Wulfrum was given little more leisure to indulge these thoughts for the road narrowed among the trees, forcing the party to slow the pace. The forest around them grew denser and the landscape more rugged. Presently the way passed between two steep banks, compelling the horsemen to ride in single file. Firedrake slowed and snorted. Wulfrum frowned, snapping out of his reverie instantly, reining in while he scanned the path ahead and the trees around.
‘What is it?’ Ironfist drew rein behind him.
‘I don’t know. Listen.’
At his signal the men ceased all conversation. Apart from the occasional stamp of a hoof and the creak of saddle leather, there was silence.
‘I don’t hear anything,’ said Ironfist at length.
‘Exactly.’
The giant’s eyes narrowed as he looked at the defile ahead. ‘A good place for an ambush.’
‘Aye, but our way lies through it all the same. Have the men keep their wits about them.’
Wulfrum heard the word passed back, heard swords loosened in scabbards. Then he urged his mount forwards. The stallion’s ears flicked back and forth and he snorted anew, placing his hooves with neat precision on the path, his steps more reluctant. It confirmed Wulfrum’s suspicions, but still he could detect no sign of life. The skin prickled on the back of his neck. He guessed if there was an attack, it would be when his men were deep in the defile. Closing his legs around the horse’s sides, he urged him on. From out of nowhere an arrow hissed past and a man behind him cried out. More arrows followed, thudding into shields amid warning shouts from his escort. He saw a man fall, pierced through the throat. Then came whoops and yells and suddenly the trees were alive with armed men hurtling down the steep banks towards their quarry. He had an impression of woodsmen’s garb and rough bearded faces, but the attackers were not without courage or skill and laid on right willingly.
Wulfrum drew Dragon Tooth from the scabbard. Moments later the sword became a deadly arc of light, cutting down the first two attackers before they knew what had hit them. Then the third was upon him. Wulfrum parried the blow aimed at his head, but the blade slid off his own and left a bloody gash along his arm. Gritting his teeth, he fought grimly on, knowing there could be no quarter. He dispatched his opponent with a wicked slash to the throat. The man dropped where he stood, his life blood gushing from the wound. As he fell, another took his place. The outlaws were violent men, who preyed on travellers and would sell their lives dear. Wulfrum knew it was unusual for them to attack such a large group, but desperate fugitives would do whatever they had to. His men gave a good account of themselves, but, hampered by the cramped conditions and milling horses and the bodies of the slain, their situation was precarious indeed. From the corner of his eye he saw Ironfist swing his war axe and take off a man’s head before slicing for another. He heard the foe scream and fall as the blade severed an arm. Wulfrum fought on, a cold anger burning in his gut and a fierce determination not to meet his end here on this forest trail. He accounted for three more of the attackers before their leader, seeing the tide of battle turn against them, shouted the command to retreat. The outlaws fought their way free and began to back off before turning and scrambling up the banking towards the safety of the trees. There was no order about their going, just a desire to escape. Soon the last of them vanished among the trees.
‘Shall we give chase?’ demanded Ironfist.
‘No. Let them go.’
Wulfrum leaned on his sword, breathing hard. He turned and looked around at the scene of carnage. Apart from several casualties among Halfdan’s men, of the dozen who had originally set out with Wulfrum, only five were standing alongside himself and Ironfist. Three more were injured, the rest were slain. His anger grew.
Then Ironfist noticed the blood dripping over Wulfrum’s wrist and hand. ‘You are hurt.’
‘A gash, no more.’
‘Best let me bind it.’
Wulfrum stood while the big Viking took a cloth from his saddlebag and bound it expertly round the wound. Having done so, he looked around, surveying the bodies of the attackers.
‘Saxons,’ he said, ‘but why would they risk attacking such a large group?’
Wulfrum shook his head. ‘I don’t know.’ Then he remembered Elgiva’s words: Be vigilant on this journey. Had she known more about this than she confessed to? Was she implicated? As he beheld the bodies of the slain, all his former doubts resurfaced and with them his anger.
‘It seems the rebels grow bolder,’ said Sweyn, looking around him with casual interest. ‘You will have quite a task on your hands, Wulfrum.’ He wiped the blood from his blade before sheathing it again. ‘But at least we can look forward to a good fight.’
