‘Because it isn’t true.’
Murderer. Isn’t that what she is now? She’s a killer too. Like him. Like Merewyn. They made that choice together, the three of them. How can he possibly say she’s a good person after that?
And then there are the things he doesn’t know about. The things she hasn’t told anyone.
‘You’re loyal,’ he says. ‘Forgiving. Honest. A better person than the rest of us. When times grew hard, we were weak. We gave in to greed, to anger, to fear. But you won’t. I know you won’t. You’re strong. Stronger than most warriors I’ve known. You have the fire within you. As long as you keep it burning, there’s still hope.’
He’s beginning to frighten her now. All this talk only sounds to her like farewell. Why else would he be saying these things?
‘Don’t,’ she says. ‘Please.’
‘Believe me. Everything will be all right.’
He tries to let go of her hands, but she won’t let him. ‘You’re hurt. You’ll never make it in this weather. What if you get lost? What if the Normans find you?’
‘I can take care of myself. And I’ll be coming back.’
‘When?’
‘Tomorrow. I promise. You know I don’t make oaths lightly.’
‘Beorn.’
‘What?’
She allows his fingers to slip through her grasp. A part of her wants to throw her arms around him and thank him for everything he’s done, but that would seem too final. Besides, he knows it already.
Instead she says, ‘Be safe.’
‘I will.’
He grabs the handle and jerks once, hard. The door creaks open and the snow bursts in. It eddies around his feet. A blast of chill air greets her. Outside the flakes fall thickly in waves and spirals that make her dizzy. There’s so much of it. How is he going to find his way?
But she says nothing and keeps those worries to herself. He knows what he’s doing, she tells herself. He’s managed to endure this long, after all.
He ventures out into the storm. Takes one step, then another, then another, fighting against the wind. He doesn’t look back; she doesn’t expect him to. But just in case he does, she stands by the doorway, watching as he trudges on through the snow. The flurries envelop him, until all she can see of him is the outline of a figure, growing steadily fainter with each passing moment.
But still she watches, until, all too soon, he vanishes into the whiteness.
He’s gone.
*
Less than a day away. That’s how close they came.
Unless, if Oslac was right, they were never really close at all, and they’ve been chasing a dream.
They’ll know soon. When Beorn comes back. If he finds help, or if he doesn’t.
Either way, they’ll know.
*
It’s nearly dark by the time Merewyn wakes again. Tova hasn’t ventured outside since Beorn left. For the last hour she’s been watching the sliver of daylight around the door turn steadily dimmer and dimmer. Now it’s nearly gone. She doesn’t know if it’s still snowing. The wind hasn’t ceased; she can hear it screeching through the trees outside. She has dragged the altar across in front of the door to barricade it and stop it from blowing open, but it still rattles.
They sit close together, sharing in one another’s warmth. Tova’s legs ache with the cold. She has never seen her lady so pale, so stiff, so fragile. Merewyn’s dress is still drying on the makeshift frame beside the fire.
She takes out the book again, searching through the pages for more pictures of stories that she recognises. Before long she comes across one of a great, brightly coloured ship with golden dragon heads at each end, afloat upon the dark and turbulent seas and laden with livestock: with pigs and goats and horses and hounds and ducks, and again those strange humped animals that Merewyn said were called camels. Two of each creature, their heads peering over the sides.
A man, leaning from a window on the ship’s upper deck, reaches his hand towards a dove. An olive branch in its beak.
You relented, Lord, she thinks, that time long ago. Please, have mercy upon us this time too.
*
‘There’s something I need to tell you,’ Tova says. ‘Something I’ve been keeping secret. Something I’m ashamed of.’
Beside her Merewyn stirs. ‘What is it?’
‘I’ve wanted to say for so long, but it was never the right time.’
‘You can tell me, whatever it is.’
Tova takes a deep breath and then says, ‘Do you remember the harvest before last, when the silver went missing from Skalpi’s strongbox?’
‘You know I do. Why?’
‘It was me.’
‘You?’
‘It wasn’t Gunnhild who took it. It was me. I meant to run away.’