Autumn of 834 CE
Kiel
The clash of steel rang out a thousand times over, again and again as the Saxons of Hamburg met the Wends of the East outside of the fishing village of Kiel.
Wenzel and the merchants of Hamburg were able to pool together some twenty-five hundred men with another five hundred hired swords from far-off Norway. The coffers were not going to last long at the current rate, but the spirit of the Saxons would not last long under the yolk of King Bogislaw.
Either way, time was of the essence.
"Quickly!" Wenzel shouted, pointing vaguely at a wheeling column of Wendish soldiers threatening to pincer the Saxon core. The chief looked over his shoulder back at the firth where King Detleff and his Danish allies where looking for a safe landing.
Daylight burned.
And if they couldn't hold it together so would Hamburg.
"Sir, are you coming?"
"No," the chief called. "I have faith in the left flank; we mustn't let a wing distract an army." He pivoted on his wooden leg and clopped forward with his personal command and the mercenaries, still leading his troops with the tip of a sword.
The mercenaries bristled as the Wendish center approached, content in Bogislaw's belief that the Saxons would be scattered and the war won before any of their neighbors saw an opportunity to strike while their backs were turned.
Wenzel could see all the fancy banners and idols that the Wends carried in a pathetic mockery of what they thought civilized peoples looked like. But those banners could only mean one thing and so Wenzel squinted his rusty eyes and peered hard into the mass of lightly armed men.
In their midst, wearing his farce of a crown, strode Bogislaw carrying Theoderic's old axe in his hands.
"He thinks himself a Saxon?" Wenzel mused to the soldiers surrounding him. "We will show him what Saxon men are capable of! Isn't that right?!"
His men gave out a cheer, banging swords and axes against wooden shields and pounding the ground with their boots. Wenzel stepped out in front of the men. The Wends spotted him, Bogislaw wouldn't let this chance pass to put down the old dog.
"Sir?"
"Let them come. Let them leave their flanks behind just to snap at me."
A wire smile wound its way across Wenzel's face as he waited patiently for Bogislaw to disintegrate his own forces. As they closed, the old sea-dog opened his arms wide to welcome the advancing Wends.
Then, with a roar like an angered bear, Wenzel thrust his sword toward the enemy and his men charged forward, their chief clopping through the thick mud at their feet.
Bogislaw broke through the Saxon lines, heading straight for Wenzel. He hefted his stolen axe above his head like an executioner and let it swing mightily down.
Wenzel spun on his peg, barely clearing the falling blade, but letting it pass harmlessly into the thick of the muck.
"You'll need to be faster than that, boy!" Wenzel shouted in the Wend-tongue.
With a grunt Bogislaw pulled the axe from the mud and with the handle parried Wenzel's own attack.
"Isn't there a dinghy that needs tarring?"
"Always. But some things—" Wenzel grunted as he avoided another blow. "But some things are more important. Wouldn't you agree?" He chuckled as he wheeled around the larger brute, catching him flatfooted from the flank and nearly getting his sword in between the folds of the Wendish King's armor.
"Sit still," Bogislaw grumbled, chasing after the wily old man.
"Ne—"
A flash of steel and red was the last that Wenzel saw as he fell backward away from a furious blow from his foe.
Ringing.
The world reached a crescendo around him as all things faded from existence and he felt himself floating down the Elbe. Birds squawked from their nests, fish rippled in the water, and the womenfolk gossiped as they went about their work.
Shining sun hovered above him and all was right.
A hand appeared from above him, offering to pull him back into a flat-bottomed fishing boat.
"Can't spend all day on your back, Wenz."
"Yes, Papa."
"There's work to do."
"I know, but the water is warm and night is so far away."
His father chuckled. "You're right." He retracted his hand and instead worked his own shirt off his back and with the grace of a boulder, jumped into the river beside Wenzel.
The boy let out a laugh before his father's splash washed over him.
His father came up from the bottom, whipping his face back and forth like a dog and letting out a long laugh. "You said the water was warm!"
"It is when you've been in it long enough!"
The elder man laughed a bit more and sent a wave over to his son with his arm. "You sneak!" With powerful arms he swam over to the boat and hoisted himself up, one leg in the boat and the other dangling in the water.
He offered his hand again and the young Wenzel took it. His dad pulled him up out of the water and, with a rush of time and pain, back onto that plain outside of Kiel.
"My lord!"
"Chief Wenzel!"
Wenzel forced his eyes open but only half the world returned to him. His vision was crowded by friendly soldiers.
"My King! My King! We've found him!"
"Thank the Allfather!"
"Where am I?" Wenzel grumbled.
His lips were sticky, matted. When he licked them they stung of blood and mud. But mostly blood.
"My lord, please don't move! Your wounds..."
"Damn my wounds, Bogislaw, I will kill him."
"The Wend is long gone," Detleff said as he came into Wenzel's vision. He flinched at the sight of the chief's face. "That's not going to heal. Not entirely, anyway."
Wenzel was busy trying to focus on the left side of his nose. "He got me, didn't he?"
Detleff nodded slowly.
"Damn. Damn, damn, damn..."
Suddenly Wenzel felt very tired.
Cold.
"My lord..." Wenzel started. "I think I am going to take a nap."
"That isn't a bad idea, Wenzel, old friend."
"Thank you, my lord."
"Rest well. Men, please return our friend to the camp and make sure the healers take a look at him."
Wenzel closed his eye and let his head fall back as he felt strong hands lift him up off the ground. And like that, he was back to warm summers on the Elbe.
