Beorn slides his axe back into his belt loop as he steps around the fire. ‘It’s all right,’ he says. ‘We’re English. We’re running from the Normans, just like you.’
The man is on his feet now, fumbling at his side for his knife. Gripping it in both hands, he holds it out in front of him warningly. His face is lit and Tova can see the wildness in his eyes.
‘No,’ he says, backing away. ‘You’re not taking it. I won’t let you. I won’t. I haven’t come this far to give it up just like that.’
‘We don’t want anything from you,’ Beorn says. ‘I told you, we’re English. We’re not the enemy.’
A golden cross studded with precious stones the colour of blood hangs from a chain around the man’s neck. It looks heavy. Maybe that’s why he walks with that stoop.
He looks askance at Beorn. ‘Who’s “we”? How many of you are there?’
Beorn glances over his shoulder, sees Tova and Merewyn, and beckons them out from the shadows. Nervously Tova steps forward, staying close to her lady. The heat of the fire is overpowering after the seeping cold of the fog and the wind and the rain.
The old man stares at them for a long time, and then slowly he lowers the knife, although he doesn’t put it away. He looks anxious and yet at the same time relieved.
‘Just the three of you?’
‘That’s right,’ Beorn replies and gives him their names. ‘What do we call you?’
‘Guthred.’
‘Are you alone, Guthred?’
‘Yes, I’m alone. I’m sorry. I don’t normally pull knives on folk. I thought you— You surprised me, that’s all. You’re the first souls I’ve seen in three whole days. Apart from the Normans, I mean. Every time I look over my shoulder, I expect to see my death coming. So far God has chosen to take pity on me, though he alone knows why.’
‘Would you mind if we shared your fire?’ Merewyn asks. ‘We’ve been travelling all day. We’re hungry and we’re cold.’
‘The fire you’re welcome to. I’m afraid I don’t have any food to offer, though. I haven’t eaten since, well, not since I fled.’
‘We can help, can’t we?’ Tova says brightly, turning to the others. ‘We have food. Not much, but some. Enough, anyway. We could trade.’
‘No,’ the warrior says and turns to Guthred. ‘We can’t spend the night here. It’s too exposed. We saw your fire from half a mile off, which means that others will too.’
Guthred shakes his head as he slides his blade back into its sheath. ‘The Normans have already been this way; they won’t be returning. I’ve seen them with my own eyes. A whole army. A thousand men, maybe, riding under a lion banner. I caught one glimpse of them riding along the valley bottom, and I turned tail, riding as hard as I knew how, knowing that if I didn’t and they were to spot me . . . Well, anyway, I got away, as you can see. Only a few hours after that I happened across the trail they’d left behind them. Nothing but ashes. I’ve seen some terrible things in my time, but never anything like this.’
‘The lion banner,’ Beorn mutters.
‘That’s King Wilelm’s emblem, isn’t it?’ Tova asks, and he nods. She has never seen it herself; she only knows because she has heard others mention it in their stories. It was the banner he fought under when he slew his rival Harold, the true king, at H?stinges.
Beorn asks Guthred, ‘Where did they go?’
‘North, I think. Following the course of the old Roman road. I don’t know any more than that. When I saw them they were riding hard. They seemed in a hurry, and I didn’t stay to watch what they were doing. Please, if you do have any food that you can spare—’
‘How long ago was this?’
‘Yesterday. Truly, if I knew anything more, then I’d tell you. I can only say what I’ve seen.’
‘It’s nearly dark, Beorn,’ Merewyn points out. ‘We’re going to need to find shelter somewhere soon anyway. This is as good a place as any we’re going to come across.’
Tova folds her arms tight across her chest. Now that they’ve stopped moving, she’s beginning to feel the cold again. Like Merewyn, she doesn’t want to carry on riding through the drizzle for another hour or more.
‘There’s space enough for all of you,’ Guthred says, gesturing towards the barn. ‘It doesn’t look like much, I know. It’s the best I could find. At the moment it’s just me and Whitefoot.’
Tova asks, ‘Whitefoot?’
‘My horse. My one true friend in all the world. The only one I have left, anyway. But enough of my woes. You don’t need to hear about that. Please, come. You must be freezing.’
‘Our packs,’ Merewyn says suddenly. ‘We left them with the horses.’
‘I’ll go,’ Tova offers. She doesn’t feel so nervous now.
*
The animals haven’t wandered far; in fact they’re more or less exactly where they left them, chewing contentedly on what meagre grass there is beside the track.