking paler than ever as he stepped out from the shadow of the chapel tower. Erik gave a small nod of approval, and behind the priest came the rest who had sought shelter within the church.
"Let them pass," Erik commanded the three Knights before him. Coal, Marcelo, and the Lawbringer all looked between each other, then reluctantly stepped aside, watching the scared crowd shuffle out of the church one by one.
The priest came forward, glancing frantically at the horde of Vikings surrounding the church before finally settling on Erik. "What is it you want from us?" he asked, his voice small and weak before the Jarl, "We have no weapons, no reason to fight... Surely these people have suffered enough already?"
Erik gave a genuine and heartfelt smile, lifting a big hand and clapping it on the priest's shoulder, greeting him like a fellow warrior rather than a man of the cloth.
"Worry not, my good man. You have my word that you have nothing to fear from me or my warriors. And that goes for the rest of you as well," he said, raising his voice as he looked around at the haggard faces staring back at him. "I promise that none of my warriors will raise a sword or a hand in harm to any of you! No one shall suffer anymore pain or indignity under the boot heels of violent oppressors and mad tyrants!"
The priest blinked, confusion clear on his pale face. "I...I don't understand?"
"It is a trick. They mean to slaughter us like sheep," hissed a woman, and a frantic murmurer went up through the crowd. They fidgeted and squirmed, almost like deer ready to bolt at the smell of a predator on the wind. After so many years of living under the threat of Viking invasion, the fear was too ingrained into their very being to trust the northern savages now, no matter how kindly one of them might smile.
For his part, Erik kept his composure in the face of their despair. His smile tightened a bit, but he raised his hands into the air and bid them to be calm.
"Please, I implore you! It is true, we have come here to plunder the riches of this city. Of that accusation I will not protest. But your lives are not what I seek." He turned slightly, gesturing at Judith and Priscilla for all to see. "These good Knights sought aid in the fight against the Divine Pyre when your very leaders abandoned you all to subjugation and torture. Your lives torn apart, left to ruin, all because the Lord-Warden would not lift a finger to aid those he swore to protect. Now it is us, those who you thought to be your enemy, who have come to deliver your liberation at the cost of our own blood."
He stepped back toward the priest, holding the frail man's gaze with his unflinching stare. "All that I ask is that you give a little in return for this sacrifice that we have made. All I ask now is that you simply stand aside. Go back to your homes in peace and live well until the wind fills our sails again and we leave this city for good."
With a gesture of his hand, Erik's spear-men who held the Lion Flame captive relinquished their guard. The Knights glanced about, unsure if this turn of events was a miracle or some cruel jest. A few quickly bent down to retrieve their weapons, but the Viking warriors simply regarded them without a care.
"Now is not the time for more steel," Erik observed, "These people are tired, and in dire need of rest. I bid you to escort them to their homes. Watch over them, and see to it that they are kept safe."
None of the Knights moved at first, bewildered and caught off guard by this rather gracious request from a Viking Jarl. One by one, their heads turned toward their commander, and Judith was put on the spot as her soldiers waited for guidance. This was not lost on Erik, who glanced over with narrowed eyes at the Warden. She stiffened awkwardly but gave a nod of her head in compliance with the Golden Jarl's wishes.
The helpless citizens seemed all too happy at the prospect of returning to their homes, and they practically ran into the midst of the Knights for some sense of protection.
Priscilla watched as they were all shepherded through the gate, right under the hungry eyes of a wild Viking horde. The Knights spread out to create a defensive barrier between the people of Eitrivatnen and the barbarians, and Priscilla found herself holding her breath until they had all slipped out of sight—all except the priest, who remained before the open doors of his beloved church.
For a moment, the situation had seemed poised upon a knife's edge, but of all the possible outcomes for it to end on, one without bloodshed was indeed the one Priscilla least expected. Well, almost no bloodshed.
Godfridus was still coughing up bloody spit from beneath his helmet as he sagged between the two Raiders, but at least it seemed that he would live. After a lifetime of fighting in arenas across the land, sometimes it was the little victories that counted the most.
Judith stepped towards Erik, glancing over her shoulder to ensure her Knights had safely led the frightened citizens away. "Erik, I... I had not thought that-"
"Not thought what?" bit the Golden Jarl, cutting Judith off. She flinched back, but the Warlord still came at her, closing the distance between them in just a few steps. "Did you not think it was possible for me to act with a level head? That I could show compassion to the low and downtrodden who cannot defend themselves?" He leaned in close, sneering at Judith as he spoke. "Or perhaps you think that just because I am Viking, I am incapable of mercy and restraint when dealing with all of you Ashfeld dogs?"
