‘Waormund?’

‘That ford will stop him dead. He’ll have to wait hours.’

‘God be praised,’ Benedetta said.

Aldwyn brought me Serpent-Breath. I checked that the blade was clean and dry, slid the sword into her fleece-lined scabbard, and patted Aldwyn’s head. ‘Well done,’ I said, then looked behind and could see no sign of our pursuer. ‘I think we’re safe.’

‘God be praised,’ Benedetta said again, but Finan just nodded westwards.

And on the road to Lundene, at the village’s western end, were horsemen. The sun was low, dazzling my eyes, but I could see men hauling themselves into saddles. They were not many, perhaps eight or nine, but two of them wore the distinctive dull red cloaks. ‘So they did leave sentries here,’ I said bitterly.

‘Or maybe a forage party,’ Finan said dourly.

‘They don’t seem interested in us,’ I said as we rowed on northwards.

‘You hope,’ Finan said. Then the horsemen disappeared behind an orchard. The sun might have been low, but it was summer and a long evening lay ahead.

Which could yet bring us death.

Nine

It should have been a pleasant evening. The day was warm, but not too hot, the sun slanted across a green land, and we rowed slowly, almost gently. The oarsmen were near the end of their strength, but I did not demand more effort. We were travelling at a walking pace, content that no one pursued us. True, we had seen a small group of Æthelhelm’s men at the village by the Ligan’s ford, but it seemed they had taken no interest in us, and no horsemen appeared in the fields to our left and so we went slowly northwards between willows and alders, past meadows where cattle grazed, and by small steadings marked by smoke that rose into the windless air. We kept rowing as the shadows lengthened into the long summer evening. Hardly anyone spoke, even the children were quiet. The loudest noises were the creaking of the oars and the splashes of the blades that left ripples which the current swirled downstream. I relieved Irenmund on the steering-oar and he took the oar of a youngster who looked on the point of collapse. Finan squatted beside me on the steering platform, and Benedetta perched on the rail with one hand on the sternpost. ‘This is Mercia?’ she asked me.

‘The river is the frontier,’ I explained. ‘Which means that is East Anglia,’ I pointed to the right bank, ‘and that,’ I pointed into the setting sun, ‘is Mercia.’

‘But if it is Mercia,’ she went on, ‘then we surely find friends?’

Or we would find enemies, I thought, but I said nothing. We were rowing up a long straight river stretch and I could see no sign of any pursuit. I was certain Waormund’s ship would not have been able to pass the ford, at least not until the tide rose, and his men, tired from rowing and burdened by mail and weapons, could never catch us on foot. My fear was that Waormund would find horses and then he would be on to us like a stoat slaughtering leverets, but as the sun blazed its last in the west we saw no sign of any horsemen.