“Don’t draw swords,” I went on, “till I beckon you. Then ride alongside them and watch to see when I draw Serpent-Breath. That’s when you attack. And I want prisoners. Two prisoners at least. And Rorik!”

The boy grinned, knowing what I was about to say. “I’m to stay out of the fight, lord?”

“You’re to stay out of the fight.”

The enemy plainly suspected nothing because they had paused, waiting for us. We reached the road and spurred toward them as the prisoners collapsed at the road’s edge. I could hear a child crying and saw one of the mounted men smack the infant’s mother across the head with his spear shaft. “It is a horrible noise,” Berg remarked to me.

“You’ll hear it often enough,” I said. “Is Hanna pregnant yet?”

“She might be, lord. We try hard enough.”

I laughed, then held up a hand to check the men following us. They curbed their horses just a few paces from the rearmost enemy, while Berg and I went on. I nodded companionably to the nearest spearman and spurred Tintreg on past the prisoners to where a glum-looking man with drooping gray mustaches slumped in his saddle. His cloak, mail, and helmet looked better than the rest, and I assumed he was the leader. “It’s cold!” I called.

“Almost lambing time,” he said. “It should be warmer than this.” He frowned, perhaps realizing that he had never seen me before. Water beaded the rim of his helmet. “You’re one of Jarl Arnborg’s men?”

“I’m his uncle,” I said, “his father’s brother.”

“You were at Jorvik?”

“We were too late,” I said. “We just came from Ireland. Folkmar,” I introduced myself.

“Enar Erikson.” he responded.

“We should keep going,” I said. “There are Saxons over that hill.” I nodded south.

Enar looked alarmed. “Following us?”

“Just searching. They were far off and didn’t see us. But keep going anyway.”

He waved his men on. Some of the women cried as they were prodded with the long spears, but they stood and shambled on reluctantly. “We should just kill them,” Enar said, looking sourly at the prisoners. “We have enough slaves,” he grumbled, “these ones are sick and slow.”

“They’ll still fetch silver,” I said.

“Where? Dyflin has more than enough slaves already.”

Dyflin, I knew, was the largest Norse settlement in Ireland, and the largest slaving town in the west. Most slaves were carried to Frankia or else sold in Lundene, but those markets were far away and difficult to reach from Cumbraland. “Slaves are slaves,” I said vaguely, “they’re all valuable.”

“Then we should just kill the damned children,” Enar said. “We can always give the women more.” He chuckled at that.

“Why don’t you?” I asked. He looked startled at that suggestion. “If they’re slowing you down,” I went on, “why not just kill the little bastards?”

He grimaced. “Young ones are valuable.”

“They do make a horrible noise though,” I said, then paused because four horsemen had appeared on the skyline ahead; four horsemen who were spurring back toward us. “Who are they?” I asked.