Norman Invasions by John Norman Read Free Book Online Page B

village, sometimes wading, splashing, through small inlets, the water to its fetlocks. I staggered after him. He stopped not far from the place where I had dived into the water, where the beach, at that point, ended, before the violent interval of waves, the hurtling, crashing sea, the rocks.
    A few yards behind, I fell into the sand. I was weary, my body ached, I was exhausted. I was shivering with cold. I was on my hands and knees. I felt I could hardly rise. “Release her!” I whispered. “Let her go!”
    There was at that point a large rock, rather boulderlike. It had been smoothed by centuries of tides, of rain and wind. Its lower portions were now washed by the sea.
    â€œLet her go!” I whispered.
    The centaurlike creature then, with callous indifference, threw the girl on her belly on the smooth rock, her small hands, bound with her own hair, over her head, before her. She cast me a look of misery and terror over her right arm. For a moment his mighty hands held her in place. Then she was pinioned. Then she was covered. She shrieked.
    â€œStop!” I begged.
    It was a ghastly scene, as though mythology had suddenly leapt ferociously alive.
    Have her. Take her. Own her. She is yours.
    â€œNo!” she wept, shaken, struck, rocked, held. “Please, no!” These were the first words I had heard her ever utter. Then it seemed she could only endure, like a rag or boot. I feared she might be destroyed.
    I staggered to my feet, and, blind with rain and rage, threw myself on the hideous, dispossessing, expropriating creature. My hands dragged at its hair.
    In that moment it seemed that the creature was gone, and I lay beside her, she, his victim, his pleasure, his toy. She was shuddering, and wet and slick. Her hands were still over her head, bound. I could not but note how well the turned strands of golden hair, twisted together into fine, smooth, thick cords, served to bind her tiny wrists. I was gasping, and sore, from my ordeal in the water, from my efforts in somehow managing to dislodge her assailant.
    Soberly, I did not see how that had been possible.
    But it was gone.
    She was breathing heavily. I could see the sweet fullness of her breast against the rock. She seemed not to dare to move.
    â€œIt is gone,” I assured her.
    â€œNo,” she said, “it is not.”
    I looked about. There was no sign of it, of the calpa.
    â€œWhat are you going to do?” she whispered.
    â€œFree you, surely,” I said. “We must get you home.”
    Strangely, though, I turned her to her back, rudely. She went to lower her hands, to bring them before her body, but I thrust them back, angrily, over her head. She kept them as I had placed them.
    I have waited a long time to have you thusly.
    She looked at me, her eyes wide, frightened. I did not understand this reaction.
    â€œWe will get you some warm blankets, some hot tea,” I said.
    â€œThank you,” she said.
    Were you given permission to speak?
    â€œNo,” she said. “Forgive me!”
    â€œFor what?” I asked.
    â€œI—I do not understand,” she stammered.
    I knelt across her body, doubtless to lean forward and free her hands.
    You may lift your mouth, and kiss me.
    I was startled at the unexpected, timid, soft touch of her lips on my body.
    You are mine.
    She turned her head to the side, trembling. “Yes,” she said. “Yes.”
    â€œYes?” I asked.
    â€œYes, I know,” she said.
    â€œYou know what?” I asked.
    She looked at me, confused, miserable.
    Then it seemed to me I heard her say, and clearly,
“If you are a true man, use me. Use me as is your right, in accord with your right, as a master!”
    â€œWhat?” I said.
    â€œI said nothing,” she whispered.
    Then, oddly, I backed a little away from her, on my knees. I stroked the interior of her left thigh. It was soft, and there was golden hair. Then I touched her curiously, softly,