Priscilla felt her throat tighten as she watched Erik move in on Judith. He was just a bit taller than the Warden commander, but he used it to his full advantage as he loomed over her like a hungry bear with its prey cornered. The look in his eyes had changed entirely. It was no longer the calm and sympathetic gaze of a humble man but the wrathful fury of a vicious leader.
Judith tried to step back, but Erik moved right along with her, staying in her face. "Erik, please… What else would you expect me to-"
"Take that wretched helmet off when you speak to me," Erik growled, cutting Judith off again.
Judith went silent, too stunned to act momentarily, but then slowly lifted a hand and removed her helmet from her head. Loose gray-blonde hairs fell around her haggard face; the rest pulled back into a tight braid behind her head. Her complexion was fair, and she had piercing blue eyes that no doubt burned with cold fire whenever her ire was let loose. Before this powerful Jarl, though, all she could do was give an uneasy frown that stretched out an old scar that ran up from chin to cheekbone.
"We made a deal, Erik. You take what plunder what you want, and in return we end the Pyre and their cult. Then you leave. That is the deal… You leave, and these people get their lives back. Until then I cannot just stand by while old feuds and violent traditions threaten the lives of the very people we are trying to save."
"Ah, how very noble of you," Erik said mockingly, "but I think you are forgetting about one very important thing in all of this. You are forgetting about you, Judith. You and your small band of renegade Knights." Judith's brows flinched in confusion, but Erik only grinned. "What do you think will happen once we have left these shores and returned to our homeland with our ships full of Ashfeld's treasures? Where will you go? Who will you stand with then? Do you think the Lord-Warden and the Legion Council will welcome you back with open arms for this invasion you have led into their lands?"
Judith's frown deepened, her face contorting into a scowl at the notion that she should be at all concerned with those who had abandoned her legion and all of northern Ashfeld to the Pyre's control.
It is evident to Priscilla that Judith's anger toward the Lord-Warden burned as hot as ever, which was precisely why she had given more thought to what might happen when this raid was over while Judith was only concerned with the present—thought of and planned for, so long as she completed her mission and survived this nightmare. Judith, on the other hand, was guided only by one thing, no matter how much she might try to hide it behind more noble reasons like protecting the citizens of this war-scarred land.
Judith wanted to hurt Beaufort for what they had done to them by abandoning the north. She wanted revenge.
"I told you before, Erik. My Knights and I stand with you," Judith spat, refusing to cower any longer before the Jarl's hard gaze, "I have already sworn off my allegiance to the Legion Council and the Lord-Warden. If they would not fight for us in our moment of need then I will not fight for them. I will swear off all of Ashfeld for good if that is what it takes to convince you. When this fight is over and these lands are safeguarded once again, I will return with you to Valkenheim. There will be nothing left for me here after that, and I will seek to live out my days peacefully among your people, if you will have me."
Erik threw his head back and laughed suddenly, lifting his hands triumphantly into the air. "Ah-ha! Yes! You almost have it!" Judith backed away in surprise, but Erik wouldn't let her go, gesturing with his thumb and forefinger close together as he grinned. "You are this close to understanding. This close, Judith!"
Suddenly, he spun around, moving away from the stunned Warden as he addressed his warriors. "Take it! Take it all!" he roared, waving his hands wildly at the open doors of the church. "It is yours! You have fought for it! You have earned it! Take all that it has to offer and leave nothing behind!"
A great cheer rose up from the horde, and in moments, a group of warriors broke off from the rest and rushed in through the iron gate toward the church. They barreled past the priest, who alone tried to stand in their way and keep them from stealing the holy relics and treasures within.
"Please! Please stop!" he tried to cry, but his weak voice could barely be heard over the heathen's roar. His eyes flicked over to Erik and, perhaps against his better judgment, threw himself at the Golden Jarl and his so-called mercy. "Please, you must stop them! This is a house of God! The treasures inside belong to the Lord, not to us! You must not do this!"
Erik's mouth was set to a hard line beneath his beard as he clapped a hand down on the priest's shoulder, just as before. "I cannot help but wonder how a priest of God fared so well under the rule of these cultists. Did you serve these fanatics while they bled this city dry, I wonder?" he asked the priest with a curious look. "I see you wear their robes. Did you preach their words? Carry their insane tale of a holy mountain while forsaking your own faith to save your skin?"
The priest's eyes widened with fear, and he seemed to shrink back even as Erik kept a hold of him. "I... I did what had to be done... t-to protect my flock! I… I sinned, only to hope that I might find forgiveness in the Lord. In... in time..."
"Forgiveness," Erik nodded, seeming to follow along with the priest's pathetic mutterings, "Such merciful forgiveness. That is what your God is best known for, yes?"
