determination to see Athelstan inherit the throne. But he was far too much like his father, and that was the cause of her mistrust.
She could not dismiss the fear that, like Æthelred, Edmund would not baulk at murder to accomplish his ends.
August 1006
Holderness
Riding along a narrow track in Alric’s wake, Elgiva guided her horse across a shallow stream, one of several that had flowed across their path today. A heavy fog hung in the air, thick as a woollen veil. As she wiped her wet face yet again, she decided that the people of Holderness must be all but invisible. She had seen a few scattered villages early on, their fields planted in long strips of rye or oats; and there had been the occasional flock of forlorn-looking sheep barely discernible through the mist. But for the most part this seemed to be a vaporous land, eerie and empty, as if everything alive had been sucked out of it.
Already she hated it, and she was determined to leave this miserable place as soon as ever she could.
Bored, because there was little of interest to see, she reflected on the events that had brought her here. It had taken far longer than she could have anticipated – nearly four months when she tallied the weeks together. Alric had found them a ship in Chester the very day they had entered the town and, tucked among bales of leather and tuns of salt, they had set sail with the morning tide. That ship had taken them only as far as a port belonging to one of the Wælisc kingdoms, and they had been stranded there for – how long had it been? Two weeks? Three? However long it was, it had seemed longer, stuck in a fishing hamlet that was nothing more than a scatter of shabby crofts beside the sea. When they at last found another vessel to carry them further south, it reeked of fish.
Then Alric had found a trader hauling tin from Cornwall to Southamtun – a port much too close to Æthelred’s royal city of Winchester to suit them, but they had no choice. There the weather had turned against them, and she had lost count of the days she spent penned up, this time in the guest chamber of a squalid harbourside inn, fearing that if she stepped outside someone from the court might see and recognize her. That was where she’d learned of her brothers’ torture and death, and she hoped never to see that foul place again in her life.
When at last the winds allowed, they had boarded a vessel bound for Hythe, and there caught another ship that carried them past the Isle of Thanet to East Anglia. There were three more ships after that, traders like the others, each one, it seemed to her, less seaworthy than the one before. None of them had afforded protection from sun or wind or rain, and the only seat she’d ever had was the small, wooden chest that Alric had purchased before they left Chester that held her cyrtel and undergown.
Her men’s garb had kept her safe enough from the shipmen, although she had seen more than one brute cast covetous eyes on her fine woollen cloak. Alric’s ready knife, she felt certain, had kept any thieving hands at bay, but nothing could protect her from the stench of the pitch and fish oil that permeated the ships. Nor could anything dispel the fear and sick dread that rose in her throat whenever a sudden squall battered them.
She had learned to avoid eating anything in the hours before they boarded, but how she hated the motion of the waves! They were always the same, heaving the vessels with such force that she had to keep her mouth clamped shut to keep from spewing bile. Even now, although the water roads were behind her, the rhythm of her horse’s gait made her stomach churn.
At least there had been welcome news last night when they had debarked at last at Beverley. King Æthelred had taken up arms against a Danish army that was ravaging somewhere in Wessex. She hoped that it was true. She hoped that a Danish axe would find him and gut him. It was because of Æthelred that her father and brothers were dead, because of him that she was riding across this miserable flat bog of a land.
A damp breeze tugged at her cloak and clawed uncomfortably at her legs, for she was still clad in a man’s tunic and breecs. Her neck was cold too, for her thick hair was braided and tucked into a boy’s woollen cap. As she pulled her hood over her head for warmth, Alric hissed a warning and brought their horses to a halt. The sound of hoofbeats echoed from somewhere ahead of them, growing louder as whoever was out there came nearer. Alric drew his sword. Now she heard horses behind them as well, and afraid that the king’s men had tracked her down at last, she searched wildly about for somewhere to hide. But there was not even a rock or tree visible in this barren wasteland. She snatched the small knife from her belt, clutching it so tightly that her palm hurt. Then she could do nothing but wait.
The noise from two companies of men grew louder, competing with the terrified beating of her heart. Her mount began a nervous skittering, and she pulled hard at the reins to steady it as riders burst through the drifts of fog. In a moment she and Alric were surrounded, and it was only when he called out a greeting in what she thought was Danish that she was able to catch a shallow breath, for now she recognized Thurbrand among the riders.
He was as massive as she remembered – tall, wide-shouldered, barrel-chested, with a broad face framed by thin black locks. His beard was full and wild, and she shuddered to think what might be living in it. But his cloak was clasped with an intricate brooch of gold, and its fur trim rippled as he touched his fist to his shoulder in a gesture of greeting.
‘You certainly took your time getting here,’ he growled at Alric. ‘My men have been shadowing you ever since you left Grimsby, keeping an eye out, you might say. We had king’s men nosing about last month – mean-spirited bastards asking questions about a black-haired beauty.’ He turned to look at her then, and she saw his eyes travel from her bound breasts down to her toes. ‘My men sent word that you were garbed as a boy. I could hardly credit it, having seen you in your father’s hall.’ His mouth twisted in a leer. ‘I see I was wrong.’ He turned his horse to face back along the track from which he’d come. ‘But we must hasten. There are folk awaiting us at Ringbrough.’
It was hardly the courteous greeting she had looked for, but she had no chance to rebuke him. A moment later she found herself riding swiftly through the mist with armed horsemen on either side of her. She cursed under her breath. How could she have forgotten what a brute Thurbrand was? He had all the courtesy of a boar, and now that she’d seen Holderness, she would not be surprised to discover that he was not only uncivilized but half-mad as well.
Her decision to come to him for help seemed far less wise in this light, but it was too late to do anything about it. She could only wonder uneasily who was waiting for them at Ringbrough, whatever Ringbrough may be.
As it turned out, Ringbrough was a small manor – far smaller than she had expected. It was set within a palisade among fields of rye bordered by a forest of oak and ash. There was a hint of salt on the breeze, and she guessed that they must be very near the sea. The afternoon was far advanced as they entered the compound through a narrow wooden gate guarded by armed men. When she heard the latch close behind her she could think of nothing so much as a trap springing shut, and she felt a sudden tremor of apprehension.
As Alric helped her from her horse, she glanced towards the centre of the yard, where a timbered hall – half the length of her father’s – stood flanked by smaller buildings. It was not long, but it was tall, with a high, curved roof ornamented with soaring crossbeams carved in the shape of beasts gaping with fierce, open mouths, like the monsters on the prows of dragon ships. She did not like the menacing look of that hall, and when Thurbrand grasped her elbow and would have led her inside, she wrested her arm away and rounded on him.
‘Why have you brought me here?’ she demanded. ‘I’ve heard my father describe the massive stronghold of the mighty Thurbrand. This is not it.’
‘Aye, that’s so. But what we do today must have few witnesses, and those only men that I can trust. Get you in.’
Now her fear was as wide as a river in flood.
‘I will not,’ she