'Be still or die,' I hissed, teeth bared, sword raised.
The man stepped in front of the girl as I kicked the door shut. 'Don't hurt her,' he said, his voice edged with threat. He was young, but he wore mail and had a sword at his hip.
'Shut your mouth, Mercian,' I growled, stepping forward to pull his sword from its scabbard, whilst keeping my own pointed at his throat. 'Over there.' I pointed to the darkest corner of the church. 'On your knees.' The girl did as she was told, but the man hesitated, staring at me with dark, hate-filled eyes. 'Do it now, or I'll kill her,' I said. He fell to his knees as I pulled the skin from the coffin and cut it into strips to tie the man and woman together back to back. I gagged them too and the girl whimpered and grasped for the man's hands when she saw the ashen-faced guard whose ripped throat looked like a grim, black grimace hung with scraps of flesh.
'You'll live, if you keep still and quiet,' I said, sheathing my sword. 'I have what I came for.' The girl looked to the bare altar and I heard shouting outside. I drew my sword again and braced for the door to burst open and warriors pour in with sharp blades and fury. But they did not come and the shouting continued, so I went to the door and opened it slightly. And then I knew why the Mercians were shouting. Men ran in every direction as panic gripped the fortress. Sigurd was burning the gate.
Bright orange sparks swirled into the black sky and women's screams cut through the night. I took my chance and ran, not south towards the main gate, but west towards a smaller gate beyond which I knew Aslak, Osten, Halldor, Thormod and Gunnar stood guard. In the panic no one gave me a second glance. I passed men arming themselves and women running for safety with their children, until I arrived before the western gate, which was illuminated by a pair of great noxious flaming torches. Two guards prowled anxiously in the shifting shadows, as though they resented having to remain there whilst other men headed for the main gate to face the enemy. I strode towards them, head down, gripping my sword tightly, the blood pumping in my ears.
'What's happening down there?' the nearest man asked, rolling his shoulders restlessly. I answered by slashing my sword across his face. He dropped. The other raised his spear but I smacked it away with a wild swing, then rammed my sword into his open mouth. I yanked the blade free, ran to the gate and hefted the beam from its brackets, dropping it by the corpses.
'Aslak! Aslak! It's me, Raven!' I called as I pulled one of the thick doors open. I did not want a Norse spear in my chest. There they stood like hungry wolves, swords raised in the shadows.
'I thought they must have made a Christian of you, Raven,' Aslak snarled as he loped past, eyes and teeth gleaming. 'Let's see what we can find, lads!' he roared.
I stepped up and grabbed Aslak's cloak and he spun on me. 'We can leave, Aslak,' I said, 'I have it! I have the book!'
'There's silver in there, Raven,' he snarled, nodding towards the shadow-shrouded dwellings. 'If we die in this land, we'll die rich.' With that he pulled free and the small band of mailed Norsemen ran into the madness to sow their slaughter.
'But I have it, Aslak!' I called after them, gripping the leather sack containing the holy book of Saint Jerome. But even if they heard, they did not care, because their bloodlust was up. For what was a book to men who could not read? To men who cared nothing for the gospels? What was a book compared with silver and furs and the warm flesh of a woman? I had opened the gate into King Coenwulf's lair. And the wolves had come to kill.
I suddenly thought of the young man and girl I had left bound in the church. In their fury the Norsemen would kill them where they knelt. I imagined cold steel sinking into the girl's pale flesh and the thought sickened me. I ran back into the mad thunderous night. Into the slaughter.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
THE KILLING DID NOT LAST LONG. BY THE END, TWO NORSEMEN'S souls had been carried to Valhöll by the Valkyries, Óðin's death maidens. I saw the body of Grey Beard, the man who had spoken for the Mercians, but now his beard was black with drying blood and his eyes stared in lifeless shock. Sigurd had cut out his tongue just as he said he would.
Jarl Sigurd spared the women and children so that they would live to utter in fear the name of Sigurd the Lucky throughout Mercia, and King Coenwulf would know that Norsemen fought like demons. Raucous birdsong filled a new dawn as we marched back southwards, the weak sunlight touching my left cheek. We had the book, for which we would be made rich beyond our dreams. And we had Weohstan and Cynethryth, the two who had discovered me in Coenwulf's church.
In that night's chaos, two Norsemen from Fjord-Elk had reached the church before me, and how their eyes must have lit up when they saw Cynethryth! But I had already killed three men that night and the bloodlust was upon me, and I had entered the church snarling at the Norsemen to seek their pleasure elsewhere. They had seemed ready to kill me, but Mauger burst in, his sword bloody, and the big Wessexman stood before the prisoners and persuaded the Norsemen that the couple would make valuable hostages. So, on Mauger's advice, Sigurd brought the Mercians along so that we might use them as currency should King Coenwulf catch up with us, which was more than likely, as we travelled on foot and he had horses.