The priest looked as near to fainting as ever, and there was a clear sheen of sweat upon his pale brow as he gave a very shaky and uncertain nod. Erik gave a small smile in return.
"That is why your God is weak," he said gently, then threw back his head and brought his golden helmet crashing into the priest's face. The holy man gave a sharp shriek of pain and crumpled to the ground with a fluttering of his robes.
"Erik!" Judith yelled. Dropping her helmet to the ground, she moved to bring up her sword, but the Jarl was ready for her. With surprising speed he backhanded the Warden across her cheek, making her gasp and reel back as Erik struck again and knocked the longsword from her hand.
Priscilla grabbed her weapons, but in an instant, she felt the hard edge of steel at her neck.
"Ah, ah..." Magnús grunted at her ear, bringing up his other axe to the back of her shoulder.
Things were happening quickly now, with Vikings rushing about with treasure stolen from the church and the spear-wielding guards rushing forward to keep Coal, Marcelo, and the Lawbringer at bay. They were impossibly outnumbered. Even if the rest of their legion was still present, the Viking horde was a giant compared to their small force.
Before Judith could come to her senses again, Erik was on her. His hands snapped around her head, jerking her up to look at him, thumbs pressing hard into her cheeks.
"Let me make this painfully clear for you, my friend," he snarled, glaring at Judith as the crown of his helmet dripped red with the priest's blood, "This city belongs to me now. This church belongs to me. These weak, pathetic people belong to me. It all belongs to me!" He brought Judith in close, his gritted teeth bared as he clutched her tight. "You belong to me, Knight. You have nothing other than what I deem to give you. You have no shelter other than what I am willing to provide. You are nothing but a cowardly traitor who ran to save her own skin when you should have died fighting like a warrior!"
Judith's eyes were still watering from the hard slap to her face, her pink cheeks squished up and lips stretched awkwardly as Erik squeezed her with his strong hands. "But... the people..." she grunted, gripping the Jarl's wrists and trying to free herself, "We had a deal..."
Erik's lips curled up into a cruel grin. "Oh, worry not for them. I will not be called a liar, especially not by the likes of you. I am not in the habit of breaking what is mine. Not when I can still find a use for it."
Judith stared at him with wide and fearful eyes, but Erik's grin only grew as he continued to gloat. "What do you think would happen if Beaufort decided to creep up behind our backs while we assault the Walled City? If you are so desperate to keep these peasants from harm even while swearing off all loyalty to your nation, what would your leaders do to see their lives spared? They still have their uses, but stand between me and what is mine again and I will be forced to think that you have outlived yours."
It was a blow more devastating than any strike to the face, and Priscilla watched as Judith lost the will to fight back. The Warden slumped, almost as if she was purely being held up by Erik now rather than standing with her own strength. Erik sensed this, too, lifting his hands a little higher and forcing Judith to crane her head up more.
"I think now, Judith, you understand exactly where you and I stand," Erik said. Judith gave a desperate grunt at first but slowly nodded her head the best she could in the Warlord's grip. "Good girl."
He gently patted his hand against her cheek, and Judith flinched momentarily before finally letting her go. She stumbled back, taking a few shallow breaths as she tried to steady herself.
The Vikings continued to plunder the church, coming out clutching silver crosses adorned with jewels and ornate candlesticks in the armful. Erik turned to watch them, giving his back to Judith without a care for any act of retribution.
"I thought your God was supposed to be a humble being?" he asked, the anger and viciousness gone from his voice completely. Just like flipping a coin, he had put away the ruthless Warlord and presented himself as the benevolent Jarl once again.
When no one answered him, he looked back, his eyes settling on Priscilla, still clutched beneath the edge of Magnús' axes. Erik frowned and gave a jerk of his head for her to approach. Magnús dropped his axes and set her free, giving her a quick jab between the shoulder blades to get her moving.
Twisting a silver ring off of a finger, Erik held up the small piece of jewelry so that its polished surface glinted under the sunlight as he offered it to her. "Let it never be said that I do not reward loyalty when it is given."
Priscilla hadn't the faintest idea what he was talking about, and for a moment, she wondered if he was just playing with her, considering that her plans were meant to undermine him in the end. She glanced at Judith as if she would have the answer, but the Warden only stared angrily down at the ground, her fists clenched tight at her sides. Feeling that she had no other option, Priscilla held out her hand and let Erik drop the ring into her open palm.
"For coming when called," he smiled.
She stared down at the ring. It felt heavier in her hand than it should, but perhaps that was simply the realization of what it meant to receive a gift from a Viking Jarl in front of her commander, who had just been kicked like a disobedient hound.
"Thank you... my Lord," she muttered, closing her fingers around the ring.
