When the first gray wolf-light touched the eastern hills I went back through the trees and found Serpent-Breath where I had left her. My men, those who were awake, watched me fearfully. The bodies of the two prisoners were still tied to the tree, their gaping wounds washed clean by the rain. I pulled Serpent-Breath from the leaf mold and tossed her to Rorik. “Clean her.”

“Yes, lord.”

“You should eat, lord,” Finan told me.

“No,” I said, not looking at him because I did not want him to see the tears that were blurring my eyes. “What I should do,” I snarled, “is kill that damned monk.”

“He’s gone, lord,” Finan said.

I turned, furious. “He’s what?”

“He and his girl,” Finan said calmly. “They stole two of the scouts’ horses at first light.”

“Didn’t we set sentries?”

Finan shrugged. “They told Godric they were going for a shit.”

“With horses?” Damn Godric. He had always been a fool. “Maybe I should kill Godric,” I snarled. “Send him to me.”

“Leave him to me,” Finan said, fearing what I would do in my rage. “I’ll give him a thumping,” he promised.

Godric was enthusiastic enough, he could hold a shield and wield a sword, but had the brains of a slug. Brother Beadwulf, I thought, would have had small trouble convincing the fool that he meant no harm. I supposed the monk and his squirrel had fled back to Arnborg, presumably because he thought the Norse would catch and slaughter us, and Brother Beadwulf wanted to be certain he would survive the slaughter. I should have killed him, I thought sourly, yet the truth, of course, was that even if Beadwulf had not lured me across Britain I could still not have saved my daughter’s life. I would have been in Bebbanburg, not in Eoferwic. “I should have killed him,” I told Finan, “just to annoy Æthelstan.”

“Add him to the list of men to be killed,” Finan suggested, then offered me a lump of sodden bread. I shook my head, but did take his offer of a flask of ale. “That’s the last of the ale,” he said warningly.

I drank half, then gave him back the flask. “Food?”

“Ten loaves of rotting bread, some cheese.”

“The gods love us,” I said sourly.

“So where do we go, lord?” he asked.

“Send two scouts north,” I said. “See if the bastards are still anywhere near.”

“And if they are?”

I said nothing for a moment. One part of me, the savage part, wanted to ride recklessly north and plunge into the heart of Sköll’s army, seek him out and have my revenge, but that was madness. “We go east,” I finally said.

“To Eoferwic?”

I nodded. I needed to find Sigtryggr, and together we would avenge Stiorra.

“So we go back to the road?”

“No.” The road might have been the quickest route to Eoferwic, but right now my men and our horses needed warmth, food, and rest. We would find none of those things on the moors, but our flight had brought us into a richer country, and I knew we would discover a steading that could provide what we needed. We had passed one such farmstead the night before, but it had been small and I suspected that by now Sköll’s men would have stripped the place bare. I needed somewhere large and well stocked. “Do any of our men know this country?”