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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

“You think God sent the storm?” I asked. I could not deny that we now had ample rope and the ship’s sail was still clearly visible lapping in the river’s muddy current.

“Who can say?” he replied. “Anything is possible.”

Twelve

By midday, the dark clouds had vanished. The sky was pale and bright, the sun warm. Gazing up at the heavens, watching the guillemots and gannets swirling and swooping, I could almost forget the sudden violence of that morning. I had shrugged off my byrnie and soaked kirtle and examined my pale flesh. The imprint of the iron rings marked my skin like flower petals, surrounded by the beginnings of bruises that would bloom over the next few days. The iron shirt would need to be oiled and cleaned. If it was left for too long it would tarnish and rust, so later that day, we had some of Lord Mancas’ thralls roll them in barrels of dry sand and then rub the clean byrnies with lard. But on the beach that morning, I was too tired to do anything. My body ached. But a deeper pain gnawed at me.

I thought of Leofstan and the disappointment on his face after the bloody battle at Werceworthe, and for the first time, I think I understood him.

Along the beach, the women set about tending to the wounded and the dead, while the men stripped the armour and weapons from the corpses of the Norsemen. Runolf and Hereward shouted orders, hurrying to save what they could from the shattered hulk of the ship in the river. Dully, I listened to Lord Mancas’ soft voice, so unlike that of Hereward and Runolf, as he ordered his hearth-warriors to ride along the river to search for any survivors who might have made their way ashore.

While the riverside was bustling with activity all around me, I slumped on the wet mud, seemingly unnoticed, or perhaps ignored. For a long time, I could not rouse myself. I languished in self-pity, watching the birds in the sky and allowing my mind to drift with them, pushing aside all other thoughts.

At last, Gersine came to me, pulling me away from the solace of the wheeling birds and my attempts to forget what had happened and who I had become.

“I’ve brought you a dry kirtle,” he said, sitting down beside me and handing me a bundle of cloth.

Shaking out the garment, I recognised it as one of his. It was a creamy colour, with patterned hems the blue of the sky threaded with red. Nodding my thanks to him, I pulled it over my head.