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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

Looking beyond Gersine and Wistan, my mind reeled to see the ships growing ever closer. The wind howled now, a gale such as sweeps the coast in autumn or winter. There was a chill hatred in that wind. The waves, whipped up by the sudden storm, crashed on the beach, adding their roar to Runolf and Hereward’s shouted orders. The Norse were coming on fast, driven by that bitter wind. The sight of them stirred up dark memories of death, fire and blood. The rain slashed into my face, spattered chill against my belly where my kirtle had risen up, caught by the byrnie that had me trapped. I began to panic, twisting and shaking in an effort to dislodge the iron shirt.

It would not budge. I was held tight, defenceless and ridiculous as the Norsemen sailed ever closer, as inexorable as wyrd.

Strong hands pulled at the hem of my byrnie, tugging it down and freeing my arms. It was Wistan, and for a moment I shuddered to think of my bare stomach facing him. He could have finished our quarrel there and then. But he was a good man. He had finished helping Gersine with his byrnie and, putting aside our differences, had turned to my aid. I nodded my thanks, unable to speak for the shame I felt. I had almost killed him only moments before. Blood seeped from the cut to his side and, if not for his belt buckle, he would now be dying.

With a last shake of my shoulders I shifted the position of my byrnie. There was no time to remove my belt and refasten it over the iron shirt. But at least I had armour, as did Gersine, the son of the Lord of Uuiremutha. The Norse were coming with nothing but death and destruction on their minds, and we would face them where Hereward had planned. Wistan, already bleeding and certainly no warrior, would stand before the Norse killers with nothing but a shield and spear, and the sword he had borrowed from Runolf.

Without a word, we each snatched up a spear from the stack in the store, and hurried off.

The men were amassing on the riverside in a protective line that would present as solid a defence as possible. Runolf and Hereward had decided where the shieldwall would be placed. There were few areas along the river mouth where ships could land. We would form a line at the lip of the riverbank, near where Runolf’s ship was being built. Our shieldwall would defend the bones of the ship, and also provide enough time for the women and children to flee.