The warrior raised his thick eyebrows. 'Eosterwine brags like a king with two cocks,' he growled, then glanced at his companion; he was an older man with a jewelled sword at his side.
'An accident?' this other asked, nodding at my covered eye.
I stopped now and faced the riders, letting the Norsemen trudge on down the track. 'Hammer scale from the forge, lord,' I said, touching the strip across my blood-eye. 'I was apprenticed to a blacksmith but,' I shrugged, 'had to seek a new path. Can't say I'll miss Eoferwic my old master. He was a bastard.'
'Well, your new lord must be a worthy Christian,' said the older man, his back straight, hands resting on the lip of his fine saddle. 'A pilgrimage is a worthy undertaking. If only we could all summon the endurance for such work and abandon our more mundane . . .' he smiled, 'earthly responsibilities.'
'If ever a man was assured a place at our Lord's right hand, it's my master. He will not rest until he finds what he seeks,' I said. The man's eyebrows arched. 'Worthiness, lord, that is what he seeks,' I added with a solemn nod.
'And his ship is moored by the white rocks?' Rain dripped from his long nose and wilting moustache.
'Yes, lord,' I said. I saw no sense in lying and further arousing their suspicions. 'We sail on the ebbtide. If the wind favours us.'
'You sail at night?' he asked, shooting a glance at the big man.
'Our shipmaster claims he knows the sea as well as a heathen,' I said proudly, making the sign of the cross, 'and Lord Ealhstan trusts the Almighty to guide us and keep us from harm.'
'Then tell your master we shall turn a blind eye to the tax he owes us for mooring on our shore. Seeing as he is a good pilgrim with God in his heart.'
'Thank you, lord. I will tell him and I am sure he will pray for you at the Lord's shrine,' I said, giving a shallow bow, but as I leant forward the small bone-handled knife swung out on the leather thong. I casually tucked it away and set off again along the muddy track, expecting to hear the rasp of swords pulled from scabbards. Instead, I heard the click of a tongue and a horse's whinny and I exhaled gratefully, for I knew the Englishmen had turned their mounts.
'Will they be back?' Glum asked when I caught up with the others.
'I don't know. They might,' I said. 'If it was up to me, I'd lash Serpent to Svein's back and tell him that Freyja herself was waiting for him across the sea with her legs open.'
Olaf smiled. 'You did well, lad. Sigurd will be pleased.'
'Make him leave, Olaf,' I said, wondering if the riders had recognized the pagan knife with its bone handle of carved beasts. 'Please,' I added.
Olaf's eyebrows arched and I guessed his thoughts. Sigurd was not a man who could be made to do anything.
We approached Thorolf on watch on the bluff overlooking the small bay and he straightened as we neared, his eyes devouring the joints of meat on our shoulders. 'Save some for me!' he pleaded, as we began down the narrow, muddy track to the beach where the Norsemen had piled wood for cooking fires away from the rotting whale.
'Just keep your eyes open, Thorolf, or I'll have you on dried codfish till you sprout fins and drink seawater!' Glum threatened. 'We are not in Harald's Fjord now. The folk round here won't give a fart that your father says you're a kind lad who loves his mother. They'll nail your hide to a church door and spit on it twice a day.'
When Ealhstan saw me he nodded sharply. Then I saw him make the sign of the cross over his chest and I knew he must have prayed for my safe return. We stowed the meat in the ships' small holds, though Sigurd ordered fires lit for two huge joints of dark red beef marbled with thin threads of fat. It was still raining, but the wood washed up on to the beach was white as bone and twice as dry and would burn well enough.
Then Olaf caught my eye, scratched his bushy beard and gave a slight nod, and I watched him approach Sigurd. I went closer.
'Let's be away, Sigurd,' he said through a relaxed smile. 'It'll be good to put some brine between us and these English.'
'The men are wet and hungry, Uncle,' Sigurd said, picking a flea from his yellow beard and crushing it between his thumbnails. 'We're not leaving until they have eaten a good meal. Besides, the wind is from the south. I won't make them row against it with their bellies empty.'
Olaf squeezed the rainwater from his long, greying hair. 'We take a risk if we stay,' he said.
'If we were men ruled by fear, we would never have put to sea, old friend,' Sigurd replied, sweeping back his yellow hair and tying it with a thong. 'We will leave with the moon if you are worried about the English. But let them eat before you make them row.' He grinned. 'Our fathers were not men of the plough, hey?' Olaf nodded, accepting his jarl's decision, but now Glum stepped up. He picked up some dried seaweed and dropped it to test the wind.