That night there was no moon. It was a night belonging to the things of the forest, a night for spirits and things even more powerful, for men say that on such nights the gods themselves take human form and wander amongst us unrecognized. They say that Óðin All-Father sometimes roams the world seeking knowledge and observing the deeds of great warriors who might fight for him in the last battle at the end of days. Ragnarök.
We lit no fires and I was sorry, for a fire would have warned off the menace I felt stalking amid the black forest. Neither did we sing of riding crest-topped waves in sleek ships, or of hewing down our enemies in the shieldwall. Instead we sat in silence beneath the canopy of an ancient ash whose deeply ridged trunk crawled with sweet-smelling columbine. I took strength from the tree's eternalness, hoping the ash would inform the malevolent night spirits which amongst us were oath breakers and betrayers, and which had been betrayed.
Ealdorman Ealdred's men did not find us the next day and I wondered if Father Egfrith had lied about our being so close to Wessex. Perhaps the monk had hoped Glum would drop his guard, giving Sigurd and Mauger a chance to catch up with us. Or perhaps he had simply been mistaken. Either way, I realized we were now further west than we needed to be. When cutting through dense forest you will naturally take the easiest route and over a time this can make a great difference. We were way off course.
'You shouldn't have killed the little turd,' Thorgils moaned to Glum the next day when at last the Norsemen let us drink our fill from a trickling brook. I had thought even my bones were dry as old sticks. 'The Christian was the only one who knew this land. We're lost, cousin.'
'And I'll leave you here alone if you question me again, you pig's prick,' Glum snapped, slurping water from his cupped hand as big Thorleik quietly filled the empty skin. Glum had made us travel through the night, but in the darkness we had lost our way.
That dawn as the sun rose, Glum realized we had been moving east most of the night. Later we entered a rock-strewn clearing, and as the sun slipped behind the rolling western hills Thorgils spotted an old shepherd's hut high up the bluff where elm, ash and oak gave way to gorse and heather.
Big Thorleik shook his head, making his blond plaits dance. 'We should stay down here amongst the trees, cousin. It's safer.' He pointed his spear towards the hut, which was about to fall into shadow as the sun fell in the west. 'We'll be seen from miles around if we move about up there.'
'Who's going to see us, cousin? The hares and the badgers?' Thorgils said, throwing an arm to encompass hills and woodland. 'Just for once I want to sleep under a roof.' He winced, clasping his hands behind his back in a great stretch. 'I ache all over.'
'Just now I'd take a good night's sleep over a good young cunny,' Glum mumbled, frowning. 'You saw that fat fucking raven the other day, Thorleik.' His eyebrows arched. 'Old Asgot would have said that was a good omen. I say it is a good omen.'
Thorgils nodded, putting a hand on Thorleik's shoulder. 'Óðin favours daring. He's with us, cousin. It pleases him that we'll soon return to our own land with English silver. And we will honour him, Thorleik.' He glanced at Glum who gripped his sword's hilt proudly. 'As Sigurd should have done.'
Thorleik dipped his head in acceptance, unslung his round shield and gripped it in readiness, and then we made our way up a shallow ravine untouched by the setting sun, towards the shelter. We had not bargained on the Welsh.
Thorleik had left the hut to take a piss, but now he burst back in and leant against the old door. 'There are men out there, Glum,' he hissed, 'or wolves.'
By the weak light of a grease lamp I saw fear flare in Glum's eyes and knew he thought Sigurd had found him. 'What did you see, cousin?' he growled, standing to fetch his round shield from where it leant against the cabin's wall. A thin breeze whistled through the gaps where the brittle daub had crumbled away, causing Cynethryth to shuffle closer to Weohstan.
'It's black as a Saracen's arsehole out there. I couldn't see past my own prick,' Thorleik said, thumping his helmet down. 'But they're there all right, and they know we're in here, whatever they are. Týr knows I near enough pissed on one of them.' He rolled his broad shoulders and grabbed his ash spear.
'I hate this land,' Glum muttered, snatching up his own spear, and in a few heartbeats the three Norsemen were armed and battle ready. They looked like grim gods of war, dealers of death in their mail and helmets, hefting their spears and round, scarred shields with their dented iron bosses.
'The Welsh have come for us. Give us weapons, Glum,' I said, pushing myself up against the wall and holding out my bound wrists. 'We'll fight with you.'