'Oh, no! God help us!' Cynethryth said. She pushed me away suddenly and ran to where Weohstan had fallen and there she fell on her knees. I turned to the west where the bracken-covered hills rolled like the swollen grey sea before a storm, and I saw men coming towards us. Though they were still far off, I saw they carried black shields.
'Is he breathing?' I called, stumbling over dead Welshmen to stand above Cynethryth. There was a gash across Weohstan's temple where the club had struck, and his mail was torn and bloodied, though I could not tell if the blood was his own. 'Does he breathe, Cynethryth?' I asked again, glancing up to see the Welsh coming fast like war hounds, and just then I would have preferred it if they had been English warriors laden with brynjas, helmets and iron-rimmed shields. Because then we would have more time.
'Can you carry him, Raven?' Cynethryth asked, but her green eyes betrayed that she knew I could not, and she ran her fingers through Weohstan's brown hair, clutching him desperately.
I shook my head. 'I'm finished. I can't fight them,' I said, wondering if this was the end the Norns of fate had woven into my life's thread. I had fought well and there would be no shame in it. Then fear stabbed me, for what would the Welsh do to Cynethryth after they had torn the breath from my belly? She looked down at Weohstan and kissed his forehead, letting his blood lace her lips, and I did not interrupt her despair, but instead whispered to Óðin that I would make one more kill before the end. But then Cynethryth stood, hefting a Norse shield which she slung across my back. She took up the leather sack containing the gospel book of Saint Jerome and grabbed a stout spear.
'Here,' she hissed, closing my hand round the spear's haft and throwing my other arm about her shoulder. 'Lean on me, you bloody heathen beast.' My strength was gone. I was wounded, I did not know how badly, and it was all I could do to stay on my feet as we clambered up the east hill, leaving Weohstan, dead or alive, to the Welsh. 'Faster, Raven!' Cynethryth barked, dragging me on as I planted the butt of the spear with every other step, grimacing against the pain. 'Move, you filthy son of a goat!' She pulled me on, whipping me with insults, rousing the last embers of my heart into flames of defiance, for we both knew that if we did not make it to the trees before the Welsh crested the last hill, they would catch us.
'Leave me,' I growled, falling to my knees. Dizziness blurred my vision and darkness was creeping in from the corners of my eyes. 'Go!'
'No, Raven!' she howled. 'I'll stay here! I'll stay and watch them kill you and then they'll rape me to death!'
I cursed, summoned the last dregs of will and dug in with the spear, offering my hand to Cynethryth to haul me on. 'Stubborn bitch,' I said.
We made the tree line without turning to see if our pursuers had crested the last hill, and scrambled into the forest like hunted wild animals.
'A little further, that's all.' Cynethryth drove me forward, picking me up when I fell, and when the forest became denser we crashed through the brittle lower branches of pines and birch, the sound of breaking wood and the blood gushing in my ears filling my dark world. Then I remember no more.
When I opened my eyes I thought I was blind. Slowly, they adjusted to the clinging darkness. The forest was oppressive and still, the screech of an owl or rustle of a badger the only signs of life around us. I was shivering. I tried to sit up, but a firm hand pushed me down.
'You're stronger than you look, Cynethryth,' I mumbled, then slipped into my own dark place once again.
'Drink, Raven,' a voice said some time later, and I felt the cold rim of a helmet against my lips. Water ran down my chin as I slurped. I had not realized how thirsty I was. 'I found a stream while you were sleeping.' Cynethryth's loose hair tickled my forehead.
'It's salty,' I said, licking my cracked lips and lying back again.
'I rinsed it out but the sweat's deep inside the leather,' she said quietly, carefully placing Glum's helmet in a cradle she had made from sticks. 'I hid your shield beneath some brambles.' Her voice sounded strange, as though the night ate her words as soon as they were spoken. The air smelled musty and damp and when I stretched out a leg, my foot hit solid wood. 'We're inside an oak, Raven,' Cynethryth said in a low voice. 'It must be very old.' I shifted, but a burning pain in my back held me rigid. 'Keep still or you'll open the wound again. I stitched you with this.' She held up a fine bone needle.
I touched it with my finger and winced. 'Not very sharp, is it?' I said.
Cynethryth shrugged. 'I used a thorn to pierce the skin. It's just as well you were asleep. I thought you were dead.' In the darkness I saw her nose crinkle. 'You smell dead.'