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By Caesar

The damned Saxons had taken a toll this day. Nearly all of their warriors had fallen to our swords and spears. It had been a fine day for blood letting, one that proved that the gods had not abandoned us. It would take until after this winter before they had another raiding party come out of the east, many moons until the Saxon invaders recovered from the blow we dealt them today.
We missed killing their King or his bastards, but without warriors there was little he could do against our homes. We did capture much of his household and his possessions that he had held in what he thought was a secure encampment.
Not so long ago when the Roman Legions had left our island, they had left behind some knowledge about seigecraft and warcraft. Our Warlord, my Lord, whom I had sworn a blood-oath too, was well learned in such knowledge.
My own sword, was heavily notched and was still slick with the blood of my enemies, of my Lord's enemies. Many of my friends and companions had fallen these last months and I had extracted a revenge this day. Only months ago, my wench and her two brats were killed in a raid by these same Saxons. They had raped her before my children, then leaving her naked to die from exposure. My children had disappeared, probably taken as slaves to work in some unspeakable Saxon mine.
Yes, I had taken a revenge this day. I stood alone, leaning on my battered sword as my fellows had advanced upon the Saxon town. The bodies about me already picked clean of anything valuable - the pay of a warrior. Myself, I came out well ahead in terms of loot gained, the numbers I had slain very numerous.
During the battle, even my fellows retreated from my swinging sword. It sang as I killed, maimed and and killed some more. I wadded through the stinking Saxon mass of men as my cries bellowed our impending victory. The leader of our group fell, but I did not even slow and thus my fellows followed me through the valley of death until victorious.
I sang as I killed, bellowing cries of blood and victory as my sword reaped havoc and the Saxons fell upon each other to get away from my advance. I did not achieve victory alone, but was certainly instrumental in crumbling the left flank of the Saxon horde. Warriors, even much older and experienced than I, saw my berserker rage and followed me to deal death to the invaders of our homes.
Moments ago, as I stopped, exhausted from the days death dealing, my Lord stopped his charger next to me and spoke only a short phrase to me, "Well done, Captain Ger'yon." His retinue followed him as my back straightened and my head lifted. I had just been raised in status, to a leader of a warrior band and more importantly, I was given recognition by the only man that mattered. Then I remembered that this promotion would mean more battles, more killing and more blood letting - until I was one of the maimed bodies laying in my own gore upon a killing field such as this one.
My thoughts returned to the present and the screams, cries and general sounds of mayhem in the newly conquered Saxon town. Our warriors seeked their revenge now upon the remaining citizens, extracting an ancient tradition. The harder the fight the siege was, the harsher the revenge. This meant, our men raped and killed all Saxons that they came across. Old, young, male or female - all were cattle to the swords and spears. Only those of comely appearance, females, would be spared - to live a new life as slaves. It had been some weeks since leaving the fortress at Calleva, and my fellows extracted their own revenge. I tried, unsuccessfully to ignore those sounds.
I am so weary.
Weary of killing, of sorrow and pain. Its a warriors lot of course, but that need not mean I enjoy it. All my family and most of my friends lay dead or enslaved due to the Saxon invader. I had seen the axe blows that cleaved their bodies. Buried the sun bloated stinking frames of what was once a living person. Held intestines in my hands as the person cried out, scared to die.
As the tears flowed from my eyes, I passed it off to the abundant smoke billowing out from the gorged town. Yet, I weeped for all that I've done, all that I've see and all that has happened to me and mine.
It wasn't finished either. Surely, we had gained months to sit back and enjoy our spoils. Yet, my Lord would surely press his strategic advantage and attack as soon as the crops were planted next spring. He had sworn his own oath, to drive the Saxons from our shores or die trying. My oath forced me to follow.
I starred at the drying nearly black blood and flesh stuck to my sword lost in thought.
"Ger'yon!" My head rose slowly to see one of the remaining Captains change his mount towards me. "M'lord asked me to give you this as the first of many gifts!" A bundle dropped to the ground, "And he asks if you would grace him with your precense at our feast tonight Captain Ger'yon?" I nodded knowing that the "feast" would be a drunken brawl with the screams of rape victims accompanying the sounds loud singing. I would be missed little if I did not appear.
The Captain galloped back to the towns gate, anxious to return to the plundering now that his chore was done.
The bundle jerked about and I watched it as if in a dream. I knew what it was, had seen enough presents like this presented and had shared in the use of such presents more than once. The long thick blonde hair hide the face from me, and the fur cloak hid the rest. It was the present of a lord to a favoured servant - a woman. Normally a high born comely woman. Age mattered little.
