to Cirrenceastre. The crowd parted as our horses’ hooves sounded loud in the street behind them, then we were in the open space and I saw two spearmen beside Æthelflaed’s door. One was sitting on a stone urn that held a small pear tree. He stood and snatched up his shield as we arrived, while the other rapped on the closed door with the butt of his spear. Both men were in mail, they wore helmets, and their round shields were freshly painted with the dragon of Wessex. There was a small hatch in the door and I saw it slide to one side and someone peered out at us. Two boys were guarding horses on the eastern side of the square beside Æthelflaed’s tall wooden church. ‘Count the horses,’ I told my son.
‘Twenty-three,’ he answered almost at once.
So we outnumbered them. ‘I don’t expect a fight,’ I said.
Then a scream sounded from inside the house.
A scream to pierce the ears with all the force of a well-made spear striking through the willow boards of a shield.
‘Sweet God,’ Finan said.
And the screaming stopped.
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