‘No doubt.’ Wulfrum turned to Ironfist. ‘Have the men mount up. I want to get back to Ravenswood.’
As Ironfist moved away, Sweyn grinned and his expression grew mocking.
‘Missing the lovely Elgiva, Wulfrum?’ Then, seeing the other’s expression, he feigned contrition. ‘Not that I blame you, of course.’
‘You take a deal too much interest in my wife. I should resent it if the time were right.’
‘Let it be a quarrel between us then, if you live.’
‘I’ll live.’ Wulfrum’s voice was cold. Retrieving his horse’s reins, he remounted, pausing a moment to survey his rival. ‘Whether you will do the same is another matter.’
‘Trust me…’ Sweyn bared his teeth in a vulpine smile ‘…I’ll have Elgiva yet.’
‘Over my dead body.’
‘Why, so I hope.’
Refusing to be drawn further, Wulfrum touched Firedrake with his spur and the big horse cantered away.
Elgiva breathed a sigh of relief when eventually the pace slowed for a while to let the horses breathe. Already they were many miles from Ravenswood and all hope of aid. Her heart sank to think that she would likely not be missed for some time. Even then, no one would have any idea where she was. Aylwin had laid his plans well, baiting the trap with expert care. All sympathy for him had evaporated now. In following his own desires he had completely ignored hers, thinking to take by force what she could not give. She shivered. If once he and his men reached Wessex, she would be beyond all help. Even Wulfrum could not pursue her there. Wulfrum! If only he might be spared the ambush laid for him. If only he might live. Nothing else mattered.
She was so preoccupied that she failed to notice Aylwin beside her until he spoke.
‘Why so sad, Elgiva?’
She turned to look at him, hoping to find some trace of remorse in his expression, some small expression of pity that she might exploit.
‘You know why,’ she replied.
‘Have I not rescued you from the Viking’s clutches? Do I not deserve your thanks?’
‘Wulfrum is my husband.’
‘Not for much longer.’
‘He is not so easy to kill.’
‘It matters not.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘A marriage made under duress to a pirate raider is no marriage at all. When we reach Wessex I shall appeal to Alfred. He will be exceeding grateful for the reinforcements I bring and he is withal a most pious king. I anticipate no difficulty in having your marriage to the Viking set aside.’
‘And say you do. What then?’
‘Then you will wed me as is my legal right as your betrothed.’
‘I will not marry you, Aylwin.’
‘You will have no choice, my dear, when it is a matter of royal decree.’
Elgiva closed her eyes for a moment, striving against the knowledge that he was right. If the king ordered it, she would be forced to submit to his will. Aylwin could then marry her within the hour. In desperation she made a last appeal to his better self.
‘What point, my lord? Would you have an unwilling wife?’
‘I would rather have you willing, Elgiva, but if not I’ll have you anyway.’ His gaze hardened. ‘Forget your Viking earl. You belong to me now.’
She drew in a deep breath, fighting down panic. He would not see her weep and plead. In any event it would be useless for all appeals would be denied. She would not give him that satisfaction. Aylwin saw her chin come up and nodded.
‘That’s better. Do you know, I’ve always admired your spirit and your good sense. You fight well, Elgiva, but you know when you cannot win.’
‘It isn’t over yet.’ Even as she said it, she was not at all sure it was true. He was strong and resourceful and now he had her in his power.
‘Shall we have a wager on that?’
‘I would wager only that you will die on the point of Wulfrum’s sword.’
‘Then you will lose. I am your lord now.’
Wulfrum urged the stallion to a gallop, a mile-eating pace that closed the distance between him and Ravenswood. As he rode, a lot of things became clearer in his mind and he knew for a certainty that he was supposed to have died in that ambush along with his men. It had been no random incident. The attackers had been Saxons and only one man hereabouts had the necessary knowledge to order it—the knowledge and the motive. Aylwin. He had not bowed to the Viking yoke, nor had he forgiven the loss of his lands or his betrothed. He would take Elgiva if he could. His wife’s face floated before him in memory and with it fresh suspicion. On her own admission Elgiva had been in contact with the rebel leader. It begged the question—had she aided him in this business? Had the two of them planned his death? The thought was chilling but he could no longer suppress it. It must be faced. She had deceived him before and might have again. However it might be, he would learn the truth soon enough.