There was water in the ship’s wide belly. The dark of her timbers was not pitch, but rot. There were a half-dozen oars, good only for firewood, their looms warped and their blades cracked. A gull screamed at me. I stepped down onto a bench that creaked alarmingly and prodded the hull with Serpent-Breath, and her blade’s tip went into the wood as though it were fungus. This ship could not cross the river, let alone take us home to Bebbanburg.
I had captured a wreck.
Finan was grinning. ‘It would be quicker to swim to Bebbanburg!’
‘We might have to,’ I answered sourly. ‘It’s my fault. I should have sent Oswi to take a look. Not the boy.’
‘I think it’s aground,’ Finan said.
I climbed back to the wharf and gazed across the useless ship at the further berth, which was empty. ‘Benedetta said he had two ships.’
Finan followed my gaze and shrugged. ‘A second ship isn’t much use if it’s not here,’ he said. I made no answer. ‘Maybe he’s sent some slaves to Frankia?’ Finan suggested. ‘They say prices are higher there.’
That would explain the empty berth. ‘How many slaves have we got?’
‘A dozen women, four children, and three half-starved young men.’
‘I expected more.’
‘So maybe his second ship will be back in a day or two!’
‘Maybe,’ I grunted. I looked beyond the empty wharf and saw there were four guards watching us from the high parapet of the bridge that was a long bowshot away. I waved to them, and after a moment’s hesitation, one waved back. I doubted they had heard the commotion as we captured the yard, and though they could probably hear Gunnald’s desperate shrieks of pain they would surely not think such sounds unusual coming from a slaver’s warehouse.
‘So what do we do?’ Finan asked.
‘We think,’ I said sharply, but in truth I had no idea what we should do. My father, I thought, had been right. I was impetuous. I had been goaded by the attacks on my ships and, with the excuse of my oath to Æthelstan, I had come south thinking to find Æthelhelm and kill him. Now Spearhafoc was gone and I was trapped in an enemy-held city. ‘We wait for the second ship, I suppose. A pity we can’t ask Gunnald where it is.’
‘We can ask his men, they’ll know.’
Benedetta was coming down the wharf, her hood still pushed back so that the sun glinted on her long dark hair that had come loose. To my eyes she looked like a Valkyrie, one of the messengers of the gods who take slain warriors to the feast hall in Valhalla. She was unsmiling, blood had splashed onto her grey robe, while Wasp-Sting was coated to the hilt with gore. I looked quickly up to the bridge parapet, wondering what the guards would make of a blood-covered blade, but they had all turned their backs. ‘I will wash it for you, lord,’ Benedetta said, showing me the sword.
‘Give it to one of the boys to wash,’ I said. ‘Tell Aldwyn to scrub it.’
‘And thank you, lord.’
I looked into her grey-green eyes. ‘Father Oda says I encouraged you to commit a sin.’
‘That is what I am thanking you for, lord.’
‘Did you make the bastard suffer?’ Finan asked.
‘They will have heard his screams in hell,’ she said.
‘Then you did well, so you did!’ the Irishman said happily.
‘I did what I have dreamed of doing for over twenty years. I am happy.’ She turned to look into the wreckage. ‘Is this the boat?’
‘No,’ I said.
‘That is good,’ she said gravely, making both Finan and me laugh.
‘It’s not funny,’ Finan said.
‘It’s not,’ I agreed, still laughing.
Then someone began hammering on the outer gate, and a moment later Aldwyn came running. ‘Lord, lord! There are soldiers outside! Soldiers!’
‘God help us,’ Finan said.
Someone had to.
The hammering started again. I had run through the warehouse and into the yard where I opened the small hatch in the gate. Two soldiers only, both wearing mail and both looking bored, and with them were two men, evidently servants who were standing by a handcart that was loaded with two barrels. ‘I’m opening the gate!’ I called.
‘Take your time!’ one of the mailed men answered sourly.
Finan and Vidarr were with me. There were also two dead men and two slaughtered dogs sprawled on the stones. I pointed at them, then at the stable, and Finan took one corpse, Vidarr the other, and began dragging them out of sight.
‘Hurry!’ a voice called from beyond the gate.
‘I’m hurrying!’ I called, and lifted the first locking bar. I dropped it noisily and saw Vidarr was dragging the dogs into the stable. I lifted the other bar, taking my time, waiting till Finan had closed the stable, then I pulled open the gates.
One of the two men I had supposed were servants took a backward step, evidently surprised by my appearance. ‘Who are you?’ he asked.
‘Who are you?’ I responded harshly.
‘I am the under-steward from the palace,’ he answered nervously, ‘delivering the supplies, of course. But where’s Ælfrin?’
‘Sick,’ I said, suddenly realising that I was wearing my hammer amulet openly. The man who was questioning me saw it too and looked back to my eyes warily.
‘Sick?’
‘Fever.’
‘Most of the lads are sweating like pigs,’ Finan added to my story, ‘and the slaves too. A couple of them are already dead.’
The man took another backwards step, as did the two soldiers. Both of the mailed men looked strong and confident, but even the most confident warrior who had experienced the hell of shield walls feared the plague. Finan feared it too and, doubtless remembering the rumours of sickness in the north, made the sign of the cross.
‘Did Lord Varin send you?’ I asked.
‘Of course,’ the under-steward said. ‘We couldn’t send any in the last two weeks because the pretty boy’s men were in charge, but things are normal
