The voices came again, closer than before, and I risked a glance around the edge of that standing stone in the direction from which they were coming.
In the dim light I saw their shadows emerging from out of the fog. They came in a line, each following carefully in the footsteps of the one before them, trudging up the stony ground to the summit of that little hill. Four slave-girls, each with two wooden pails that they carried on poles across their shoulders, were in the middle of that column, with two of Haakon’s men leading and two more behind, preventing them from running away. One of the girls yelped as she stumbled and fell, her pails clattering upon the ground, and then a second time as one of the Danes hissed some manner of curse and hauled her up. She rubbed her elbow where she had fallen on it, and gingerly, stifling a sob, proceeded to pick up the fallen containers from where they lay. She was small and slight of stature, about Eithne’s age, I reckoned, although it was difficult to say for certain.
Keeping still, hardly daring to breathe, I watched as the two leading Danes, swathed in thick cloaks of grey fur clasped at the shoulder with silver disc-brooches, with helmets upon their heads and wearing necklaces made from beads of amber, jet and ivory, approached the spring, murmuring to one another in low voices. One of them gave a curt snort of laughter, although at what I could only imagine. In the belief, perhaps, that our ships and their crews had been fooled into leaving their shores. Their manner and the fact that they wore no mail told me they had come without any expectation of trouble.
My hand, dry and cracked from the cold, tensed, my numb fingers curling around the corded grip of my sword-hilt. Slowly, so that it made not even a whisper, I slid the steel from the scabbard’s lining of oiled fleece, all the while keeping my gaze on the party of men and girls. They were inside the stone circle now, not thirty paces from where we were hiding. So close, and yet not close enough.
Beside me, I sensed Dweorg growing impatient as he shifted uncomfortably behind another of the standing stones. The tall huscarl’s sword was in his hand, and he kept glancing at me, ready for the signal, eager to spill some Danish blood. I glared sharply at him, knowing that the slightest sound now could give us away. I wanted Haakon’s men to know nothing of us until we were already upon them, so that they had no time to so much as draw their weapons before we cut them down. We were barely half a mile from Jarnborg’s walls. In the stillness of the morning their cries and those of the girls could easily carry, and it would be unwise to rely solely on the fog to mask the sound. No, we had to pick the right moment to attack, when the guards were least expecting it, when we could be certain of making this quick.
I kept a careful eye on them as, taking it in turns, the girls knelt down next to the spring. While one of the Danes kept watch, the other three paced about, drawing their cloaks more tightly around them and blowing warm air into their cupped hands, mumbling to one another. They were still more than twenty paces from us, and I knew it would be hard to come upon them by surprise across such broken ground, but it didn’t seem that we had much choice. Already two of the girls had filled their pails. We were running out of time. I had to make a decision quickly, or else squander this chance we’d been given and let our one slender hope of victory slip away.
It was now, or not at all.
I glanced to my left, at Dweorg, and to my right, at Godric, nodding to each of them, then gave a wordless roar as I sprang to my feet, scrambling through the mass of branches before me, rushing out from my hiding place with steel in hand and the bloodlust coursing through my veins, pounding behind my eyes.
‘Kill them!’ I heard someone call in the English tongue, and it sounded like Magnus, but I didn’t see him or indeed any of the others, only the four Danish men as I, their death-bringer, charged upon them.
They stood before us, startled and slack-jawed, but not for long. As soon as they realised how many of us there were, good sense prevailed and they turned in flight. One alone remained, his feet seemingly having taken root. He stared at us, unspeaking, as his hand moved to his hilt, but not nearly quickly enough, and he was still staring when I ran him through, plunging my sword deep into his gut. Blood gurgled forth across my hand, dribbling on to the frost-hardened earth. A gasp escaped his lips, his knees gave way, and I kicked him hard in the chest as with a sharp wrench I freed the steel from his belly.