Page 8 - SagaOfBarak1

smelling Britons, these were doubtless of German origin. Barak was the name
of the huge rider, and he reasoned this quite rightly judging by their fish scale
armour and their general dress. Oh, and also of course by their bulging goatskin
drinking gourds that hung heavily at their ample waist. And also this unwashed
duo from the Rhineland, well they were both quite unsteady upon their booted
feet. This while their stale breath, smelling strongly of beer would have got a nun
drunk.
And the Germans, well here was a breed of men who seldom wandered or
went very far without a strong drink of some sort strapped at their side. That
whether it was in peace time, or even in a time of full blown bloody warfare.
However, though, this was a habit that in the big man’s opinion was not to be
considered in any manner a failing on their behalf. Oh no far from it, this, the
large warrior thought was a most wily and astute practice that lay to the Germanic
tribesman’s undying credit. After all if you are indeed marked for a slow lingering
death in battle, or even while ploughing a field for that matter, well then, why
on top of all that misfortune, as well as everything else should you also die a
thirsty man?
Once again the large rider looked about him as he observed all and everything.
A worthless, skinny, half-starved collie dog cur yapped then scratched at its sad
flea ridden body. Also a trio of large white geese gaggled and hissed out loudly
as a drunken soldier who had stayed out far too long stumbled across their path.
No doubt, this the fool did while trying to find his way back to his home. Of a
sudden the big man’s dark, almost almond eyes settled once again upon the man
Hubert affixing him with a steady most stony stare.

‘All is not well here in this place my old friend,’ the warrior said evenly. ‘I
sense it, I smell it, aye and above all else I do know it.’ In a solemn tone the
horseman said this while easing himself down from his mount onto the stone
cobbled courtyard. These five fidgety onlookers noticed the huge warrior did this
somewhat a little stiffly from his high backed expensive Arabian saddle.
At the first sight of the very big man sitting atop his very big horse it must be
said the other four guardians of the gate, who were unfamiliar with the warrior,
had been taken very much aback. In fact the four of them were in all truth
shocked, aye, and perhaps even afraid in a strange way by the giant’s fearsome
appearance. Aye, and all of this even though the warrior had come to them as a
friend, not as a foe.
‘Speak up man,’ the giant demanded of the downcast Hubert. ‘For have we
not many years ago hunted down the savage Picts together over the great wall of
Hadrian? Why, we have drank and diced and we have slept in the snow together,
aye all of this we have done with our blue stained itchy enemies not a sling shot
away from where we lay. So with this in mind tell me my friend, why am I now
to be treated as no more than a stranger here in this solemn place? Aye, and a

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