‘We could stay on the boat?’
‘We’ve come about as far we can,’ I said. The river was increasingly shallow and for the last few minutes we had been rowing through sinuous water weed and our oars and keel had been constantly scraping the river bed. I decided it was time to abandon the Brimwisa. ‘We could wait for the flood tide,’ I told Finan, ‘and make a few more miles, but we’ll be waiting for hours. Better to walk now.’
‘And rest first?’
‘And rest first,’ I assured him.
We went ashore, taking with us the captured weapons, clothes, food, mail, and money. I distributed the food, letting everyone take what they could carry. The last things I took were the two long chains that had linked the shackles of the rowers. ‘Why these, lord?’ Immar asked me after I draped one of the heavy coiled chains around his neck.
‘Chain is valuable,’ I said.
Before we left the river I had Gerbruht and Beornoth, the only two of my men who could swim, take off their boots and mail, then take Brimwisa’s bow line across the river. Once there they hauled the ship to the East Anglian bank, tied her to a willow, then half waded and half swam back. It was a small and probably useless precaution, but if Waormund did follow us then he would discover the ship on the eastern bank and might perhaps lead his men across the river and so away from us.
It was twilight as we walked across a lush river meadow that was thick with buttercups, through the elms and so to a large steading, which, like the villages we had passed, had no palisade. Two tethered dogs greeted us with frantic barking. There was a large hall from which smoke rose into the evening, a newly-thatched barn, and some smaller buildings which I took to be granaries and stables. The three dogs barked more urgently, straining at the thick ropes that held them to the hall, and only stopped when the door was thrown open and four men were outlined against the glow of the fire inside. Three of the men carried hunting bows that had arrows notched on their cords, the fourth held a sword. It was that man who bellowed at the dogs to stop their damned noise, then looked at us. ‘Who are you?’ he shouted.
‘Travellers,’ I called back.
‘Jesus, enough of you!’
I gave my sword belt to Finan and, accompanied only by Benedetta and Father Oda, walked towards the hall. As I got closer I saw that the man holding the sword was elderly, but still hale. ‘I seek shelter for a night,’ I explained, ‘and have silver to pay you.’
‘Silver is always welcome,’ he said guardedly. ‘But who are you and where are you going?’
‘I am a friend of King Æthelstan,’ I answered.
‘Maybe,’ he said cautiously, ‘but you’re not Mercian.’
My accent had told him that. ‘I am from Northumbria.’
‘A Northumbrian is a friend of the king?’ he asked scornfully.
‘As I was also a friend to the Lady Æthelflaed.’
That name gave him pause. He stared at us in the fast fading light and I saw him look down at the hammer amulet hanging from my neck. ‘A Northumbrian pagan,’ he said slowly, ‘who was a friend to the Lady Æthelflaed.’ He looked back to my face as he lowered the sword. ‘You’re Uhtred of Bebbanburg!’ He spoke in a tone of amazement.
‘I am.’
‘Then you are welcome, lord.’ He sheathed his sword, gestured for his companions to lower their bows, then took a few paces towards us, stopping just a sword’s length away. ‘My name is Rædwalh Rædwalhson.’
‘You’re well met,’ I said fervently.
‘I fought at Fearnhamme, lord.’
‘A bad fight that,’ I responded.
‘We won, lord! You won!’ He smiled. ‘You are indeed welcome!’
‘I might not be so welcome if you know that we’re being pursued.’
‘By those bastards who captured Lundene?’
‘They will come,’ I said, ‘and if they find us here they’ll punish you.’
‘East Anglians!’ Rædwalh said angrily. ‘They’ve already sent men to raid our storehouses and steal cattle.’
‘We have food,’ I said, ‘but we need ale and a place to rest. Not in your hall, I can’t endanger your household.’
He thought for a moment. An elderly woman, I assumed she was his wife, came to the door and watched us. The first bats were leaving the barn, dark against the sky in which the first stars were showing. ‘There’s a place a short mile south of here,’ Rædwalh said, ‘and you can rest there safe enough.’ He looked past me at the motley collection of slaves, children, and warriors. ‘But you lead a mighty strange army, lord,’ he went on, amused, ‘so what in God’s name are you doing?’
‘You have time for a story?’
‘Don’t we always, lord?
It had been the mention of Æthelflaed that had unlocked Rædwalh’s generosity. The Mercians had loved her, admired her, and now mourned her. It was Æthelflaed who had driven the Danes from Mercia, who had endowed churches, monasteries and convents, and who had built the burhs that defended the northern frontier. She was the Lady of Mercia, a ruler who had fiercely defended Mercia’s pride and Mercia’s wealth, and all Mercians knew I had been her friend and a few even suspected I had been her lover. Rædwalh talked of her as he led us south around the flank of a wooded hill, then listened as I told him of our escape from Lundene. ‘If the bastards come looking for you,’ he assured me, ‘I won’t say a word. Nor will any of my people. We’ve no love for East Anglians.’
‘The man leading the search,’ I said, ‘is a West Saxon.’
‘We haven’t much love for them either! Don’t worry, lord, none of us have seen you.’
The night was bright with moonlight. We were walking the river meadows, and I worried that Waormund might have sent men north on foot to find Brimwisa. I saw her mast above the shadowed willows as we went south, but saw no sign of