A part of me, weary in body and soul, just watched as the wench spit her own hair from her mouth and face. She looked into my eyes, the eyes of her new master for the first time. She screamed and yelled at me in a language that I knew not. She spat towards me, but I took little notice, as it mixed in with the blood and gore upon my person. I saw that her arms were bound before her, her ankles also, there was no escape for her except death.
At that moment, I considered lifting my sword for one more blow, to deal death as I've so expertly dealt it this day one more time. Death would be a better ending than the rape of your enemy.
Yes, I took pity upon her. I did not want her. I knew it was a wrong feeling, my fellows would little understand. I no longer had the hate in me that I once did. I ignored her screams and just looked upon into the retreating blue sky - night was approaching fast enough. It was beautiful, the sky, the sun the light clouds. So much in contrast to the sight that awaited me when I lowered my gaze to the gentle green hills and the carnage that I helped create.
I know not how long I stood there, but I realized the Saxon wench had become quiet and could feel her eyes upon me. I then thought how I must look, with tears upon my cheeks, her breathern's blood and flesh upon my person and sword, and a far away look in my eyes.
Looking down our gaze met, the victor and his slave. The man and the woman. I became lost in her eyes, a startling light blue. The colour I've only seen in the eyes of men I've killed, Saxon men. She was startlingly beautiful, and realized just how special a gift from my Lord this wench was. Obviously she was a person of importance, even noble Saxon blood.
I considered cutting her bindings and releasing her, but realized that would either be a death sentence or she would fall to another, one with much less pity than I. I did not want her, I did not want a slave, a Saxons wife most likely. Possibly a man I felled this day, his guts still dripping from my blade.
Nor did I want to do what the other warriors of my band were currently doing, raping all the comely wenches that they found, killing all the others. When the choices narrow, fall back on duty and tradition. With a sweep of my blade, the leather tongs binding her ankles were cut away. The Saxon wench just watched me, her eyes very bold for a new slave.
I turned about and began to walk - my wet sword thrown up upon one shoulder. I did not look behind me, as only the wench and the dead lay there. Yet, soon, I heard fumbling soft footfalls. In fact, I was a little disappointed, hoping the Saxon wench would save me the burden of her slavery and run away. This action of hers, following me, showed that the wench was of some intellect. That was of some bonus.
I returned to a small cottage, one where my fellows and I bed the night before. Originally I intended simply to collect my belongings and return to my Lords feast. But the gentle silence of the place, the sound of the wind and the chirp of the birds calmed my displaced soul and I sunk down upon the dirt, laying my head on my leather bag. My sword, sat across my lap, and I noted that it was till wet with the gore and blood of my enemies. I strangely wished it was new and shiny, that it had never cleaved flesh or drank blood.
A shadow encircled me and brought me roughly out of the haze that my blade produced. I looked upon into the pale skin of the Saxon slave that I owned and this time saw her tears, her fear upon her face. She sank down upon her knees next to me and sobbed to herself. She obviously knew her fate, knew that my grace was her salvation or her horror.
It was so peaceful so calming in that room just then, and without thinking I reached out and brushed the thick blonde hair from the Saxons face. She stiffened as I touched her but didn't move otherwise, but I was conscious of our roles. I knew she expected me to rape her, to perhaps even share her amongst my other warriors, and possibly even to kill or maim. Yet, I thought of none of those just then - as I was weary of the anguish of killing.
Her movement had brought me again out of my cloud and I pulled back from her suddenly and lifted my blade up between us. Straight up it sat unmoving and I saw fear at first in her eyes at the sight of it. She stared at its marred surface and the blood and gore upon it then she looked at me. For several seconds she simply stared before acting. Her arms lifted up and came about straddling the sword before pulling it towards her - cutting her bindings. It took seconds and I hadn't moved in that time. When it was done she looked tentively to see if what she had done was the right thing. It was.
The wench pulled the tongs from her dainty wrists and then rubbed the sore skin. She watched me silently, as if waiting.
I lowered my sword and then lay my head back and closed my eyes. I pictured the sky as I had seen it earlier, the calm sounds of nature. My mind drifted to images that pulled me away from all that I have done or seen this day and many before. How long I lay like that, I know not.
When hands touched me, I reacted. My sword came up and I sat suddenly straight. The Saxon wench had reached forward to the knot at my waist and had stolen me away from my thoughts. She jerked back when I sat up, real fear in her eyes. I held the blade between us as if threatening for only a few seconds as I took all this in.
