‘Stay this night, at least,’ Erchembald urged.
I was about to refuse, to tell him that all we needed were fresh horses and provisions for the journey and we would be on our way again before dusk, when I glanced at the road-weary faces of Serlo and Pons, Eithne and Godric. They had followed me this far, across marsh and moor, hills and hollows, and were prepared to follow me even into exile, beyond King Guillaume’s realm entirely, across the grey and stormy seas to parts unknown. They needed food and rest, as I did. I owed them that much, and if I could not grant it then I was a poor lord indeed.
‘One night,’ I agreed. ‘But tomorrow, we go.’
‘I’ll post Odgar, Ceawlin and a couple of the other lads on watch along each of the tracks leading to the manor,’ Galfrid said. ‘If they spot anyone coming, they’ll come running straightaway to give us warning.’
I smiled in thanks, at the same time wishing that there was some way I could repay the loyalty and kindness they had shown me. For all too soon I would be forced to leave this place behind me, and I had no way of knowing when or even if I would return.
Galfrid was as good as his word, and better. I didn’t think anyone would try to come by dark, when the paths through the woods could prove treacherous to those who didn’t know them well, but he sent those lads nevertheless, and bade a handful of the older ones sleep that night in the hall as added protection for us. He armed them with spears and knives so that if it came to a fight they could defend themselves, though thankfully it never came to that. This business was entirely of my own making, this quarrel with Robert mine and mine alone. While I was grateful to have others on my side, I didn’t want to see anyone else killed or hurt because of it.
Sleep did not come easily that night, and when it did come it was broken by swirling, confused dreams, in which I found myself travelling through places both familiar and strange, from Commines in distant Flanders to the fastness on the promontory at Dunholm, where my first lord had met his end, across barren wildernesses, through forests so dense that the sun’s light could not penetrate them, on high mountain paths and ancient roads that stretched as far as I could see in either direction. Everywhere I saw the faces of sword-brothers long dead, whose names I couldn’t remember, but who at one time had been good friends of mine. By the roadside stood men unknown to me, with scarred cheeks, broken noses and blood-encrusted hollows where their eyes had once been. They shouted at me, accusing me of being the one who had sent them to their graves, and tried to crowd around me, to drag me from my horse. Wildly I struck out with my blade, hoping to dispatch them back to the earth where they belonged, but the moment its edge found flesh they began to flee, running faster than I could pursue them, in every direction, through twisting alleyways and streets thick with mud, between collapsing houses and writhing towers of flame. And then I heard a woman’s voice calling my name.
Oswynn.
I glanced about, searching for her face, but could not find her whichever direction I looked in. And then I turned once more and saw his face. The face of the man I had been seeking: the Danish jarl, Haakon Thorolfsson, with his wiry, greying hair trailing down his back, riding a white horse whose eyes burnt bright orange and whose nostrils spouted clouds of smoke, like the dragon that decorated his banner.
He saw me then, but no words came from his lips. Instead he began to laugh: a great thunderous sound that seemed to echo through the very ground and which caused flaming brands to topple from the nearest building, showering me with sparks, blinding me with their light, and my cloak and tunic and hair were suddenly ablaze, and my mount was rearing up and I was thrashing around, trying at one and the same time to tear the clothes from my back and to put out the flames before they consumed me too—
And that was when I awoke, breathless, my brow running with sweat, the linen bedsheets and woollen blanket that covered them wound about me, the chamber spinning. I blinked, trying to clear the image of the blaze from my mind. The hall was dark, although I could see a glimmer of grey light breaking in through the crack under the door, while from outside came the chirruping of thrushes, heralding the dawn.