There were indeed more of them. As we drew closer they began to appear from the woods, and all of them were warriors. They wore gray mail and gray helmets, but none I saw had the gray cloak of an úlfheðinn. I tried to count the horsemen as they came from the thick undergrowth. Twenty, thirty, forty, and still they came. “What’s on their shields?” I asked Finan, whose eyesight was much better than mine.

“Can’t tell yet, lord. But they look Saxon to me.”

And I felt a surge of relief. Why? As a Northumbrian, my enemies were the Saxons. It was the Saxons who were grinding down the Northmen, it was the Saxons whose ambition was to conquer every Dane and Norseman and make a Christian Englaland, it was the Saxons who would impose their law on Northumbria, who would eradicate the older gods.

“They are Saxon!” Eadric said, and I could see that for myself now. The Northmen were more flamboyant, more colorful, while the men who barred our road looked drab. “Seventy-four,” Finan had been counting, “and they have crosses on their shields.”

“And priests,” Eadric said, and I saw he was right. At least two black-robed men rode with the mail-clad warriors.

“But still no flag,” Finan said, puzzled. I saw him touch the hilt of his sword. “You want us on the ridge, lord?” he asked.

I shook my head. I saw no reason why a Saxon war-band should pick a quarrel with me, indeed I had felt relief because the Saxons were the enemies of the Norse, and the enemy of my enemy is my friend. Yet I also felt disappointment. “We’re still in Northumbria,” I said.

“Are we?” Finan asked.

“I’m sure of it,” I said. Yet here was a powerful war-band of Christians, with the cross on their shields and priests in their ranks, and they were deep inside Northumbria, deep inside a country they wanted to conquer, not just because it was ruled by Sigtryggr, a Norseman, but because they believed it was their holy duty to destroy paganism and replace it with the worship of their nailed God. I wanted a Britain where men could worship whatever god or goddess they chose, that allowed me to revere Thor and Odin, that was not subject to the whims and the greed of bishops and abbots, yet at that moment I also recognized that this priest-haunted war-band trespassing in my country was probably my salvation. Unless, of course, it was led by Æthelhelm the Younger. Yet I could see none of the red cloaks that Æthelhelm’s men wore and, besides, we were far from Æthelhelm’s native Wessex.

The enemy of my enemy should have been my ally, yet the Christians in front of us were readying for battle. The warriors had dismounted to make a shield wall, and the boys were leading the horses back to the trees. “They want to fight us?” Finan asked in surprise. We outnumbered them, unless they had yet more men we had not seen.