‘I trust that it won’t be, lord.’
We embraced, and thus we parted ways. My companions were waiting and I knew it was time to go. The days were growing ever shorter as midwinter approached, and many leagues lay between this place and Licedfeld, where the survivors of Earnford awaited my return, and between there and the Marches. Mounting Fyrheard, I glanced at Serlo and Pons, who were riding alongside me, then over my shoulder at the lads Ceawlin, D?gric and Odgar, at Father Erchembald and ?dda, making sure that they were all ready.
Thus at last we left Eoferwic, and started out on the long road south.
‘Do you think the Danes will hold true to their promises?’ ?dda asked me later that morning when Eoferwic was some miles behind us. ‘Will they leave peacefully in the spring as they agreed?’
We rode through country white with frost. Beneath our mounts’ hooves the ground was hard; the puddles on the track had all turned to ice and mist formed before my face with every breath.
‘God alone has any idea what King Sweyn is planning,’ I said. ‘When he and Eadgar made common cause they probably intended to divide England between them. But now that the ?theling’s taken his ships back north and we no longer have the Welsh to worry about, I don’t see how the Danes think they can defeat us.’
‘In which case with any luck they’ll see reason and sail back across the sea,’ Pons muttered.
‘Reason?’ Serlo gave a snort. ‘When did the Danes ever see reason?’
I smiled at that. Desire for silver and spoils was what drove them above all else. It had brought them to these shores, and if there was one thing we could rely on, it was that they would go wherever they reckoned they had the best chance of obtaining those things. From what I understood of their customs, they saw it as better to die in pursuit of glory and riches than to do the prudent thing and return home alive but empty-handed.
That was why, despite the oaths they’d sworn to King Guillaume and regardless of what good sense suggested was the best course of action, the likelihood was that they would do the opposite. And so we would surely find ourselves fighting them again before too long.
Until then, though, we could only do what we always did: keep our blades and our sword-skills sharp, and wait. Spring was several months away, and in the meantime we had work to do: houses, barns, a hall and a church to build in place of those that had been burnt; fields to till and fresh seed to sow; fish-weirs to repair and vegetable-gardens to replant. A manor to raise from the ashes.
The sun shone in a pale, cloudless sky, while an icy wind gusted at our backs. Ahead of us the way stretched to the distant hills, and across that bright and silent land we rode.
To Earnford, and home.
Historical Note
THE HISTORY OF the borderlands known as the Welsh Marches is a fascinating one, and shortly after finishing Sworn Sword I decided that my second novel would bring Tancred to this treacherous part of Britain. In many ways it presented the ideal setting for him, being a place where Norman control was more tenuous than almost anywhere else in the kingdom, where any gains were invariably hard fought but where at the same time reputations could be forged by those with the necessary ambition.