'Or a corpse,' Bjorn added with a wicked grin.
There were forty-seven of us now, including Egfrith and Mauger, and we loped off like wolves on the trail of prey. Mail jingled, shields banged against axe staves and boots tramped. And poor old Ealhstan had to keep up. The Englishmen lining the ridge backed off a hundred paces so we could pass without risk of a hurled insult turning into a fight. But I could see them gripping their weapons and shields as tightly as their faces gripped their hatred of us as we struck north towards a wooded valley to the west of the nearest settlement. Mauger had assured Sigurd that the trees would hide us from view and with any luck none from the village would know we passed. He said Lord Ealdred would not tolerate the death of some brave fool whose kin would then ask why their ealdorman had allowed pagan outlanders to roam freely about the land.
'There weren't so many of them,' Svein said, spitting back towards the distant English warriors. 'We should have wet our blades.'
'There were more last night, you brainless ox,' Black Floki replied, gripping his spear loosely. He was not a big man like many of the others, but he was hard and lean and there was an assurance in the way he moved that made him seem even more lethal. 'Ealdred and his household men hared off eastwards at dawn,' he said. 'Seems some English pissed their breeches at seeing a longship off the coast at a place called Selsey. Danes, I'd wager.' He pointed to Olaf who walked up ahead with Mauger and Father Egfrith. 'Old Uncle overheard Mauger telling the monk,' he said.
'I noticed you and Uncle were snuggling up to the Christians, Floki,' Svein countered, grinning broadly. 'Are you missing your woman, little man?'
'That bald Christ-loving bastard's prettier than you, you redhaired sack of shit,' Floki snarled. 'Besides, someone should keep an eye on them. I'd sooner trust a Dane. There's no honour in Christians.'
'The English think you are Danes,' I said. 'They think all heathens are Danes.' And it was true, for we had heard of Danes raiding the eastern coast, but never men from Norway.
'English bastards,' Floki spat.
The other men's faces were grim too, for they knew Floki was right to be wary, and they feared they might never see their longships again.
Sigurd was the only Norseman I did not see turn one last time towards the sound of the breaking sea now muffled by the grassy bluff. Straight-backed and head high he set the pace as though the future beckoned him on with its promise of glory, and we followed, braced by our jarl's resolve and our fine arms which rattled rhythmically. Njal had been the same height as me, but I had to wear a fur jerkin beneath his knee-length brynja to fill it as Njal's thick muscle had done before. I was hot. The first summer insects buzzed madly, streaking by too fast for the eye to catch, and the sun was beginning to hint at the heat it would soon throw down on a land that had broken winter's shackles. I sweated like an ox in the yoke.
Egfrith seemed somehow taller now that he walked beside Mauger whose bare arms were covered in those dark tattoos of snarling faces and the silver warrior rings that winked in the sunlight. The monk even began to sing a psalm in a surprisingly strong voice, but Black Floki drew his long knife and threatened with gestures to cut out his tongue and eat it. When Egfrith grabbed at Mauger for protection, the English warrior shrugged him off, warning him that he would cut out the offending tongue himself if the monk did not shut up.
'You sing like a kicked bitch, Father,' he said, and Egfrith, who seemed deeply hurt by the insult, walked in sullen silence from then on, for which we were all grateful.
It was no easy thing to leave behind the vast, bracing freedom of the sea and all its promise. To these Norsemen, the sea was a rolling road to wherever they pleased. It was unbound and unfettered; endless. But now it was behind us, remaining in our memories only, as we moved inland. Nevertheless, I felt a strange sense of peace come over me when we got amongst the outer trees of the forest. The feeling grew stronger the deeper we went. Oak and elm, beech, hornbeam, thorn and ash denied light to the mossy, damp-smelling earth, and the twisting branches of ancient trees met above us as though exchanging news of the world beyond. The sights and smells and the harsh chattering of chaffinches took me back to the days I had spent alone in just such a forest, cutting timber for old Ealhstan until my back was filled with a warm ache and my hands were chafed raw. As I walked, my mind delved into the only memories I had, like roots thirsty for water, and though there was a strange comfort to be found in them, the memories were of being alone and the comfort was also an ache. For the past was dead to me now that I knew the thrill of the sea, the noise of battle and the fellowship of warriors.