The Hallowed Isle Book Two by Diana L. Paxson Page A

slide his harp into its sealskin case.
    The conversation turned to other matters, and as the drinking horns were refilled, grew louder. Oesc leaned against the hard back of the high seat, exhaustion dragging like a sea-anchor at his limbs.
    â€œSend the boy to bed, Hengest, before he falls asleep where he sits,” Byrhtwold said presently.
    â€œI’m not sleepy!” Oesc jerked upright, rubbing his eyes. “Grandfather, Octha was a hero, was he not?”
    The old man nodded, his eyes dark with shared pain, and the boy knew that he too was thinking of the lonely mound just within the wall.
    â€œDo we have to choose?” he said then. “Do we have to choose between a glorious death and living for our people?” He waited, realizing that his grandfather was taking him seriously.
    â€œMany men fall and are not remembered . . .” Hengest said slowly. “It is because they died for a reason that we honor heroes, because they never gave up, but fought to the end. Death is not a failure, Oesc, if a man has truly lived.”
    â€œThen he didn’t fail . . .” whispered the boy. “We lost the battle and they killed him, but Octha had his victory. . . .”
    â€œBoy, is that what has troubled you?” Hengest set his gnarled hand on Oesc’s shoulder. “Your father waits for us even now in Woden’s hall. You must strive to live so that you will be worthy to see him again.”
    The ache in Oesc’s throat made it hard to breathe. He sucked in air with a harsh gasp, and awkwardly, his grandfather began to pat his back, then seeing his face, gathered him against his bony breast. And there, breathing in the scents of leather and horses and the old man’s flesh, Oesc found at last the release of tears.

III
HOLY GROUND
A.D. 475
    E VERY FALL, WHEN THE RAIDING SEASON HAD ENDED AND THE crops were gathered in, it was Hengest’s custom to travel around the territory that the Vor-Tigernus had given him. At this time of year, when the quarrels of the summer were still fresh in memory, the king heard complaints and rendered judgment, lest resentment, festering through the dark days of winter, should erupt into bloodfeud and destroy the peace of the land. In the second year after Verulamium, Hengest took his grandson Oesc with him on the journey, that he might learn the land and its law.
    That fall the first of the winter storms came early, soaking the stubbled fields. But it was succeeded by a season of smiling peace, and the king and his escort rode through a landscape as rich in autumn color as heaped amber, splashed with the vivid scarlet berries of rowan and holly and the varied crimsons of the vine.
    Their way first led south to the coast, where the Roman fortress of Lemanis still guarded the Saxon shore. They travelled by short stages, for the king’s age would not allow him to do more. In the mornings, when he stretched stiff joints, swearing, he would say that next year, surely, he would let Oesc do it all. But by evening he was smiling, and the cold knot of anxiety in Oesc’s belly would disappear.
    From Lemanis, they worked their way back north and east along the shoreline to Dubris, where the high chalk cliffs looked out across the sea. Their next stop was Rutupiae, where the Vor-Tigernus’s son had once driven Hengest into the sea. The fortress was in ruins now, only the great triumphal arch still proclaiming the vanished glory of Rome. Here, the rich lands by the shore were thickly settled, and the cases being brought for judgment mostly quarrels over boundaries or complaints about strayed stock.
    They passed through Durovernum once more and then made their way eastward along the straight line of the Roman road that led to Londinium. To their left the land rose in gentle slopes to the North Downs, scattered with ruined villas and new Saxon farmsteads. To their right the green fields stretched down to the estuary of the Tamesis,