The one thing that gave me some cheer was the thought that if I had no idea where I was or where I was going, neither probably would Eadric and his huscarls, since these lands beyond the dyke would be as new to them as they were to me. That was my hope, at least, and since it was only a hope and not anything I could be certain of, I rode on, following the valley upstream for want of any better direction to travel in, trying as much as possible to keep the river in sight.
All too soon, though, my mount began to tire. I had pushed him hard and now his steps were growing ever slower and less steady, until he could go no further and I had to leave him and carry on alone. Somewhere in the distance dogs barked, or perhaps it was only my imagination. Still, I decided it was better not to wait to find out which, and so I forced my legs to carry me just a little further. Shortly I came to another tumbling brook, but this time instead of simply crossing it I splashed on up the slope that it came from. If Eadric’s hounds did have my scent, then I had to lose them somehow, and this was the only way that came to mind. Sharp pebbles dug into my soles as I splashed through the frothy, noisy waters; in some places the bed was so uneven that I had to use my hands to steady myself. To give up was to choose death at the hands of the English, and that thought kept me trudging onwards, one step at a time, gradually climbing, until eventually the stream grew too steep to follow and I left it, instead striking out across the hillside for another mile or more, hoping that I had done enough to evade them.
Certainly I heard no more barking, and for that I was thankful. All my vigour was long spent and I could barely keep my eyes open. A thin rain was beginning to fall and I took shelter beneath the thick drooping branches of an old hornbeam. No sooner had I laid my head down upon the earth than I was lost in sleep.
The next I knew the skies were grown light. My head was heavy and throbbing with pain, my throat dry and sore. Rain pattered upon the ground around me; my braies were wet and clinging to my skin and I was chilled to the bone. Something was jabbing into my back, once, twice, and again, each time harder than the last. Groaning, still not quite sure how I’d come to be here, I rolled over, straining my neck to see what it was. A man and a woman stood looking down upon me: the former in his middle years with greying hair, holding a crooked branch; his companion probably of an age with Leofrun, thin and with an ill-fed look about her, and guarded eyes.
‘Byw yw ynteu,’ the man said, whatever that meant. He exchanged a glance with the woman, who might have been his daughter or possibly his wife; it was hard to tell.
I wanted to say something, but at the very moment I happened to open my mouth a burning sickness swelled in my stomach, rising up my throat, until in one great heave it all spilled out on to the damp ground. Exhausted, I closed my eyes and collapsed back, my neck no longer able to hold up my head.
Dimly I was aware of them speaking, before I felt myself being moved. One taking my shoulders and arms and the other my legs, together they managed to carry me a few paces at a time. I had barely enough strength to move my arms, let alone struggle; my whole body felt numb with cold and fatigue.
How long it was before I realised that we were no longer in the woods, I couldn’t say. No longer when my eyes opened did I see branches swaying overhead; no longer could I hear the wind rustling the leaves and birds calling to one another. Instead I saw soot-blackened timbers and thatch with a hole through which smoke was quickly rising. Kindling crackled in the fire-pit in the centre of the room; above it on a spit hung a small iron pot, inside which something was bubbling.
A rough woollen blanket had been laid over me, but otherwise I was naked. I lay upon a mattress of dried ferns, which in turn was raised off the floor by planks of timber; close by my head stood a large ironbound chest while on the other side of the room, close by the doorway, was a stout bench, upon which sat the young woman, picking at her teeth with a twig while she watched me. Perhaps my eyes had been playing tricks on me before, for my first thought was that she seemed prettier now. Not as pretty as Leofrun, it had to be said, but attractive nonetheless. She smiled when I met her eyes, and rose from her stool to help me sit up.
My braies, I saw, were drying over a stool beside the fire. While the woman attended to whatever was cooking, I held the blanket close around me, partly because I was cold and partly to keep my nether regions from her sight, though if she had been the one who undressed me then I was probably too late for that.
She returned in short order with a wooden bowl into which she’d ladled some sort of broth. At the very smell of food I thought myself about to vomit again, but somehow I managed to hold it down.