with a sword at his side and once ashore he paced to the small flames of our fire like a warrior come for vengeance. He stopped a spear’s length away and then stared at me through the black eyeholes of his helmet. ‘Did you kill my father?’ he asked harshly.
‘On my life,’ I said, ‘on Thor,’ I pulled out the hammer amulet and clutched it, ‘on my soul,’ I went on, ‘I did not.’
He pulled off his helmet, stepped forward and we embraced. ‘I knew you did not,’ he said.
‘Kjartan did it,’ I said, ‘and we watched him.’ We told him the whole story, how we had been in the high woods watching the charcoal cool, and how we had been cut off from the hall, and how it had been fired, and how the folk had been slaughtered.
‘If I could have killed one of them,’ I said, ‘I would, and I would have died doing it, but Ravn always said there should be at least one survivor to tell the tale.’
‘What did Kjartan say?’ Brida asked.
Ragnar was sitting now, and two of his men had brought bread and dried herrings and cheese and ale. ‘Kjartan said,’ Ragnar spoke softly, ‘that the English rose against the hall, encouraged by Uhtred, and that he revenged himself on the killers.’
‘And you believed him?’ I asked.
‘No,’ he admitted. ‘Too many men said he did it, but he is Earl Kjartan now, he leads three times more men than I do.’
‘And Thyra?’ I asked, ‘what does she say?’
‘Thyra?’ He stared at me, puzzled.
‘Thyra lived,’ I told him. ‘She was taken away by Sven.’
He just stared at me. He had not known that his sister lived and I saw the anger come on his face, and then he raised his eyes to the stars and he howled like a wolf.
‘It is true,’ Brida said softly, ‘your sister lived.’
Ragnar drew his sword and laid it on the sand and touched the blade with his right hand. ‘If it is the last thing I do,’ he swore, ‘I shall kill Kjartan, kill his son, and all his followers. All of them!’
‘I would help,’ I said. He looked at me through the flames. ‘I loved your father,’ I said, ‘and he treated me like a son.’
‘I will welcome your help, Uhtred,’ Ragnar said formally. He wiped the sand from the blade and slid it back into its fleece-lined scabbard. ‘You will sail with us now?’
I was tempted. I was even surprised at how strongly I was tempted. I wanted to go with Ragnar, I wanted the life I had lived with his father, but fate rules us. I was sworn to Alfred for a few more weeks, and I had fought alongside Leofric for all these months, and fighting next to a man in the shield wall makes a bond as tight as love. ‘I cannot come,’ I said, and wished I could have said the opposite.
‘I can,’ Brida said, and somehow I was not surprised by that. She had not liked being left ashore in Hamtun as we sailed to fight, she felt trammelled and useless, unwanted, and I think she yearned after the Danish ways. She hated Wessex. She hated its priests, hated their disapproval and hated their denial of all that was joy.
‘You are a witness of my father’s death,’ Ragnar said to her, still formal.
‘I am.’
‘Then I would welcome you,’ he said, and looked at me again.
I shook my head. ‘I am sworn to Alfred for the moment. By winter I shall be free of the oath.’
‘Then come to us in the winter,’ Ragnar said, ‘and we shall go to Dunholm.’
‘Dunholm?’
‘It is Kjartan’s fortress now. Ricsig lets him live there.’
I thought of Dunholm’s stronghold on its soaring crag, wrapped by its river, protected by its sheer rock and its high walls and strong garrison. ‘What if Kjartan marches on Wessex?’ I asked.
Ragnar shook his head. ‘He will not, because he does not go where I go, so I must go to him.’
‘He fears you then?’
Ragnar smiled, and if Kjartan had seen that smile he would have shivered. ‘He fears me,’ Ragnar said. ‘I hear he sent men to kill me in Ireland, but their boat was driven ashore and the skraelings killed the crew. So he lives in fear. He denies my father’s death, but he still fears me.’
‘There is one last thing,’ I said, and nodded at Brida who brought out the leather bag with its gold, jet and silver. ‘It was your father’s,’ I said, ‘and Kjartan never found it, and we did, and we have spent some of it, but what remains is yours.’ I pushed the bag towards him and made myself instantly poor.
Ragnar pushed it back without a thought, making me rich again. ‘My father loved you too,’ he said, ‘and I am wealthy enough.’
We ate, we drank, we slept, and in the dawn, when a light mist shimmered over the reed beds, the Wind-Viper went. The last thing Ragnar said to me was a question. ‘Thyra lives?’
‘She survived,’ I said, ‘so I think she must still live.’
We embraced, they went and I was alone.
I wept for Brida. I felt hurt. I was too young to know how to take abandonment. During the night I had tried to persuade her to stay, but she had a will as strong as Ealdwulf’s iron, and she had gone with Ragnar into the dawn mist and left me weeping. I hated the three spinners at that moment, for they wove cruel jests into their vulnerable threads, and then the fisherman came to fetch me and I went back home.
Autumn gales tore at the coast and Alfred’s fleet was laid up for the winter, dragged ashore by horses and oxen, and Leofric and I rode to Wintanceaster, only to discover that Alfred was at his estate at Cippanhamm. We were permitted into the Wintanceaster palace by the doorkeeper, who either recognised me or was terrified of Leofric, and we slept there, but the place was still haunted by monks, despite Alfred’s absence, and so we spent the day in a nearby tavern. ‘So what will you do, Earsling?’ Leofric asked me, ‘renew your oath to Alfred?’
‘Don’t know.’
‘Don’t know,’ he repeated sarcastically. ‘Lost your decision with your girl?’
‘I could go back to the Danes,’ I said.
‘That would give me a chance to kill you,’ he said happily.
‘Or stay with Alfred.’
‘Why not do that?’
‘Because I don’t like him,’ I said.
‘You don’t have to like him. He’s your king.’
‘He’s not my king,’ I said, ‘I’m a Northumbrian.’
‘So you are, Earsling, a Northumbrian Ealdorman, eh?’
I nodded, demanded more ale, tore a piece of bread in two and pushed one piece towards Leofric. ‘What I should do,’ I said, ‘is go back to Northumbria. There is a man I have to kill.’
‘A feud?’
I nodded again.
‘There is one thing I know about bloodfeuds,’ Leofric said, ‘which is that they last a lifetime. You will have years to make your killing, but only if you live.’
‘I’ll live,’ I said lightly.
‘Not if the Danes take Wessex, you won’t. Or maybe you will live, Earsling, but you’ll live under their rule, under their law and under their swords. If you want to be a free man, then stay here and fight for Wessex.’
‘For Alfred?’
Leofric leaned back, stretched, belched and took a long drink. ‘I don’t like him either,’ he admitted, ‘and I didn’t like his brothers when they