but at the same time trying not to make it seem as though we were in a hurry.
Two of Haakon’s huscarls were posted outside the entrance to the stone hall, decked out in mail hauberks that fell past their knees. Their long-handled axes and bright-painted round shields rested up against the wall and they were pacing about, rubbing gloved hands together and blowing into them to try to warm them, muttering to one another and occasionally snorting in laughter. They must be the only people in the whole of Jarnborg, I reckoned, who were not still nursing the effects of the previous night’s feasting. They both cast a glance in our direction as we approached. I tensed, but then after a few heart-seizing moments they turned away to resume their conversation, and paid us no more attention. And why should they? We were, by all appearances, merely four of their countrymen, stretching their limbs on a cold winter’s morning. If they’d seen us at close hand they might have thought differently, but most likely they saw our helmets and guessed we had simply decided to rise early for some sword practice in the yard. Perhaps if they had dwelt on that assumption a little longer, they might have questioned why it was that we four were so keen when everyone else in camp still lay huddled in their blankets. Perhaps then their suspicions might have been aroused. Obviously they were too concerned with other things, however, since no challenge came.
We rounded the main hall, past the stables and the mounds of dung that had been shovelled into heaps outside, towards that low-gabled house. There was no sentry guarding the entrance here, but the door was stout, built of oak or some other heavy timber, and fitted with a sturdy iron lock and ring-handle. I glanced back over my shoulder to see if those two huscarls had followed us, but could not see them, although I heard their laughter from around the corner. Satisfied that no one was watching, I descended the steps towards the door, which was slightly below the level of the ground. I gripped the cold handle, gently twisting it until I heard the latch lift, then pushed, slowly but firmly, more in hope than in expectation, for I didn’t expect to find it unlocked.
But unlocked it was. Silently, without so much as a creak of hinges, the door swung open, much to my surprise. Truly God’s favour was shining upon us that morning.
Without further hesitation we ventured inside. A small, sparsely furnished chamber greeted us. A pair of stools stood in the middle of the floor, on one of which was a lantern, the candle within burnt down to its last inch, while on the other rested a knife with a short, curved blade and a thick handle, and a crude wood-whittling of what I supposed was meant to be a horse, since it had a head and mane and bridle, and the beginnings of a saddle, but for some strange reason the animal had not just four legs, but eight. There was no sign of anyone. Perhaps the sentry had gone to find another candle to work by, in which case we probably didn’t have much time before he returned.
Another door led off this small guardroom, but Magnus tried it and found it locked. ‘No luck,’ he said.
‘We’ll break it down,’ Ælfhelm said as he shrugged off his cloak. ‘Let me-’
‘No,’ I said sharply. ‘If you do that, someone’s bound to hear. You’ll end up bringing every single sword-Dane in this place upon us.’
‘What do you suggest, then?’
I glanced about the chamber, in case perhaps the key had been left lying somewhere, though I knew it was a futile hope.
‘If we had a fishhook we could pick it,’ Magnus said, glancing around as if half expecting one of us to have one hidden somewhere on our person. ‘Or a nail, maybe. Anything like that.’
I looked doubtfully at him. Somehow it seemed unlikely that one of noble birth such as he, the usurper’s son, would have had reason to learn the art of lock-picking. ‘And you know how to do that, do you?’
‘No, but we could try.’
‘I’ve seen it done, when I lost the key to my chest last winter,’ Ælfhelm put in. ‘Dubgall the smith’s son showed me how.’
‘You’ve done it before?’
‘No, but if a boy of eleven can manage it, then it can’t be that difficult, can it?’
‘We don’t have time for this,’ I said with mounting frustration. I didn’t know who Dubgall the smith’s son was, and even if he happened to be the wiliest thief in Christendom, I didn’t much care, for he wasn’t here, and this was no time for us to begin teaching ourselves his craft. At any moment the Dane whose wood-carving that was could return.
‘Do you have any better suggestions?’ Magnus asked.
I gave a sigh. ‘Go outside and keep watch,’ I told Godric. ‘If you see anyone approaching, come and let us know straightaway.’
‘Yes, lord,’ the boy said, and scurried back out into the open. Daylight flooded in briefly before we were plunged back into lantern-light as he closed the heavy door behind him.
I snatched up the whittling-knife that rested on the stool and passed it to Ælfhelm. ‘Will this work?’
He took it, turning the stubby blade over so that it caught the light. ‘We can try it,’ he said, kneeling down in front of the lock, and with his free hand gave a click of his fingers. ‘I need light. Bring me that lantern.’
I did so, holding it up so that its faint light shone inside the keyhole, while he peered at whatever levers and springs were housed within. I wondered that he could see anything at all, but after a short while he lifted the curved blade, which was just narrow enough, and slid it into the lock. His brow furrowed, listening carefully for the sound of the mechanism, he turned it first in one direction, then in the other, muttering curses to himself.
‘Faster,’ I hissed in between glances towards the door. ‘If this is going to take all morning-’
‘Don’t hurry me,’ the huscarl said. ‘Give me time.’
‘We don’t have time,’ I muttered, but he didn’t seem to hear me. His eyes narrowed in concentration as, using both hands to steady the handle, he turned the blade upwards, then widened again as a hint of a smile appeared at the corners of his mouth. He twisted again-
There was a click, so faint as to be almost imperceptible. Ælfhelm’s smile broadened. Beaming from ear to ear, he looked up, first at his lord and then at me.
‘And to think you doubted me.’ He withdrew the blade and gave the door a gentle push. It swung open into darkness.
I went first, holding the lantern high so as to light up the chamber beyond. ‘Oswynn?’
I tried not to speak too loudly for fear of being overheard, but my mind was running with a thousand thoughts, sweat was running from my brow and the breath caught in my chest. A dank smell hung in the air, as if a fire hadn’t been lit in some while. The hearth had been recently swept and fresh rushes had been laid. A tall ewer stood in the middle of the floor, next to an iron pisspot that needed to be emptied, for as I took another step inside I caught a whiff of its contents. Benches ran down each wall, and on each one were heaped crumpled blankets. I cast the lantern’s light down their length, until at the far end I found, huddled together, their eyes wide and white-glistening in the candlelight, three women who, had they not been trembling in fear, I would probably have called pretty.
Oswynn was not among them.
Before we could speak with them and try to find out where she was, however, I heard the sound of feet descending the timber steps that led down to the outer door. Godric had come to tell us that the guard was on his way back, I thought. I turned back into the guardroom as the door opened and frigid air flooded in.
The figure who ducked beneath the lintel wasn’t Godric. Round of stomach, he had long, fair hair that trailed from beneath a woollen cap, with a moustache and beard to match. In one hand he held a whetstone and, in the other, a lump of cheese from which he was just about to take a bite when he saw us. And froze.
His jaw hung agape in surprise and confusion, and I saw the half-chewed remains of his last mouthful. He stood there, blinking, for what felt like an hour but could only have been a heartbeart, his expression slowly hardening.
‘
I glanced at Magnus, who was the only one among us who spoke their tongue, but it seemed he had no reply to whatever it was the Dane had said. That was when the round-bellied one noticed the door to the other chamber lying open. Whether he quite realised we were foemen or not, he saw that we meant trouble. Suddenly alert, he reached for the sword belted to his waist. He took a deep breath as if about to call out, and I knew that if he did our plans would be dashed like a ship against a cliff-face, and we would all be dead men. I started forward, reaching for my hilt, hoping to run him through-
I never had the chance. Before I had even got within five paces of him, he stopped mid-movement. His eyes