There was no danger, and I knew what she was doing. I sat back and motioned towards the open doorway and for her to exit, I wished to be left in peace. Tears again started to roll down her cheeks, the alternatives presented to her were rather dismal. I watched as her shaky hands again reached forward and found the knot of leather at my waist.
As if in a dream, I watched her as she untied my leather pants and pulled the two sides wide, exposing my crotch fully. Those Saxon eyes alternated looking from my eyes to my manhood as she again reached out. Her fingers were like winter, possibly from being bound so tightly, yet it was a very minor distraction, one that bothered me not. I would guess this woman to be in her late teen years, but had seemingly been in a marriage several years. Her hands were deft and experienced as she stroked my prick. It rose only little, more interested was I in watching her than to enjoy her moving hands.
She looked up and tried to smile bravely before her torso bent at the waist and her face lowered towards my lap. I was fascinated and knew not what she was doing until her mouth opened and my flaccid prick was swallowed. At first I thought she meant to bite me, as I've heard tales of Saxon wenches biting off ears and noses of those men too preoccupied to be cautious. Before I had time to react, I felt not her teeth but of suction as she suckled me.
What a delicious feeling and I responded rather obviously in that my prick rose quickly. That blond wench sucked me and when I was hard, her face rose all the way up to my nut before again dropping down to the base. She did this again and again. I watched it, detached, and just a little amazed at her actions. Never before had I heard or felt such a thing.
I lay as one of the dead when she again sat up and looked me right in the eye. I watched as her hands rose with the hem of her expensive cloth in tow. The garment lifted off her, leaving her person completely naked.
She was indeed a comely wench. Very attractive, in a Saxon sort of way. Pale of skin, wide of hip and heavy of breast. Good birthing ankles and bones. Though slight of hands and feet, it was a minor inconvenience, one that seemed to heighten and not hinder her beauty. In fact, I had never had such a woman and I dispelled any doubts that she was not born a noble women.
With only my eyes moving, following her desirous skin as the wench crawled towards me. The Saxon slave straddled my waist and then reached between her thighs to grasp my prick straight up. I watched as the blond patch between her thighs swallowed my manhood within its folds. She groaned in what I knew to be pleasure, but I had never heard such a sound from a newly captured slave before.
Her hands balanced herself upon my heaving chest as she raised and lowered her hips deliciously. I watched her, amazed at her beauty, feeling some emotion flow back into me. The bouncing of her bountiful breasts teased me, the clenching of her clutch seductive and the sight of her partially opened lips exciting. She ground her hips into mine, she moaned deeply and moved more urgently as time passed. I felt the blood heat my body and my mind turn to fire as my senses returned.
I looked down between us, and saw my hard manhood move in and out of her body. And my stupor disappeared at the sight. I started to drive my hips upwards while my mouth found one wide nipple and gasped it between tender teeth. She was my slave, my booty for a hard battle fought, her life was mine.
No longer did I picture the sky and the clouds but of pale Saxon flesh, rightly earned through hardships. I rolled her over, my heavy body pressing her down upon the dirt. She lifted her legs and I felt her slim ankles lock behind me. I drove again and again into her while my eyes locked onto hers. Those were the eyes of my enemy, eyes of men that I had killed today and days past. The knowledge drove more heated fire into my veins and I, the victor, started to grunt with passion.
The slave drove her hips up to meet mine, one of her hands tried to pull my face down to her lips, but I ignored her. She moaned loudly in the small room and grunted with each of my determined thrusts. Out bodies joined in a noise of wet skin and abundant juices and that also drove me forwards.
She began to squeal out rather loudly, a sound I've never heard before but knew what she was enduring. Her body thrashed beneath my own and she talked in her foreign tongue as I put more power into my thrusts until finally she lay motionless beneath me. I thought of her countrymen dead upon the field as she reminded me of them even as she lay eyes open but unmoving. Her breathing, though, was heavy and strained as she looked with surprise down between us to my still hard prick.
I pulled it from her sheath and starred at its rigid surface. The Saxon wench rolled about until her face was beneath me, and she again surprised me when her mouth lifted and swallowed my balls and two hands grasped me firmly. No longer in a stupor, I simply watched her, feeling the familiar tingling in my body. Hands worked upon my lengthy manhood and her mouth suckled sweetly upon my sack. It was those feelings, that sight that drove me over the edge.
When it did come, I thought of a strange thing. My manhood spurted again and again, raining thick juices upon the chest, thighs and stomach of my slave as one thought entered my mind. That I've now wetted my other sword this day, in triumph.