"Wine? Where have you been hiding this woman?"

"In the secret caves, my lord and husband. I hid it there in the days when the village was becoming a Stedding."

"Why bring it out now?"

"Since the Romans introduced my family to it, a Sol...Yule feast has never been without it."

"Is this all of it?"

"No, my lord and husband. There are many barrels. My family traded with Aquitain often."

"Humph. You will show me these caves when we are done here."

Gwen bowed. Rolf stood.

"Landsman, warriors and honored guests. I have a special treat. I have brought, as no small expense, real wine to our feast. Wenches!"

The crowd cheered in appreciation. Allanna led the host of young serving women in from the larder with pictures and pictures of wine. Drinking bowls and drinking skulls were quickly emptied to make room for the deep red vintage.

Two hours of drinking and feasting later, the warband was growing ugly. They were used to mead and ale, not wine. Fists flew on more than one occasion, but usually ended harmlessly. The wenching was getting serious. Rolf enjoyed the wine's effects on his men or himself. In the safety of his new Great Hall he let himself enjoy the scene.

"I can see why your family liked wine at your solstices, nasty orgies that they were."

"Oh this is nothing. I could perform the dance for you."

"Dance?"

"Yes, it's a celebration of life, it tells the story of..."

"Ha! I'd like to see you dance. You've been a sour faced old bitch ever since they day I took you. You'd think a chief's daughter would be a better sport about such things."

"Very well. I will dance."

"How, the scald has already feinted from the wine."

"Fleance knows the old tune well enough."

"Bah! A harp is no real instrument. It's soft and womanly."

"He has put on new, strong strings that will make a very manly sound. Besides, the mistrals will follow him."

"Very well." The sodden chieftain swayed and stood while Gwen spoke to the Bard. "Landsmen, warriors and honored guests. My wife would like to dance for us. It's some old pagan dance, but we might be amused."

The servants refilled all the cups and blows, then left the pitchers beside the warriors. Then they cleared the hall away. Gweneth Ahern stood at the end of the hall and waited for Fleance to begin.

The music began frolicsome, as Rolf has expected. Gwen leapt, pranced and skipped down the hall. She seemed twenty years younger. Long legs extended from her skirt. She slewed her hips from side to side, flirting with every Saxon, until his eyes didn't leave her.

The music grew more intense, more urgent. Rolf found himself growing a pole and by the heavy breathing of his men, he was not alone. Gwen leapt on the table and increased her gyrations. Her laces came undone by whirling or her nimble fingers. Her black ringlets of hair flew from side to side. Finally, her bodice slipped down to reveal two pale, full and heavy breasts.

The music increased its pace. No man in the hall wondered what the dance was being performed before them. It was re-creation of the Dance of Life, or the dance of making life. Gwen bent her knees until her haunches rested on the tabletop.

Undulating her hips with increasing fervor, breast bouncing, head whipping from side to side, she humped an invisible lover. The music matched her fiery lust.

In crescendo, Gwen lifted her head skyward in ecstasy. She hunched her back convulsively, winding down in intensity.

The foreign men pounded the table in appreciation. The wenches simply replaced non-full pitchers with full ones and continued with their cleaning. But the dance did not end.

The music took on a gentle quality. Gowned in a simple white shrift, young Allanna slowly walked forth. She climbed onto the table. Gwen stood, spread her legs and lifted her skirts. The girl crawled underneath.

Gwen's body moved in mock pain and then the young girl emerged from beneath the curtain of skirt, naked. She had discarded her simple gown.

Allanna's curly chestnut hair waterfalled to the small of her back. Her skin was smooth and without blemish. Her teats were modest. Her hips could have been fuller, but she was very fit. Slowly she arose, Gwen's arms welcoming her. Allanna tenderly took a nipple and sucked on the woman's right breast.

Between sucks, Allanna whispered to Gwen. "I am going to mate with your son, mother."

"So be it. Share his couch. Make many grandchildren. Now drink of my life."

Allanna framed Gwen's head in her hands and kissed her fully, passionately on the lips. Their tongues entwined like serpents. Then Allanna slid down Gwen's front, her destination was obvious.

"That's enough!" Rolf roared. "Damn pagans! What is this?"

"Why husband and lord, it is the dance eof life. Performed every solstice."

"Od's blood it is! It ends tonight, now!"

"But you haven't seen the end."

"I don't need to see the end."

"Oh, but you do. You see it ends in death."

Rolf was never so drunk that he failed to recognize a threat. He looked round the room. The musicians waited, patiently. The oldsters stood in clump by the windroom door. The serving wenches and lads were gone. And all the weapons and shields were missing from the walls.

"It's a trap! Alarm! Alarm!"

The drunken warriors looked about for a threat and saw none. "The doors you fools! Guard the doors!"

The door flew open and winter walked in with the Great Horned One. From across the room he threw his great ash spear and impaled Rolf Outlaw to the back of his oaken throne. The antler point protruded just where the stag's phallus had once been. Morgawse handed him a Saxon boar spear and the slaughter began.