Feeling Erik's eyes on her made her skin crawl, and she quickly turned and walked away rather than spend another moment under his gaze. She pocketed the ring instead of slipping it on a finger, wanting nothing to do with the whole business, and put it from her mind.
She shared a quick and wary glance with Judith as she headed for the gate and felt her blood run cold. In that one look, she could almost see the rift made between them by the Golden Jarl, this simple act of gift-giving a well-thought ploy to pull apart their legion from within. She had been raised up while Judith was brought low. Luckily, only Coal and the others were left to see, but she was more worried about how Judith might feel personally from this affront.
Erik gave a long sigh from his nose, glancing about the small group of sorry-looking Knights around him. "I grow tired of all this sulking. Away with the lot of you! Go find somewhere to lay your dreary heads until I call for you again. This battle is over, but there is still much more work to be done."
Priscilla led the way out of the gate, not daring to look at any of the surrounding Vikings or even back at Coal, Marcelo, and the Lawbringer as they fell in behind her. Judith stooped down to pick up her helmet and sword, but when she was about to turn and walk away, she looked over towards the poor Gladiator, who had been left nearly forgotten in the clutches of two Raiders.
"Give us Godfridus," she demanded with what force she could muster in her voice, refusing to remain defeated for long, "Release him."
Erik glanced over at the Gladiator and gave a small snort of laughter. He waved his hand and the two Raiders threw Godfridus to the ground, one nudging the sportsman with his foot as he fell limp. Godfridus groaned and hacked out a slew of wretched coughs, his body shaking from the effort. Old Wolf watched with one brow raised, a prideful smirk set upon his lips.
Priscilla stopped just outside the gate and turned back, watching as Godfridus managed to push himself up onto his knees. His red, beaten stomach and chest shuddered as he took a deep breath, but as Priscilla listened to him cough and wheeze, she realized the crazy fool was actually beginning to laugh. Whatever was going on inside that jumbled head of his was most likely no good for any of them, but hopefully, he had enough sense to keep his mouth shut long enough for them to slip away.
"Ah...ah-ha...ha... You gutless cowards..."
No such luck, it seemed.
"Is that the best...you can do? I suffered w-worse against the abom... abominable Sons of Abaddon, who I killed with all ten of my fingers smashed to a pulp!" He paused, taking a hard swallow, "F-fight me, you shit-licking swine... and I'll throw you into the dirt where you belong..."
Erik scowled at the beaten warrior, his shoulders stiffening as he crossed his arms across his chest.
"Old Wolf," he called out in a voice as hard as stone, "Suddenly I feel that I am all out of forgiveness for today."
Old Wolf gave an indifferent sniff, then stepped up to Godfridus and slapped a big hand onto the man's neck. "You should'o quit while you were ahead, laddie," he said quietly and then hurled the Gladiator at his great claymore, which was stuck into the ground.
Godfridus gave a muffled grunt as he pitched forward onto his face, only for the sharp blade of the great sword to catch him right between his shoulder and neck, slicing into him. There was a sudden splash of blood across the dirt, and Godfridus was left stuck and gasping for air as he tried to pry himself free of the blade.
Before he could even move an inch, Old Wolf jumped at him and slammed his booted foot at the Gladiator's head. Godfridus lurched forward, the cutting edge biting deeper between shoulder and neck as he was kicked onto the sword. Again, the Highlander slammed his foot down upon the sportsman, burying the great sword halfway through the Gladiator's bloody neck. Godfridus made hardly a sound as he was cut open, and with one last powerful kick, his helmeted head was cut roughly from his shoulders to roll across the ground.
Old Wolf made a sound of disgust, grabbing his claymore and pulling it free of the dirt. With blood still dripping down the sharp edge, he balanced the weapon against one shoulder and stalked forward toward Judith as if daring her to raise her voice against what he had done. The Warden stared back at him, wide-eyed and pale-faced, her lips barely parted to show her gritted teeth beneath. The fury and hurt were evident in her burning eyes, but she remained frozen as the Highlander grinned.
Erik shook his head as he chuckled. "Worthless fool. Someone should have warned him that such an ego would get him killed someday," he sneered as he glittered with gold and silver beneath the sun.
Priscilla watched Godfridus' head give a slow spin until it finally went still at the edge of the courtyard. Around her, the Viking horde all laughed and jeered at the fallen Gladiator, some calling out to lay claim to his weapons and armor. The skull face of the spiked helmet stared back at her from where it lay that toothy grin fixed permanently into the bronze even in death.
It was a horrible way to go, beaten and down on your knees, but somehow, she wondered if Godfridus preferred it in a way. At least he had gone out to the roar of a crowd.