It was midafternoon. The sky was covered in dark cloud, and every few minutes there were spatters of sleet, though the threatened hard fall of snow had not yet arrived. The road, laid arrogantly straight across the flank of a hill, ignoring spurs and streams, had climbed all day, and we were now in bare, bleak moorland, still climbing, but I saw that our furthest scouts, maybe a mile ahead, had dismounted and were keeping below the skyline of a high spur. That told me there were other men even farther ahead, men who would have seen our scouts outlined against the gray winter sky if those scouts had not been so cautious. Then one of those far scouts hauled himself into his saddle, turned his horse, and spurred back toward us. “Trouble,” Finan grunted.

There were no steadings this high on the moors. In summer sheep and goats might be brought here to graze, but in winter the land was empty, and so it was unlikely that any merchants would be traveling this broken road across the moors. “It must be men coming back from Eoferwic.” I suggested.

“Defeated men, I hope,” Finan said. He and I had hurried ahead to meet the scout, Kettil, curbing our horses where some yards of the road had long ago been washed away by a sudden flood. Kettil slowed as he neared us, and let his horse pick its way across the slope.

“Men, lord,” he said, “maybe two hundred? Some on the road, some are driving cattle in the valley.” The valley was a wide, boggy swale to our left.

“How far away?”

“A good mile beyond that crest, lord. And they’re coming slow because of the cattle.”

Any cattle captured at this time of year would have been taken from byres or barns, not from the fields. The herds had been slaughtered at the beginning of winter, with just enough beasts left safe behind walls to breed for the new year, so the approaching men must have raided Sigtryggr’s land, maybe my land too, and had doubtless stolen cattle, silver, and slaves, and were now bringing their spoils home. The presence of the cattle, indeed of the men themselves, suggested they had failed to capture Eoferwic. Why else would they be coming west across the hills instead of staying in the city?

“Just two hundred men?” Finan asked.

“So far,” Kettil said, “but more were still coming when I left.”

“Scouts?” I asked.

“None, lord.” Kettil spat. “Reckon they feel safe without them. There’s enough of the bastards.”

“We’ll go south,” I said bleakly. “We’ll let them pass, but I want to capture some of the bastards too.” I would have preferred to go north because the land there was more rugged, promising more hiding places, but the valley immediately to our north was wide, and I reckoned it would take too much time to reach the far crest, time in which the approaching enemy might see us, while the southern skyline was much closer. I stood in my stirrups, pointed south, and the far scouts, who had already started back toward us, saw my gesture and changed direction. Then I led my men over the hill, and, once hidden from the road, dismounted.