dirty business, this. Who would dare? Northumbrian outlaws?’
‘I have a good idea who our enemy is. He won’t bother us. More’s the pity.’ Thrand knelt beside the second body, little more than a youth. No arrows and impossible to determine the type of blade used from a clean cut. Thrand frowned, considering the options. The intense savagery of the attack sickened him, but, knowing Hagal’s methods, it failed to surprise him.
There was never any need to mutilate bodies. A dead man will not put a knife in your back.
He had only discovered Hagal was in Halfdan’s employ after he swore his oath of allegiance to Halfdan and had agreed not to attack a fellow member of the felag on pain of death.
Hagal’s time would come. Once his oath was complete, Thrand would ensure it. He refused to add the shame of being an oath-breaker to his titles.
Without his code, a man was nothing—one of the lessons his father had taught him. And he had to respect his father’s memory. It was all that remained of him. Thrand had shown little respect for him and his strict rules the last few months of his life, much to his bitter regret.
‘If they attacked this party of travellers, they could attack us,’ someone said.
‘Do you think they’d dare attack us?’ Helgi shouted. ‘You have never been on the losing side, Thrand. Your reputation sweeps all before it. They pour gold at your feet rather than stand and fight.’
‘Only a dead man believes in his invincibility,’ Thrand said, fixing Helgi with a glare. ‘I aim to keep living for a while.’
At his command, his men began to methodically search the blood-soaked area for clues, anything that could prove Hagal was here and had done this. He didn’t hold out much hope. Hagal was known to be an expert at covering his tracks.
‘A woman,’ one of them called out from beside the cart. ‘No longer has a face. What sort of animal would do that to a woman?’
‘Any clues to her identity?’
‘High born from her fur cloak. Her hands appear soft. Probably Northumbrian, but then there are very few of our women here.’
Thrand pressed his hands to his eyes. A senseless murder. Such a woman would be worth her weight in gold if held for ransom. Or if sold in one of the slave markets in Norway or even in the new colony of Iceland, she would command a high price. Why kill her? Why was she worth more dead than alive to Hagal who valued gold more than life itself?
‘See if anyone survived and can explain what happened here and why. Dig a pit for the bodies. It is the least we can do. Then we go forward to the Tyne! We need to return to Jorvik before Halfdan convenes the next Storting.’ he proclaimed in ringing tones.
‘And if the bandits return...they will know someone has been here.’
‘Good. I want them to know,’ Thrand said, regarding each of his men, hardened warriors all, and he could tell they too were shaken by this savagery. But he knew better than to trust any of them with his suspicions about Hagal. Thrand was well aware Hagal had used his spy network to escape in the past.
‘This is Hagal the Red’s land. Surely he will want to know about bandits operating in this area. He has sworn to uphold the king’s peace,’ Knui, his late helmsman’s cousin, called out. ‘Will we make a detour?’
‘Leave Hagal the Red to me.’ Thrand inwardly rolled his eyes at the naive suggestion. Hagal’s way of dealing with this outrage would be to hang the first unlucky Northumbrian who dared look at him and be done with it. No one would dare question him.
‘But you are going to tell him?’ Knui persisted.
‘We’ve not actually encountered any outlaws, merely seen the aftermath of an unfortunate occurrence.’ He gave Knui a hard look. Knui was only on this expedition because it had been his late helmsman’s dying request. Sven had sworn that Knui wasn’t in Hagal’s employ, but his words made Thrand wonder. ‘Speculation serves no one. Our first duty is fulfilling our oath to my late helmsman, Sven, and ensuring his child will want for nothing. We gave our oaths on his deathbed. First the child and then...perhaps...once we have returned to Jorvik and the Storting is finished.’
‘What do we do with her? Leave her for the eagles? Or put her in the pit with the rest?’ one of his men called. ‘They were far from kind to this one.’
Thrand stared at the woman’s mutilated body with distaste. It reminded him of Ingrid, the woman who had caused him to betray his family and who had ended up murdered. One more crime to make sure Hagal was punished for. A senseless, wasteful crime. ‘Lay out the dead before burial while I check to see if any more bodies are about. There may be some clue I missed. And we want to make sure we don’t have to dig two pits.’
He left his men to their task. With a drawn sword, he went into the woods, circling about the site. He forced his mind to concentrate on the task rather than revisiting long-ago crimes. Any little signs which might give him a clue to where the attackers went, or if any of the party had survived.
He pressed his hands to his eyes. ‘Come on, Thrand Ammundson. What are you missing? Concentrate instead of remembering the long dead.’
When he approached the end of his circuit, he noticed scattered bluebells rapidly wilting in the warm afternoon. Someone else had been there. The dead woman? Or...?
He frowned, annoyed with himself for not immediately considering it. Details mattered. High-born Northumbrian ladies always travelled with at least one female companion.
Someone had survived. Someone who could bear witness to what happened here. Someone who could speak in the king’s court and condemn Hagal. He gave a nod. The gods had finally given him his chance if he could get the creature to Jorvik alive.
Moving slowly and paying attention to little clues on the ground—a broken twig here, a scattered flower there—Thrand followed the woman’s trail. He discovered a hollow where she must have hidden for a while. There was evidence of other feet as well. Kneeling down, he felt the soil. Cold. The attack had been this morning, so she could not be far...if she had survived.
He spied a single wilting bluebell on the far edge of the glade.
‘Where are you? Come out! I’m here to help!’
The only sound was the wind in the trees.
He frowned, drew his sword and slowly picked his way through the undergrowth, looking for more signs. The trail was easier as if the woman had ceased to care about being followed. The far-off howl of a wolf pierced the stillness. Wolf or Hagal’s men? He knew the sort of death he’d prefer. With a wolf, the woman stood a chance of a quick death.
He entered a clearing where gigantic oak and ash spread their bare branches upward. A shaft of sunlight cut through the gloom, highlighting the strands of golden hair which had escaped from the woman’s coarse dark-brown cloak as she tried to free the fabric from a thorn bush. Her fine gown was immediately obvious.
Thrand breathed easier. The woman remained alive. He sheathed his sword.
‘Are you hurt?’
She glanced up with frightened eyes, eyes which matched the few bluebells she still carried and pressed closer to the
