The stocky figure of Bealdwulf staggered backwards into the clearing ahead of us. My heart lifted. He was yet alive! But then, with a twisting in my gut, I made out more details. Bealdwulf’s face was awash with blood, his eyes gleaming white from a mask of red. His clothes were in tatters and even his iron byrnie had been rent in great gashes that exposed pallid flesh and bubbling blood. How he was still standing with such wounds, I will never know. He raised his sword, screaming defiantly, hurling abuse into the shadows beneath the trees.

And then I saw the bear and I knew Runolf was right. We could not hope to defeat this beast.

The bear’s bulk was prodigious, its dark fur shaking and rippling as it lumbered forward, running on all fours. Rising up on its hind legs before Bealdwulf, the animal dwarfed the warrior. With a flick of a great paw, it swatted his sword away. Then, with a bellowing roar that made its snout quiver, its dagger-like fangs dripping with drool, it pounced with uncanny, terrifying speed. Bealdwulf was crushed beneath the huge creature. The bear bit down, closing its cavernous mouth over Bealdwulf’s face. It shook the thickset warrior, worrying at his body like a dog shaking a rat and for a sickening moment, I hoped that the warrior was already dead.

For another heartbeat, I watched, unmoving. Then, with a hideous, crunching snap, Bealdwulf’s skull shattered in the bear’s maw.

I turned on my heel, and fled with the others.

Twigs and branches snapped and cracked behind us. The bear let out another deafening roar, followed by a series of deep grunting snorts. It sounded so close I imagined I could feel the animal’s hot foetid breath on the nape of my neck. I was overcome with terror. The image and sound of Bealdwulf’s skull splintering in the jaws of the bear filled my mind. I could think of nothing else save escape from this demonic beast of the forest.

I was the fastest runner in the company, and I sped past Hereward and the others, skidding down the leaf-strewn bank to where our small camp nestled beneath the great rock.

“Get into the boat!” I yelled as I ran. “Into the boat!”

I was welcomed by Ulf’s barking. The small dog had not left his master’s side and was now yapping from inside the boat, his paws resting atop the wale.

Leofstan and Ingvar had evidently not waited to be told what to do and had already lifted Gersine into Gullbringa. Now they both waited anxiously as, one by one, we tumbled into the camp. I scrabbled up the bark-covered side of the boat and without pause was at the foremost thwart, pulling an oar from where it lay. I was sliding the loom into the thole when Gwawrddur and Runolf clambered aboard and took their places.