I halted. To my right was the hedgerow, to my left the big field of barley that was almost ready for harvest, while ahead was a long, gentle slope that dropped to another belt of woodland. It all looked so peaceful. Buntings flew among the barley, a hawk soared high overhead, and a small breeze stirred the leaves. Far to the north a drift of smoke showed where a village lay in a hazed hollow. It seemed impossible that death stalked this summer land.
‘What is it?’ Father Oda had joined us.
I did not answer. I was gazing at the belt of woodland that lay like a wall across our path, and I felt despair. I had seven men, a priest, four women, some freed slaves, and a group of frightened children. I had no horses. I could send no scouts to search our path, I could only hope to hide, yet here I was on the high swell of sunlit land, in a field of barley, and my enemy was waiting for me.
‘What do we do?’ Father Oda tried a different question.
‘We go back,’ I said.
‘Back?’
‘Back the way we came.’ I turned to stare east, at the woods where we had passed the black scar of the charcoal makers. ‘We go back to the trees,’ I said, ‘and look for somewhere to hide.’
‘But—’ Oda began.
And was interrupted by Benedetta. ‘Saraceni,’ she hissed. Just that one word, but a word suffused with fear.
And the one word made me turn to see what had alarmed her.
Horsemen.
‘Merewalh’s men!’ Father Oda said. ‘Praise God!’
There were maybe twenty horsemen on the pilgrim track, all in mail, all with helmets, and half of them carrying long spears. They were at the place where the road disappeared into the western trees and they had paused there, gazing ahead.
‘They are not the enemy?’ Benedetta asked.
‘They’re the enemy,’ Finan said in a low voice. Two more men had come from the wood, and both wore the red cloak of Æthelhelm’s troops. We could see them through a gap in the hedge, but it seemed that for the moment they had not seen us.
‘Back!’ I snarled. ‘Back! All of you! Back to the trees.’ The children just stared at me, the freed slaves looked confused, and Father Oda opened his mouth as if to speak, but I snarled again, ‘Run! Go! Now!’ They still hesitated until I stepped threateningly towards them. ‘Go!’ They ran, too frightened to stay. ‘All of you, go!’ I was talking to my men who, with Benedetta, had stayed with me. ‘Go with me!’
‘Too late,’ Finan said.
Waormund, I assumed he was one of the horsemen on the road below us, had done what I would have done in his place. He had sent scouts up through the trees and they now appeared where the barley field ended. There were two of them, both mounted on grey horses, and both were staring along the hedgerow to where I stood on their skyline. One of them lifted a horn and blew it. The mournful sound faded, then came again. More men appeared on the road. There were forty now, at least forty.
‘Go,’ I said to my men, ‘you too, Finan.’
‘But—’
‘Go!’ I howled the word at him. He hesitated. I untied the heavy money pouch from my belt and forced it into his hands, then pushed Benedetta towards him. ‘Keep her alive, keep her safe! Keep my men alive! Now go!’
‘But, lord—’
‘They want me, not you, now go!’ He still hesitated. ‘Go!’ I howled the word like a soul in pain.
Finan went. I know he would rather have stayed, but my rage and the demand that he protect Benedetta persuaded him. Or perhaps he knew that it was pointless to die while there was a chance of life. Someone had to take the news to Bebbanburg.
Everything ends. Summer ends. Happiness ends. Days of joy are followed by days of sorrow. Even the gods will meet their end in the last battle of Ragnarok when all the evil of the world brings chaos and the sun will turn dark, the black waters will drown the homes of men, and the great beamed hall of Valhalla will burn to ashes. Everything ends.
I drew Serpent-Breath and walked towards the scouts. Nothing good would come to me, but fate had led me to this moment and a man must endure his fate. There is no choice, and I had invited this fate. I had tried to keep an oath made to Æthelstan, and I had been impetuous and foolish. That was the thought that would not leave my mind as I walked between the summer-bright hedge and the tall stand of barley. A field of barley, I thought. And I thought that I was a fool and I was walking towards a fool’s end.
And maybe, I thought, this foolish decision would not save my men. It would not save Benedetta. It would not save the girls or the children. But it was the last slender hope. If I had fled with them then the horsemen would have pursued us all and cut down every man. Waormund wanted me, he did not want them, and so I had to stay in the barley field to give Finan, Benedetta and all the rest their one slender hope. Fate would decide, and then I stopped beside a patch of blood-bright poppies because the scout’s horn had drawn the enemy from the road and they were spurring up the slope towards me. I touched the hammer about my neck, but I knew the gods had deserted me. The three Norns were measuring my life’s thread and one of those cackling women held a pair of shears. Everything ends.
And so I waited. The horsemen filed through a gap
