me,’ she ordered. The boy looked at me and I nodded.
‘And where will you go?’ she asked me again.
‘Away,’ I said again.
But I already knew. I was going to Bebbanburg.
The assault of the Christians left me with thirty-three men. A handful, like Osferth, Finan and my son, were also Christians, but most were Danes or Frisians and followers of Odin, of Thor, and of the other gods of Asgard.
We dug out the hoard that I had buried beneath the hall, and afterwards, accompanied by the women and children of the men who had stayed loyal to me, we went eastwards. We slept in a copse not far from Fagranforda. Sigunn was with me, but she was nervous and said little. They were all nervous of my bleak, angry mood, and only Finan dared talk with me. ‘So what happened?’ he asked me in the grey dawn.
‘I told you. I killed some damned abbot.’
‘Wihtred. The fellow who’s preaching Saint Oswald.’
‘Madness,’ I said angrily.
‘It probably is,’ Finan said.
‘Of course it’s madness! What’s left of Oswald is buried in Danish territory and they’ll have pounded his bones to dust long ago. They’re not idiots.’
‘Maybe they dug the man up,’ Finan said, ‘and maybe they didn’t. But sometimes madness works.’
‘What does that mean?’
He shrugged. ‘I remember in Ireland there was a holy fellow preaching that if we could only play a drum with the thigh bone of Saint Athracht, poor woman, then the rain would stop. There were floods then, you see. Never seen rain like it. Even the ducks were tired of it.’
‘What happened?’
‘They dug the creature up, hammered a drum with her long bone, and the rain stopped.’
‘It would have stopped anyway,’ I snarled.
‘Aye, probably, but it was either that or build an ark.’
‘Well, I killed the bastard by mistake,’ I said, ‘and now the Christians want my skull as a drinking bowl.’
It was morning, a grey morning. The clouds had thinned during the night, but now they closed down again and spat showers. We rode on tracks that led through damp fields where the rye, barley and wheat had been beaten down by rain. We rode towards Lundene, and off to my right I caught glimpses of the Temes flowing slow and sullen towards the far-off sea. ‘The Christians have been looking for a reason to be rid of you,’ Finan said.
‘You’re a Christian,’ I said, ‘so why did you stay with me?’
He gave a lazy grin. ‘What one priest decrees another priest denies. So if I stay with you I go to hell? I’m probably going anyway, but I’ll easily find a priest who’ll tell me different.’
‘Why didn’t Sihtric think that?’
‘It’s the womenfolk. They’re more scared of the priests.’
‘And your woman isn’t?’
‘I love the creature, but she doesn’t rule me. Mind you, she’ll wear her knees out with praying, though,’ he said, grinning again. ‘And Father Cuthbert wanted to come with us, poor man.’
‘A blind priest?’ I asked. ‘What use is a blind priest? He’s better off with Æthelflaed.’
‘But he wanted to stay with you,’ Finan said, ‘so if a priest wanted that then how sinful is it for me to want the same thing?’ He hesitated. ‘So what are we doing?’
I did not want to tell Finan the truth, that I was going to Bebbanburg. Did I even believe that myself? To take Bebbanburg I needed gold and hundreds of men, and I was leading thirty-three. ‘We’re going viking,’ I said instead.
‘I thought as much. And we’ll be back.’
‘We will?’
‘It’s fate, isn’t it? One moment we’re in the sunlight, and the next every dark cloud in Christendom is pissing all over us. So Lord Æthelred wants to go to war?’
‘So I hear.’
‘His woman and her brother want it. And when he’s driven Mercia into chaos they’ll be screaming for us to come back and save their miserable lives.’ Finan sounded so confident. ‘And when we do come back they’ll forgive us. The priests will be putting wet kisses
‘And where will you go?’ she asked me again.
‘Away,’ I said again.
But I already knew. I was going to Bebbanburg.
The assault of the Christians left me with thirty-three men. A handful, like Osferth, Finan and my son, were also Christians, but most were Danes or Frisians and followers of Odin, of Thor, and of the other gods of Asgard.
We dug out the hoard that I had buried beneath the hall, and afterwards, accompanied by the women and children of the men who had stayed loyal to me, we went eastwards. We slept in a copse not far from Fagranforda. Sigunn was with me, but she was nervous and said little. They were all nervous of my bleak, angry mood, and only Finan dared talk with me. ‘So what happened?’ he asked me in the grey dawn.
‘I told you. I killed some damned abbot.’
‘Wihtred. The fellow who’s preaching Saint Oswald.’
‘Madness,’ I said angrily.
‘It probably is,’ Finan said.
‘Of course it’s madness! What’s left of Oswald is buried in Danish territory and they’ll have pounded his bones to dust long ago. They’re not idiots.’
‘Maybe they dug the man up,’ Finan said, ‘and maybe they didn’t. But sometimes madness works.’
‘What does that mean?’
He shrugged. ‘I remember in Ireland there was a holy fellow preaching that if we could only play a drum with the thigh bone of Saint Athracht, poor woman, then the rain would stop. There were floods then, you see. Never seen rain like it. Even the ducks were tired of it.’
‘What happened?’
‘They dug the creature up, hammered a drum with her long bone, and the rain stopped.’
‘It would have stopped anyway,’ I snarled.
‘Aye, probably, but it was either that or build an ark.’
‘Well, I killed the bastard by mistake,’ I said, ‘and now the Christians want my skull as a drinking bowl.’
It was morning, a grey morning. The clouds had thinned during the night, but now they closed down again and spat showers. We rode on tracks that led through damp fields where the rye, barley and wheat had been beaten down by rain. We rode towards Lundene, and off to my right I caught glimpses of the Temes flowing slow and sullen towards the far-off sea. ‘The Christians have been looking for a reason to be rid of you,’ Finan said.
‘You’re a Christian,’ I said, ‘so why did you stay with me?’
He gave a lazy grin. ‘What one priest decrees another priest denies. So if I stay with you I go to hell? I’m probably going anyway, but I’ll easily find a priest who’ll tell me different.’
‘Why didn’t Sihtric think that?’
‘It’s the womenfolk. They’re more scared of the priests.’
‘And your woman isn’t?’
‘I love the creature, but she doesn’t rule me. Mind you, she’ll wear her knees out with praying, though,’ he said, grinning again. ‘And Father Cuthbert wanted to come with us, poor man.’
‘A blind priest?’ I asked. ‘What use is a blind priest? He’s better off with Æthelflaed.’
‘But he wanted to stay with you,’ Finan said, ‘so if a priest wanted that then how sinful is it for me to want the same thing?’ He hesitated. ‘So what are we doing?’
I did not want to tell Finan the truth, that I was going to Bebbanburg. Did I even believe that myself? To take Bebbanburg I needed gold and hundreds of men, and I was leading thirty-three. ‘We’re going viking,’ I said instead.
‘I thought as much. And we’ll be back.’
‘We will?’
‘It’s fate, isn’t it? One moment we’re in the sunlight, and the next every dark cloud in Christendom is pissing all over us. So Lord Æthelred wants to go to war?’
‘So I hear.’
‘His woman and her brother want it. And when he’s driven Mercia into chaos they’ll be screaming for us to come back and save their miserable lives.’ Finan sounded so confident. ‘And when we do come back they’ll forgive us. The priests will be putting wet kisses
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