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Chapters (76)
  1. Cover
  2. Praise forMATTHEW HARFFY
  3. BY MATTHEW HARFFY
  4. Title Page
  5. Copyright
  6. Dedication
  7. Maps
  8. Epigraph
  9. Contents
  10. Place Names
  11. One
  12. Two
  13. Three
  14. Four
  15. Five
  16. Six
  17. Seven
  18. Eight
  19. Nine
  20. Ten
  21. Eleven
  22. Twelve
  23. Thirteen
  24. Fourteen
  25. Fifteen
  26. Sixteen
  27. Seventeen
  28. Eighteen
  29. Nineteen
  30. Twenty
  31. Twenty-One
  32. Twenty-Two
  33. Twenty-Three
  34. Twenty-Four
  35. Twenty-Five
  36. Twenty-Six
  37. Twenty-Seven
  38. Twenty-Eight
  39. Twenty-Nine
  40. Thirty
  41. Thirty-One
  42. Thirty-Two
  43. Thirty-Three
  44. Thirty-Four
  45. Thirty-Five
  46. Thirty-Six
  47. Thirty-Seven
  48. Thirty-Eight
  49. Thirty-Nine
  50. Forty
  51. Forty-One
  52. Forty-Two
  53. Forty-Three
  54. Forty-Four
  55. Forty-Five
  56. Forty-Six
  57. Forty-Seven
  58. Forty-Eight
  59. Forty-Nine
  60. Fifty
  61. Fifty-One
  62. Fifty-Two
  63. Fifty-Three
  64. Fifty-Four
  65. Fifty-Five
  66. Fifty-Six
  67. Fifty-Seven
  68. Fifty-Eight
  69. Fifty-Nine
  70. Sixty
  71. Sixty-One
  72. Sixty-Two
  73. Author’s Note
  74. Acknowledgements
  75. About the Author
  76. An Invitation from the Publisher

I have already written of how tired I was and how sleep had beckoned to me before the bear attacked Bealdwulf. And I have oft told of how I was proud and foolish as a young man, believing myself somehow immortal and free from the weaknesses of others. That night, leaning against the trunk of the yew, enveloped in the cool darkness, I stupidly thought I could remain awake and vigilant. If there was any justice in the world, I would have been killed right there in that forest. And yet here I am, writing this tale decades later and far away, when better men than I have long ago been committed to the earth.

The first moment I knew I had fallen asleep, was when the cold steel of a blade pressed against my throat and a powerful hand clamped down over my mouth.

Forty-Seven

“Not a sound, or you’re dead,” hissed a strangely accented voice in Norse. The man’s breath was warm on my face. It smelt of wild garlic and thyme. The acrid odour of smoke lingered about him too, like a cloud. For a sickening instant I wondered if I was dreaming, but then the knife blade at my throat scratched my skin and rough hands pulled me to my feet. There were shapes in the darkness around me, but I could not make out their faces.

Cursing myself for the weakness that had led to me falling asleep, I instinctively reached for the weapons that hung from my belt. The man who held me slapped my hands away.

“Take his blades,” he whispered and someone stepped close. I felt my sword and seaxes tugged from their scabbards.

“Let’s kill him,” hissed a voice. It sounded like it belonged to an excited child.

“No,” said the man holding the knife at my neck. “The master wants them alive.”

“He won’t know if we kill some of them,” moaned the child voice.

“You think you can lie to him?” replied the man who held me, his tone mocking. “Do you truly believe he would not know?”

Silence.

They bound my hands behind my back and used one of my own seaxes to cut strips of cloth from my cloak. One of these they rolled into a wad and stuffed into my mouth, another was tied around my head to secure it there. The rough cloth rubbed painfully at the corners of my mouth and the greasy wool on my tongue made me gag. But the discomfort was as nothing compared to the anguish I felt at having been captured so easily.

When I was tied up, the leader of the group removed his knife from my throat and pushed me forward.

“Quietly,” he whispered to his comrades.