leapt at the man Finnbogi and the wolf. His jaws met where the woman’s knees would be, underneath her skirts.
But the cloth got in the way. Snarf reared back, to strike again. But the woman was swifter. She lifted her sword, and struck him hard against his neck.
The dog collapsed.
‘No,’ whispered Hekja. ‘No.’
The woman glanced at her. ‘He was trying to protect you, wasn’t he? That dog has courage.’ She gestured to one of the passing men. ‘Carry him to my ship.’ She looked around the village contemptuously. ‘He’s worth more than anything else in this place.’
‘He’s…not dead?’ stammered Hekja.
The woman looked amused. ‘I used the flat of my sword on him, not the blade. Now, will you walk, or must you be carried too?’
Hekja tried to understand. But the accent was so strong. Her mind was numb with pain and exhaustion. But the word ‘walk’ at least was clear.
‘I’ll walk,’ said Hekja. She had no choice. Snarf had tried to save her. She couldn’t abandon him.
Besides, now he was all she had.
The big ships bounced on the waves far out in the harbour, but there were smaller boats pulled up on the pebbles in the bay. One of the men shoved Hekja roughly into the nearest one. It was already piled with bags of barley, and the iron pot that Hekja recognised as the chief’s.
It took two men to carry Snarf. They flung him into the bottom of the boat, then pushed it out into the waves.
Hekja knelt by Snarf. She wanted to hold his head in her lap, or stroke him, but her hands were bound too tight. She gazed about her. Ships, so many ships, and the shore growing more distant. Tears stung her eyes. She looked down at Snarf instead. Was he moving?
Suddenly his eyes opened. He blinked, and tried to get up.
‘Shh. Don’t move.’ She was afraid that if he tried to jump out they’d hit him again. ‘Stay, boy. Stay.’
Snarf whined. He tried to sit up, then collapsed down again. The tears were blinding her now, but it didn’t matter. There was nothing she wanted to see. Hekja laid her face on Snarf’s fur as the boat bobbed out towards the waiting ships.
Chapter 11
THE SHIP
They spent the night on board. Driftwood fires lit the darkness back on shore. Hekja had never smelt wood fires before—wood was far too precious to burn. They sparked higher than any fire she’d ever seen, like tiny stars reaching for the sky.
She must have finally dozed from exhaustion, despite the bobbing motion of the ship, and the growing pain in her bound wrists, for it was dawn when she opened her eyes again. Snarf still slept, but his breathing was even, so it seemed he had taken no great harm. Hekja looked around.
Ships, lots of ships, each one far longer than even the chief’s hut and as wide. 9
The ships smelt of pine trees. Each had a giant square sail of dripping woollen cloth across the middle that flapped and billowed as the men raised them to catch thewind, and two platforms either end, with bundles stowed underneath, and a deep middle bit, which was where Hekja sat, filled with bundles too. Oars dangled from the rowlocks at either end.
Gulls screamed above them in the growing light and the clouds skidded across the sky. All around the Vikings were heading back to their ships, folding their tents on shore and splashing through the shallows, their arms full of whatever they had stolen—cooking pots and cheeses, calf skins and dried fish. Someone had even put a ramp down into the shallows from one of the ships and was leading the chief’s bull through the waves.
The poor beast looked terrified and tried to bolt, till the man gave it a whack about the rear with the blunt of his sword.
Hekja knew how the bull was feeling. Where had her life gone, the only life she’d known? Where were the villagers? Were they all dead, except the girls up on the great mountain and the witch?
Hekja looked up the hill, but no smoke hovered up above the witch’s fire. Either she had the sense to put it
But the cloth got in the way. Snarf reared back, to strike again. But the woman was swifter. She lifted her sword, and struck him hard against his neck.
The dog collapsed.
‘No,’ whispered Hekja. ‘No.’
The woman glanced at her. ‘He was trying to protect you, wasn’t he? That dog has courage.’ She gestured to one of the passing men. ‘Carry him to my ship.’ She looked around the village contemptuously. ‘He’s worth more than anything else in this place.’
‘He’s…not dead?’ stammered Hekja.
The woman looked amused. ‘I used the flat of my sword on him, not the blade. Now, will you walk, or must you be carried too?’
Hekja tried to understand. But the accent was so strong. Her mind was numb with pain and exhaustion. But the word ‘walk’ at least was clear.
‘I’ll walk,’ said Hekja. She had no choice. Snarf had tried to save her. She couldn’t abandon him.
Besides, now he was all she had.
The big ships bounced on the waves far out in the harbour, but there were smaller boats pulled up on the pebbles in the bay. One of the men shoved Hekja roughly into the nearest one. It was already piled with bags of barley, and the iron pot that Hekja recognised as the chief’s.
It took two men to carry Snarf. They flung him into the bottom of the boat, then pushed it out into the waves.
Hekja knelt by Snarf. She wanted to hold his head in her lap, or stroke him, but her hands were bound too tight. She gazed about her. Ships, so many ships, and the shore growing more distant. Tears stung her eyes. She looked down at Snarf instead. Was he moving?
Suddenly his eyes opened. He blinked, and tried to get up.
‘Shh. Don’t move.’ She was afraid that if he tried to jump out they’d hit him again. ‘Stay, boy. Stay.’
Snarf whined. He tried to sit up, then collapsed down again. The tears were blinding her now, but it didn’t matter. There was nothing she wanted to see. Hekja laid her face on Snarf’s fur as the boat bobbed out towards the waiting ships.
Chapter 11
THE SHIP
They spent the night on board. Driftwood fires lit the darkness back on shore. Hekja had never smelt wood fires before—wood was far too precious to burn. They sparked higher than any fire she’d ever seen, like tiny stars reaching for the sky.
She must have finally dozed from exhaustion, despite the bobbing motion of the ship, and the growing pain in her bound wrists, for it was dawn when she opened her eyes again. Snarf still slept, but his breathing was even, so it seemed he had taken no great harm. Hekja looked around.
Ships, lots of ships, each one far longer than even the chief’s hut and as wide. 9
The ships smelt of pine trees. Each had a giant square sail of dripping woollen cloth across the middle that flapped and billowed as the men raised them to catch thewind, and two platforms either end, with bundles stowed underneath, and a deep middle bit, which was where Hekja sat, filled with bundles too. Oars dangled from the rowlocks at either end.
Gulls screamed above them in the growing light and the clouds skidded across the sky. All around the Vikings were heading back to their ships, folding their tents on shore and splashing through the shallows, their arms full of whatever they had stolen—cooking pots and cheeses, calf skins and dried fish. Someone had even put a ramp down into the shallows from one of the ships and was leading the chief’s bull through the waves.
The poor beast looked terrified and tried to bolt, till the man gave it a whack about the rear with the blunt of his sword.
Hekja knew how the bull was feeling. Where had her life gone, the only life she’d known? Where were the villagers? Were they all dead, except the girls up on the great mountain and the witch?
Hekja looked up the hill, but no smoke hovered up above the witch’s fire. Either she had the sense to put it
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