swung his horse around to walk to the edge of the village. Cnut and Wyborn walked beside him. ‘Are any other men missing besides Osric?’
‘None from the village.’ Cnut nodded in the direction of the fields and the farmhouse set with several outbuildings on the outskirts of the village. ‘I couldn’t say about the farm. Since I’ve been here Godric keeps most of his people to himself, but I will question him.’
The wheat field was fallow now with the arrival of winter and, though most of the trees were bare, a hill hindered a clear view of the house. Godric was known to dislike the Danes, but so far had done nothing that would cross the line to outright treason. However, Rolfe had been gone from Alvey all summer—first visiting Jarl Eirik to the south and then Haken up north where he’d come across Durwin meeting with the Scots—and things might have changed. He’d need to speak with Vidar before doing anything in that quarter.
‘Thank you, Cnut. Send word if Osric returns or you have more information.’
‘Aye, immediately.’
Rolfe set his heels to his horse and led the way from the village, some of his men falling in line behind him. The rest of his army had been left to return home in the longships, while he detoured to Banford. Wyborn ran out front as if he sensed they were going home. The wound from the spear Rolfe had taken to his shoulder the day before ached with every jolt of the horse. It would take over a day of hard riding to make it home to Alvey. He’d been gone for months and was ready to be home. He only hoped this show of treachery wasn’t a sign of things to come.
Bernicia, northern Northumbria—winter 872
‘The Danes are a fearful sight, are they not?’
Elswyth could not find the breath to answer her sister’s question. It had lodged in her throat where it held until her lungs burned. The Norsemen came out of the forest on horseback, filtering into the clearing in a stream of warriors that didn’t seem to have an end. There were thirty...forty, but even more followed behind. Several mongrels in various shades of brown and grey ran in their midst. She imagined them as bloodthirsty wolves from the tales she had heard growing up, with teeth dripping the blood of their enemies and snapping jaws clamouring for more.
The sun hung low behind the trees, a stray beam glinting off their armour and the hilts of their sheathed swords, casting their faces in the shadow of a cold nightfall. The earth rumbled from the beat of the hooves as the horde moved closer. Her heart echoed that beat of distant thunder. It knew that the days of calm were over. These men were why her father had sent her to spy on Alvey.
It was an objective she meant to carry out, not only to prove her loyalty to her family, but also to bring hope to their small village of Banford. Banford needed hope that a reprieve from the Danes would soon come. She was to bring that hope to them in the form of information about the Danes’ plans for the future.
‘Aye,’ she finally whispered when she could draw breath. ‘They are quite fearful.’ The frigid stone of the fortress wall bit into her palms as she stared down at the men approaching. The warriors were merely coming home and not here for battle, but her instinct was to reach for the short-handled axe at her belt as fear pounded through her veins. They were Danes, which meant they were her enemy.
‘’Tis good they are attractive, then.’ Ellan grinned, her eyes calculating as she looked them over.
Elswyth smiled, for once grateful that Ellan was never serious about anything. Though only scarcely more than a year separated their births, Elswyth sometimes felt far older than her often frivolous younger sister. ‘Why do you care if they’re attractive?’
‘Because I would not care for an ugly husband.’
The horde forgotten for the moment, Elswyth swung her head around to stare at her sister in shock. ‘You are not seriously considering marriage to one of them?’ Ellan surely wouldn’t, especially after the way their mother had run off with a Dane, abandoning the whole family to take up with the heathen. But something in her sister’s expression made Elswyth’s breath catch.
‘And why wouldn’t I?’ The wind caught the cloak covering Ellan’s hair, forcing her to take it in hand. Her cheeks were pink from the frigid air, while her eyes were fierce with challenge. ‘What husband is there for me once we return home to Banford? Shepherd? Farmer? I’d much prefer a warrior.’ Her gaze returned to the Danes below. ‘You have to admit they’re far more attractive than the men at home.’
Still in shock at her sister’s blasphemy, Elswyth’s gaze found the man leading the warriors. He sat proudly on his stallion with broad shoulders. His shirtsleeves had fallen back as he rode to reveal the defined muscles of his forearms flexing as he held the reins. His fur cloak hung low behind him, exposing the strong sweep of his cheekbones and his bearded jawline to the light cast by the wall’s torches. She couldn’t make out details, but she could tell—with some regret—that it was a handsome face. Much to her surprise, his gaze was fixed on the two of them. If she wasn’t so accomplished at keeping her thoughts to herself, she might’ve reacted, giving away how her heart pounded against her ribcage. Instead she levelled her gaze and stared back at him, too proud to let him know how afraid she was.
‘Rolfe!’ A boy near the gate called out to him and he forgot her, his mouth splitting in a grin as he surged forward, clearly happy to see the caller.
The warrior was attractive, but she would never admit that to her sister or anyone. It felt deceitful to acknowledge that attribute in her enemy. So instead, she focused on his hair. Ropes of the dark blond mass had been pulled back from his forehead and were secured at the crown of his head and left to fall well past his shoulders. No self-respecting Saxon man wore his hair in such a barbaric fashion. Her father would say that it was proof of their deviltry. She didn’t think it was quite so sinister, but neither was it civilised.
Pitching her voice low so she wouldn’t be overheard, she said, ‘I would be careful what you say, Ellan. You wouldn’t want word getting back to Father that you’re thinking of aligning yourself with our enemy.’
The ever-present mischievous spark in her sister’s eye glowed when she said, ‘What will Father do precisely? Come and take me back?’ Her arms widened as she indicated the thriving fortress around them. ‘The great and terrible Godric may rule Banford, but we are in Alvey now and this is where I plan to stay. Besides, the Danes are not our enemies any more. Lady Gwendolyn has made certain of that with her marriage to the Jarl. Father is only bitter because of what Mother did. He lives in years that have long since passed. You can go back home if you want. You always did enjoy work on the farm more than I did.’
Elswyth refrained from pointing out that she didn’t enjoy it as much as someone needed to care for the family after their mother’s abandonment. Instead the sight of the Danes flooding through the gates, filling the yard of the fortress as friends and loved ones came out to greet them, held her captivated. Lady Gwendolyn had married the Dane Vidar nearly two years ago. Since then the pair had been doing their best to make certain the Saxons and Danes in their corner of Northumbria lived peacefully together. There was no doubt that the Danes only allowed the peace because they had taken lands, silver and women in return.
Saxon lands, Saxon silver and Saxon women.
The Saxons were slowly being replaced by the invaders, or so her father claimed. She could understand his fear as she looked down at the powerful warriors below. They were formidable.
