By now Finan had walked his men and their horses back to the trees. To Sköll, if he saw them go, it would have looked as though Finan was merely adding his horses to Osferth’s stallions, which had been taken to the wood’s edge and secured there, but Finan, as soon as he was among the trees, remounted. Sköll, I guessed, was taking more notice of my remaining men who were being given shields and spears. I touched Serpent-Breath’s hilt and said a silent prayer before I leaned down and took a spear’s thick ash shaft from one of the servant boys. Then I waited.

Sköll edged his men forward. The youngest of his warriors were shouting their challenges, riding within a spear’s throw of Osferth’s line, daring us to go forward and fight. I could see Sköll clearly now, a broad-faced, heavily bearded man wearing a helmet with silver cheek-pieces. He was shouting too, but I could not make out his voice among the others. He appeared to be gazing at Osferth, who sat his horse at the center of the wall.

Any moment now, I thought.

“Osferth!” I called.

“Lord?”

“March your men to the wood’s edge! I want the trees protecting your left flank!”

“What—” he began.

“Do it!” I bellowed, and because in the past he had always accepted my command and perhaps because he still trusted me, he obeyed. “Be ready!” I called to the shield wall. “Keep your shields up as you go!”

And it began. But not as Sköll had planned.

He had thought to see his men burst from the trees to charge the rear of Osferth’s shield wall. Instead they appeared much higher up the slope where they were being pursued by Finan’s horsemen. I counted sixteen Norse horsemen, their stallions hurling up clods of earth as Finan spurred in pursuit. Not too far, not too far! I muttered it under my breath as Vidarr Leifson, a Norseman himself, back-handed his sword to unsaddle the rearmost fugitive. Beornoth, a Saxon, lunged down with a spear to gut the fallen man, then Finan was bellowing at his men to break off the pursuit and follow him down the slope. A half-dozen riderless horses came from the trees and followed Finan’s men downhill. Osferth’s men were almost at the wood as Finan galloped his horsemen along the face of the wall, scaring away two of Sköll’s young warriors who had ridden close to jeer at us. “Now make some noise, damn you!” I shouted at the shield wall.

“We killed six of them,” Finan said as he reined in close beside me.

“Now let’s humble the bastards,” I said.

Osferth’s men had started banging their swords against their shields again. Finan and I rode along the face of the wall. “They’re frightened of you,” I called to Osferth’s men, “so tell them what sons of miserable whores they are!”

Sköll had not moved, his line of horsemen stood still, their stallions’ hooves pawing the damp earth. He had thought that his surprise attack would panic Osferth’s men and make them easy meat for his blades, but instead they were unbroken and jeering him. His standard-bearer was holding a handsome triangular banner, which, as he waved it slowly from side to side, unfurled to reveal the badge of a snarling wolf. “Rorik!” I called.