The road led through the coppiced beeches. Finan was hidden somewhere in this wood and I dared to hope that he would rescue me, but he had just six men, and Waormund had over forty. Waormund must have known that I had not been alone and I feared he would send men to find my companions, but it seemed he was content with his prize, his reputation was assured, and he would ride in triumph to Lundene where my enemies would watch me die in misery and pain.

We passed two priests and their two servants who were walking west towards Werlameceaster. They stood at the side of the road and watched me stumble by. ‘Uhtred of Bebbanburg!’ Waormund boasted to them. ‘Uhtred the Pagan! On his way to death!’ One of the priests made the sign of the cross, but neither spoke.

I staggered again, fell again, and was torn by the road again. I did it twice more. Slow them down, I was thinking, slow them down, though what that would achieve other than delaying my death I did not know. Waormund became angry with me, but then ordered one of his men to dismount and I was draped over the empty saddle, though still tied to his stallion’s tail. The dismounted man walked beside me and amused himself by slapping my naked arse, crowing with laughter with each slap.

We went faster now that I could no longer stumble, and the Roman road soon came in sight. It ran north and south through a wide and shallow valley, while far beyond it I could glimpse a silvery stretch of the River Ligan. The land here was good and plump, rich with pastureland and thick crops, with orchards heavy with ripening fruit, and stands of valuable woodland. Waormund ordered his men to trot, forcing my arse-slapping guard to hold onto the empty stirrup as he ran beside the horse. ‘We’ll make Lundene by nightfall!’ Waormund shouted at his men.

‘Use the river, lord?’ a man suggested. I gave a croak of laughter to hear Waormund addressed as ‘lord’. He did not hear me, but the man whose horse carried me did and he slapped me again.

‘I hate boats,’ Waormund snarled.

‘A ship might be quicker, lord?’ the man suggested. ‘And safer?’

‘Safer?’ Waormund sneered. ‘We’re not in danger! The only troops Pretty Boy has near here are at Werlameceaster, and they’re useless.’ He turned in his saddle to enjoy looking at me. ‘Besides,’ he went on, ‘what do we do with the horses?’

I wondered how he had found the beasts. He had followed me up the river and there had been no horses in his big ship, yet now he had mustered forty or more. Had he somehow gone all the way back to Lundene to find the horses? That seemed unlikely. ‘We could take the horses back to Toteham, lord?’ the man suggested. ‘And you take the earsling to Lundene by river?’

‘Those lazy bastards in Toteham can piss into the wind,’ Waormund growled, ‘and we’ll keep their damned horses.’